Clayborne Brides Series - book 3 - One White Rose by Julie Garwood

[Dalyia]

Clayborne Brides Series

book 3

One White Rose

by

Julie Garwood




Product Description:
The Claybornes are back -- and love is in bloom! First introduced in Julie Garwood's magnificent New York Times bestseller For the Roses* which inspired the Hallmark Hall of Fame television film "Rose Hill*" the Clayborne brothers of Blue Belle* Montana* have been embraced by millions worldwide. Now Julie Garwood spins the individual stories of these three spirited brothers -- once a mismatched gang of street urchins -- in a trio of special novels that continues with One White Rose.

Douglas Clayborne will never turn his back on anyone in need* and everyone in Blue Belle knows it. Time and again* his intolerance of cruelty of any kind has made him a champion of the defenseless...but his quiet strength faces its ultimate battle when he meets Isabel Grant. He arrives at her ranch to pick up the magnificent Arabian stallion he's purchased* but he cannot leave the vulnerable woman behind when he discovers the danger that threatens her. Convincing the stubborn* strong-willed beauty that she needs him is another matter. Douglas can stop the men from stealing her ranch and her horses* but he cannot stop Isabel Grant from stealing his heart
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محتوى مخفي

يجب عليك الرد لرؤية النص المخفي

[Dalyia]

Contents


Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen

[Dalyia]

Prologue


Contents - Next


Long ago there lived a remarkable family. They were the Clayborne brothers* and they were held together by bonds far stronger than blood.
They met when they were boys living on the streets in New York City. Runaway slave Adam* pickpocket Douglas* gunslinger Cole* and con man Travis survived by protecting one another from the older gangs roaming the city. When they found an abandoned baby girl in their alley* they vowed to make a better life for her and headed west.
They eventually settled on a piece of land they named Rosehill* deep in the heart of Montana Territory.
The only guidance they received as they were growing up came from the letters of Adam's mother* Rose. Rose learned about the children from their heartfelt letters to her* for they confided their fears* their hopes and their dreams* and in return she gave them what they had never had before* a mother's unconditional love and acceptance.
In time* each came to know her as his own Mama Rose.
After twenty long years* Rose joined them. Her sons and daughter were finally content. Her arrival was indeed a cause for both celebration and consternation. Her daughter was married to a fine man and expecting her first child* and her sons had grown to be honorable* strong men* each successful in his own right. But Mama Rose wasn't quite satisfied just yet. They had become too settled in their bachelor ways to suit her. Since she believed God helps those who help themselves* there was only one thing left for her to do.
She was going to meddle.





Time of Roses
It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:
O no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!
—Thomas Hood (1798-1845)

[Dalyia]

