The Rancher’s Surprise Triplets. Linda Ford

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ little time remained before he must judge the pies and even less time to find the missing mother.

      He slowed measurably when he reached the grounds. The gates wouldn’t open for another hour and yet people crowded the area. Satisfaction warmed his heart. If everyone supported the fair like this, they would make a good deal of money. Enough? Only time would tell. What difference would it make if Louisa did not attend? She was but one woman. The price of one admission.

      Yet it rankled that she showed so little interest in the affairs of the community.

      He saw the sheriff, Jeb Fuller, just past the gate and called to him. Jeb needed to be notified about the babies and could help look for the mother.

      Jeb jogged over and bent close to hear Bo’s story. “That’s sad. I’ll begin a search, but with people from all over the county, it will be difficult to find one woman, especially as you have no idea what she looks like.” He moved away slowly, pausing to look carefully at and speak to each woman he passed, clearly asking about the triplets. When they shook their heads, he moved on.

      Bo continued on his way to the pie tent. He saw a familiar figure to his right and veered that direction. “Brandon,” he called to his twin. His look-alike waved and waited for Bo to join him.

      “I thought you’d be judging the pies,” Brandon said.

      “I’m on my way there now. But first...” He again related the story of the triplets. “If we can find the mother before she disappears, we can help her look after the babies.”

      “I’ll start asking around. Where are they now?”

      “At the doctor’s. His daughter is taking care of them.”

      “Good. She seems a capable, no-nonsense person.”

      “She refused to pay to dance with me.”

      Brandon blinked. “I never thought you’d have to pay someone to dance with you.”

      Laughing at his brother’s misunderstanding, he explained his idea for raising more money. “But Miss Clark refused to take part.”

      Brandon’s eyes flashed amusement. “Sounds like someone’s pride is hurt.” He gave Bo a playful punch on his shoulder. “You’ll get over it.”

      Bo grabbed his arm in fake pain. “Ma told you not to hit me.”

      The two laughed at the memory of their childhood then parted ways—Brandon to look for a missing mother and Bo to the pie tent.

      The two other judges waited impatiently. The church pianist, Constance Hickey, her red hair pulled back so tightly into her bun that her eyes could barely blink, had volunteered for the job. Except volunteered was too mild a word. She insisted that she knew pies like no one else and no contest would be fairly judged without her help. Standing beside her was banker George Henley, who had put up a cash prize for the winner.

      One by one, they circled the entries, savoring each sample and rating it according to a complicated system Mrs. Hickey had come up with. Bo forced himself to concentrate on the task. Too many things vied for his thoughts—wondering how Louisa was managing with the babies, hoping that Brandon or Jeb found the missing mother, and overall the sad-happy memories of his mother, who made a pie for the three of them every time Father was away...an occurrence that happened far too seldom.

      They narrowed the entries down to six possibilities. Both George and Bo made up their minds but Mrs. Hickey insisted the selection couldn’t be rushed.

      “My reputation depends on being one hundred percent sure.”

      Bo stuffed back the thought that her reputation stemmed from her propensity for gossip.

      Finally she made her decision and the blue, red and yellow ribbons were attached.

      Bo raced from the tent before they were done and hurried through the grounds. He found Brandon and Jeb near the front gate. “Find her?” he asked.

      “We’ve asked throughout the crowd. No one saw a woman pushing a cart—or rather, many women were seen pushing some kind of conveyance. No one knows of triplets,” Jeb said. “We’d have heard if they were from the community.”

      “What are you going to do?” Brandon asked as if finding the babies made them Bo’s responsibility.

      “First thing we need to do is get this fair opened and then we need to call an emergency meeting of the league.” He went to the gate and held up his hand to signal he wanted people’s attention. It took a few minutes for the crowd to quiet.

      “Welcome to the County Fair. As you all know, it’s to raise funds for the Lone Star Cowboy League, which was originally formed to bring ranchers together to help each other through troubled times. Since then our concerns have grown to include other families struggling to survive the drought. So open your purses wide and spend freely, but most of all, have a good time.” He stepped aside and let the gatekeepers take admission as the crowd filed in.

      Bo remained close by, and as the members of the league passed, he informed them of the emergency meeting. “At the office tent in half an hour.”

      Having informed all of them, Bo hurried about the grounds. If the mother was sick, where would she go? Somewhere she could rest. Maybe a place she could keep an eye on the babies. He squeezed his hands into fists. Imagine being so desperate you left three babies alone, not knowing when they’d be discovered or by whom. This was one of the reasons they’d started the Lone Star Cowboy League—to prevent people from doing desperate things because of desperate circumstances.

      He passed women he didn’t know but they were always accompanied by family. Nowhere he looked did he find a woman alone and ill, and with no more time to search, he hurried to the meeting.

      “Fight. Fight.”

      Bo heard the chant and groaned. The fair had only begun and already a situation he didn’t care to deal with. He jogged around the corner of the livestock tent housing prize goats and pushed his way through the crowd of young people. He saw the combatants circling each other, fists up and scowls marring their faces. Peter Hill and Jamie Coleman. He should have guessed. The two families had been feuding long before he and Brandon arrived in the area four years ago. He wasn’t sure what the disagreement was about. Wasn’t even sure they knew, though he’d heard muttered words about some valuable family heirloom.

      He stepped between the two young men and pressed his hands to the heaving chests. Twenty-year-old Peter Hill likely outweighed his opponent by fifty pounds of grit, muscle and raging anger. Jamie Coleman, a year younger, fair as autumn grass, bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited to get in a jab.

      Bo didn’t even bother to ask about the disagreement. This pair found a hundred different reasons to start a fight. Or if not them, a couple of the younger boys. With three Coleman boys and three Hill boys, it seemed there was always a fight. Thankfully the girls resorted to insults and snubs. If there was a way to force the two widowed parents to work out their differences, perhaps the children would stop sparring, as well.

      “I don’t want the fair ruined by the lot of you fighting. I want people to have fun and feel safe.” Bo waited until the two eased back before he lowered his hands. “Peter, why don’t you go over to the garden tent and see how your ma fared with her carrots. They looked mighty fine to me.”

      Peter СКАЧАТЬ