Chapter Three
Josie’s first thought when she woke was Samuel.
Panic shot through her as she jolted upright, her eyes darting around the room—and then she saw him. Nestled inside an open drawer of the small dresser beside the bed, bundled up and sleeping soundly.
Where the heck am I?
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs as she stared around the strange room. The last thing she remembered was running—running until her legs gave out, gasping for breath, before everything faded into darkness.
Now, she was somewhere unfamiliar.
Unfamiliar… but not unfriendly. A soft quilt lay over her, its weight foreign but comforting. The scent of leather and wood filled the space, mingling with something faintly savory.
And then she saw him.
A man standing in the corner of the room—in front of a rocking chair, as though he’d just been sitting there before rising to his feet.
His beefy arms were crossed over his equally beefy and broad chest. He was dressed in worn, dirt-stained pants with tears at the knees and a dusty brown button-down that stretched across his muscular shoulders.
His dark brown hair fell in tight waves around a sun-weathered face, and when he bit his lip, she noticed a faint scar tracing the edge of his jaw.
He was tall—towering, really—and solid. One of the most solid men Josie had ever seen. He looked like the kind of man her father might have hired as a ranch hand when she was a girl.
But it was his eyes that stole her breath.
Piercing blue, deep-set and unreadable. They locked onto her, unwavering, as he walked over to her, and she could almost feel his footsteps on the floor, like a tremor.
A pang of unease shot through her… but when he spoke, he sounded nothing like his appearance.
“Are you alright?” His voice was just deep enough that she could feel it vibrate through her.
“I—I—” She was already instinctively reaching for Samuel.
Who is he?
Where was she? And what did he want with her?
Her sentence ended in a sharp, ragged gulp. She wanted to scream at him to stay back, but he held up both hands, palms facing her, in a peaceful gesture. “Steady there, ma’am…” His voice was calming. “You’re safe.”
He stayed where he was, but Josie narrowed her eyes at him, completely unconvinced. All her earlier astonishment at his appearance had vanished, replaced by mistrust.
Safe didn’t exist. Not for her. Not for Samuel.
Not as long as Randall Pierce was alive.
“Where am I?” she demanded. Her voice came out so hoarse that it surprised her, and she touched her throat, taken aback.
He sighed. “You’re at my ranch,” he replied. “Have a drink of that water.” He pointed to the small dresser next to the bed. The one Samuel laid inside of.
Josie followed his finger and saw that there was a cup on top of it. She looked back at him warily.
Can I trust him?
Then her ears rang, and she clutched at her head. She must have hit her head pretty hard on the ground. At least Samuel doesn’t seem hurt.
Once again, she scanned the room for any sign of a threat or a clue as to where she was. It was a simple bedroom. Wooden walls, a large sturdy dresser beside the door, the smaller one that held Samuel next to the bed, and the singular rocking chair in the furthest corner.
No bars on the windows, no locked doors.
No Randall.
The relief was so sharp it almost hurt.
I’m at a ranch. He said this was his ranch. That meant she was likely still in Texas, but how far had she run? How much time had she lost?
With difficulty, she cleared her throat and turned back to the man. “Sorry… how did I get here?”
He was watching her with an oddly sympathetic expression. “I found you collapsed outside my fence line at dawn. You’ve been out for hours. I reckon you and him both are pretty tired. You nursing?”
Josie shook her head, surprised. “I can’t nurse…” She trailed off as his brows twisted with confusion.
He thinks Samuel’s mine. Of course. Anyone would.
And most people would ask more questions about it. But this man didn’t press.
Josie was glad. She didn’t want to explain.
The man shifted his weight, watching her more carefully now. “Name’s Cash Montgomery.”
But Josie didn’t give him her name. His question had brought up a dilemma.
She glanced at Samuel again. She’d been running for hours last night without stopping.
He had to be hungry, and he was barely just weaned.
She’d escaped in such a hurry last night that she’d hadn’t even brought the cow’s milk for him to drink.
Yet, his tiny, sleeping face looked peaceful. Content.
How? How was he sleeping?
“The boy’s fine,” Cash Montgomery said in a softer voice, as if he could read her mind.
“You’ve been out for hours. I had my brother ride over to a neighbor.
She has a wet nurse. He was cryin’ somethin’ fierce, and we figured he’d be hungry.
