Chapter 4

4

M r. Vine was right. After Lorinda relaxed against his solid chest, the journey down the mountain trail wasn't as scary as she thought it would be riding sideways on the tall stallion. Even though the trail was steep and winding, the fortress formed by his strong arms rocked her as gently as a baby cradle. Almost falling asleep, she felt the muscles in the rancher's thighs tighten, then loosen as he communicated with his sure-footed horse. When they reached the bottom of the mountain, the trail leveled. Two more of Mr. Vine's ranch hands waited beside a wagon filled with wooden crates.

"How are things going up there, Boss?" A thin young man, with dark red hair peeking out from under his hat, cut his eyes toward the mountain behind them as he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his woolen trousers. "Is the fire out yet?"

She didn't detect even a hint of surprise from the cowboy when he saw her perched on the rancher's lap. But that couldn't keep embarrassment from flooding her cheeks with heat that chased away some of the cold. She didn't have anything to be ashamed of, but somehow she couldn't stop the feeling. She had never been this close to any man who wasn't her husband. Mr. Vine must be used to doing things like this, or maybe he was able to ignore the fact that she was a woman carrying a child… And she was sitting in front of him. How long would she have to stay up here? She tried not to squirm too much.

"Rusty, you and Jake move things around in the back of the wagon so we can make a comfortable bed for Mrs. Sullivan." She felt as well as heard his masculine voice rumble in his chest.

The two men jumped up on the wooden bed. Jake shifted the barrels and crates toward the sideboards, leaving space down the middle, and Rusty grabbed several blankets from under the seat. He dropped a couple on top of the closed containers. The cowboy partially unfolded each of the others and stuffed them into the empty space.

Fascinated, Lorinda watched the way the ranch hands followed orders without question. Mr. Vine must be a powerful man for his men to obey like that so quickly. But then Lorinda hadn't had much experience with men besides her husband and her father, who she didn't want to think about.

Mr. Vine pulled one foot out of the stirrup and slid off the back of the saddle, all the while making sure she was secure in the seat. "Are you all right?" His words were only loud enough for her to hear.

She became aware that she missed his warmth surrounding her. "I'm fine." She refused to shiver in the icy wind.

He finished dismounting. "Now I'm going to help you down."

She leaned over and placed her hands on his shoulders, hoping he could get her down without a mishap. He put one arm under her knees and the other around her waist and gave a gentle tug. When she was free from the saddle, the rancher didn't set her on the ground as she expected. Instead, with long strides, he marched across the rocky ground and set her in the back of the waiting wagon. The things stacked along the sides of the wagon cut off some of the cold wind.

"I'll climb up and help you settle." His words, spoken in a rich baritone, sounded almost tender.

"No!" Lorinda hadn't meant to sound so harsh. "Thank you. I can move back just fine on my own."

After she settled into the welcoming nest, Mr. Vine climbed onto the wagon anyway. He took the waiting blankets from atop the barrels and covered her, tucking them both in all around, just leaving her face uncovered. Lorinda didn't remember anyone ever taking such tender care of her physical needs, not even her mother. And for sure, no man ever did.

Once more she whispered, "Thank you," before the rancher got down and turned toward his men.

"Jake, take my horse and go on back to the ranch house. Tell Mrs. Oleson to get a room ready for Mrs. Sullivan. Rusty can ride along as our guard on the way." Evidently Mr. Vine planned to drive the wagon.

Lorinda wondered why he didn't just have one of the cowboys take her to his ranch house. But soon those thoughts left her mind. Since she was so tired, she relaxed in the warm cocoon he'd created for her and closed her eyes. However, sleep eluded her, jumping just out of her reach, crowded out by the thoughts that invaded her mind.

She'd been so young when her mother died. Probably no more than five years old. But she remembered every detail as if it happened yesterday. Her mother's swollen belly...the moans when she'd gone into labor. Lorinda didn't even realize what was happening. She just knew how it scared her to hear her mother's anxious whimpers grow in intensity.

Pa couldn't go to fetch the doctor because of the terrible ice storm that surrounded their log cabin. Lorinda had heard about it many times through the intervening years when her father came staggering into her room so drunk he couldn't see straight. As she grew older, Pa ranted longer, revealing more about what happened. His graphic descriptions of his disappointment the night her mother died after giving birth to a stillborn son always triggered the memories of his anger and her mother's horrific screams during the ordeal that echoed through the tunnels of her mind even now.

Those rants scared her spitless. For years, she'd planned to never let a man close enough to her to get her with child. But love for Mike drove those fears away. Her life with her husband was so different from the way she was raised that she'd been able to almost completely obliterate those memories.

Now Mike was gone, and she had spent six months alone snowed-in at their cabin. The larger her own body had grown, the larger her fears had become. She was afraid that when she went into labor, she would die on that mountain as her mother did trying to give birth to her little brother. Occasionally, she had reminded herself that her mother had survived one birth, but those thoughts didn't last long enough.

