Читать книгу Pony Express Special Delivery - Rhonda Gibson - Страница 9

Chapter One

Wyoming

Winter 1861

Clayton Young’s horse, Bones, slowly picked his way down the dirt road that led to the Fillmore Ranch. The leather of the saddle on the horse’s back squeaked and shifted as the horse stumbled a bit. Clayton patted the horse’s neck. “Good job, Bones. Hang in there. We’re almost to the barn, ole boy, and then we’ll see what can be found to eat in our new home.” Clayton straightened up and drew in a deep breath.

This was the third and final day of his journey. The Fillmore Ranch offered much in the way of comfort, or so he’d been told. Right before he quit, the previous relay station manager, Bill Evers, had said the ranch had been his easiest assignment with the Pony Express.

Clayton sighed. This assignment was his last job with the Pony Express. The telegraph lines and offices were swiftly taking over the Express’s routes. Why send your mail by pony when it could go by train in a day’s time or wire in mere minutes? People were whispering that the Pony Express was in financial distress and would soon be extinct once telegraph lines were completed from the East Coast to the West. Because of all the talk, Bill had found another job and quit the Pony Express. He had a small family and couldn’t afford to be out of work even a day.

Unlike his friend Bill, Clayton didn’t have a family to support so he figured he’d stick with the Pony Express to the end. Then he’d pursue his dream of becoming a doctor. He’d saved almost every dime of the money he’d earned working for the Pony Express, and that would hold him over for a while after this job ended.

Bones began traveling up the hill. Clayton leaned forward in the saddle. Like this road, it seemed that shortly after Christmas his life had become an uphill climb. His fiancée, Eunice, had broken off their engagement and quickly married the banker’s son, and then he’d learned that the Pony Express could shut down at any moment. Mixed emotions warred for his attention. On one hand, he’d miss the stability the Pony Express had brought to his income and his life. On the other hand, he’d be free to pursue doctoring, something he’d dreamed of doing for as long as he could remember.

He topped the hill and saw the ranch house below. The sun was lowering in the west, casting rust-colored rays over the barn, yard and two-story house. It was a nice place with a couple of large trees in the front and what looked like fruit trees off to the side.

Pleasure and a tiny spiral of hope teased his mind. This was his chance to start over. With blessings from the Lord and hard work, he just might see his dream of becoming a doctor come to fruition.

Movement below drew his attention. A little girl ran from the house to the barn. Clayton figured that was five-year-old Dinah. Bill had said the little girl was the sister to Jack Fillmore’s young wife. Jack had died three months earlier and left a widow behind.

He gently touched his knees to Bones’s ribs. The horse took his time easing down the hill. All the while, Clayton watched the child. She exited the barn pulling a mustang pony behind her. What was a five-year-old girl doing messing with a horse? His gaze swept the rest of the yard and surrounding area. Where were the ranch hands? Where was Jack’s widow?

His gut clenched, a sure sign that all was not well at the ranch. “Let’s go, ole boy.”

Bones heard the words let’s go and tore down the hill like the ranch was on fire. Being a Pony Express horse, Bones had been trained by Clayton that when his rider said “let’s go,” he was to move fast. Clayton would have grinned, if he weren’t concerned about the child below.

He knew the exact moment the little girl spotted him. She stopped in her tracks, wrapped the horse’s reins around the wagon and ran at top speed toward the house. She had barely made it onto the front porch when Bones skidded to a stop below her.

Clayton saw her hand tremble as she reached for the doorknob. He knew a scared little filly when he saw one, and his instincts kicked in just as they did when he sensed Indians and bandits on the Pony Express trail. What he needed to do now was keep calm and find out what the trouble was.

He spoke in a soft, even voice. “You must be Dinah.”

The little girl nodded.

“I’m Clayton Young and I was sent to manage the Pony Express station. Is Mrs. Maggie Fillmore here? Bill told me she would show me the ropes.”

The little girl turned loose of the door and rushed toward him. “My sissy just had...um, the baby’s having trouble breathing.” She paused in uncertainty.

Big tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her chubby cheeks, and a tiny dimple peeked through strands of hair that had fallen from her braids. “He’s not crying or nothing. Sissy says we have to get to town where the doctor lives.” She twisted her small hands in her dress in agitation. “I have to hitch the horse to the buggy so we can get Sissy and the babe to Doc Anderson.”

Bill hadn’t mentioned that Mrs. Fillmore was with child. Clayton forced himself to remain calm, knowing that the babe might already be dead. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take me to the baby and let me see if I can help?” He saw the indecision on her face and slid off his horse. “I’ve doctored my brothers for years. Please, let me help your sister.” Clayton wrapped his horse’s reins around the porch post.

Dinah nodded and held the door open. When she started up the stairs, Clayton could no longer remain calm, and he slipped past her two steps at a time. If the baby had turned blue, he might already be too late.