Chapter One


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The little woman was in trouble. Big trouble. No one* male or female* pointed a rifle at Douglas Clayborne without paying the consequences* and just as soon as he could get the weapon away from her* he would tell her so.
First* he was going to have to sweet-talk her into stepping out of the stall and into the light. He planned to keep on talking until he had edged close enough to take her by surprise. He'd rip the rifle out of her hands* unload it* and break the damned thing over his knee. Unless it was a Winchester. Then he'd keep it.
He could barely see her now. She was crouched down low behind the gate* shrouded in shadows* with the barrel of the gun resting on the top slat. A kerosene lamp was hooked to a post on the opposite side of the barn* but the light wasn't sufficient for him to see much of anything at all from where he stood* shifting from foot to foot* a few feet inside the open door.
A hard* driving rain was pelting his back. He was soaked through* and so was Brutus* his sorrel. He needed to get the saddle off the animal and dry him down as soon as possible* but what he wanted to do and what the woman would let him do were two different matters.
A bolt of lightning lit up the entrance* followed by a reverberating boom of thunder. Brutus reared up* let out a loud snort* and tossed his head. The horse obviously wanted out of the rain as much as he did.
Douglas kept his attention on the rifle while he tried to soothe the animal with a whispered promise that everything was going to be all right.
"Are you Isabel Grant?"
She answered with a low* guttural groan. He thought his harsh tone had frightened her and was about to try again in a calmer voice when he heard her panting. At first he thought he was mistaken* but the noise got louder. She was panting all right* and that didn't make a lick of sense. The woman hadn't moved a muscle since he'd come inside the barn* so she couldn't possibly be out of breath.
He waited for the panting to subside before he spoke again. "Are you Parker Grant's wife?"
"You know who I am. Go away or I'll shoot you. Leave the door open behind you. I want to watch you ride away."
"Lady* my business is with your husband. If you'll kindly tell me where he is* I'll go talk to him. Didn't he tell you I was coming here? My name is…"
She interrupted him in a shout. "I don't care what your name is. You're one of Boyle's men* and that's all I need to know. Get out."
The panic in her voice frustrated the hell out of him. "There isn't any need to get upset. I'm leaving. Will you tell your husband Douglas Clayborne is waiting in town to give him the rest of the money for the Arabian? I'm going to have to see the animal first* as he agreed. Can you remember all that?"
"He sold you a horse?"
"Yes* he did. He sold me an Arabian stallion a couple of months ago."
"You're lying to me*" she cried out. "Parker would never have sold either one of my Arabians."
He wasn't in the mood to argue with her. "I've got the papers to prove it. Just tell him* all right?"
"You purchased a horse you've never seen?"
"My brother saw him*" he explained. "And his judgment is as good as mine."
She burst into tears. He took a step toward her before he realized he was actually thinking about comforting the woman* and abruptly stopped.
"I'm real sorry your husband didn't tell you about the horse."
"Oh* God* please* not now."
She started panting again. What in blazes was the matter with her? He knew something was wrong* and he had a feeling her husband was responsible for her tears. The man should have told his wife about the horse. Still* her reaction was a bit extreme.
Douglas thought he should say something to help her get past her misery.
"I'm sure all married couples go through spots of trouble now and then. Your husband must have had a good reason for selling the stallion* and he was probably so busy he forgot to tell you about it. That's all."
The panting got louder before it stopped. Then she whimpered low in her throat. The sound reminded him of a wounded animal. He wanted to walk away but knew he couldn't leave her if she was in trouble… and just where was good old Parker anyway?
"This shouldn't be happening*" she cried out.
"What shouldn't be happening?" he asked.
"Go away*" she shouted.
He was stubborn enough to stay right where he was. "I'm not leaving until you tell me who Boyle is. Did he hurt you? You sound like you're in a lot of pain."
Isabel instinctively responded to the concern she heard in his voice. "You aren't working for Boyle?"
"No."
"Prove it to me."
"I can't prove it to you without showing you the letter from your husband and the paper he signed."
"Stay where you are."
Since he hadn't moved an inch* he couldn't understand her need to shout at him. "If you want me to help you* you'll have to tell me what's wrong."
"Everything's wrong."
"You're going to have to be a little more specific."
"He's coming* and it's much too early. Don't you understand? I must have done something wrong. Oh* God* please don't let him come yet."
"Who is coming?" he demanded. He nervously glanced behind him and squinted out into the night. He thought she might be talking about Boyle* whoever in tarnation he was.
He was wrong about that.
"The baby*" she cried. "I can feel another contraction."
Douglas felt as though he'd just been punched hard in the stomach. "You're having a baby? Now?"
"Yes."
"Ah* lady* don't do that." He didn't realize how foolish his demand was until she told him so between whimpers. His head snapped back. "Are you having a pain now?"
"Yes." She said the word with a long moan.
"For the love of God* take your finger off the trigger and put the rifle down."
She couldn't understand what he was telling her.
The contraction was cresting with such agonizing intensity she could barely stand up. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth together while she waited for the pain to stop.
She realized her mistake as soon as she opened her eyes again* but it was already too late. The stranger had vanished. He hadn't left the barn though. His horse was still standing by the door.
The rifle was suddenly snatched out of her hands. With a cry of terror* she backed further into the stall and waited for him to attack.
Everything began to happen in slow motion. The gate squeaked open* but* to her* the sound was a piercing* unending scream. The stranger* a tall* muscular man who seemed to swallow up all the space inside the stall* came toward her. His hair and eyes were dark* his expression was angry… and* oh* God* she didn't want him to kill her yet. The baby would die inside her.
Her mind simply couldn't take any more. She took a deep breath to scream* knowing that once she started* she would never be able to stop. Please* God* understand. I can't do this any longer. I can't… I can't…
He pulled her back from the edge of insanity without saying a word. He simply handed the rifle to her.
"Now* you listen to me*" he ordered. "I want you to stop having this baby right now." After giving the harsh and thoroughly unreasonable command* he turned around and walked away.
"Are you leaving?"
"No* I'm not leaving. I'm moving the light so I can see what I'm doing. If you're this close to having a baby* what are you doing in a barn? Shouldn't you be in bed?"
She started panting again. The sound sent chills down his spine.
"I asked you to stop that. The baby can't come now* so just forget about it."
She waited for the contraction to end before she told him he was an idiot.
He secretly agreed. "I just don't want you to do this until I find your husband."
"I'm not doing it on purpose."
"Where's Parker?"
"He's gone."
He let out an expletive. "I had a feeling you were going to tell me that. He picked a fine time to go gallivanting."
"Why are you so angry with me? I'm not going to shoot you."
He wasn't angry; he was scared. He had helped a countless number of animals with their deliveries* but he hadn't helped any women with childbirth and he didn't want to help Isabel Grant now. Oh* yes* he was scared all right* but he was smart enough not to let her know it.
"I'm not angry*" he said. "You just took me by surprise. I'll help you back to the house* and then I'll go get the doctor." He hoped to God she wouldn't tell him the town didn't have a physician.
"He can't come here."
Douglas finally got the lamp hooked to the post connected to the stall. He turned around and saw Isabel clearly for the first time. She was an attractive woman* even with the frown on her face. She had freckles across the bridge of her nose* and he had always been partial to women with freckles. He'd always liked red hair too* and hers was a dark* vibrant red that glistened like fire in the light.
She was a married woman he reminded himself* and he shouldn't be noticing her appearance. Still* facts were facts. Isabel Grant was one fine-looking woman.
She was also as big as a house. Noticing that helped him regain his wits. "Why can't the doctor come here?"
"Sam Boyle won't let him. Dr. Simpson came here once when I was too far along to go into town to see him* but Boyle told him he'd kill him if he ever tried to come to me again. He'd do it too*" she added in a whisper. "He's a terrible man. He owns the town and everyone in it. The people are decent* but they do whatever Boyle tells them to do because they're afraid of him. I can't blame them. I'm afraid of him too."
"What's Boyle got against you and your husband?"
"His ranch is next to ours* and he wants to expand so his cattle will have more grazing land. He offered Parker money for the deed* but it was only a pittance compared to what my husband paid for it. He wouldn't have sold it for any amount of money though. This is our home and our dream."
"Isabel* where is Parker now?" As soon as he saw the tears in her eyes* he had his answer. "He's dead* isn't he?"
"Yes. He's buried up on the hill behind the barn. Someone shot him in the back."
"Boyle?"
"Of course."
Douglas leaned back against the post* folded his arms across his chest* and waited for her to compose herself.

[Dalyia]

