Woman of Grace (3 page)

Hannah chuckled. One couldn’t stay glum for long when Evan was around. Conor MacKay’s son, nineteen-year-old Evan had his father’s height, impressive build, and the same smoky blue eyes and blue-black hair. He certainly possessed the MacKay good looks.

Evan’s grin was just as engaging as his father’s and Devlin’s, too. Though he lacked the benefit of Devlin’s long, dark mustache to add drama and maturity to his youthful features, Evan was at least spared his cousin’s roguish look of a desperado. His features were more refined, and his nose—unlike Devlin’s, which had apparently once been broken—was straight and strong. Surely Evan was, Hannah decided, one of the most handsome men she had ever met.

“What exactly were you attempting to do?” Hannah squatted and deposited Jackson, blanket, toys, and all, in a corner near the two tall cupboards. “In case you hadn’t noticed, cooking has never been one of your particular talents,” she added as she ambled over to stand beside Evan at the sink.

The young man shrugged. “I was hungry. Abby’s still asleep, and Pa headed out early with the hands to feed the cattle stranded in the far pastures. A man’s got to keep up his strength, you know.”

Hannah reached out and lightly squeezed his muscled biceps. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s wasting away, Evan MacKay.”

“No,” he agreed solemnly, “and I don’t intend to start anytime soon either. Who do you think spent the last two hours shoveling that path from here to your bunk-house?”

She grinned. “I’ll bet that was just so I could cook you some breakfast.”

Evan gave a snort of disdain. “If I’d been hoping for some breakfast, I’d have starved a long time ago. It’s nearly noon. I’d say you need to cook me some lunch.”

“Do I now?”

Hannah sashayed over to the apron hanging by the cookstove and quickly tied it on. She so enjoyed the harmless teasing they shared, even as she knew Evan wanted far more than just a brotherly relationship from her. He had been in love with her for months now.

Always the gentleman, Evan courted her as gallantly, and patiently, as would any man a fine lady. He bought her presents. He wrote her poetry. He went for long walks with her.

She should be grateful for a man like Evan. She did have feelings for him, even if they were more sisterly than passionate. When it finally came down to it, though, Hannah just wasn’t sure she wanted to marry him—or any man for that matter—right now.

But she was also no fool. Evan MacKay offered her far more than just affection. As Culdee Creek’s heir, he offered her security and maybe even a return to respectability someday as the wife of a prosperous rancher. Both were potent inducements for a woman with nowhere else to go, especially now that she had a child who depended on her.

From his corner Jackson played in contented silence, seemingly fascinated with the bag of wooden blocks Hannah had brought along for him. She smiled in satisfaction. The kitchen was snug and warm. Evan’s company was pleasant. She had her precious son and a safe place to raise him.

Life was good … just the way it was.

“So it’s to be lunch, is it?” She walked back to the sink and pulled out the now cooled skillet.

“Lunch would suit me just fine.”

“And how would the last of the roast beef, some fried potatoes, and canned green beans do?”

“It’d send me straight to hog heaven.”

Hannah laughed. “Why don’t you go, instead, and see when Conor and the hands are due back? Might as well cook up a whole mess of vittles while I’m at it. They’re all bound to be pretty hungry.”

Evan’s face fell. “But I was planning on having a cozy little meal with just the two of us. We hardly have any time alone together these days.”

“We’ve plenty of time, Evan MacKay, and you know it.” She made a shooing motion with the big butcher knife she had just picked up. “Now, skedaddle. I’ve got work to do, unless you want to be eating this meal at supper time.”

The look of horror on Evan’s face almost made Hannah laugh again. He was quick, though, to grab his jacket and Stetson and head through the kitchen and parlor to the front door. Few things motivated a man better than the needs of an empty stomach.

Hannah’s smile faded. Few things, anyway, that asked so little for such simple effort, and still left a woman with her pride and sense of decency. But the memory of those other needs, she was quick to remind herself, was best left hidden away … with all the rest of the pain and shame.

“I don’t like it.” Abby sighed and shook her head later that evening. “The baby’s not nursing well, and she cries all the time. I don’t like it at all.”

Hannah glanced up from the sinkload of soapy dishes she was washing. “Well, little Miss Bonnie MacKay isn’t even a day old,” she offered. “Considering what Ella went through in birthing the little one, perhaps her milk just hasn’t had time to come in.”

“Perhaps.” Abby finished drying the dinner plate and laid it aside. She took up another from the rinse basin. “Still, I’m thinking we should send for Doc Childress first thing in the morning. Ella needs her rest. The baby’s constant crying isn’t helping her state of mind much either.”

“I could take—” Hannah bit off further words.

“Take what?” The brown-haired woman cocked her head, and paused momentarily.

“Never mind.” Hannah flushed crimson. She found sudden fascination in the soapsuds. “It would never work. Devlin wouldn’t stand for it.”

“What? You taking little Bonnie for the night and wet-nursing her so Ella could get some sleep?”