” He looked down at his feet. “Didn’t want to, uh… bother you while you were resting.”
Josie finally lifted her eyes back to him, even more wary than before. “You know a wet nurse?” Those weren’t easy to come by. And how did he pay?
He merely nodded.
“Why are you helping me?” she blurted out suddenly. None of it made sense, and it was almost… too kind.
No one is this generous.
He grumbled and shifted, his expression almost unreadable as he averted his gaze. “Because… you needed help,” he said, clearing his throat.
Josie didn’t know what to say to that.
People needed a lot of things, especially her.
And no one had ever helped before. For years, the only people she could rely on had been herself and Amelia.
Even when Mrs. Guthrie had helped after Amelia’s death, it had been out of pity and compassion for a boarder, not some sort of unfathomable obligation toward a stranger.
This man was a stranger. Why was he helping? What was he expecting?
It unsettled her.
“Where are we, exactly?” she asked, finally mustering the courage to ask outright.
The man blinked at her in confusion. “My ranch,” he repeated. “Like I said. Just outside of Austin, ma’am…” He trailed off, clearly unsure what else to say.
Austin, Texas.
She had made it a lot further than she thought. She’d never gone that far on foot. Not in one night. And it wasn’t something she thought was possible while carrying a baby no lighter than a sack of potatoes.
She swallowed, her throat even more dry now than before. “We will be gone soon,” she promised hoarsely—and then her stomach twisted with hunger, rumbling so loudly that it practically echoed off the walls.
Cash Montgomery’s lips moved in a mumbled sort of protest.
Josie’s face flushed hot. He clearly heard the noise, and she hated that he noticed. Especially since he looked… irritated.
Without another word, he turned and went out of the room, leaving her there blinking wildly at an empty spot he’d been before.
When he came back a few minutes later, he was holding a brown stoneware bowl covered in cheesecloth. “Take this,” he said, handing her the bowl.
Josie hesitated for a moment, but took it, immediately reveling in the heat that exuded from it.
Then he lifted the cheesecloth, revealing a slice of bread atop a bowl of thick, brown stew.
Pride clutched at Josie’s chest, welling up inside of her. She wanted to refuse it. Who was he? What did he want? Why was he being so nice? No one was this nice. No one this kind.
“Ma’am, please. Eat the food,” he said brashly.
His tone alone was enough to make her want to refuse it. But her body wouldn’t let her. Her eyes had already locked onto it. Her nose had already smelt it. She felt lightheaded suddenly, her hunger overcoming her wariness.
Darn it!
He must have seen the hesitation in her face, because he bent down with an almost frustrated look on his face. “Eat. Please.”
He might have said the word “please,” but Josie could tell by his expression that he didn’t really mean “please.” He seemed like the kind of man who was used to telling people what to do.
So she remained still. Trusting him was dangerous. Not only was he a stranger, but he was also clearly strong enough to harm her, and Samuel, should he decide to do so.
Trusting anyone was dangerous, let alone a man. But Samuel needed her strong. And she couldn’t be strong if she was starving to death.
Hesitantly, she grabbed the spoon. Her posture became stiff as she felt his eyes on her. He stood up straight and took a few steps back, leaning against the wall.
But his eyes never left her.
Cautiously, she scooped a chunk of potato and carrot and the thick broth. Samuel stirred beside the bed, and suddenly she became keenly aware of how heavy the spoon felt in her hand.
If the spoon was this heavy, how heavy would Samuel be?
She set it down reluctantly, and noticed that Cash Montgomery’s face fell as he looked at her.
She let out a tense sigh. I have to get my strength back. This is the only way to do it.
She took a bite of the bread. It was good. Fresh. Soft. Better than anything she’d had in weeks. She forced herself to chew slowly, to not look as desperate as she felt.
But the stew was warm, thick with vegetables and meat, and when the first spoonful hit her tongue, she nearly groaned. Her stomach was whirling with hunger. Lord above, when did I last have a real meal? How long has it been? Is Samuel this hungry?
At once, guilt flooded through her. She almost stopped eating again—and then she caught sight of the expression on Mr. Montgomery’s face. Almost hopeful, as if he wanted to see her get better.
So she began eating again.
She expected questions. Who are you? Where are you from? Why were you on my property? But he said nothing.
He let her eat in silence. It was… strangely considerate.
Only when her bowl was nearly empty did he break the quiet.