Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (28 page)

“You’ll put my name on a booth, right?” Jim asked.

Boone’s eyes went dark and hot. Anticipation tap-danced over Maddie’s nerves. For a moment, she couldn’t think what Jim had asked, lost in the world only she and Boone inhabited.

“Never mind,” Jim muttered.

“Jim,” Maddie roused herself to answer without looking away from Boone, “It’s a deal,
if
—”

“If what?”

“If you’ll get all of those people out of Boone’s house.”

Boone shook his head. “
Maddie’s
house.”

Once that would have been enough, a place of her own.

Not anymore.

“
Our
house.” Maddie smiled.

“Our house,” Boone whispered, as he lowered his head to hers. “And
my
woman.”

Maddie’s giggle turned to a sigh as Boone kissed her.

Jim walked away, whistling.

~THE END~

Texas Heroes: The Gallaghers of Morning Star
Book Two

Jean Brashear

Chapter One

Wind River Range, Wyoming

A
broken cry drifted on the wind, slicing into the silence that was his trusted companion.

Inside the cabin, Mitch Gallagher’s hands stilled on the tent he was mending. He frowned and turned his head slightly, listening.

Nothing.

No—wait. There it was again, choppy but getting stronger. No animal he’d ever heard sounded like that. It almost sounded like a child, but camping season was over, and no children lived within miles of this very isolated cabin.

He dropped the tent and touched the scabbard at his waist. The knife he’d always carried had been replaced by the one Cy had left him. He missed the old man still.

Just then he heard footsteps, too light to be adult. Broken sobs hit a counterpoint, then a thin, high wail.

He had the door open in seconds.

“My mommy’s hurt! Help her!”

For one single instant, a sharp pain sliced through his heart. The boy looked so much like—

No. Of course it wasn’t Boone. His brother wasn’t a child anymore, hadn’t been in years.

But his hands clenched briefly on the doorknob. He charged down the porch steps. “What happened? Where’s your mother? Are you alone?”

The boy’s eyes went wide, and he backed away, his lower lip trembling. Mitch realized he must seem huge to someone so small, so he dropped to one knee on the ground in front of the boy and gentled his voice. “Are you all right?”

The boy’s cheeks were scratched, his shirt torn at the shoulder. Still frozen in place, his face white and bloodless, the boy breathed in harsh, sharp gasps.

Mitch clasped the child’s shoulders. A shudder ran through the boy, then his teeth began to chatter.

“Son, are you hurt? Tell me where your mother is, so I can help her.”

No response, just the raspy sobs of a child approaching hysteria.

Mitch felt the child’s limbs and ran his hands over the boy’s hair, finding nothing but scratches and bruises beginning to form. But the boy continued to stare at him as though he was some sort of monster.

“Hey, it’s all right—” Mitch pulled the boy close, intending to comfort him.

The motion galvanized the child into action. “No! Don’t hurt me!”

Mitch’s hands dropped away instantly. “All right. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Tell me where your mother is.”

The little body visibly trembled. The boy’s eyes filled with tears again. “I—I don’t know.”

“Son, look at me.” Mitch kept his voice pitched softly, the way he would with a wounded animal.

The boy watched him with suspicion too old for his tender years.

“We’re going to find your mother. Don’t worry. I can track anything that moves, but it’s going to be dark soon. I could use your help.”

“Me?” The blue eyes widened. “I’m too little.”

“No, you’re not. Tell me which direction you came from.”

“Over there,” the boy pointed. “My grandpa’s cabin was supposed to be this way.” His lower lip quivered. “My mom said it wasn’t far, right before she fell down.” Tears filled his eyes again. “She won’t talk to me. Is she dead?” He rushed on without an answer, his words tumbling over one another. “Where’s Grandpa Cy? He was gonna help us.”

Grandpa
Cy
? Dear God, it couldn’t be— Mitch clasped the boy’s shoulders. “What’s your mom’s name, son?” Surely she wouldn’t— Mitch almost missed the name in the confusion of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Perrie. Perrie Matheson, that’s my mom’s name.”

It
was
her—Cy’s granddaughter from Boston. The callous socialite who had broken his only friend’s heart. Who hadn’t cared enough to visit or write, wouldn’t even take Mitch’s call when he’d left Cy’s side for the three-hour trip to a phone, scared to his bones that Cy would die while he was gone. He’d been prepared to beg, and she’d been too busy to answer a damn phone. Mitch rose to pace.

