The Heart's Charge Page 4

  His right eyebrow lifted slightly. He didn’t smile. Nor did his eyes crinkle. But something about that twitching brow made her feel as if he found her lack of knowledge amusing. “Jonah Brooks.”

  “Eliza Southerland.” The introduction slipped out automatically, her Southern manners apparently too ingrained to bypass. Even though her Western brain insisted that the less she and this stranger knew about each other, the easier things would be.

  He dipped his chin. “Miss Southerland.”

  “As much as I appreciate you and Mr. Wallace bringing the babe to us, there is no need to linger.” Unwilling to allow this conversation to slow down her progress, she continued her explanation by tossing words over her shoulder as she resumed her march down the steps. “Miss Palmer and I are well-versed in situations such as these, and I can assure you that young Sarah will receive the very best—ack!”

  Eliza reared back and nearly fell on her rump. The largest horse she’d ever seen clipped the side of her head with its nose. Pulse racing, she stuttered backward a few steps and fought to rein in her fright.

  Don’t be a ninny. It’s just a horse.

  A decidedly large, muscular, could-trample-her-with-one-hoof-tied-behind-its-back horse, but still—just a horse.

  “Are you all right?” All amusement had left Mr. Brooks’s face.

  He immediately moved between her and the oversized beast and placed a hand on her back. The warmth of his palm afforded a level of comfort she hadn’t expected.

  “Of course.” Eliza moved away from his touch and his massive horse. She brushed at her skirt, embarrassed to show such weakness in front of a stranger.

  She’d known there were horses in front of the house. She’d seen them when she exited. But they hadn’t seemed so large while she’d been on the raised porch. And then she’d been distracted with putting this man in his place and had nearly collided with the big brown one. A shudder quivered over her spine as she added some extra distance between her and the equestrian giant.

  Flashes from the past zipped through her mind. Chasing a kitten into the street. Twisting her ankle. Falling. A horse rearing. Sharp hooves hovering above her head. That horrible squealing sound the horse made. She could still hear it twenty years later.

  “Miss Southerland?”

  “I’m fine.” Or she would be, as soon as she got away from that animal.

  Making a wide circle around the visitors’ horses, she headed for the barn, where Bessie and Tessie waited—two sweet-natured ponies who barely stood thirteen hands. She still preferred having someone else handle the chore of harnessing them to the wagon, but she could manage when necessary.

  And today it was necessary.

  Jonah gave Augustus a pat, then followed Miss Southerland at a distance. She possessed a powerful fear of horses, but then, everything about her was powerful. Back in the house, she’d taken charge of the room the moment she entered. Authority clung to her like a fine perfume. Intelligent, pragmatic, protective of those in her care—she was a natural leader. Reminded him a bit of Captain Hanger. Though she was far better to look at. His gaze traveled the length of her back, tucked in at the dip of her waist, smoothed over the curve of her hips, then danced along the swishing lines of her skirt.

  Yep. Eliza Southerland was a fine-looking woman.

  It had been a long time since a woman had drawn his notice. Jonah had made a point to avoid noticing them, for the most part. Too focused on his career. His father had taught him that the only way for a black man to find success in this world was to be the best at whatever he put his hand to. Be skilled, and folks will notice. Be the best, and you’ll earn their respect.

  So from the time he’d been a boy, he’d determined he’d be the best at something. As he grew, he came to recognize that God had blessed him with better-than-average eyesight and a steady hand. He’d turned that talent toward hunting, then shooting contests, then to becoming the best sniper in the US Cavalry. Not just the best among his fellow Buffalo Soldiers, but the best in the entire US Army. His skill was what led to him working with Captain Hanger and ultimately to joining the Horsemen, a brotherhood that had changed his life.

  Maybe it was the respect of his brothers-in-arms that freed him now to notice the woman in front of him, or maybe it was the woman herself. Heaven knew the strength of her looks could arrest the attention of a blind man.

