More Than a Miracle Page 3

  “It was a nightmare,” she added, shivering to think about that night. “The town was helpless to fight that kind of blaze. They had trouble getting a bucket brigade set up while they waited for the Star Hook and Ladder Company to come from Georgetown. I helped the women keep coffee, food ready and see to the injured. It was terrible and not something I can forget. But what has that to do with you hunting for me?”

  Maureen stared past his broad shoulder. She was leery of his questions, but not afraid. And she should be afraid of him. There was a look of barely checked temper about him and his size alone intimidated her.

  “And that’s all you remember about Silver Plume?”

  His low question drew her from her thoughts.

  She shook her head even as she answered him. “No, that’s not all. I told you it was a nightmare. People running around, injured lying in the fields outside of town, not enough of anything to do some good. Deaths being reported and being told of others missing. The horror of learning that a group of men trying to rescue three others were trapped when the building collapsed on them.

  “And everywhere the stench of fire and that blaze that lit the night sky and the heat.” She turned her direct gaze to meet his own. “Do you need to hear any more? Because if you answer yes, it won’t be from me.”

  “You left Silver Plume the next day.”

  His habit of stating rather than asking questions grew annoying. She cautioned herself to patience so she could get to the bottom of his reason for hunting her. The very thought was enough to send a chill slithering down her spine.

  “Yes, I left,” she said in a testy voice. “I was free to go where and when I wanted to.”

  “Was free?”

  “Am,” she snapped as her annoyance gave way to temper. “I am free to do as I please.” Her glaring eyes should have warned him to back down, but the moment he spoke she knew it wasn’t working.

  “And were you also free to take whatever you wanted with you?”

  His harsh, grating voice penetrated her anger. She thought she caught a flash of pain in his eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for her to be sure.

  “What are you talking about? What do you think I took? I told you there was a great deal of confusion that night. And even more the next day. I had camped outside of town and went back about midmorning to offer my help again, but so many people had come from Georgetown that they didn’t need me.”

  She struggled to recall every moment of time, for he seemed to be waiting for more details.

  “What could I possibly have taken that—” She cut herself off and felt the thick, near menacing tension that came from the man leaning over the table toward her.

  Maureen closed her eyes briefly, thinking again of the day as gray as the ashes that had covered everything.

  She had taken… No, she had denied to herself in the next breath, it couldn’t be…

  “You took. You sure as hell did. Folks saw you. Some knew your name. You’re a thief of the worse kind. You stole the most important part of my life that day.”

  “No!”

  She denied it again. He couldn’t be telling her the truth. He was lying. Yet even as she thought it, her own innate and strong senses were telling her that he wasn’t lying. And she had taken something with her, no, not something, but someone.

  She had to look at him, had to look into his stormy blue eyes that promised revenge.

  “My son. You stole my son.”

  Chapter Four

  “No!” She half rose from the bench to flee him, but he reached out and caught hold of her hands, pressing them against the table.

  Her heart was pounding as she attempted to pull free of his strong grip.

  “You took him with you. Don’t deny it. I know that’s the truth. That’s why I’ve been hunting for you. I want my son back.”

  “I did not steal him,” she declared frantically. “He was lost, alone. No one I asked claimed him and then—”

  “He’s my son!”

  “Your son,” she whispered in a scorn-filled voice. “And where were you when that child stood alone, frightened and crying? Where were you while he shook with terror and couldn’t even speak? Some father to abandon his son! Now, let me go!”

  “Lower your voice. You don’t want to wake the children, remember.” But Gabe let her go. He had never used his greater strength against a woman, and wasn’t about to let this one goad him into doing it now.

  “So, where were you when your son needed you, Mr. Channing? And how do I know you are the boy’s father? I was told he was killed that night.”

  Gabe scrubbed one hand over his face. “Sit down and listen to me. I’ve never had anyone question my word. I am Gabe Channing and I know you have my son. Wait, don’t jump in, let me finish. I was fighting the fire as every other able-bodied man in town. I was with the group when that building fell in on us. I got hit on the head and it was weeks before I remembered everything. By then you were gone and had taken Chris with you.”

  “You were injured?”

  Her stricken look sealed the lid on every bit of anger he had held for this woman for over a year. She wasn’t lying to him. She had truly taken his son because she thought him orphaned by the fire.

  He closed his eyes against her blunt question and rubbed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He was getting another of those headaches that were a legacy of his head injury.

  He dropped his hand and opened his eyes. “Yes, I was one of the injured. They didn’t dig us out until nightfall of the next day. Like I said, I didn’t have any memory then. It all came back to me slowly over a matter of weeks. Then I found out what happened to my son and started hunting for you.”

  Maureen tilted her head and regarded him for a long moment. She wanted to close her eyes against the painful memories he stirred, but she was no coward.

  “I have done you a grievous wrong, Mr. Channing.”

  “No. Now that I know why you took him, I can’t blame you. In fact, I should give you a reward for saving my son. If someone less scrupulous had found him the boy might have been hurt before I could pay a ransom for him.”