She sagged against the wall and lowered her head. She was suddenly so weary she could barely stand up.
He waited another minute before he started questioning her again. "Did the sheriff investigate?"
"Sweet Creek doesn't have a sheriff any longer. Boyle must have run him off before Parker and I moved here."
"No one wants the job* I suppose."
"Would you?" She wiped a tear from her cheek and looked up at him. "Dr. Simpson told me Sweet Creek used to be a quiet little town. He and his wife are my friends*" she added. "They're both trying to help."
"How?"
"They've sent wires and written letters to all the surrounding towns asking for assistance. The last time I saw the doctor* he told me he had been hearing stories about a U.S. marshal in the area. He believed the lawman was the answer to our prayers. The doctor hadn't been able to locate him yet* but he was certain he would come if he knew how many laws Boyle had broken. I try not to lose hope*" she added. "Boyle has at least twenty men working for him* and I think it would take an army of marshals to defeat him."
"I'm sure there's a way to…" He stopped in the middle of his sentence* for it had just occurred to him that she had gone several minutes without panting.
"Did the pain go away?"
She looked surprised. She put her hand on her swollen middle and smiled. "Yes* it did. It's gone now."
Thank God* he thought to himself. "You're really all alone here? Don't look at me like that* Isabel. You've got to know by now I don't work for Boyle."
She slowly nodded. "I've learned to be very distrustful. I've been alone for a long time."
He tried not to let her see how appalled he was. A woman in her last months of pregnancy should have been with people who cared about her.
Anger began to simmer inside him. "Has anyone from town looked in on you?"
"Mr. Clayborne* I…"
"Douglas*" he corrected.
"Douglas* I don't think you understand the severity of my situation. Boyle has the route cut off. No one gets in here without his approval."
He grinned. "I did."
The realization that he had indeed gotten through made her smile again. Odd* but she was also beginning to feel more in control too.
"Boyle's men must have gone home as soon as it started raining. I think they go back to his ranch every night when the light fades* but I can't be sure."
She straightened away from the wall to brush the dust off her skirt* and suddenly felt her legs give out. She was horrified. She leaned back again so she wouldn't fall to her knees and turned her face away from him as she explained in a whisper what had just happened.
She sounded frightened and ashamed. Douglas immediately went to her side and put his hand on her shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort her. "It's all right. It's supposed to break." He tried to sound like an authority on the subject. In reality* he had just summed up everything he knew about childbirth with that one simple statement.
"Something's wrong. The baby's not due for at least three to four more weeks. Oh* God* it's all my fault. I shouldn't have scrubbed the floors and done the wash yesterday* but everything was so dirty and I wanted to keep busy so I wouldn't think about having the baby alone. I never should have…"
"I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong*" he interrupted. "So stop blaming yourself. Some babies decide to come early. That's all."
"Do you think…"
"You didn't cause this to happen*" he insisted. "The baby's got a mind of his own* and even if you'd been in bed* your water still would have broken. I'm sure of it."
He seemed to know what he was talking about* and she stopped feeling guilty. "I think my baby's going to come tonight."
"Yes*" he agreed.
"It's odd. I'm not in any pain."
They were both whispering now. He was trying to be considerate of her feelings. She was trying to get over her embarrassment. The man was a complete stranger* and* oh* God* she wished he were old and ugly. He wasn't though. He was young and extremely handsome. She knew she would probably die of mortification if she let him help her bring her baby into the world* because she would have to take her clothes off and he would see…
"Isabel* you about finished hiding from me? You've got to be practical about this. Come on*" he coaxed. "Look at me."
It took her a full minute to summon up enough courage to do as he asked. Her face was burning with shame.
"You're going to be practical*" he repeated as he lifted her up into his arms.
"What are you doing?"
"Carrying you back to the house. Put your arms around me."
They were eye to eye now. He stared at her freckles. She stared at the ceiling.
"This is awkward*" she whispered.
"I don't think the baby cares if his mother feels awkward or not."
He carried her out of the stall* paused long enough to take the rifle away from her and prop it against the post* and then continued on toward the door.
"Be careful*" Isabel told him. "The rifle's loaded. It could have gone off when…"
"I unloaded it."
She was so surprised she looked him in the eye. "When?"
"Before I gave it back to you. You aren't going to start fretting again* are you?"
"No* but you're going to have to put me down for a minute. I have to take care of Pegasus first."
"Are you talking about the stallion?"
"Yes."
"You're in no condition to get near him."
"You don't understand. He cut his left hind leg* and I need to clean it before it becomes infected. It won't take long."
"I'll take care of him."
"Do you know what to do?"
"Oh* yes. I'm very good with horses."
He felt her relax in his arms. "Douglas?"
"Yes?"
"You're good with women too. I was wondering…"
"Yes?"
"About the delivery. Have you ever helped a woman give birth?"
He decided to ease her worry by hedging his answer. "I've had a little experience." With horses* he silently added.
"Will you know what to do if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing's going to go wrong." The authority in his voice didn't leave any room for doubts. "I know you're scared and feeling alone…"
"I'm not alone… Oh* God* you're not going to leave me* are you?"
"Don't get excited. I'm not going anywhere."
She let out a little sigh and tucked her head under his chin as soon as he stepped outside the barn. The rain was still coming down hard* and he was sorry he didn't have anything to wrap around her. The log cabin she called home was approximately fifty yards away* and by the time he had carried her to the door* she was as drenched as he was.
A single lantern provided the only light inside the cabin. The atmosphere was warm and inviting* but what he noticed most of all was the scent of roses that filled the air. To the right of the entrance was an oblong table covered with a yellow-and-white-checked gingham tablecloth* and in its center sat a crystal vase filled with at least a dozen white roses in full bloom. It was obvious she had tried to bring beauty and joy into the stark reality of her life* and the simple* feminine gesture made him ache for her.

[Dalyia]

