tour of the grounds, checking every tent, greeting each contestant and wishing them the best. He toured the livestock area, admiring the array of horses, sheep and pigs.
A little later, satisfied that things were ready for the opening at noon, Bo made his final stop. He stepped into the pie tent, where he would serve as one of the judges. He’d agreed to judge this competition in honor of his mother. She’d made the best peach pie. As the aroma of many pies assailed him, a flood of memories washed through him. Ma, her smile welcoming them, serving him and Brandon generous slices of pie. Father was away, so they could relax and enjoy their time around the table without fear of him coming in and turning the meal into some kind of confrontation. Father took joy in making life miserable for his wife and two sons. He criticized with cruel comments, mocked his wife and sons, and didn’t hesitate to use his hands to convey his hateful attitude. Because of his father, Bo, at twenty-nine, had not married and would never do so. Only once had he come close to forgetting his vow and he would not make that mistake again. He had courted a young lady back in Boston. But it didn’t work out. He’d watched Valerie berate a child who splashed mud on her and was so angry at her unkindness to the poor little boy that Bo’s rage threatened to overtake him. He knew then he had too much of his father in him to ever marry and have children. Like Father had mockingly said. Don’t forget half the blood flowing through your veins is from me.
Bo would never forget the cruel laughter following those words as if his father was happy to think of his sons living the same sort of unhappy life the elder Stillwater lived.
Instead, Bo would do what he could to make life better for others. He would judge the pies and think sweet thoughts of his ma while he did.
He turned, about to leave, when a sound caught his attention. A cry? A baby? He looked again into the interior of the tent. Row after row of pies upon long tables arranged in a U shape. He was alone in the tent. The sound must have come from a woman walking by with a baby in her arms. But the cry came again. Then a second. And the sound came from nearby. From inside the tent. How odd. His imagination must be playing tricks on him.
He shook his head and took another step toward the doorway. A third cry joined the others. His imagination had gotten very loud. Loud enough to require further investigation. Were some mischievous boys trying to trick him? If so, they were very good at imitating babies.
He went around the top of the U and down the side. The sound grew louder, more insistent. With a sudden rush forward, he rounded the corner, intending to catch the teasing culprits before they could race away. At what he saw, he ground to a halt and stared. A pushcart with deep sides and a broad bottom stood at the end of the table. Three angry little faces screwed up and wailed a protest. Three babies? Who? Where? What? He couldn’t bring a single rational thought to his mind. Three pairs of feet kicked a beat to accompany their cries. The worn blue blanket covering them tangled around the chubby feet. A piece of paper lay tucked in beside the thin mattress. He pulled it out, opened it and read the words.
To the Lone Star Cowboy League: Please take care of my triplets. I’m widowed and penniless. The ranch is dried out. I can’t stay there and provide for my babies. I’m also very sick and am going to where I was born to meet my maker. One day, if you could make sure the boys knew I loved them, I’d be obliged. They were born September 30. Was the happiest day of my life.
Surely this was a mistake. A trick. He ducked down to look under the cloths covering the tables. No one. Nothing but trampled grass.
He straightened and glanced into every corner of the tent, hoping to discover someone hiding there. Nothing. What was he to do? He couldn’t think over the sobbing babies.
He looked at them again, his heart breaking into three at their misery.
Jasper, Eli and Theo, he read on the front of their tiny shirts.
Their noses ran. The one with Theo on his shirt pulled at his ears. Little Eli had bright red cheeks. He touched those cheeks. Hot. He touched the cheeks of the other two. Hot, as well. He was no expert on babies but he guessed they were sick. He’d take them to the doctor and then find the mother. Please, God, keep her safe until we locate her.
The Lone Star Cowboy League could help this poor mother and her babies.
Louisa brushed her flyaway brown hair back and braided it. Hopefully it would stay secure for a few hours. She glanced about the rooms of their new abode. The front room was spacious with windows providing a view of the street. She’d arranged the furniture so Mother could sit with her reading and handiwork close at hand and be able to watch the activity out the window. Seeing people scurrying about their business would help her hours to pass swiftly.
Louisa pressed back a rush of guilt. This room was ready, but the bedroom to the right needed more work before Mother came, and the kitchen needed even more cleaning. She should stay home and tend to her work, but all morning she’d watched people rushing down the street all in the same direction...toward the fairgrounds west of town in an open field. The June day was sunny and warm, the windows open to let in the air and sounds carried from the fairgrounds—the hum of voices, the moo, baa or whinny of animals, the occasional discordant musical note as if someone tuned up a violin. Too early for the dance but the billboard said there would be musical entertainment throughout the day.
She might have let Bo Stillwater believe she wasn’t interested in the activities but that wasn’t true. Her heart stirred with excitement. She would attend, pay her admission fee, throw a few coins at some games, even buy a treat. She’d enjoy herself for a few hours then hurry home. She hadn’t decided if she could spare the time to go to the dance but it did sound appealing. Even if she only watched one dance before she left.
With a final look in the mirror to make sure her hair remained neat, she donned her bonnet, grabbed her pocketbook and reached for the door handle as a knock sounded.
“Doc? I need to see the doctor.”
Her hand suspended inches from the door, she wondered if there had been an accident. Father had been called away to tend a sick family. Whatever the need, she would have to take care of it. She opened the door and stared at Bo. Her gaze riveted to his face in surprise, and then crying drew her attention to the cart beside him.
“Babies? What are you doing with babies?” Three of them all crying and looking purely miserable.
“I think they’re sick. They need to see the doctor.”
“Bring them in. Father is away but I’ll look at them.”
“They need a doctor.” He leaned to one side to glance into the house as if to make sure she wasn’t hiding her father. “When will he be back?”
“I’ll look at them,” she repeated.
“But they’re sick.”
Her spine stiffened. Seemed he shared the opinion of many of his gender: a woman couldn’t be a doctor. She’d once dreamed of becoming one but it was impossible with Mother and Amy to take care of. “I’ve been my father’s assistant for years. I’m perfectly capable of checking a baby.” Unless they had something other than the normal illnesses that little ones got. Like the time six-year-old Amy had come down with the grippe so severe they feared for her life. Louisa was only eleven but stayed at Father’s side helping to care for her sister while Father insisted Mother must stay away for fear she’d get the illness and her heart would not withstand the stress.
“I didn’t mean otherwise. It’s just...” He trailed off as if he couldn’t explain what he meant.
“Bring them in.” She threw back the door so he could push the cart inside. She bent over to look more closely at the babies. “We don’t see triplets often.” She read their names on their shirts and touched each of them as she greeted them. “Hello, Jasper, Eli and Theo.”
They were fevered and fussy. Theo reached his arms toward her. She lifted him and cradled him to her shoulder. “There, there,