  “Don’t insult me by offering me money.”

  He paid heed to the flare of anger in her green eyes. “All right I won’t discuss that now. But I am a wealthy man. Whatever it is you want or need, I’ll see you have it. And now I want to see my son.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Pardon me? I said I want—”

  “What you want can’t matter. You need to think of your son. You’d give the boy a fright he might not easily recover from. Just think, Mr. Channing. Chris was told that you were killed. I don’t think he believes that, but he doesn’t talk about you at all.”

  “Wait a minute? Chris talks to you?”

  Disbelief shone in his gaze and coated his words.

  Puzzled, she nodded. “Of course, Chris talks to me and my daughter. How else would I know about you or even know his name?”

  “But Chris didn’t talk. Not to me, not to anyone. I had him to some of the best doctors and none found a reason for it. One told me that when he was ready to, he’d talk and to leave him alone about it. And now you’re telling me that my son is talking.”

  He buried his face in his hands and she didn’t know if he was praying in thanksgiving or didn’t believe her about his son. Then an ugly suspicion formed and before she thought about it, she spoke.

  “Are you sure you’ve told me everything? I mean,” she hastened to explain when he looked at her, “Chris isn’t afraid of you, is he? I think I need to be sure that seeing you won’t frighten him.”

  “Are you trying to still keep me from my son?”

  “Don’t take that threatening tone with me.” She pushed the bench back and stood up. “I need to think about this. You should, too. If you’ve told me the truth and love your son, then you must see this is something that can’t be rushed.”

 
He gave an adamant shake of his head, though not in denial of her words. He was stunned hearing that Chris could talk. And the woman was right. He didn’t want to frighten his son by suddenly coming back from the dead and then taking him away. He also had a strong feeling that getting Chris away from Maureen O’Rourke would prove to be a battle.

  Yet he had waited so long, and no one in a long time had gotten away with denying him what he wanted. This green-eyed woman with her lack of fear and strength of spirit obviously didn’t know or care about the wealth he claimed. If she had told him the truth, and he tended to believe she had, then he would wait.

  “All right,” he stated, rising and heading for the door. “Just until morning. Then I’m going to have my son back.”

  Morning came with the sight of an enchanted ice-draped forest. Sunlight sparked rainbows where icicles hung from the roof. Everywhere that Maureen looked it was as fresh and newly frosted as a Lady Baltimore cake.

  She turned from the window, smiling when she heard the children’s giggles and whispers as they dressed before leaving the sleeping loft. The sound forced her to banish all the dark thoughts that had plagued her sleepless night

  She dished out steaming bowls of oatmeal and added the small spatterware pitcher of heavy cream to the crock of butter and jar of apple jelly and hot biscuits on the table.

  The coffeepot was still quite full. She had half hoped for, and half dreaded, Gabe Channing’s presence this morning. But he was not in the barn when she slipped in before daybreak to milk the cow and collect the eggs. The chickens were as disturbed as she was by his being there, for there were only two eggs to be found this morning.

  His horses were in the stall so wherever he had gone he’d walked. She prayed that he would stay away until she talked to Chris.

  Guilt wormed its way into her thoughts. Gabe was out there, alone. He had never abandoned his child.

  She glanced toward the window, at the bright beauty of the snow-covered forest. She had never shirked her responsibilities. Most of the prayers she whispered through the night had been for the wisdom of how to tell Chris that his father had come for him. But she had come to love that little boy as if he were her own.

  How could she just give him up? An ache spread inside her at the thought. And what would Kathleen do? Her little girl looked after Chris like he was truly her brother. All their plans for Christmas and beyond would melt away like the snow beneath the strong winter sun.

  Gabe Channing had no idea of the pain he brought when he had found them.

  Selfish, Maureen, a little voice whispered.

  Chris is Gabe’s son. He’s been searching for the boy. Doesn’t the man deserve your most charitable thoughts for what he’s been through? What you put him through by taking the child without making sure that the man was dead.

  Guilt overpowered every other emotion.

  She had to smooth the way for father and son to be reunited. And she had to give Chris up without anyone knowing that she’d be tearing off a piece of her heart.

  Maybe she could atone for what she had done.

  Maybe…

  The scrape of the bench made her turn around with a bright smile. “Good morning, you two sleepyheads.”

  “Morning, Mama.” Kathleen ran to give her mother a hug.

  They came running as they did every morning. Kathleen, braids of red hair shades lighter than her mother’s, reached Maureen first Then came Chris, a little slower, his black curly hair still rumpled from sleep. Maureen looked down into a pair of bright-green eyes that she had given to her daughter, and caught her breath when she saw how much Chris owed his blue with hints of gray color to his father.

  “Sleep well and warm?” She held the children a little tighter and a little longer than she usually did. Her daughter, eight years old this past spring, was thin but very tall for her age. Maureen pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead and smiled. The pale skin and freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose proclaimed her Irish descent Kathleen didn’t like her freckles, but Maureen insisted they were fairy kisses and only given to the prettiest little girls.