  Her hair, a shade lighter than most black women’s, lay coiled in a thick bun against the mulatto skin of her nape. And her face—high cheekbones, fierce eyes, proud chin. She possessed a warrior’s beauty. A woman a man would fight beside, not in front of.

  Jonah eyed the wagon standing outside the barn as he strode past, less than thrilled by its condition. Weathered and rickety were the two descriptors that came most readily to mind. Reliable and sturdy were not even in the running. He didn’t care about fancy paint or padded benches, but a conveyance transporting women and children should at least promise not to disintegrate at the first hard jolt it received. The only promise this one seemed capable of making was that it would hold together in a still wind. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of dependability.

  Turning his attention forward again, Jonah entered the barn and slid into the shadows out of habit, keeping his back to the wall. Not that he expected a threat more dangerous than a grumpy milk cow to emerge from behind one of the stall doors. Still, a man was better off keeping his back protected until he knew the lay of the land.

  “Hello, girls,” Miss Southerland was saying, her voice completely void of the command that had been so evident back in the house. “It’s me.” She unlatched the first stall’s half door. A piebald face nodded a friendly greeting. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

  Was she speaking to the horse or herself?

  “We need to take a little drive, ladies. All right?” She reached for the first mare’s halter, her body bending at an awkward angle as she tried to keep as much space as possible between her and the horse.

  Horse might be too generous a term. The mares poking their heads over the stall door were ponies, at best. The tops of their heads would barely reach Augustus’s withers. Jonah could understand Miss Southerland being uneasy around the large cavalry horses, but afraid of a pair of kid-sized animals? Something deeper than mere intimidation was at play here.

  “Easy now,” she urged, giving the halter a tug. “Come on, Bessie. Be a good girl.”

  Bessie tossed her head, obviously sensing her mistress’s unease. She stomped her hoof and tugged her neck backward.

  Miss Southerland gasped, released the halter, and lurched backward as if the pony had transformed into a two-headed dragon.

  Jonah frowned. Interfering would curry him no favor with the lady, but not interfering would lead to unnecessary delays. He figured Miss Southerland cared more about meeting the baby’s needs than coddling her pride.

  Choice made, he crossed to the stall and took charge of Bessie’s halter. He led her out to the tacking area without a single balk, his firm, authoritative hand calming the pony. He went back for the second horse, striding past a not-quite-pouting-but-definitely-disgruntled Miss Southerland.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I know.” And he did. No doubt she had harnessed these animals dozens of times on her own. But why should she have to torture herself with the duty today when he was here and could accomplish the feat in half the time?

  He led the second horse out to join the first and started tacking them up. Miss Southerland assisted, buckling harness straps, apparently more relaxed now that he had the ponies in hand.

  “It doesn’t seem right for them to respond so well to a complete stranger,” she said with a sigh as she gave Bessie’s neck a timid pat. “But then, I suppose you’re much more accustomed to working with horses than I am. Horses have never particularly liked me, and I have to admit the feeling is mutual.”

  Jonah looked at her over the back of the second horse. “They sense your fear. It makes ’em nervous.”
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  Her chin jutted upward as if to deny his charge, but no words followed.

  “I’ll finish hitching your team to the wagon,” he offered, trying to salvage her pride by changing the subject. “Why don’t you check on the others? Once you have everything ready, I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Head high, she moved away from the ponies. “While we appreciate you and Mr. Wallace bringing the babe to us, your duty is concluded. We’ll take care of things from this point forward.”

  Harness in place, Jonah led the pair of ponies outside to the wagon. “With all due respect, ma’am, you won’t be able to get where you’re going and back before the sun sets, and it ain’t safe for a woman to be out alone after dark.”

  Miss Southerland’s skirt snapped as she hurried to follow him. “I’ll have you know I’ve driven after dark on multiple occasions. I don’t need an escort.”

  Jonah turned the horses and began backing them up to the wagon’s tongue. Once they were in place, he craned his neck and gave the stubborn woman a look that brooked no argument. “Maybe not, but that babe is under the protection of the Horsemen. If you don’t want me in your wagon, I’ll accompany you on horseback. But I’m coming.”

