Lost and Found Page 3

  "Is she gonna die?" Kitty asked fearfully, tears brimming in her eyes.

  "No," Paul stated firmly, his eyes daring Doc to say otherwise as he took his sister's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  Doc gave a perfunctory nod to Paul and turned kind eyes to Kitty, "I sure hope not, Miss Kitty." He grabbed his hat and placed it on his head as he opened the door, "I'll see you in the morning, Sawyer."

  "Thanks again Doc," Sawyer murmured, closing the door softly behind him. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the children and gave an encouraging smile, "Well, I reckon we better get you back on home. No doubt your papa's worried sick about you two being gone all day." The lie left a foul taste in his mouth. The whole town knew their drunk father wouldn't have known if their house burnt down around him.

  Gabe Sutter might be their father, but after years of heavy drinking and neglect towards his two young children, Paul and Kitty were as good as orphans. Sawyer had tried to step in and help when he could, but multiple times in the last year, Gabe had violently confronted him about him giving the children food.

  The insufferable idiot had been too stuffed up in his pride and anger to realize that his children were going to starve and die since he wasn't looking out for them himself. Fearful that Gabe would lash out at the children if he caught him overstepping again, Sawyer had tried to lay low. He kept a watchful eye on them and met them weekly at Paul's tree fort to give them food.

  "Nah, he's probably at the saloon getting drunk again," Paul grumbled.

  Sawyer knew the boy was probably right. He couldn't fault the man for being devastated when their mama, Maggie, died birthing Paul and Kitty's baby sister.

  Hell, when his wife, Jane, died in childbirth along with their infant son over seven years ago, he'd nearly died himself; but he'd lost complete respect for Gabe after witnessing the years of neglect and downright hateful attitude that had escalated towards his children since that terrible night.

  "I'm hungry, Paulie," Kitty whimpered softly, her blue eyes pleading with her brother.

  Paul swallowed heavily. They hadn't eaten anything other than four-day-old bread this morning and an egg they'd found in a nest near their house. Their father had consumed all the other food Mr. Weston had given them just a few days ago. Paul had been so mad when he found the empty sack he'd stashed the food in, he'd nearly done his father harm when he saw him passed out last night.

  At that moment, he hated his father with an intensity that nearly made him sick. He glanced up at Mr. Weston, hoping he'd offer to let them stay here for the night and eat some real food.

  Sawyer picked Kitty up in his arms and hugged her, "How about I fix us some dinner while we wait for Mrs. Richardson, honey bear? Why, my stomach is grumbling so loud I'm sure everyone in the next county can hear it!" He bent his head and nuzzled her neck, pretending to nibble on her until she giggled and squirmed in his arms. Lifting his head, he grinned at her, glad he'd brought a smile back to her face.

  Kitty gave his cheek a wet kiss and hugged his neck, then rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish you were my papa."

  Sawyer's heart squeezed painfully in his chest, "I know, baby girl, me too." He kissed her head and hugged her tight then set her back down, "Let's get some food cookin'."

  Chapter Four

  Paul was finishing washing the dinner dishes when they heard a knock at the front door. Sawyer sat in the big chair by the hearth in the front room, a slumbering Kitty in his arms. Carefully standing so he wouldn't wake Kitty, he walked to the door and opened it to find a solemn-faced Mrs. Richardson and Doc Brennan.

  "Evenin' Mrs. Richardson," Sawyer motioned them inside and closed the door behind them, "didn't think I'd be seeing you again this evenin' Doc."

  Mrs. Richardson, in all her ample-bosomed glory, was a small woman in stature. But, due to her wide girth, both in her chest and hips, no one would ever say she was tiny. Her mouth appeared permanently pinched in displeasure, as though she always sucked on a lemon wedge, but her pale green eyes were warm with kindness.

  Her graying hair fought the confines of her serviceable bun as she smiled compassionately at Kitty slumbering in Sawyer's arms and purred, "Let me take her Sawyer. Poor little angel must be tuckered out after such a terrible day. Doc told me all about what's happened."