Clayton followed the sound of weeping and entered a room of pure chaos. Linen was strewn over the floor. A pan of water sat on the floor beside the bed, and sitting on the side of the bed wearing a dressing gown was a larger version of Dinah. She held the still baby in her hands. Her mournful weeping filled the room.

The setting sun shone through the window behind her, creating a halo of sorts, and golden ringlets tumbled across her shoulders, reaching almost to her waist. When she looked up at him, pure unadulterated grief twisted her features, and without a word she held the baby out to him, silently begging for his help.

Clayton gently lifted the baby to his chest. A white line circled his tiny mouth, and his lips held a tinge of blue. Clayton laid the baby on the bed and with his little finger pulled down on the lower lip.

Carefully, using the edge of the sheet, he cleared the child’s air passages. The baby kicked and then gagged. Clayton turned him over and lightly swatted his bare bottom. The baby emitted a weak cry, followed by high-pitched, angry wails. Clayton turned him back over and placed the boy, full of life, in his mother’s arms.

Clayton released the pent-up air in his lungs. He knew a moment of intense satisfaction and peace. A frail smile touched the woman’s lips as she examined her newborn son. She yawned and her eyelids drifted down. Clayton gently lifted her and the baby, and he eased them back onto the bed. She may have been too weak to stand, but he noticed the grip on her baby had not lessened one bit. Clayton pulled the covers over them both and started to straighten up the room.

As he turned with the pan of water, he noticed the little girl standing in the doorway, silent sobs shaking her body. He set the pan on the dresser and picked Dinah up.

In the corner of the room sat a rocker. He dropped into it, holding her. Clayton rocked, occasionally rubbing her hair as he’d seen his adoptive mother, Rebecca, do with his sister many times.

His gaze moved to the woman on the bed. She’d fallen into an exhausted sleep with the baby cradled against her. He felt Dinah relax in his arms. Her eyelids drooped and finally her breathing relaxed into that of gentle slumber.

Clayton laid his head against the back of the rocker and propped his feet on the footboard of the bed. The chair tilted to a perfect sleeping position. The room now lay in shadows as the sun completed its final descent. Clayton felt exhaustion pull at him but remembered that he couldn’t sleep. The horses were still outside and needed tending.

He lowered his boots, stood up slowly and carried Dinah to the bed. Clayton laid her on the opposite side of Maggie Fillmore. Maggie’s blond hair rested against her cheek, and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. How long had she labored alone?

Protective vibes for the sleeping trio filled him as questions plagued his mind. Where were the men who should have been close to the ranch house? Why hadn’t the widow had another woman with her during her birthing time? Would he be able to protect his heart from this precious family?

* * *

Maggie awoke with a start. The smell of bacon wafted up the stairs. No, not up the stairs. There was no way the odor could travel that far. She turned her head and saw a plate of eggs, bacon and toast resting on the table.

She sensed Dinah stirring at her back. “Sissy?”

“I’m here.” Maggie reached behind her and touched the little girl, all the while focusing on the baby who slept so contentedly next to her. Several times during the night, she’d drawn him close to nurse.

“Where is Mr. Young?” Dinah sat up and leaned over Maggie’s shoulder. “Did he fix us breakfast?”

Maggie heard Dinah’s stomach growl. Poor little mite hadn’t had anything to eat since noon the day before. Maggie’s pains had been so great during labor that she hadn’t been able to make it back down the stairs. “I’m not sure who fixed this.” Maggie handed her a strip of the crispy bacon.

“Hold up, half-pint.”

In the doorway stood the man who’d saved the baby’s life the night before. Maggie pushed herself up, bracing her back on the headboard and holding on to the baby. Her body ached in places she never knew could hurt.

He came into the room carrying two more plates of food. He held the smaller plate out as if offering it to Dinah. “I brought you your own breakfast.”

Dinah returned the strip of bacon to Maggie’s plate and scooted from the bed. She hurried around the end to take her plate. “Thank you.”

He brushed his hand across the top of her blond head. “My pleasure.” His blue gaze swung toward Maggie. “I hope you don’t mind that I made myself at home in your kitchen.”

She watched as he walked to the rocker at the foot of the bed. He pulled two forks from his back pocket, handed one to Dinah and then eased into the rocker. Dinah followed and sat at his feet.

Maggie frowned. Dinah wasn’t the type to take to a stranger as she was doing with this man. Was she infatuated with him because he’d saved the baby’s life and fixed them breakfast?

He said a quick prayer over the food and then looked up at her. His piercing blue eyes met hers. He waved his fork in the direction of the food. “You should probably eat it while it’s hot.”

She pulled the plate and fork to her. “Um, who are you?” Maggie set the plate on the edge of the bed. The fact that he’d prayed over the food surprised her. She’d not been much for going into town for church, and Jack had never shown an interest either. Had God really answered her prayers last night and sent a godly man to save her baby’s life?

