take care of them.” He took the offered blankets and wrapped them about the pair. With the fire’s heat and the children on his lap, his front side soon began to warm, but his back remained as cold as the outdoors.
“You’re shivering,” the woman said. “Lean forward and I’ll slip this blanket over your shoulders.” She stood behind him and waited.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Had she been so concerned about the weather she’d failed to take note of him...his black eyes, black hair and swarthy skin? A half-breed. White women did not have anything to do with the likes of him...at least not well-bred women. He could tell this woman fit that category by the way she moved—graceful as a deer at a brook—the way she spoke—her voice gentle and sweet—and even the way she dressed—her clothes sparkling clean.
Her hands touched his shoulders, spreading the blanket.
Without deciding if he should or not, Colt leaned forward, allowing her to tuck the warm material around him. His throat tightened with a combination of fear, surprise and longing at the way she patted his back as she adjusted the blanket. When had he felt the gentle touch of a woman’s comfort? Anyone’s comfort, for that matter? He pushed the question to the far reaches of his mind.
“You’ll soon be warm.” She moved around to face him.
At that moment, Macpherson entered the store from a back room. His presence brought stoic indifference back to Colt’s thoughts. He didn’t require comfort. He was full grown and on his own.
“I’ll need to build more shelves to accommodate supplies.” Macpherson rubbed his hands together.
Colt couldn’t say if the man was cold or expressing pleasure at having to store more supplies.
The ruddy-faced man, with a shock of hair that was as red as it was brown, jerked to a halt. “We have visitors. Didn’t hear you come in.” He squinted at Colt. “Say, didn’t you stop here day before yesterday to get some supplies?”
“Yup.”
“You’re the young man who bought that book, Flora and Fauna of Western Canada. Your choice surprised me.”
Colt gave the man a steady look, refusing to reveal any rancor at the comment. Did Macpherson think it strange a half-breed could read? “Like to know the names of things.”
“Uh-huh.” Macpherson’s gaze darted to the children and back to Colt. “Don’t remember you having any young ’uns when you stopped here earlier.”
“They ain’t mine.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Whose would they be?”
With long-suffering patience, Colt tamped down his irritation. Macpherson didn’t need to get all suspicious.
“I didn’t steal them, and if I had, I wouldn’t likely show up at a white man’s place of business, would I?” He kept his voice low and calm, but the way Macpherson blinked and straightened, he knew he’d managed to get his point across.
His daughter gasped. “Pa, surely you don’t think such a thing. Why, he wrapped his coat about the children, braving the cold to protect them.” She flashed Colt a bright smile that melted every remnant of frost in his body and all resentment in his brain. “It was very brave and noble of you.”
Macpherson made a rumbling sound in his throat. Colt wondered if it was meant as warning to his daughter or to him.
“Didn’t mean to suggest anything wrong.” But Macpherson’s expression showed no sign of relenting in his judgment. “Just wondering whose they are and why you have them.”
“Zeke Gallant, a trapper west of here, married a Blackfoot girl. These are their children.”
Macpherson nodded. “I met the pair a couple years ago. They had a baby with them.” He smiled at Marie. “I guess that would be you.”
Marie gave a shy smile then buried her face in Colt’s shirtfront.
It amazed him these children trusted him so easily. After all, he hadn’t seen Marie but once or twice, and Little Joe only once when he was a tiny mite.
Macpherson’s smile flattened as he waited for Colt’s explanation, but Colt was momentarily distracted as the fine young woman reached over and patted each little head. She was so close, he could see the light catching in her hair and smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin and clothing.
“Where are the Gallants?” the storekeeper prompted.
Colt jerked his attention from the woman and steeled himself to reveal nothing of his thoughts. He didn’t immediately answer. He didn’t like to mention the harsh reality he’d discovered. Not with little Marie watching him with big dark eyes, and listening to every word. Thankfully, her little brother had fallen asleep against Colt’s chest...double reason to be grateful. He guessed when Little Joe woke up and saw he wasn’t at home, he would let them all know his displeasure.
Colt’s ears still rang from the racket the tiny boy made in protest to being taken from his home and parents.
“My ma and pa are dead.” Marie dropped the announcement into their midst with a distinctive, husky voice. Not that it took her voice to give away her mixed race. Dark hair and black-as-coal eyes proved it. There would be no hiding the fact that this pair was part Indian.
Macpherson’s eyes widened at the announcement, and his daughter again leaned closer and reached for Marie as if wanting to hug her. She settled instead for stroking Marie’s head.
“I’m so sorry.” Her words seemed filled with tears.
Against his better judgment, Colt looked into her face. Indeed, her eyes were watery, but she favored Colt with a trembling smile that shook him to the core. Was the light so poor she hadn’t noticed what sort of man he was? Had she failed to notice the obvious heritage of these children?
He jerked his attention to Macpherson. Saw the curiosity and concern in his expression as he regarded the children. Colt explained what he’d found when he stopped at his friend’s place. “Their mother was already gone. Buried under a tree. Zeke was barely alive when I got there. Figure his concern for his kids kept him going long past what his body wanted. I buried him next to his wife this morning.” Some wouldn’t dignify the union by calling the Indian woman anything other than a squaw, but Colt didn’t feel that way.
“Pa said someone would come for us. He happy to see Colt. Said Colt will take care of us.”
The young woman squatted to eye level with Marie.
Colt stiffened, drew back. He darted a glance at Macpherson, expecting the man to step forward and push Colt away from his daughter. But the man’s gaze rested on Marie, his expression—near as Colt could decipher—full of sympathy.
Colt wasn’t sure if he trusted the compassion he saw. He’d witnessed very little of it in his lifetime. He waited for the expression to shift and grow hard.
He pulled the children closer. If necessary, he would move on. If they were fortunate, he’d find shelter in a barn. Otherwise, the river was nearby. The trees would offer some protection. He had the skills to build a shelter of branches. They’d survive.
Except the children deserved more than he could offer them in an outdoor camp. They at least needed food and more warmth than a fire struggling in the wind would provide. But, he reminded himself, this pair must learn to survive the opinion of white folks, the uncertain welcome of the natives. They would need to be tough.
The woman remained unaware of Colt’s troubled thoughts and tense waiting.
“My name is Becca.” She stroked Marie’s head. “What’s yours?”
Marie stared into the blue eyes, likely as mesmerized as Colt by the sweet voice and warm smile. “Marie,” she answered.
“Marie. What a nice name. How old are you?”
“Four.”