  “The horsemen?” Miss Southerland’s brows arched slightly. “What horsemen?”

  “Hanger’s Horsemen.” Jonah watched as her brows arched even higher. Satisfaction puffed his chest. She’d heard of them. Good. She’d know he meant business. And maybe she’d be the tiniest bit impressed. Not that he threw around his association with the famed Horsemen as a way to impress women, but something about Miss Southerland made him itch to gain her good opinion. “Wallace and I are two-fourths of the team. The others, Matt Hanger and Luke Davenport, are currently in San Antonio.”

  The awe in her gaze didn’t last long. In a blink, her eyes were narrowed and her hands had found their way to her hips. “I read that the Horsemen retired.”

  Jonah met her challenge and her glare head on. “Officially, yes. We are no longer actively seeking clients. However, we made a pact that if ever a situation arose where the Horsemen felt called to help someone in need, we would answer the call.” He nodded toward the house. “Stumbling across that babe at just the right moment weren’t no accident. The Almighty had his hands on this. He assigned the Horsemen this duty, and I ain’t about to argue with him. Are you?”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  The moment Jonah and Miss Southerland left the front room, Mark repeated the question his companion had yet to answer. “How did you come to be here, Kate?”

  He still couldn’t believe it. Kate Palmer. Here in Texas. It was either a miracle or some kind of cruel jest.

  “I took a train, same as you, I suspect.” There was the saucy smile he remembered from their school days, and the teasing sparkle in her blue eyes.

  That sparkle used to tie his insides up in knots whenever she aimed it his way. Kind of like it was doing now. Apparently some things never changed.

  But some things did. Instead of being in her family’s home back in Westfield, Massachusetts, she was here co-running a foundling home. How had that happened?

  Little Sarah’s mouth slackened around the cloth Kate held to her lips, sleep overtaking her. Kate set the cloth aside, humming softly as she fiddled with Sarah’s blanket. Did she still sing? He used to listen for her voice in church and harmonize his tenor with her alto, enjoying the way their voices blended.

  The humming faded, and her gaze finally met his. “It’s a long story, Mark.” The teasing light had been replaced with a spark of determined fire that almost hid the sadness behind it. “All that matters is that I’m right where I need to be. Where these children need me to be.”

  She gestured to someone behind him. Mark turned and encountered five faces taking his measure. Abner, he recognized. The sandy-haired kid looked to be about nine or ten. A reddish birthmark covered the top right quadrant of his face. His mouth was pulled tight in a belligerent scowl aimed at Mark, but uncertainty flashed in his eyes as his gaze darted between him and Kate.

  “I got the drawer,” Abner said, lifting the wooden rectangle for inspection as he moved toward the adults. “Ruby picked out the blanket.”

  A girl with jet-black hair framing a pale face and big gray eyes limped along beside him. “I gave her mine. It’s the softest.”

  Kate smiled at the girl, who looked a couple of years younger than Abner. “Thank you, Ruby. That was very kind of you.”

  The girl stared up at Mark as if she’d never seen a full-grown man before. Not wanting her to get a crick in her neck, Mark dropped into a crouch and tipped his hat. “Hello, Ruby. I’m Mark Wallace.” She inched closer to Kate, unsure of what to make of this stranger in her home. Mark smiled at her. “That’s a real pretty pinafore you’re wearing. And you’ve kept it clean all day? Wow! I never could keep my clothes clean when I was your age. Mud saw me coming and just jumped onto my trousers without me so much as offering an invitation.”

  A small giggle escaped before Ruby clamped her lips shut. Those lips curled into a shy smile, though, one followed by a proud little swirl of her dress to flare out the pristine pinafore.

  “Mud jumps on me too,” a third child declared. Then, as if to demonstrate, the little black boy leapfrogged, hop after hop, until he landed in front of Mark, nearly colliding with Ruby in the process.

  “Careful, Ted,” Kate warned.

