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"Joseph's probably got them holed up somewhere--"
Sam nodded. Joseph was wise beyond his years. He'd have the sense to get the younger two out of the rain. "I suppose you're right."
"Come on. Lou will have coffee on. We might as well wait until daylight, and then start out again."
"No--"
"Sam, all you're doin' is ridin' around in circles. There's no point to that."
"I have to keep looking--"
"Sam--"
"I'm going to keep looking. You go home."
Fred shook his head. "You're the stubbornest man I ever did meet," he yelled. "Why, even the mule I had a few years back wasn't as pig-headed--"
Sam smiled. Fred was one of the few people who could get away with insulting Sam. "If you aren't going to shut up, go home," he muttered, knowing full well Fred was just as worried about the children as he was.
"I should. I should just leave you out here--" Fred's voice trailed off as Sam dug his heels into the horse's side, and he rode away, leaving Fred to follow.
***
By the time Emma woke, a watery sun was peeking through the lace curtains at her bedroom window. She was exhausted. She’d lain awake most of the night searching for a solution to the children's problem.
She had to return the children to their father. She knew that, yet sh
e recoiled at the thought. In fact, he should be arriving shortly. With the few clues they'd unintentionally given her, she'd gone next door after the children were asleep and sought advice from her friends. James has identified the children immediately.
Much as she hated to, she'd had no choice but to send word to the children's father. Surely the children would understand that. Why, by now, James was probably already at the Jenkins' ranch.
She couldn't keep them herself, and she couldn't let them leave. They were far too young to be going off by themselves. They would hate her at first for betraying them. That much was certain. But they'd be thankful once their father explained, and they realized they'd misunderstood.
Surely the children were mistaken. Perhaps their father had been angry and threatened to send them away, words spoken in haste, words that he regretted immediately after they’d left his mouth. The man was probably beside himself with worry by now and searching frantically for his children.
But what if they were telling the truth, that their father really was sending them away? She'd be helping him to dispose of his own children. How could she live with herself?
She would find out the truth, though. Legally, there was nothing she could do, no matter what she did find out. She couldn't force the man to look after his children, or to even keep them. But there was one thing she was certain of. If he did intend to get rid of his children, she would not leave them with that man without giving him a piece of her mind first. And everyone in town knew that when Emma Witherspoon got mad, she was a spitfire.
Glancing at Becky sleeping beside her, she smiled softly, offering a silent prayer of thanks that the children hadn't run off again during the night. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have this child - to have all the children - permanently. They were the closest thing she'd ever get to having her own children, and she would give them as much love and care as the mother who'd borne them.
An idea began to form in her mind, one that not only would prevent the children from running away, but would give her the one thing she'd dreamed of. Assuming, of course, that the children weren't mistaken. A wicked thought popped into her mind. For a moment, and she'd only entertain the thought for that long, she hoped the children were telling the truth.
Slipping from the bed, Emma slid into a robe and crossed the hallway to the other bedroom. She peeked through the open door and, satisfied that the boys were both still asleep, tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
She hummed as she moved about the kitchen.
Becky was the first to come into the kitchen. She stood at the doorway, rubbing her eyes with her chubby fists. A frown creased her forehead, and for a moment, she looked like she might start to cry. "Where Nafan? Where Joseph?" she asked.
"They're still sleeping," Emma said.
Emma's answer seemed to satisfy her. "Would you like to help me with this?" Emma asked, lifting a pottery bowl filled with batter and setting it on the table. She handed Becky a wooden spoon.
Becky frowned and pursed her lips as she peered into the bowl, then eyed Emma with a questioning glance.
"Flapjacks," Emma said. "Do you like them?"
Becky grinned and nodded, taking the spoon from Emma. Batter flew from the bowl as Becky began to whip the batter, and Emma barely avoided a clump landing on her cheek. With a chuckle, she took Becky's hand and began to show her how to blend the mixture without losing most of it. When she let go, Becky continued, her brows knitted together in concentration.