The cabin was spotless. A stone fireplace faced the door* and on the mantel was a cluster of silver frames with photographs. A rocking chair with a yellow-and-white-checked cushion had been placed to the left of the hearth and a tall-backed wooden chair with spindly legs sat on the opposite side. Two knitting needles protruded from a burgundy ball of yarn on the footrest* and long strands coiled down to the colorful braided rag rug.
"You've got a real nice place*" he said.
"Thank you. I wish my kitchen were larger. I put up the drape to separate it from the main room. It's always such a clutter. I was going to clean it up after I finished in the barn."
"Don't worry about it."
"Did you notice the roses? Aren't they beautiful? They grow wild near the tree line behind the field. Parker planted more on the side of the house* but they haven't taken root yet."
Douglas's practical nature reasserted itself. "You shouldn't have gone out by yourself. You could have fallen."
"It gave me pleasure to bring them inside* and I'm certain the exercise was good for me. I hate being cooped up all day. Please let me stand. I'm feeling fine now."
He did as she requested but continued to hold on to her arm until he was sure she was steady. "What can I do to help?"
"Would you start a fire? I put the wood in the hearth* but I didn't want to light it until I got back from the barn."
"You carried wood inside?"
"It is my fault the baby's coming early* isn't it? I carried wood down from the hills early this morning. I went back up again this afternoon to collect more. It gets so cold and damp at night… I wasn't thinking* and now my baby's going to—"
He interrupted before she could get all worked up again. "Calm down* Isabel. Lots of women do chores right up to the delivery. I was just concerned about the possibility of falling. That's all."
"Then why did you say…"
"Falling*" he said again. "That's all I was thinking about. You didn't fall* so no harm was done. Now* stop worrying."
She nodded and started across the room. He grabbed hold of her arm* told her to lean on him* and slowed the pace to a crawl.
"It's going to take me an hour to get to the bedroom if you keep treating me like an invalid."
He moved ahead and opened the door. It was pitch black inside.
"Don't move until I get the lantern. I don't want you to—"
"Fall? You seem terribly worried about that possibility."
"No offense* but you're so big in the middle you can't possibly see your own feet. Of course I'm worried you'll fall."
She actually laughed* and she hadn't done that in such a long time.
"You need to get out of your wet clothes*" he reminded her.
"There's a pair of candles on the dresser to your right."
He was happy to have something to do. He felt awkward and totally out of his element. He didn't I realize his hands were shaking until he tried to light [ the candles. It took him three attempts before he succeeded. When he turned around* she was already folding back a colorful quilt on the bed.
"You're drenched. You really need to get out of your wet clothes before you do anything else*" he said.
"What about you? Do you have a change of clothes?" she asked.
"In my saddlebags. If you don't need help* I'll start the fire; then I'll go back to the barn and take care of the horses. Have yours been fed?"
"Yes*" she answered. "Be careful with Pegasus. He doesn't like strangers." She stared down at the floor with her hands folded together. As Douglas turned to leave* she called out to him* "You're coming back* aren't you?"
She was fretting again. The last thing she needed to worry about now was being left alone. He had a feeling they were in for one hell of a night* and he wanted her to conserve her strength for the more important task ahead.
"You're going to have to trust me."
"Yes… I'll try."
She still looked scared. He leaned against the doorframe and tried to think of something to say that would convince her he wasn't going to abandon her.
"It's getting late*" she said.
He straightened away from the door and went to her. "Will you do me a favor?"
"Yes."
He pulled the gold watch out of his pocket* unclipped the chain* and handed it to her. The chain dangled down between her fingers.
"This is the most valuable thing I own. My Mama Rose gave it to me* and I don't want anything to happen to it. Pegasus might get in a lucky kick* or I
might drop it while I'm drying down my sorrel. Keep it safe for me."
"Oh* yes* I'll keep it safe."
As soon as he had left the room* she pressed the watch against her heart and closed her eyes. She and her baby were safe again* and for the first time in a long while* Isabel felt calm and in control.

[Dalyia]

Chapter Two
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She had turned into a raving maniac. She didn't care. She knew she was losing the last shreds of her control* and somewhere in the back of her mind lurked the realization that she wasn't being reasonable. She didn't care about that either.
She wanted to die. It was a cowardly thought* but she wasn't in the mood to feel at all guilty about it. Death would be a welcome respite from the hellish pain she was enduring* and at this stage* when one excruciating cramp was coming right on top of another and another and another* death was all she was interested in thinking about.
Douglas kept telling her everything was going to be just fine* and she decided she wanted to stay alive long enough to kill him. How dare he be so calm and rational? What did he know about anything? He was a man* for the love of God* and as far as she was concerned* he was totally responsible for her agony.
"I don't want to do this any longer* Douglas. Do you hear me? I don't want to do this any longer."
She hadn't whispered her demand. She'd bellowed it.
"Just a few more minutes* Isabel*" he promised* his voice a soothing whisper.
She told him to drop dead.
Honest to God* he would have liked to accommodate her. He hated having to watch her in such misery. He felt helpless* inept* and so damned scared* he could barely think what to do.
On the surface* he was presenting a stoic facade* but he wasn't at all certain how long he could keep up the pretense. Any moment now she was bound to notice how his hands were shaking. Then she would probably become afraid again. He much preferred her anger to her fear* and if it made her feel better to rant at him* he wouldn't try to stop her.
She accidentally knocked the water basin over when she threw the wet cloth he'd pressed against her forehead.
"If you were a gentleman* you'd do what I asked."
"Isabel* I'm not going to knock you out."
"Just a little clip under the chin. I need to rest."
He shook his head.
She started crying. "How long has it been? Tell me how long?"
"Just six hours*" he answered.
"Just six hours? I hate you* Douglas Clayborne."
"I know you do* Isabel."
"I can't do this any longer."
"The contractions are close together now. Soon you'll be holding your baby in your arms."
