Once Upon A Thanksgiving: Season of Bounty / Home for Thanksgiving. Linda Ford
about the room. A battered wooden table. Mismatched chairs. A stove and one cupboard in the kitchen area. Beyond, a rocking chair and a small bookshelf containing two books and a basket of mending. One door next to the bookshelf where Rosie hovered, her eyes guarded. His visit would seriously crowd the place, though the floor provided more than enough room for the pair of them. In his twenty-two years he’d slept in far worse places.
Kathleen Sanderson. She’d said her name with pride and confidence of one familiar with respect. No doubt she would be shocked to learn his identity.
Nor did he intend she should. Marriage had provided Rosie with an escape and he didn’t plan to ruin things for her.
Being a cowboy, moving from job to job, had given him his only escape.
Kathleen leaned forward. “He’s certainly fond of you.”
Buck chuckled. “He’s smart enough to know where his next meal comes from.”
She blinked as if startled by his frank words. Then laughed. “You’re teasing, but I’d say it was more than that.”
He looked at Joey who watched him with those dark, unblinking eyes of his. “We’ve formed a sort of mutual admiration society, haven’t we, buddy?”
Joey nodded, his expression still solemn.
Buck cupped his son’s head and brushed his thumb along the boy’s cheeks. When had they shrunk so badly? “I’m sorry, little guy. I should have realized sooner just how sick you are.”
“He needs some nourishing broth.” Rosie sighed. “Guess I’ll have to get some.” She handed the baby to Junior. “You kids stay here and play.” Then she marched toward the stove and pulled a pot forward. “Good thing for you soup is about all we eat around here.”
Buck chuckled. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for long.” He turned to Kathleen to explain. “She likes me a lot more than she lets on.”
“She hides it awfully well.” Her smile lit up her face, sent dancing lights into her blue eyes, riveting him motionless.
He studied her. Blond hair carefully pulled back in a wave ending in a roll at her neck. An oval face that belonged on a cameo, pretty pink lips. Everything about her said rich, refined.
What was she doing here?
Her cheeks blossomed rose color, and he realized he’d been staring and tore his attention away.
Rosie pulled a bowl from the cupboard and ladled in broth and bits of carrots. She set the bowl on the table. “Eat.”
Joey pressed into Buck’s chest. Buck understood his caution, fear even. He had plenty of reason for it. “Say ‘thank you, Aunt Rosie.’”
Joey shivered. But he must learn his manners, so Buck nudged him.
“Thank you, Auntie.” The boy’s normally soft voice crackled from the effects of his illness.
Rosie sat across the table. “You’re welcome.”
Buck pulled up to the table close to Kathleen. He knew Joey wouldn’t be comfortable sitting on a chair by himself, so he held him and encouraged him to eat.
“This is lots better than what I’ve been feeding you, isn’t it, buddy?”
“I like rabbit.” Joey’s firm tones informed everyone where his loyalty lay, and Buck chuckled.
“You’d say that if all we ate was gopher.”
“I like gopher, too.”
Buck laughed and scrubbed his knuckles across the boy’s head. “You ever tasted one?”
“Not yet.”
Kathleen’s soft laughter filled Buck’s senses. My, he did like a woman with a gentle laugh. “He’s determined to be loyal to you no matter what.”
Buck allowed himself a glance of acknowledgment and was immediately warmed by the admiration in her eyes. “He doesn’t know any better.”
“Yes, I do.”
Kathleen and Buck both laughed, sharing something more than enjoyment of Joey’s conviction. Something he couldn’t name, but it felt like a gift from God.
Strange. He hadn’t thought of God, or His gifts or anything of the sort for a long time.
Rosie leaned forward on her elbows. “So how did you and Joey find each other?”
“Bless you, Rosie.”
“For what?”
“For saying it like that.”
She shrugged. “I have never been able to stay annoyed with you.” She shifted her attention to Kathleen. “Does that make me weak?”
“No, Rosie,” Kathleen said gently. “It makes you a good sister.”
“She is that. We learned to stick together a long time ago, didn’t we, sister?”
“Then we found out we were better off not being together.” Her words contained more than a hint of warning. “Now tell us about Joey. Unless you’d rather wait.”
He understood her unspoken acknowledgment that he might prefer not to speak of it in Joey’s hearing. Or before her own children who hovered at the doorway, hearing and seeing everything. “He knows every detail already.”
“I was there,” Joey pointed out as if they might have forgotten.
Buck wished the little guy could have missed certain portions of the experience, but at least God had protected him. Again, he thought of God. Not once until now had he stopped to consider God protected Joey throughout an ordeal that might have ended much differently. Why was he suddenly realizing it?
He shifted so he could consider Kathleen out of the corner of his eyes. Something about her nudged him toward nobler, kinder thoughts than he’d enjoyed in a very long time.
What would she think after she heard Joey’s story?
Would she be repulsed? Warmed? He could only hope it would give both her and Rosie a kindly disposition toward his son.
Chapter Two
Kathleen leaned close, not wanting to miss a word of Buck’s explanation. Something about the fondness between Buck and Joey made her wonder if a heart could weep with emotion.
Buck settled back in his chair, a distant look in his eyes, as if he lived the past again. “It was a year ago this past spring and I was heading west. Heard a rancher out there needed a few more hands. Figured it was as good a place as any to find work. I rode up a little ridge and stopped to look around. Remember thinking the mountains made a mighty purty sight, glistening with their winter snowcaps under the bright sunshine. Then I brought my gaze closer to hand and saw what appeared to be the remains of a wagon accident. Rode on down to investigate.” He paused and swallowed hard.
Kathleen guessed what he’d found had been unpleasant.
“A man and his wife had been killed.”
“Bad man shoot Mama and Papa,” Joey said, his voice betraying a thread of sorrow.
“The woman was Indian, the man appeared to be a white miner. I gave them a decent burial and marked the place with fragments of their wagon. There were no papers, no identification. Everything had been picked through and scattered.”
“Man look for Papa’s money. Find it. Steal it.” As Joey listed the deeds he kept his attention on his bowl of soup, though he no longer lifted the spoon to his mouth.
Buck squeezed the back of Joey’s neck and the boy relaxed visibly. “I knew from the things left that a child had been with them. I hated the thought the murderers had taken him. It was late in the day so I made camp, intending to resume my journey in the morning. During the