"I run a respectable establishment, Mr. Harmon," she said, peering at him over her spectacles. "My guests expect peace and quiet. I understand, madam, Wyatt replied, trying to keep his frustration in check. But these folks have nowhere else to go.
The woman's sick, and the baby needs shelter. I'll cover the cost of the room for a week upfront. The mention of guaranteed payment softened Mrs. Landre's expression. Well, I do have the small room at the back of the house.
It's further from the other guests, so any disturbances would be minimized. That would be perfect, Wyatt said, reaching for his wallet. He counted out the required amount, adding a little extra. I'd also appreciate if you could find someone to help care for them until the woman's back on her feet. I'll cover those costs as well, Mrs.
Landre's eyebrows rose slightly at his generosity. Molly Jenkins has been looking for work since the laundry closed. She's good with children, has four of her own. I can send my boy to fetch her. Thank you, Wyatt said, relieved that at least this part of the problem was being solved.
I'll let Doc Harrison know the arrangements. After ensuring everything was set at the boarding house, Wyatt finally mounted copper and headed back to the Rocking H ranch. The sun was setting, painting the prairie in hues of gold and crimson. Normally he would have appreciated the spectacular view, but tonight his mind was elsewhere. Mr.
Henderson, the ranch owner, was understanding about Wyatt's delayed return once he explained the circumstances. "You did write by those folks, Wyatt," the older man said, puffing on his pipe as they stood outside the main house. "Not many would have stopped to help. Couldn't just leave them there, Wyatt mumbled, uncomfortable with the praise. No, I suppose you couldn't, Henderson agreed.
That's why you're my best hand. You've got a good heart under all that gruffness. He tapped his pipe against the porch rail. Take tomorrow morning off if you need to check on them. Wilson and Martinez can cover your duties.
Wyatt nodded his thanks and retreated to his cabin. A simple one- room structure with a bed, a table, two chairs, and a small stove. It wasn't much, but it was more of a home than he'd had in years. As he prepared a simple meal of beans and bacon, his thoughts kept returning to the woman and child he'd rescued. Something about their vulnerability had stirred feelings he'd long thought buried protective instincts he hadn't experienced since losing his family in a chalera outbreak 15 years earlier.
At 17, he'd been the sole survivor when the disease swept through their small Kansas farm. Unable to bear the memories, he'd headed west, working his way through ranches in Colorado, Wyoming, and now Dakota territory. As he lay in his narrow bed that night, staring at the rough huneed ceiling, Wyatt wondered what would become of the young mother and her baby. He told himself his responsibility ended with ensuring they had shelter and care. Yet something deeper told him their paths were now intertwined in ways he couldn't yet understand.