"I'm not having a baby*" she shouted. "I made up my mind* Douglas."
"All right* Isabel. You don't have to have the baby."
"Thank you."
She stopped crying and closed her eyes. She told him she was sorry for all the vile names she had called him. He calculated he had a few minutes left to mop up the water from the floor and go get more towels before another contraction hit. He was pulling the door closed behind him when she called out. "Leave it open so you can hear me." She had to be joking. She was shouting loud enough for most of Montana to hear. His ears were still ringing from her last bellow* but he didn't think it would be a good idea to tell her so.
He agreed instead. About three hours earlier* he'd learned not to contradict a woman in pain. Trying to get Isabel to be reasonable was impossible. Oh* yes* it was much easier to agree with everything she said* no matter how outlandish it was.
Douglas carried the porcelain bowl to the curtained alcove Isabel used as a kitchen* grabbed a stack of fresh towels* and headed back. He made it past the hearth before the reality of the situation finally crashed down on him. He had to deliver a baby. He felt the floor shift under his feet. He dropped the towels and slammed back against the wall. Doubling over* he braced his hands on his knees and closed his eyes while he desperately tried to face the inevitable.
His brother Cole had taught him a trick to use when preparing for a shoot-out. Cole said to think of the worst possible situation* put yourself smack in the middle of it* and then picture yourself winning. Douglas had always thought his brother's mental game was a waste of time* but it was all he had now* and he decided to give it a try.
I can do this. Hell with that. I can't do it. No* no* it won't be bad* and I can handle it. All right* I'm standing in front of Tommy's Tavern in Hammond. Five… no* ten bloodthirsty killers are waiting for me to come inside. There isn't any choice. I have to go in. I know that* and I'm ready. I know the bastards have all got their weapons drawn and cocked. I can beat them though. I'll get five of them with the gun in my left hand* and the other five with the gun in my right hand while I'm diving for cover. It's going to be as smooth and easy as a drink of fine whiskey. Yeah* I can take them all right.
He drew a deep breath. And I sure as certain can deliver this baby.
Cole's game wasn't working. Douglas was gulping down air now and letting it out faster and faster.
Isabel could feel the beginning of another contraction. This one felt as if it was going to be a doozy. She squeezed her eyes shut in preparation and was about to scream for Douglas when she heard a peculiar noise. It sounded like someone breathing heavily* as though he'd just run a long distance. Douglas? No* it couldn't be Douglas. Dear God* she was imagining things now. It had finally happened; her mind had snapped.
The contraction eased up while she was distracted. A few seconds later* it gained her full attention with a vengeance. She felt as though her body were being shredded into a thousand pieces* and as the spasm intensified* her whimper turned into a bloodcurdling scream.
Douglas was suddenly by her side. He put his arms around her shoulders and lifted her up against him.
"Hold on to me* sugar. Just hold on tight until it stops."
She was sobbing by the time the contraction ended. And then she was immediately struck with another one.
"It's time* Douglas. The baby's coming."
She was right about that. Ten minutes later* he held her son in his arms. The baby was long of limb* deadly pale* and so terribly thin Douglas didn't think the little one had enough strength to open his eyes… or last a full day. His breathing was shallow* and when at last he cried* the sound was pitifully weak.
"Is the baby all right?" she whispered.
"It's a boy* Isabel. I'll let you hold him as soon as I get him cleaned up. He's awfully thin*" he warned her. "But I'm sure he's going to be fine* just fine."
Douglas didn't know if he was giving her false hope or not. He honestly didn't know how the baby could possibly survive. He was small enough to fit in Douglas's hands* yet he could open and close his eyes and squirm about. Dear Lord* his fingers and toes were so tiny* Douglas was afraid to touch them for fear they'd crumble. He gently shifted his hold and gingerly pressed his fingertip against the baby's chest. He felt the heart beating. How could anything this little be so perfectly formed? It was amazing that the baby could breathe at all. And yet he did.
My God* Douglas thought* I could accidentally break one of his bones if I'm not careful. The sheer beauty of God's creation both awed and humbled him. Now Isabel needed one more miracle to keep her son alive.
"You've got to be a fighter* little man*" he whispered* his voice thick with emotion.
Isabel heard him. "He'll have help. The sisters told us that every time a baby is born* God sends a guardian angel to watch over him."
Douglas glanced up at her. "I sure hope he gets here soon."
She smiled* for in her heart she knew Parker's guardian angel was already here.
He was holding her son.
It took a good hour to get Isabel and the baby settled. Douglas had to alter the plan to use the cradle her husband had made because when his knee brushed up against the side* the bottom fell out. It was evident Grant had used rotten wood to build the base. Yet even if the wood had been freshly cut* Douglas would still have thrown the contraption out. Nails as long as a man's hand had been driven inward from the outside of the uneven slats* and long* dangerously sharp points angled down toward the bedding. He shuddered to think of the damage those rusty nails could do to an infant.
He was too tired to do anything about it now. He stripped out of his clothes* put on another pair of buckskin pants* and went back to the bedroom to make a temporary bed for the baby. He used the bottom drawer of her dresser and padded it with towels covered with a pillowcase.
By the time he was finished* Isabel was sleeping soundly. The serenity on her face was captivating* and he couldn't turn away. He watched her sleep; he watched her breathe. She was as beautiful and as perfect as her son. Her hair was spread out on the pillow behind her in a tangled mess. She looked like an angel now… and not at all like the Beelzebub he had compared her to during her labor.
Another yawn shook him out of his stupor. He carefully transferred the baby to the drawer and was leaving the bedroom when she called to him.
He hurried to her side* forgetting his state of undress. He hadn't put a shirt on yet or bothered to button his pants* but he was more concerned that she was going to tell him the bleeding had increased.
"Is something wrong? You're not…"
"I'm fine. Sit down next to me. I want you to tell me the truth and look me in the eyes so I'll know you aren't just telling me what I want to hear. Will my baby make it?"
"I hope so* but I honestly don't know."