Mr. Vine and his cowboys rescued her from the work of an arsonist. Maybe she should feel better about everything. And she was glad to be down from the loneliness, but her fears still persisted, haunting her like ghosts from the past. Would she ever be able to outrun them? How would she face the birthing time that fast approached?

Franklin wanted to make sure Mrs. Sullivan and her baby weren't jostled too much. By driving the wagon, he could do that. And he wanted to make sure someone had a rifle ready in case the varmint that had set her cabin on fire tried to follow them. Disgust filled his thoughts. What kind of animal would torch a cabin with a woman inside? Maybe the man didn't know she was there, but surely he would've spied on the place for awhile before he did anything. Wouldn't he have just broken into the cabin if he thought it was empty? What reason would he have to burn it down? This event sounded like someone with a grudge against Sullivan. Or maybe he was trying for revenge against the dead man. Perhaps he didn't know Sullivan had died.

Franklin wished he had gotten to know the neighbor before he was killed. Somehow, he didn't think the same person who killed Mike Sullivan also started the fire, because it had been so long since the man was murdered. He also couldn't imagine why anyone would take a chance on burning a whole lot more than just a cabin. If the wind had been stronger today, the fire could have swept down the mountain and onto his ranch. And a lot of valuable timber in both places would've been destroyed. Maybe even some of his cattle...or the buildings. Or even people.

As soon as he could make sure Mrs. Sullivan was settled at the ranch house, he planned to alert the other ranchers to the presence of an arsonist in the area. Maybe they should band together and start patrolling their ranches and surrounding mountains to see if they could find the man. He assumed it was one man, since only one set of footprints led from the trees toward the house, then went back the same way. He hoped the man wasn't part of a gang roaming the area. So many of the mines were playing out, and some of the miners could be hanging around. Since Colorado was sparsely settled, other men could be running from the law and trying to hide in the expanses of wilderness. But this arsonist was far too close to Franklin's own ranch for comfort. And after what the scoundrel did today, he knew the fiend wasn't afraid to kill anyone in his way. A chilling thought.

All the way on the half-hour trip to the ranch house, Franklin studied the road so he could go around any holes or humps. In between each sweep of the ruts in front of the wagon, he also glanced at the trees and bushes that lined one side of the trail, looking for any sign of movement. He didn't want to be ambushed. He also glanced at Rusty and found that his trusted employee was keeping an eagle eye on the surroundings as well.

One thing he didn't do was look at the woman tucked up in the back of his wagon. He'd made sure she would be comfortable, but he didn't want his mind to dwell on what her presence meant.

Making his way down the treacherous trail showed him that he needed to help the woman and get her into a place where she could belong as soon as possible. The soft contours of her body rested against him in a way he'd never experienced before, even with Miriam. Though Mrs. Sullivan's body was swollen with her child, she was so tiny she didn't weigh much. But the impact of cradling her body close to his would be hard to erase from his mind. Visions of holding his own wife and child that way crashed through his mind before he finally captured them and thrust them away. He couldn't let himself dwell on such thought.

He. Would. Never. Marry. His heart couldn't take another breaking.

Mrs. Sullivan brought out his protective instincts. He needed to get her far away from the ranch, so he could shore up the wall he'd built around his heart after Miriam's defection. No matter how soft Mrs. Sullivan's skin was...no matter that even though the scent of smoke surrounded her, so did a faint, clean flowery scent. One that drew him one minute, then repelled him as soon as he realized he was softening toward her.

Since Miriam broke his heart, no other woman he'd seen had made any kind of impact on his senses. He spoke to them at church, but kept his distance. Holding this fragile creature caused a trembling inside him. And he didn't need to let it continue. No matter how much he wanted an heir. He would never give his heart freely to another woman. Maybe he'd just break up the ranch by willing portions of it to his most loyal ranch hands. Three or four of them had been with him a long time, pouring all their efforts into helping him create one of the most valuable ranches in this part of Colorado. He'd hate to break it up, but what other option did he have?

When he finally spied the roof of his house, he relaxed a bit. He didn't expect the outlaw to come this close to a thriving ranch with cowboys working all around. The man had to be a coward to slink through the night and set fire to a cabin with a helpless woman inside. He wouldn't want to face an honest fight.

As they drew closer, Franklin saw Jake and Mrs. Oleson, bundled in warm coats and waiting on the porch that spread across the front of the two story ranch house. They both watched his approach with eagerness shining on their faces. He had good people working for him. People he could trust and depend upon. Although he didn't know how to handle this new development, he knew he'd have plenty of help as they worked everything out. They'd make Mrs. Sullivan feel welcome.

And help him find a solution for her problem as soon as possible.