  Chris always wished for a few of his own, so Maureen always gave him a few extra kisses in the morning.

  “Hungry?” she asked, skimming a quick eye over their clothes. They both had grown so much over the summer that she could barely keep up with altering their clothes. But both were presentable, and warmly dressed if not the most fashionable. Lord only knew what Gabe Channing would think of his son wearing hand-me-downs.

  His jeans like Kathleen’s were well-worn and faded to gray. Their shirts were wool, blue for her and red for Chris.

  “Mama, we can play outside, can’t we, Mama? The storm’s over and Chris wants to make a snow fort. I want to make snow angels. Then, please, please, Mama, can we go up to the big hill and sled?”

  “Yes, yes, please say yes.” Chris added his entreaties to Kathleen’s.

  “We’ll see.” She scooted them onto the bench before she sat down across the table from them. She shook her head and hid her smile behind her hand as she watched them eat. The two of them attacked their food as if it were either their last meal or the first they had had in too long a time.

  But her smile left when she understood that she had to tell Chris about his father. To delay would cause them more problems.

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Now he was a rosy-cheeked, sturdy and happy little boy, but the night she rescued him, he’d been thin and sad.

  “What’s wrong?” Chris asked, putting his spoon down in the empty bowl.

  “I—I need to tell you something, no, that’s not right. I have a big surprise for you, Chris. Bigger than anything you’ve ever wished for. The kind of surprise that will—”

  “Mama, what’s wrong? You’re crying.” Kathleen’s spoon fell with a clatter. Both children hurried around the table to hug Maureen.

  Maureen could not seem to stop crying. This was proving harder than she thought. She gathered the children close, unable to answer them.

  Gabe walked inside, holding his hat by the brim, a little hesitant to intrude. He saw Maureen crying, and a little girl so like her in features that it could only be her daughter using a napkin to wipe her tears. And the boy… His heart seemed to stop, then start with a sudden pounding as his gaze fastened on his son.

  “I tried knocking,” he said, swallowing against the dryness that nerves brought.

  But no one heard him. It was minutes before Maureen looked up and saw that he was closing the door behind him and stood waiting for some notice. She knew her time had run out.

  Blinking back her tears, she forced a smile. “Stop, Kathleen. I’m all right. It’s just that I have some happy news for Chris. He’s about to get the best Christmas present ever. All he needs to do is turn around.” She hugged her daughter tight with one arm, and with the other nudged the boy to turn around.

  Gabe smiled. For the moment he contented himself with drinking in the sight of his son. But he didn’t miss the boy’s wide-eyed stare or the way he drew back to press against Maureen.

  “Chris, come here, boy.” A roil of emotion flooded his husky voice. He couldn’t quite believe that after all this time he was looking at his son. For sure the good Lord had a hand in guiding him here. Gabe knew folks through the territory thought him a fool to keep believing he’d find him, but never once had he doubted that it would happen.

  When his son still made no move toward him, Gabe swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. He fought against feeling resentment for the woman who claimed his son’s devotion to the point where he ignored her urgings to go to his father.

  “Chris, please,” Maureen whispered. “You don’t want to hurt him. He’s traveled so far. He needs a hug from you about as much as you need one from him. Go on. Go.”

  “Lord, yes,” Gabe affirmed, dropping to one knee. He opened his arms wide to catch his son as he finally ran to him and flung his arms around hi
s father’s neck.

  Gabe closed his eyes. He held his son tight against him. His eyes filled with the burning sear of tears, but he didn’t care who saw them. He finally had Chris back and nothing else mattered.

  He saw nothing of the pain in Maureen’s eyes, nor could he know how she chided herself for being anything but happy for the two of them.

  Gabe’s total focus belonged to his son. He had seen the boy’s good health and the body he clasped was sturdy and taller than a year ago. He marveled at the strength in the small arms hugging him, not knowing which miracle to give thanks for first…finding his son, or that the boy was talking.

  He kept imagining the first time he held a red-faced mite, wrapped tight in a soft blanket but squalling to be fed. His hasty marriage made during the drunken celebration of his first big gold strike had ended the day Chris was born. She wanted money, not the child, and he thought he had the best of the bargain.

  That same wonder as the first time holding his son now filled him. He had been given a tiny life totally dependent upon him for everything, his to love and guide.

  And he had a lot of lost time to make up for.

  Maureen O’Rourke was right. This was the best Christmas present ever, and he’d make the holiday one nobody would forget.

  Chapter Five

  “Mama, is that really Chris’s father?”

  “Yes, honey. He’s been searching for Chris all this time.”

  “But I thought he was dead. They said he was killed in the fire when the building fell. And now he’s come to take Chris away from us.”

  “No!”

  Chris startled all of them with his yell. He struggled in his father’s arms, pushing to get away and Gabe, stunned by the protest, let his son down.

  Chris ran to Maureen. “You can’t take me away from them. I won’t go!”

  “Chris, listen to me. We have a home. I’ve come a long way searching for you. And it’s time we got back to our lives.”