[Dalyia]

Chapter Three
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Douglas had walked into the middle of a nightmare. He knew Isabel's situation was bad. If what she'd told him the day before was true—and he was certain that it was—then she was in serious trouble. Not only was she being preyed upon by a group of thugs under the direction of a malevolent bastard named Boyle* but she was also completely cut off from town* which meant she couldn't get help or supplies. Last* but certainly just as troublesome* was the fact that she had just given birth. The infant needed her undivided attention* and both mother and son were too weak and vulnerable to be moved.
Then bad got worse. The rain didn't let up. Since dawn* it had alternated between a soft sprinkle and a thundering deluge. He'd become extremely concerned about the weather as soon as he stepped outside in the gray light of day and saw exactly where the log cabin was situated. Last night it had been too dark to see much of anything when he'd ridden down the slope* guided by only a faint flickering light in the field below. He'd already known the cabin was surrounded on three sides by mountains* but what he hadn't known was that her home was sitting smack in the center of the flood floor. Any overflow from the lakes and creeks in the mountains would have to pass through her cabin in order to get to the river below.
He couldn't believe anyone would build a home in such a dangerous spot. Douglas didn't usually speak ill of the dead* but facts were facts* and it was apparent Parker Grant* Senior* had been an incompetent imbecile. Douglas had given Grant the benefit of the doubt when he'd seen the cradle. Some men weren't any good at making furniture. Nothing wrong with that* he'd reasoned. Building a home on a flood path was an altogether different matter.
Still* Douglas didn't want to jump to conclusions. Someone else might have built the place years ago* and Grant might simply have moved his wife inside as a temporary measure until he could build a proper home up on higher ground.
Douglas hoped his guess was right. With any luck—and God only knew she was due for some—Grant had gotten a roof on the new cabin. If it wasn't too far away* Douglas could take Isabel and her son there in a couple of days.
Time wasn't critical yet. Although there were patches of water all over the field behind the house and barn* and the ground was soggy under his feet* he figured he still had some time before they had to leave. There was also the chance that the rain would stop. The usual hot summer sun would quickly dry up the water then* which would give them some additional time.
He needed something to cheer him up* he decided* and so he went to the barn to take care of the horses. He was eager to get a look at the Arabians again. The stallion was as magnificent as his brother had told him he was.
The horse was big for an Arabian* with a beautiful gray coat. Douglas could feel the power in the stallion and the distrust. Isabel had been right* Pegasus didn't like strangers* but fortunately Douglas had always had a way with horses* and once the stallion was used to his scent and his voice* he let him check his injury.
His mate was smaller* somewhat delicate looking* and definitely full of herself. She tossed her head about like a vain woman* which made Douglas like her all the more.
The pair was meant to stay together. As soon as he moved the female into the stall next to the stallion* they nuzzled each other and let Douglas brush them. No wonder Isabel had wanted to keep them. Her husband never should have sold the stallion without first discussing it with her* no matter how desperate he was for money.
The animals' feed was running low. He gave his sorrel and the Arabians as much as they needed* then calculated he had less than a week's ration left.
The supplies inside the cabin were just as sparse. He had only just finished taking inventory when he heard the baby's whimpering. He decided to change him so that Isabel could stay in bed* but when he reached the bedroom door* it was closed.
He knocked twice before she answered him. In a stammer she asked him to please wait until she finished dressing.
"You may come in now."
She was standing by the chest of drawers dressed in a blue robe buttoned to the top of her neck. Parker was nestled in her arms. Isabel was getting prettier by the minute. Douglas realized he was staring at her* glanced away* and noticed then the dress she'd laid out on top of her bed.
"You really should stay in bed."
She finally looked up. The glow of motherhood was still in her eyes* and there was a faint blush on her cheeks. She wasn't looking at him though. Her gaze was directed on the wall to his left.
"Is something wrong?"
"No* nothing's wrong." She sounded nervous. "I want to get dressed and fix your breakfast."
He shook his head. "For God's sake* you just had a baby. I'll fix your breakfast. You sit down in the rocker while I change the bedding."
His voice told her not to argue. She sat more quickly than she should have* and let out a loud moan. "I think I'd better stand up."
He helped her to her feet. She still wouldn't look at him.
"Why are you acting so shy with me?"
Her blush intensified. He shouldn't have been so blunt* he supposed.
"After… you know."
"No* I don't know. That's why I asked."
"It's… awkward. I was thinking about how I met you and you had to… it was necessary for you to… when the baby was coming…"
He started to laugh. He simply couldn't help it. She didn't appreciate his amusement.
"I was real busy at the time. All I remember is the baby. I was worried I'd drop him."
"Honest?"
"Yes* honest. If it hurts too much to sit down* lean on the dresser until I get your bed ready. The last thing we need now is for you to fall. You've got to be weak."
"Parker's fretful*" she stammered out* trying to change the subject.
Douglas leaned closer to her side and peered down at the sleeping infant. Fretful was the last word he would have used to describe the baby.
"He looks real peaceful to me."
They looked at one another and shared a smile. Douglas was the first to turn away* but not before he noticed how pretty her eyes were. They were more gold than brown* and* damn* those freckles of hers were going to keep on distracting him if he continued to stand so close to her.
She had delicate hands too. He had noticed them during her contractions when she tried to choke him because he wouldn't knock her unconscious.
