A Cowboy's Promise By: Linda Ford

Chapter 3

Holt saw Mr. Tate's eyes roll up into his head. Holt sprang forward but not quickly enough to keep the other man from folding into a heap on the oiled wooden floor. Holt reached his side at the same moment as Lizzie. They bumped into each other, backed away. Embarrassment fluttered through her eyes and then she turned to kneel at her father's side. "Pa." She nudged his arm. "Pa."

Holt pushed aside a rush of wishes. Life would never include the things a man wanted—home, a woman to smile in greeting as he walked in the door. Not while he was a hunted man. But the alternative was to face biased justice. His false accusers had left no doubt in anyone's mind that Holt was guilty. Not that a soul had been looking to defend his innocence. 

He knelt beside Lizzie, studying the inert man. "He's passed out." He shoved one arm under Mr. Tate's shoulders and the other under his knees, grunting as he lifted him. "Show me to his bed." 

Lizzie considered the request for barely a second before she nodded. "Right this way." She led him to the doorway that Emma had scampered through such a short time ago and into their tiny living quarters. It was as cold as a barn in the cramped room. 

"The fire's gone out," he observed. 

She nodded and led him to a narrow cot in the corner. The covers were rumpled. "Emma, come out of there. Pa needs the bed." 

The quilts wiggled like a worm and Emma emerged, her light brown hair a tangled crown. "I's trying to keep warm." 

"Crawl into our bed." Lizzie tipped her head toward the narrow loft at the other end. 

"It's cold. Pa had this one warm." 

Lizzie smoothed her hands over Emma's hair. "You'll have to make the bed warm yourself. Now scoot." 

But Emma stayed close by, shivering despite the layers of sweaters she wore. 

Holt lowered their father to the bed, thinking that he was far too light for a man of his frame. And he understood why Emma liked her father's bed. The man was fevered. Holt got him comfortable then stepped away for Lizzie and Emma to hover at his side. 

"Pa, wake up." Lizzie rubbed his wrists and patted his cheeks. 

"How long has he been ill?" Holt asked. 

"Long time," Emma said, her little face wreathed in worry. "Is he gonna die?" 

"Of course not." Lizzie's voice dared such a thing to happen. 

Mr. Tate moaned. Saw Lizzie. "You're safe." 

"Yes, Pa. I'm safe. So is Emma." 

"I should..." His voice drifted into blankness. 

"He needs something hot to drink." Holt looked about for firewood. Saw three sticks in the box and a lump of coal. "Show me the woodpile and coal shed and I'll get some heat into this place." 

Lizzie rose slowly and faced him. In the depths of her violet eyes he read regret and determination. "We haven't enough fuel to keep both fires going." She meant the stove in the store as well as the cookstove in the living quarters. 

Holt realized Mr. Tate had been ill long enough to cut into their winter store. 

The man signaled Holt to draw closer. Holt did so, bending low to catch Mr. Tate's softly spoken words. "I'm too ill to care for my girls." He tried to lift his hand to grasp Holt's shirt but lacked the strength. "Mr. Perry, you seem a decent man. Promise me you'll stay and help them prepare for the cold weather." 

Holt knew then and there that God had spared his life for one purpose. He would trust God to protect him from his pursuers while he achieved it. "I promise, I'll help." 

He had two days' advantage on the men on his trail—three at the most—but now he had given his word and whatever the risk to himself, he would help these people.