  The boy didn’t seem to hear, however. He was too busy pointing out all the dirt smudges on his pant legs and even one impressively large jam-colored smear on his shirt. Mark steadied Ruby with a hand to her shoulder even as he oohed and aahed over Ted’s badges of honor. It was all Mark could do not to chuckle. This one must be a handful.

  The last two children lingered in the doorway. A girl and a boy with nearly identical facial features. Definitely related. Same height, so possibly twins or cousins. They had the olive complexion of those with Mexican or Spanish heritage.

  “Ubee?” the little girl said.

  Ruby waved the young ones forward. “It’s all right, Pris. You and Quill can come see the baby.”

  “Twins,” Kate murmured, confirming his theory. “Priscilla and Aquila.”

  Priscilla took her brother’s hand and led him into the room, though she gave Mark a wide berth and planted herself squarely behind Kate.

  “The baby’s sleeping,” Kate said as she turned to face the twins, who couldn’t be more than three years old. She bent down to let the little ones see the baby, and the sunlight from the window transformed her honey-blond hair to a vibrant reddish-gold. He’d forgotten that bit of magic. The way her ordinary veneer slipped every now and then to reveal a glimpse of the truly extraordinary treasure within. How had no other man noticed and snatched her up?

  Or maybe his proposal wasn’t the only one she had turned down. Somehow that idea didn’t offer the comfort it should have. He didn’t like the idea of another man courting her, even if his suit proved unsuccessful. Which made him a rather selfish blackguard, not wanting her to find happiness with someone else just because she’d been unwilling to find it with him.

  Quill made a grab for little Sarah’s nose, and Kate straightened, pulling the baby out of the toddler’s reach.

  Not wanting to be left out, Ted tugged on Kate’s skirt. “We gonna keep her?”

  Kate smiled. “She’ll live here at Harmony House when she gets bigger, but she’s too little right now. Miss Eliza is going to take her to a home where there are other babies so she can eat and grow. After a few months, we’ll fetch her back, and she can stay with us.”

  Mark pushed to his feet, in awe of the way Kate interacted with the children. So patient. So nurturing. A natural mother.

  These could have been their children, had she accepted his proposal all those years ago. Although they’d both barely been more than children themselves at the time. He’d been eighteen. Kate sixteen. How green he’d been. How cocky yet utter
ly ignorant. He’d thought himself a grown man, believed he could support a wife and family. Maybe he could have, to some extent, either with his music or by working in his father’s buggy whip factory. But he’d known so little of the world back then. He’d known so little of himself. The military exposed a fellow’s weaknesses. Made him face them and either grow stronger or run home a failure. He’d become a better man, a stronger man for the path he’d taken. Yet seeing Kate again stirred old feelings that opened doors to questions about the life he could have had if her answer had been different.

  Best to keep those doors closed, though. One busted heart was plenty. Mark tore his gaze away from Kate and focused on the kids. As nostalgic as it was to see her again, he’d be wise to learn from the past instead of dooming himself to repeat it.

  “Did her mommy and daddy die like mine did?” Ted asked the heart-wrenching question with such matter-of-fact bluntness, it took Mark aback. The boy lifted up on tiptoes and reached for the baby, his fingers making it as far as Kate’s elbow.

  Kate rubbed the boy’s head. “Her daddy died, but her mama is still alive. She’s just not able to take care of Sarah right now.”

  “Or doesn’t want to,” Ruby said in a quiet voice that resonated with personal pain.

  Before one of the adults could respond, Abner set the drawer-turned-baby-bed on the sofa and planted fists on hips. “It don’t matter if our folks didn’t want us, Ruby. Miss Katherine wants us. Miss Eliza too. So no poutin’.” Having said his piece, he dropped his hands from his hips and picked up the drawer. “Now, let’s get our new little sister taken care of before she wakes up and starts cryin’ again.”

  Abner eyed each of his siblings, then turned and marched out of the room. Like troopers following their commanding officer, all four of the remaining kids fell into step behind him. Ruby with her lopsided gait and slightly abashed countenance, Ted with his jumping enthusiasm, and the twins with their waddling toddle and determination not to be left behind.