“Oh, I’m sorry. Name’s Clayton Young. I’m the new Pony Express station manager. I suppose I should have introduced myself last night, but I forgot with the urgency of the situation and all.” He shoveled egg into his mouth.

Maggie didn’t know what to say to that, so instead replied, “Thank you for saving the baby.”

Clayton grinned. “Thank God, ma’am. He’s the one who saved the boy. I was just the instrument He used.” He winked at Dinah. “Isn’t that right, half-pint?”

Dinah smiled around a mouthful of eggs and nodded happily.

Maggie studied the pair. It was as if they shared a secret. She sampled the bacon. It was good. Mr. Young seemed to be able to fry meat as well as save babies.

“Have you come up with a name for the little tyke?” Clayton Young asked.

Her gaze moved to the infant. He needed a name, but Maggie didn’t know what to call him. She’d been struggling with that for a couple of months now. Jack might have liked the boy named after him, but Maggie didn’t want to call him Jack Jr. She’d thought about the men in her life. Her father’s name was Paul, but he wasn’t anything like the apostle. That name would only conjure up bitter memories of the man who’d run off with another woman and left her mother heartbroken. She’d not known her grandfathers so had no names to choose from there.

Clayton cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure there is no rush.”

Maggie looked up at him. The only man who’d ever done anything for her was a total stranger, and he sat across the room from her. “Maybe I’ll name him Clayton, after you.”

Clayton shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” Dinah asked.

He set his now-empty plate on the floor. “Well, every time his mother would call, ‘Clayton!’ I’d come a-runnin’. When boys are little their mamas have to call their names a lot.”

“Oh.” Dinah looked to Maggie. “I like the name James.”

Maggie looked down on her newborn’s sweet face. His lips were puckered in sleep. “What do you think of the name James, baby?” His eyes opened and he yawned.

Dinah clapped her hands. “He likes it.”

Maggie snuggled the baby’s face and felt his small lips move across her skin. He smelled sweet and warm. She looked up with a grin that quickly faded. Mr. Young looked as if he’d swallowed a bug. “What’s the matter, Mr. Young? Do you not like the name James?” She didn’t know why it mattered to her if he liked the name or not, but it did.

“I like it just fine.”

Dinah reached over and took his hand in hers. “Then why do you have that frowny face?” she asked.

He grinned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to have a frowny face. It’s just that my full name is Clayton James Young.”

Maggie didn’t know what to think when the baby kicked his legs and made what to every new mother sounds like a happy noise. “If you don’t want me to name him...”

“No, it seems the little man likes his new name. If you want to call him James, that’s all right with me.” He stood and collected his and Dinah’s plates. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have a kitchen to clean up and a stew to get on the stove. Then I’m going into town to get the doctor so he can look over baby James.” He nodded once and then left the room.

Maggie heard his boots clomp down the stairs. She looked to Dinah, who stood by the door watching him leave. “Dinah, come here for a moment.”

Dinah hurried to her bedside. “Do you want me to help you get dressed, Maggie?”

Maggie shook her head. The baby began to fuss for breakfast. She swung her legs to the edge of the bed and then stood slowly. “No, I’m curious. You seem to like Mr. Young.”

Dinah nodded. “He’s a nice man.”

She eased into the rocker. “What makes you say that?” Maggie moved the now-howling baby to a more comfortable position. He immediately stopped crying with the warmth of breakfast filling his small tummy.

“He saved baby James and rocked me to sleep last night.”

Maggie’s head came up as concern filled her heart. Men weren’t to be trusted, so why had he taken it upon himself to comfort Dinah? “He did?”

“Uh-huh. I was scared and Mr. Young picked me up and rocked me while I cried. I went to sleep and he put me in bed with you.” Dinah smiled. “He told me everything was going to be all right. And it is.” Dinah jumped on the bed. Her smile filled the room.

Maggie rocked the baby. Not only had he saved James, but he’d also soothed Dinah’s fears. He’d made them all breakfast and was already planning a trip to town to bring back the doctor. What kind of man was Clayton James Young? Unfamiliar words whispered through her heart: the kind who took care of the people around him.

She didn’t need that kind of man in her life. He’d turn out just like all the others who had let her down. Maggie refused to be hurt again, so she hardened her heart against Clayton Young.

Maggie cuddled the baby close. Her job was to make sure that she could hold on to baby James’s ranch. Gus Fillmore, her late husband’s cousin, had insisted on becoming the ranch manager and she’d let him because he’d promised to keep her up-to-date on the running of the ranch. Maggie’s new fear was that he’d soon begin to demand ownership. She couldn’t allow that. With Jack’s dying breath, he’d asked her to make sure baby James would inherit the ranch, and she’d promised to do just that. It was a promise she intended to keep.