He made quick work of changing the bedding while she listed all the qualities she was sure her son possessed. She started out telling him Parker had already proven how smart he was* and by the time she finished listing his attributes* she had elevated him to genius.
Douglas couldn't figure out how she'd arrived at her conclusions. The baby wasn't a full day old* and all she could possibly know about him was that he slept and he wet.
She was sagging against the chest when Douglas took Parker away from her.
"I could go in the kitchen with you and help you fix breakfast."
"You don't need to*" he said. "Is Parker getting enough to eat?"
"He will… soon."
"Please* try to get past your embarrassment. I need to know if he's doing all right."
"Yes* he's doing just fine. The doctor spent a long while telling me what to expect. I should be able to feed him by tonight."
He nodded. "If you start bleeding* you'll tell me* won't you?"
"Douglas…"
"I'm thinking about Parker*" he explained. "Maybe I should go and get the doctor so he can check you. I could sneak him past Boyle's men during the night."
"That isn't necessary. I promised I'd tell you if anything happens."
After he put the baby back in his bed* he helped Isabel out of her robe. Her hands trembled as she tried to get the buttons undone* protesting all the while that she could undress herself. He took over the task anyway.
"I'm not at all tired. I've slept a long time."
She kept on protesting* even after he'd tucked her between the sheets. At her insistence* he checked on her son once more before he left the room* and by the time he pulled the door closed* Isabel was sound asleep.
She ate breakfast early that evening. He fed her burnt toast and lumpy oatmeal sweetened with sugar. He thought it looked pretty good.
She thought it looked awful. Because he'd gone to such trouble to prepare the meal* she ate as much as she could without gagging and thanked him profusely.
After he'd removed the tray* he sat down on the side of the bed to discuss the situation. "We need to talk."
She dropped the napkin onto her lap. "You're leaving."
"Isabel…"
"I understand."
Her face had turned stark white. He shook his head. "No* I'm not leaving. I'm going to have to do something about your lack of supplies."
"You are?"
"Yes."
"I could use more flour and sugar. I'm almost out."
"I'm going into town."
"They won't let you come back."
He put his hand on top of hers. "Listen to me. It isn't good for you to get upset. I don't plan to stroll into the general store in the middle of the day. Give me a little more credit than that."
"Then how…"
He grinned. "I'm going in during the night."
She looked shocked by the possibility. "You're going to rob Mr. Cooper?"
"We need supplies* and I want to pick up some clothes. I only packed one extra shirt and pair of pants to come here. I'll leave money on the counter."
"Oh* you can't do that. Mr. Cooper will know someone came into the store and he'll tell Boyle. He tells him everything. It's too risky* Douglas. One of them might guess you're helping me. Wait* I know what you can do. Hide the money under the papers on Cooper's desk behind the counter. He'll eventually find it* and it doesn't matter if he ever figures out how it got there. We'll know we didn't steal* and our consciences will be clear. Yes* that's what you should do."
"Why does Cooper tell Boyle everything?"
"He just does*" she replied. "So do some of the others. Only a handful of men stood up to Boyle. Dr. Simpson was one of them. He even lied to him for my sake and told him the baby wouldn't be born until the end of September. He was trying to give me more time to figure out a way to get away from Boyle."
"Good. We'll let Boyle keep on believing the lie for as long as possible. Did the doctor ever come out here?"
"Once."
"Did he tell you where the lookouts were?"
"I remember he told me they were lazy because they stay on the hill just outside town* blocking the road leading here. They take turns going back and forth into Sweet Creek."
"I saw those lookouts on my way here. I was wondering if he mentioned any others posted near you. It was dark when I came down the last hills* and I might have missed them."
"I don't think there are any more. There really isn't any reason for them to watch the cabin. They know I can't go into the wilderness. If I tried to go west* it would take over a week to get to the next town. In my condition* I couldn't risk it. No* the only safe way out is through Sweet Creek."
"If they aren't watching the cabin* that's good news."
"Why?"
"The longer I can go without being spotted* the better* and if they aren't watching the field* I can go back and forth from the barn and exercise the horses. I'll make certain Boyle's men haven't changed their lookout points first."
"When will you leave for the general store?"
"As soon as it's dark. Are you going to be okay by yourself?"
"Yes* but it's dangerous for you to go riding in the dark."
"It won't be any problem*" he exaggerated. He tried to pull his hand away from hers* but she held on tight. "Tell me everything you know about the layout of the town."
Her memory for details was impressive. She described each building in detail. She even knew exactly where Cooper had his inventory placed inside his store.
"Now tell me where Dr. Simpson's house is located. I want to find out how many men are watching him."
She did as he asked* and then said* "You won't be able to bring much back with you unless you take the buggy* and it's too dangerous. Boyle's men will hear the squeaky wheels."
"I can fix that. You stop worrying* and don't expect me back before morning. I'll leave the rifle and extra bullets next to your bed… just in case Boyle decides to come by. God* Isabel* I hate to leave you* but I…"
She threw her arms around his neck. "Please come back. I know you didn't ask for any of this. I'm so sorry I got you involved* but* Douglas* I really hope you'll come back anyway."
He put his arms around her and held her tight. "Calm down. I'm coming back. I promise."
She couldn't seem to let go. She hated herself for being so dependent on him. She had never depended on her husband* but then she had understood his weaknesses. Douglas was the complete opposite of him. Nothing seemed to faze Douglas.
"Parker needs you until I get stronger."
"I'll be back*" he promised once again. "You have to let go of me."
"Can I do anything to help you?"
"Sure. Give me a list of the things you need. I don't want to forget anything."
"There's a list in the drawer in the kitchen. I started it weeks ago." She sounded frantic when she added* "I called it my wish list."
He didn't realize she was crying until she released him and sank back against the headboard.

