Chapter 27 #2
My tone must be believable enough as well because he pushes Emmaline into my arms. If not for the wall behind me, I probably would have collapsed from the relief of holding her again.
She stirs at my attempts to check her clothes, but they’re really only wet where she’s pressed against me.
If there was any silver lining to Montgomery hiding her beneath his coat, it’s that she was kept mostly dry.
“Oh, that’s just the beginning of what I want.
But not until I get changed first. After all, it’d be such a shame to have anything detracting from the pleasure of watching you.
Boy!” Montgomery’s face hardens as he shrugs off his overcoat and storms past me with a curse. “Where is that lazy son of a bitch?”
I blink in confusion. There’s another person in here with us? He kicks at the blankets, and a pained little moan floats up from them.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“I didn’t ask you whether you felt good or not.
Now get up and pump some water for me to freshen up or I’ll get the cane after you.
” When Montgomery places his gun atop the fireplace and begins to unbutton his waistcoat, I look away and focus instead on the small form emerging from beneath the blankets.
Eyes half-closed with sleep and cheeks bright with what might be fever, the poor child must be no older than about five years or so, with a curly mop of dark blond hair.
How on earth did he come to be in such a man’s care? Surely he’s not Montgomery’s son.
“It’s okay, my darling,” I whisper as Emmaline’s lashes flutter open.
“Momma’s here. Everything will be all right.
” As if she can sense the danger so near to us, she roots at my wet dress with a little whine, wanting a comfort feeding.
And her eyes…my heart pangs at the haunted look in them.
It’s a look all too similar to the boy from my dreams.
In between squeaks, the pump splashes water into a pail as the boy sluggishly works it before lugging it over to Montgomery. I have no desire to watch him undress, so I quietly fuss over Emmaline until a small voice matching small steps comes from my right.
“Is she cold? I can give her my blanket. You can use it too if you want.”
My breath leaves in a whoosh when the boy stares up at me.
Those eyes…
The ones I could never forget. The left one deep brown, the other dark blue. Could he be the little boy who clung to me so fiercely before he was ripped from my arms that day?
“What…what’s your name?” I can hardly push the quaking words through my tight throat. The longer I study his dirty features, the more sure I am. Does he remember me?
“He calls me Boy, but my name’s Sullivan.”
Sullivan. A violent rage bubbles in my chest as I finally have a name to put to his sad face.
It’s him. It has to be him. His age seems right, and how many other children have eyes like his?
Sullivan’s too young to be so resigned to his fate.
I couldn’t save him then, but I damn well can now.
No matter what becomes of Montgomery, Sullivan is coming home with us.
Something clatters to the floor, and all of us flinch as Montgomery curses. “Why did you put the bucket so close to the damn edge of the table? I should have listened when they told me you were stupid. Waste of money.”
Sullivan’s head dips down, and I want nothing more than to beat Montgomery to death for that. He’s just a little boy, and possibly sick at that.
“Thank you, Sullivan,” I say, fighting to keep my tone light for him as I gently touch his thin shoulder. “My name is Mara, and this is my baby Emmaline. It would be very kind of you to share your blanket with her.”
With a bit more energy than before, he scurries to retrieve a blanket that’s clearly not seen a laundry line in quite a while. “Here you go.” His too-bright eyes squint as he gives me a once-over. “But maybe you need it more than she does.”
I force a soft smile for him and check his temperature under the guise of tousling his matted curls.
Definitely feverish. He needs rest and warm soup.
And between the dank cabin, his fever, and the weather, it’ll be a miracle if Emmaline doesn’t get sick.
Or me if my dress doesn’t dry soon. But it likely won’t come to that because I’m not under the impression that Montgomery will let me keep it on for much longer. “I think maybe you’re right.”
Sullivan’s lashes brush the sharp edges of his cheekbones as he leans greedily into my hand. My fingers linger, allowing him to savor this moment. How many motherly touches has he missed out on? No more, if I have my say. From this point on, Sullivan is my son, and I’m his mother.
Just like Warren looked at you and claimed you as his?
A flash of realization hits, and my breath stalls out when Sullivan looks up at me with those mismatched eyes.
It’s almost like looking into a mirror and seeing our shared trauma.
Not exactly the same—Christ, please don’t let it be that—but I think our souls are connected and have been since that terrible day.
Maybe I understand my husband a bit better now, because there is no way in hell I’m not doing everything I can to help him. There’s room in my arms and heart for another child, and I have no doubt Warren will feel the same once he sees Sullivan’s adorable—albeit dirty—little face.
I chance a look out the cabin’s one window, but there’s only the trees and the falling rain. No Warren galloping up, shoulders and face tight with fury and retribution to rescue me.
Not yet.
I know he’s coming, but until then, I have to be strong and protect myself and my children. And I am.
Until the sound I’ve never forgotten echoes along the floor and into my ears.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Sullivan stiffens at the sound of the cane and almost strangles my dress with his grip.
Blanket forgotten, I angle myself in front of him as much as possible.
Hair slicked back, Montgomery’s freshly changed into black pants and a crisp, white dress shirt.
A soapy scent wafts from him as he smirks and watches for my reaction.
I won’t give him one. But I’ll be damned if he hurts Sullivan with that cane ever again. Stall for time. Keep him talking. “How did you find me?”
“Come now, Mara.” He tsks, shaking his head. “I thought you were more intelligent than that. How many white men have married someone like you in this town? And beyond that, how many of them decided to have a photograph taken?”
I lock my knees to keep from swaying in shock. That’s how he found me? Because of something as sentimental as capturing a moment in time with the family Warren and I made together? “A photograph,” I repeat flatly.
Montgomery circles me, his movements slow and deliberate, and with every sharp knock of his cane to the floor, I want to snatch it from him and beat him with it.
“It was my first day in town. No sooner had I reached my lodging when I just so happened to chance upon a man showcasing his photographs right across the street. My, oh my. I couldn’t believe my luck when a familiar face caught my eye.
Surely I was seeing things, I told myself.
Surely my favorite little half-breed didn’t manage to trick some man into marrying her. ”
A retort fights my tongue, but I wrestle it back. That’s not at all true. Warren wanted to marry me all on his own.