Hannah’s head jerked up. She should have known Abby had been thinking the same thing. Abby was always thinking of others and how best to help them.

“Yes,” was her simple reply. “You know how Devlin feels about me. He’d most likely believe my even touching his daughter, much less sharing my milk with her, would somehow corrupt her.”

“But you’d do it anyway, if Ella was willing? Just until she had her strength back, of course, and her milk came in?”

“Of course, I’d do it for Ella. She’s never been anything but kind to me.”

With a few quick swipes, Abby had the plate dried and stacked with the others. “Good.” She tossed the dishcloth aside and headed for the door.

Hannah stared after her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a talk with Ella.” Abby shrugged into her warm coat and pulled on a pair of boots. “Just don’t be surprised if I come back with another baby for you.”

2

For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace.

Romans 6:14

There, there, little one,” Hannah cooed as she lifted Bonnie to her shoulder the next morning. Ever so gently, she began to pat the baby’s back. “It’s going to be just fine.”

The infant snuggled close, made a few soft, mewling sounds, then settled. Hannah smiled. There was just something special about a newborn. She hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed them at this age. With a wry grin, she watched Jackson scoot across the bedroom floor, reach her chair, and pull himself up using her nightgown. Her son’s increasing activity level had all but erased those easier, more relaxing times from Hannah’s memory.

Still, she was so very happy she had been blessed with Jackson. Only one thing marred that happiness—the fact that her son would never know his father. And all the mother’s love in the world, Hannah feared, might not make up for that.

“Mama, Mama, Mama.” Jackson’s dark blue eyes lit with interest at the white bundle in Hannah’s arms. He reached toward Bonnie.

She quickly banished her bittersweet thoughts and turned her full attention back to her son. “It’s a baby, sweetie. A
ba
-by.”

The toddler peered up at her, puzzled. “Ba Ba?”

“Yes,” Hannah nodded her encouragement. “A
ba
-by.”

Bonnie burped her agreement.

“Hannah?” Abby’s voice came from the front door. “Is it all right if I come in?”

Hannah leaned as far over in the rocker as she dared, and peeked through her open bedroom door into the bunkhouse’s little parlor room. “Yes, come on in,” she called. “I’m just finishing up with Bonnie.”

She took Jackson by the hand and lowered him carefully to the floor. Then she rose and carried Bonnie to the bed. Laying her down on a section of rubber sheeting, Hannah began to remove the baby’s rubber diaper drawers. Abby walked in and came to stand beside her.

“So, how’s our little one doing?” her friend asked. “She looks well enough.”

“Oh, she’s doing just fine,” Hannah replied with a laugh. “She woke me every three hours last night, nursed her fill, then immediately fell back asleep until her next feeding. And every time I feed her, it seems I have to change her.” She unpinned both sides of Bonnie’s diaper, removed it, and laid it aside. After sliding a dry cotton diaper under the baby, she dusted her lightly with cornstarch, then pinned the diaper snugly shut.

“So lack of milk
was
the problem,” Abby observed thoughtfully. She sat beside the baby and brushed a finger tenderly down her cheek.

“Maybe so.” Hannah rebuttoned the diaper drawers, pulled down Bonnie’s nightgown, and hefted the baby back to her shoulder. “How’s Ella feeling? Has her milk finally come in?”

Abby frowned. “No, or at least not that either of us can tell. She’s feverish this morning. I sent a hand out first thing to fetch Doc. He should be on his way by now.”

“So you want me to keep Bonnie for a while longer.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, it would take a load of worry off Ella’s mind.”

Hannah was tempted to ask what Devlin thought of her wet-nursing his daughter, then thought better of it. No sense stirring the pot if it wasn’t yet boiling.

She forced a cheerful smile. “No imposition at all. You make sure Ella knows that. And tell her her daughter’s doing fine, too.”

Abby smiled, patted Hannah’s hand, then rose. “I will. And you can be sure that both Bonnie’s mother
and
father will know.”

“And now, atop it all,” Devlin complained to Conor the next day as the two men loaded hay into the buckboard, “I’ve got to allow that young tart free run of my house. Blast, but I’d thought I was finished with her after Bonnie was born!”

Devlin was beside himself. The news from Doc Childress hadn’t been good. Doc pronounced Ella ill with childbed fever and recommended that at least temporarily she not nurse her baby. With a wet nurse so readily available, there was no reason to further risk her health. She needed to direct all her strength toward overcoming the infection—an infection that could kill her just as easily as childbirth could have done.

“Hannah hasn’t done anything but help you, Devlin.” Conor grabbed the bale of hay his cousin had just lifted up to him, and shoved it across the wagon bed to pack it in tightly against the others. “Don’t you reckon it’s past time you eased up on the girl?”

“Eased up!” Devlin bit off an oath. “Conor, none of you knows Hannah like I—” He caught himself. Even Conor, his best friend and closest living relative, didn’t need to know everything.