[Dalyia]

"Ah* sugar. Don't cry."
"I'm just a little emotional today. That's all."
He had to do something to make her trust him. He checked on little Parker* then picked up his pocket watch* told her what time it was* and put it back on the dresser. When he looked at her again* he saw the fear still in her eyes.
"You know what you need* Isabel?"
"It's all down on my list*" she answered.
"I'm not talking about supplies."
"Then* no* I don't know what I need."
"Faith. Try finding a little while I'm gone* or you and I are going to have words when I get back."
The hard edge in his voice didn't upset her. She was actually comforted by it. He would come back* if only to give her a piece of his mind for doubting him. He was arrogant and proud enough to do just that* and* oh* it was so wonderful to have him snapping at her. He acted as though he belonged with her and Parker.
"I didn't mean to insult you."
"Well* you did."
She tried to look contrite. She didn't want him to leave on a sour note. "I'll find some faith. I promise." There was a definite sparkle in her eyes when she added* "You be careful* sugar."

[Dalyia]

Chapter Four
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Old habits die hard. Douglas had never forgotten how to pick a lock or get in and out of a building without being seen. He'd spent several years living on the streets of New York City* surviving by his wits and his criminal skills* before he met his three brothers and his baby sister* and headed west. Before that* he'd been in an orphanage. Granted* he'd been only a boy when he'd perfected his criminal technique. But it was like making love to a woman. After you learned how* you never forgot.
His experience as a petty thief came in real handy now. So did the rain* for it kept the night owls inside their homes. Boyle's men weren't a problem* just an inconvenience. Douglas stashed the buggy in a cove near their lair on the hill overlooking Sweet Creek* then crept up on the four men and listened to their conversation in hopes of gaining some useful information about their boss. He didn't learn anything significant. Other than taking Boyle's name in vain several times because he'd assigned them this miserable duty* the men spent the rest of the time boasting to one another about the number of shots of whiskey they could swallow in a single sitting. They were incredibly boring* and after listening to their whining complaints for almost twenty minutes* Douglas hadn't heard anything significant. He was about to make a wide circle around them and continue on when Boyle's men decided to leave their posts and go back into town for the night. Not only had the weather finally gotten to them* but they were also certain their boss would never find out.
Their laziness made Douglas's task easier. He made six trips on his sorrel back and forth from the general store to the buggy with supplies Isabel would need* then headed across town to Dr. Simpson's cottage.
He didn't knock. He went in the back door because* just as Isabel suspected* Boyle was keeping a close watch on the physician. He had a man stationed out front. Douglas spotted the guard leaning against a hitching post across the street with a rifle in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. There wasn't anyone watching the back* however. Douglas figured Boyle had ordered one of his men to do just that* but like the complainers up on the hill* he'd probably sneaked home too.
Douglas had forgotten that Isabel had told him Simpson was married. His wife was tucked in nice and tight beside him* sleeping on her side with her back to her husband. All Douglas saw was a puff of gray hair above the covers.
He didn't use his gun to wake the elderly man. He simply put his hand over the doctor's mouth* whispered that he was a friend of Isabel Grant's* and asked him to come downstairs to talk.
The doctor was apparently used to being awakened in the dead of night. Babies* Douglas knew* often came during that inconvenient time. Although the physician seemed wary* he didn't argue with him.
His wife didn't wake up. Simpson shut the door behind him and led Douglas to his study. He pulled the drapes closed and then lit a candle.
"Are you really a friend of Isabel's?"
"Yes* I am."
"And your name?"
"Douglas Clayborne."
"You don't intend to hurt Isabel?"
"No."
The doctor still didn't look convinced.
"I want to help her*" Douglas insisted.
"Maybe so* maybe not*" Simpson replied. "You aren't from around here* are you? How do you know our Isabel?"
"Actually* I only just met her. Her husband sold me an Arabian stallion a couple of months ago* but I was expanding my business back then and couldn't come for the horse until I'd hired some extra hands."
"But you're a friend. Is that right?"
"Yes."
Simpson stared at him a long minute* slowly rubbing his whiskered jaw until he had worked out whatever it was that was bothering him* and finally nodded. "Good*" he said. "She needs a friend as big and hard-looking as you* young man. I hope to God you are hard when it comes to protecting her. You know how to use that gun you're wearing?"
"Yes."
"Are you fast and accurate?"
Douglas felt as though he were undergoing an inquisition but didn't take offense because he knew the physician had Isabel's safety uppermost in his mind. "I'm fast enough."
"I saw your shotgun on the table in the hall*" Simpson said. "Are you also good with that weapon?"
Douglas didn't see any harm in being completely honest. "I prefer my shotgun."
"Why is that?"
"It leaves a bigger hole* sir* and if I shoot someone* I shoot to kill."
The doctor grinned. "I expect that's the way it ought to be*" he remarked.
He sat down behind his desk and motioned for Douglas to take a seat across from him.
He declined with a shake of his head.
"How's our girl doing? I sure wish I could see her. I expect she's getting big and awkward about now."
"She had the baby last night."
"Good Lord Almighty* she had the baby? It came much too soon. What'd she have? A boy or a girl?"
"A boy."
"Did he make it?"
"Yes* but he's thin* terribly thin… and little. His cry is real weak too."
Simpson leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "It's a miracle he survived. Besides being weak* is he acting sick?"
"I don't know if he is or not. He sleeps most of the time."
"Is he nursing?"
"He's trying to*" he answered.
"Good. That's real good*" he said. "His mama's milk will fatten him up. Tell Isabel to try to nurse him every hour or so until he's stronger. He'll only take a little each time* but that's all right. If the baby refuses to eat* or can't keep it down* then we've got a real problem on our hands. I don't know what good I could do for him if he gets into trouble. He's too young for medicine. We've just got to pray he makes it. A chill will kill him* so you've got to keep him warm all the time. That's real important* son."
"I'll keep him warm."
"I don't want to sound grim… It's just* you have to understand and accept the facts. There's a good chance the baby won't make it* no matter what you do."
"I don't want to think about that possibility."
"If it happens* you have to help Isabel get through it. That's what friends do."
"Yes* I will."
"How is she doing? Did she have any problems I should know about?"
"She had a difficult time with the laboring. She looks all right now."
"You helped her bring the baby?"
"Yes."
"Did she tear?"
"No* but she sure bled a lot. I don't know if it was more than what's expected. I've never delivered a baby before. I ask her how she's doing* and that seems to embarrass her and she refuses to talk about it."
The doctor nodded. "If she were in real trouble* she'd tell you for her son's sake. Try to keep her calm* and be real careful about upsetting her. Isabel's a strong woman* but she's vulnerable now. New mothers tend to become emotional* and I don't expect Isabel to be any different. The least little thing might set her off* and she doesn't need to be fretting about anything. Paul Morgan's wife cried for a full month. She plumb drove her husband to distraction worrying about her. The woman cried when she was happy and when she was sad. There wasn't any rhyme or reason to it. Eventually she snapped out of it. Isabel's got more serious problems to deal with. I don't know how I'd stand it if I had Boyle breathing down my neck. I'm sure worried about her son though* coming early like he did* and I know she must be worried too. If the baby makes it* are you planning to stay with our girl until he can be moved?"
"Yes* I'm staying. How long do you think that will be?"
"At least eight weeks* but ten would be even better if he's slow to put on weight. I'm mighty curious about something* son. How'd you manage to get to Isabel's ranch in the first place?"
"It was dark and I was taking the most direct route* using the moonlight to guide me* until it disappeared and the rain started. I almost ran into Boyle's lookouts by accident then. They were so drunk they didn't hear me. I wondered what they were doing hiding out in the rain*" he admitted with a shrug. "But I wasn't curious enough to find out. I'm glad now I didn't stop."
"It was dangerous riding down the mountain path in the dark."
"I took my time* walked some of the way* and the light in Isabel's window provided a beacon for me."
"Are you sure you can get back to her tonight?"
"I'm sure."
"I wish I were younger and more agile. I'd try to get to Isabel in the dark too* but I don't dare chance it at my age. I was never very good with horses. They scare me*" he admitted. "I've fallen more than I care to recollect. Now I use a buggy* and my wife helps me rig the horses up every morning. Besides* even if I could get there* Boyle might hear about it and then my Trudy would get hurt. No* I can't chance it* but I thank the Lord you came along."
"You told me there wasn't anything you could do for the baby now*" Douglas reminded him.
"I could be a comfort to Isabel. She's like a daughter to Trudy and me. After Parker died* I asked her to move in with us* but she wouldn't hear of it. She's determined to stand on her own two feet. Trudy pleaded with her to at least stay with us until after the baby was born; then Boyle got wind of our plans and put a stop to it. My wife found a nice little cottage down the road from us* and we wanted Isabel to consider moving in there and raising her baby in Sweet Creek. She'd be as independent as she wanted* yet close enough that we could lend a hand every now and then."
The doctor's affection for Isabel made Douglas like him all the more. "I'll take good care of her and the baby*" he promised.
"Have you noticed how pretty she is yet?"
Douglas felt like laughing* so absurd was the question. "Yes* I noticed."
"Then I've got to ask you what your intentions are* son."
The question blindsided him. "Excuse me?"
"I'm going to be blunt* and I expect I'll rile you. Still* I've got to ask. After she recovers from childbirth* do you plan on dallying with her?"
He'd never heard it put quite that way before. "No."
Simpson didn't look convinced. He suggested Douglas pour each of them a shot of brandy* waited until he'd given him a glass* and then leaned back in his chair to think about the situation. "It might happen anyway*" he remarked
"I've only known Isabel for—"
Simpson interrupted him. "You just promised me you'd stay with her for ten weeks* remember? You're a man of your word aren't you?"
"Yes* and I will stay* but that doesn't mean I'll…"
"Son* let me tell you about a man I happened to run into in River's Bend."
Douglas could feel his frustration mounting. He didn't want to hear a story now. He wanted to talk about Boyle and get as much information about the man as he could.
The doctor wasn't going to be rushed* if the way he sipped his brandy and stared off into space were any indication. Age gave the older man the benefit of Douglas's attention and respect* and so Douglas leaned against the side of the desk and waited for the tale to be told.
It took Simpson over thirty minutes to tell his story about three couples who got stranded in a snowstorm and stayed together in a miner's shack for the entire winter. By the time the spring thaw came* the six of them had formed what the doctor called an undying friendship. Yet five years later* he happened to meet one of the survivors and asked him several questions. To the doctor's amazement* the gentleman couldn't remember the name of one of the men he'd spent the winter with.