  Taking Kitty carefully into her arms, Mrs. Richardson hummed a tune and walked further into the room. The burgundy skirts draping her wide hips swayed gently with each movement.

  Sawyer watched the older woman as an emptiness, from no longer holding Kitty, settled into his heart, "You can take her to the East room upstairs, Mrs. Richardson," he looked at Doc, "figured they should stay here for the night. I'll take them home in the morning and see if I can speak with Gabe."

  Doc cleared his throat and shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable, "Well, that's why I came with Mrs. Richardson, Sawyer..." clamping his mouth shut, he glanced to where Paul stood. The boy held a towel in his hands as he watched the adults from the entry to the kitchen area.

  "Perhaps you'll step outside with me?" Doc murmured, looking expectantly to Sawyer.

  Sawyer nodded before he turned and smiled reassuringly to Paul, "I'm just gonna step out and get some air with Doc." At Paul's nod, Sawyer opened the door and followed Doc onto the porch.

  Once they left the confines of the house, fresh night air greeted them, caressing the exposed skin of Sawyer's neck like a forgotten lover. After closing the door, he turned and asked, "Something wrong, Doc?"

  Doc heaved a sigh and nodded, "Unfortunately, yes..." He looked absently at Sawyer and pursed his lips.

  Sawyer leaned against the doorframe and waited for Doc to continue. A small crack in the corner of Doc's spectacles drew Sawyer's eyes to the haggard expression on the older man's deeply lined face. 'He looks tired,' Sawyer thought as he wondered what hour Doc's morning had started.

  "Well, there's no easy way to say this," Doc took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, "I stopped at the Sutter's when I left here earlier, figuring I would let Gabe know what happened this morning with his children and I wanted to make sure he knew they were safe with you."

  Crossing his arms across his chest, Sawyer growled, "No doubt, you found him passed out drunk." He wished he could wrap his hands around Gabe's throat and shake some sense into him, or choke the life out of him, whichever one happened first he'd be more than fine with.

  Doc's mouth pulled in a grim line, "Dead, actually."

  Sawyer's arms fell to his sides, "What?"

  Doc nodded, pacing to the porch railing then turned back to look at Sawyer, "Been dead at least a day from what I could tell, most likely died sometime last night. Looks like he choked on his vomit, found him in his bed covered in it."

  Sawyer stared at Doc. "Dead? I can't believe it."

  Doc nodded, "As a doornail, no doubt about it. Poor kids are on their own now—not that it was much better when the poor fool was alive." Sighing, he removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes before placing them again on his patrician nose.

  Of all the things he'd expected to hear from Doc, finding out that Gabe Sutter was dead wasn't one of them. Sawyer ran a hand through his hair and cursed.

  Doc scowled at Sawyer's cussing and continued, "I know Gabe had no siblings and his folks are long dead. But I think I recall Maggie saying she had a cousin back in Bristol, New Hampshire and I think it'd be worth seeing if maybe they might take the children in. Thought I'd have the sheriff send word in the morning and see if they can track them down."

  Sawyer glared at Doc, advancing on him as he exclaimed, "No!" Anger blazed in his eyes as he barked, "You'll do no such thing. Those two have had a hard enough life as it is. They don't need to be packed up and shipped off to some relative they've never even met who might treat them just as poorly, if not worse." He shook his head, "I won't allow it."

  Doc took a step back and raised his hands. "Now calm down, Sawyer." He eyed him warily, as though he stood in a cage with a wild animal
. "There's not much else we can do. The children should be with family."

  Sawyer looked at Doc in disbelief, "Even if you could find them, those people aren't family to those kids!" He ground his teeth in frustration, biting his tongue before he said something he'd later regret. But, the longer he mulled over Doc's words, the angrier he became.

  He couldn't abide the thought of never seeing them again. He argued further, "Those people, whoever they are, are strangers, and we'd be fools to send those two kids off to live with people none of us know anything of!" A sudden thought came to mind, filling his voice with anger when he exclaimed, "They could be murderers for all we know!"

  Doc rolled his eyes, "They're not murderers, Sawyer."

  "You don't know that!"