“What’s wrong, mister?”

Mitch shot the boy a quick frown and saw him take a step back. Looking down, Mitch saw that his hands were clenched into fists. He was probably scaring the kid to death. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to calm. Emotions were useless. Nothing good came of feeling too much. And sometimes you lost more than you could bear.

The kid wasn’t at fault for his mother’s sins. And Mitch had promised. He didn’t renege on a promise. For the boy, not for her, he would do this.

“Okay. Stay behind me and stay quiet unless you see something familiar. Don’t get in front of me, whatever you do, because you’ll trample the tracks I’m looking for. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy ducked his head, and Mitch could still see tears sparkle on his lashes.

Gingerly, Mitch reached out one hand and laid it on the boy’s head, surprised by the softness of the golden hair. Immediately he pulled it back.

“We’ll find her, son.”

“Yes, sir.” Like a tiny soldier, the boy drew himself up straight. “I’ll be quiet.” He looked ahead to the way he’d pointed, and Mitch could almost see the resolve of the man the boy would become.

How had a pampered, selfish woman produced this child?

It didn’t matter. She was probably fine, just didn’t have the stamina to make the two-mile hike up the mountain. Instead, she’d sent this poor little guy for help. Mitch would find her, tell her what he thought of her, and send them on their way. Cy had given Mitch this cabin after he’d given up on his granddaughter caring whether he lived or died. Though home was a luxury Mitch never expected to know again, he would be damned if that woman would spend a single hour inside the only place that had welcomed him in the last twenty years.

“Come on, son. Let’s get going.”

It didn’t take long to spot the figure lying beneath a tree. Mother and child had gotten pretty close to the cabin. Still, a quarter of a mile through a dark, unfamiliar forest had to be scary for someone so small.

“Mom!” The boy ran past him, dropping down beside her.

Mitch followed.

Like Sleeping Beauty, she lay there as if under a spell. Wisps of golden hair escaped from a long braid that would extend almost to her waist. He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse, the boy’s eyes following his every move.

“Is she dead?”

Strong and steady. “No. She’s not dead.” He felt her forehead and quickly pulled his fingers away. Damn. She was burning up with fever. He looked at the boy. “Did she say she was feeling bad?”

“She said her throat hurt, so she couldn’t talk to me much. She had to stop a lot after we left the car.”

The cabin lay two miles inside a designated wilderness area, on one of the few private tracts enclosed by government land. All motorized objects were prohibited—even bicycles were not allowed. There were no phones and no electric lines. The mountains were so rugged that cell phones weren’t reliable and two-way radios required a repeater, which only the ranger station had. The isolation had suited Cy just fine, and Mitch as well. But right now, he cursed the lack of resources. He could carry her two miles to his truck, but he doubted the boy could walk that far again and carrying both would be tricky. The nearest medical facility was eight hours away.

Mitch swore silently. She looked exhausted and painfully thin. The boy’s own exhaustion was showing.

Sore throat and fever—maybe it was just the flu. If she were anyone else, it would make sense to take her to the cabin and check her temperature before taking any more radical action.

But she wasn’t anyone else. She was callous and uncaring and had let Cy die alone except for a man who was no blood relation.

Mitch looked at the boy, saw his fear and fatigue. Then he looked back at the woman.

Even like this, she was beautiful. Delicate, so small she could have been a child herself, her figure hidden beneath layers of clothing. A backpack cut into her shoulders, its bulk twisting her body to one side. Another one, smaller and brightly colored, lay beside her. He reached out to remove the big one, surprised at its heft.

“You won’t hurt her, will you?” Like a tiny warrior, the boy moved closer to his mother.

Mitch frowned. “Of course not.” Despite what she’d done to Cy, he would never hurt her. “She’s got a fever. When’s the last time she drank anything?”

“This morning, I think.”

“Did you carry any water?”

“Just my lunchbox thermos.”

“Your mom carry any?”

He shook his head. “Her water bottle fell and broke, but she said she would drink some when we got to Grandpa Cy’s cabin. Do you know my Grandpa Cy?”

Mitch was too angry to discuss Cy right now. What was she thinking of, putting the boy in a vulnerable position like this? Couldn’t she tell she was sick? What if Mitch had been out guiding, as was normal this time of year? They both could have died out here.