  "Well, I don't know what else we can do besides contact them." Doc shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as he turned to look out across the darkened night. He stared in silence for a few moments then turned back to Sawyer and stated, "I'm sure Mrs. Richardson wouldn't mind taking them in for a few months till we can find something more permanent for them. Or until we get word back regarding the relatives."

  Sawyer fought against the urge to wrap his fingers around Doc's throat. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sawyer planted fists on his trim hips and growled, "Absolutely not!" He muttered under his breath and paced to the end of the porch. Just one solid punch to Doc's face and he'd feel better. Knowing he couldn't resort to violence, he shook his head, "I won't allow that."

  Doc growled and squared his weary shoulders, "Sawyer, I don't need your approval or your permission to do this. I'm only acting in the children's best interest. Now, I know you've done what you could to try to help them over the years, being their neighbor and all," he paused a moment before stating, "but you're not family."

  The heavy echoes of Sawyer's angry footfalls reverberated like thunder as he strode toward Doc and shouted, "NOT FAMILY?! I'm the closest thing to a real father those two have ever had!" He thumped an angry fist against his chest to emphasize his point. "I'm the one they came to for help when Gabe was scaring them senseless once their mama died."

  His chest heaved with furious breaths as he struggled to rein in his temper. As gratifying as it would be to plant Doc a facer, it would not solve the problem before him; Sawyer reminded himself. Desperately, he tried to think of a solution.

  "What do you propose we do, then?" Doc complained angrily.

  Sawyer looked through the lace-covered windows to the blurry image of Paul standing lost and forlorn in the kitchen where they'd left him. "They'll stay here with me—I'll raise them." The words surprised him as much as they did Doc, but he knew deep in his gut, it was the right thing, "I'm raising them," he stated with finality, "I'm their family!"

  Paul's stomach dropped to his toes as he watched Sawyer and Doc Brennan come back into the house and saw the serious expressions on both their faces. He'd heard their raised voices, but couldn't understand what they were talking about and refused to press his ear against the door to eavesdrop.

  Sawyer glanced up as he stepped into the house and saw the vulnerability Paul tried to hide as he caught his eye. His determination to take care of them solidified within his heart.

  He'd witnessed first-hand just how badly Gabe treated them over the years. It was about time someone took care of them; time they were able to be children and not worry about their father threatening to harm them or where their next meal would come from.

  Now came the task of informing Paul of the unforeseen change and the solution to it he hoped Paul would approve of. He just didn't know how they would take the news of their father's death. Sawyer held his breath, unsure of how to go about telling them the news when Paul solved the dilemma for him.

  "It's our Pa, isn't it?" Paul asked quietly. He bit his lower lip, his hands twisting the towel he still held in his hands.

  Doc glanced at Sawyer, then turned to Paul and nodded, "Afraid so, son," he paused briefly before stating, "he's passed away."

  Paul swallowed as his eyes darted frantically between Doc and Sawyer, "What'll happen to Kitty and me?"

  Sawyer felt a tug on his heart at seeing the helplessness in Paul's young face, and walked to him, "You know...I've been mighty lonely since my wife died. I'd like the two of you to stay with me."

  Paul stared at the wooden floor, gratitude filling his heart at his offer, but he didn't want the man he admired to come to resent having them live with him. Unable to look at him he said quietly, "Me and Kitty don't want to be a burden to you Mr. Weston; you don't have to take us in if you don't want us." He fought against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

  Sawyer knelt in front of Paul and gripped the boy's shoulder as he looked him in the eye, "I'd be honored to have you two live with me. Thought you two might be part of my family—that is, if that's what you'd like, Paul?"

  Wiping at his eyes, Paul sniffled and nodded, "We'll work real hard, Mr. Weston, you won't regret letting us stay here."

  "Let's not worry about that now," Sawyer whispered. Standing, he wrapped an arm around Paul's shoulders, "how about I show you your room, and we'll check in on Kitty?"

  Doc shook his head in disagreement and gave a quick smile to Paul before saying, "I'm going to check in on my patient before I head off then, Sawyer." He patted Paul on the back and gave a curt nod to Sawyer, then walked to the back room where a lantern cast a soft glow over the bed and the feverish woman lying unconscious.

  Chapter Five

  Paul's long johns had to be the rattiest Sawyer had ever seen, and Kitty's poor little underdress was in even worse shape. He made a mental list of the things he'd head off to town for bright and early in the morning and pulled the covers back on the bed.

  With Mrs. Richardson able to keep an eye on the woman downstairs, he'd hopefully be able to keep his ranch running smoothly, without too much interruption over the next few days.

  Sawyer had three ranch hands working for him that handled the majority of the workload, but he wanted Paul to feel valuable to him, so as Paul climbed into the bed, he asked quietly, "I'm going to be needing your help with all the regular chores now that there's a sick lady staying with us. Do you feel up to it?"

  Paul sighed as he laid down on the softest mattress he'd ever been on. Unable to resist caressing the blanket where it rested on his legs, he luxuriated in the thick feel of the material and replied, "Yes, Mr. Weston. I'll help you with whatever you need me to do."

  Sawyer smiled and bent over the side of the bed, bringing the covers up to Paul's chest, "All right. How about for starters you and Kitty stop this Mr. Weston nonsense?" He placed a kiss on Paul's forehead and straightened the covers.

  Paul covered a yawn as he gazed at Sawyer with sleepy, content eyes, "What should we call ya then?"

  Sawyer pretended to contemplate the issue for a few minutes and moved around to the other side of the bed where he placed a soft kiss on Kitty's forehead. He pulled up the blanket to cover her arms and whispered, "Well, let's see. We're going to be a family now, so I reckon you could always call me Sawyer." He looked at Paul and asked, "But, what would you like to call me?"

  Paul covered another yawn and settled more snugly into the mattress, "I think Kitty would like to call you Papa..."

  Tears stung Sawyer's eyes as he nodded, "And how about you, Paul?"

  Paul struggled to keep his eyes open and drowsily replied, "Well, I don't want Kitty to be confused if I was calling you something different—so it's probably best if I call you Papa as well?"

  It was as though a dagger had been plunged in his chest when Sawyer heard the hope and uncertainty in Paul's voice and knew the feelings stemmed from Gabe's neglect.

  "I'd like that, Paul. Papa sounds good to me," Sawyer whispered. "Now get some sleep, and don't forget I'm just across the hall if you need anything."

  Paul gave a sleepy smile and turned on his side as Sawyer blew out the lamp. He walked out of the room as quietly as he could and left the door slightly ajar;
promising himself that Paul and Kitty would never have another day where they felt unwanted or unloved.

  As he came to the top of the stairs, he stopped and wiped the moisture from his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at the kid's room then descended the stairs and headed to the guest room.

  Mrs. Richardson's soft humming and soft lantern light greeted him long before he came to a stop just outside the room. He watched the gentle scene for a few minutes, hesitant to disrupt and yet oddly compelled to be near the unconscious woman.

  He was pleased to see Mrs. Richardson had dressed the lady in an old nightgown of Jane's he'd placed on the bed before dinner. Standing in the doorway, Sawyer cleared his throat and said, "Mrs. Richardson, you head on up to the room next to the children's. You should get some sleep. I'll watch her tonight; you can take over in the morning."

  Mrs. Richardson smiled at him and stood, groaning softly, "Oh! My bones are not as young as I think they are sometimes." She dipped the rag into the washbasin on the bedside table and wrung it out before placing it once more on the woman's forehead.

  Walking past Sawyer, she laid a hand on his arm, "Doc told me that you're taking the children in to live with you. I think that's the most wonderful thing to happen to them in a long time."

  Sawyer offered a self-conscious smile, "Thank you."

  She kissed his cheek and patted his arm, then left the room.

  Once he knew she was down the hall and out of sight, he reached a hand up and rubbed his neck, trying to ease the tension the day had brought.

  Letting out a deep breath, he crept to the bed and felt the woman's cheek with the back of his hand, then sat on the edge as he reached for the rag on her forehead.

  After plunging it into the cool water of the washbasin, he wrung it out and studied her as he smoothed the cool cloth over her heated and flushed face, down her bare arms, and across her collarbone.