As his bare feet touched the smooth, cool floor, a rush of excitement came over him as he was eager to see his son. Tiptoeing down the hall to Heath’s room, he pushed open the door ever so gently. He could hear the soft snores of his son, which brought a smile to his face. He crept back to his own room so he could dress and prepare for the day.
Just as he was descending the staircase, the back door to the kitchen opened and closed. His heart leaped into his throat as none of the ranch hands had a key to the main house, and no one ever showed up this early anyway. Catlike, he moved into the kitchen. He was just about to call out to the intruder when an oil lamp flamed to life, illuminating the dowdy figure of Mrs. Calkins.
“Mrs. Calkins,” Mark said, looking her over critically. As Mrs. Calkins rarely had to use her key to the house, since she only arrived after Heath awakened, Mark had entirely forgotten that she possessed one. “What are you doing here?” It was apparent she had suffered a sleepless night, as her eyes were drooping miserably.
“Mr. Flint, I do apologize for coming so early,” Mrs. Calkins began.
“Think nothing of it,” Mark replied swiftly. “You merely startled me. Please,” he said, stopping to pull a stool around the kitchen counter and in her direction, “have a seat. You look exhausted. How is everything at home? How is your husband?”
Mrs. Calkins lifted her stout frame onto the side of the stool and shrugged her shoulders heavily. “I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mr. Flint. That’s why I came by so early.” She took a shaky breath and continued. “My husband suffered a massive stroke last night.” Tears fell down the sides of her face, and Mark rushed to hand her his handkerchief.
She took it from him with trembling hands and dabbed at her eyes with the black cloth. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Doc says the same thing. Carl Sr. was just fine in the morning hours, but something happened at about three o’clock and now …” She paused as the tears refreshed and cascaded once more. Mark waited for her to continue. “He can’t speak. The right side of his body won’t move, either. Doc says I need to feed him his meals—broth and soup only for a while until his mouth—” As the enormity of the situation washed over her once more, she cried anew.
Mark tried to say something comforting. “Oh, Mrs. Calkins. I am very sorry to hear of this news.”
She lifted her head from the handkerchief and attempted to give him a watery smile. “I’m sorry, too, Mr. Flint, and I appreciate your kindness. I only stopped by so early this morning, so I could tell you the news and let you know I won’t be able to help with Heath today. I need to be home by Carl’s side.”
“Of course,” Mark said quickly, reaching out a hand to support Mrs. Calkins as she rose from her stool. “I understand completely. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you or your family.”
Mrs. Calkins looked bewildered and rotated her head slowly about the kitchen as though searching for something.
“Did you need something?” Mark asked, watching her.
Continuing to glance about, she finally said, “I can’t seem to find my Bible. Did I leave it around here somewhere?”
Mark recalled catching sight of it the previous day. “I saw it in the sitting room. Let me fetch it for you,” he said as he scooted from the kitchen. Walking swiftly to the table where he had seen the Bible, he picked it up, feeling the weight of the book in his hands. When he returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Calkins stood near the back door. She was anxious to leave, he imagined.
He handed over her Bible as a small smile came to Dollie Calkins’ face. Mark was bemused by this reaction but kept his thoughts to himself.
“Thank you, Mr. Flint,” Mrs. Calkins said, placing her fleshy hand on the back door.
“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Calkins. And do not hesitate to call on me if you should need assistance. I can always send one of the ranch hands to help and—”
Heath’s sharp outcry interrupted Mark’s words.
Mrs. Calkins smiled warmly. “I’d say you already have your hands full as it is, Mr. Flint. Do take care of yourself and that beautiful baby.” She lifted the latch on the door and let herself out into the yard. He watched her as she walked away, the oil lamp swinging slightly at her side.
Heath cried out once more, and Mark raced up the stairs. As he took the steps two at a time, he thought about the predicament he now found himself in.How can I take care of Heath and do my share of the work on the ranch?He thought. As he hit the landing, the click of his boots snapping sharply, he turned to move down the hall toward Heath’s room. When he pushed open the door, Heath was standing in his crib, clutching the bars. Mark was surprised to see his boy in this position and wondered when Heath learned how to pull himself up. Astonished by his child’s progress, Mark strode across the room and picked up the baby.
“Now, what are we going to do together today?” Mark asked Heath, and the little child smiled in response.
Throughout the morning, Mark did his best to care for Heath and handle his chores on the ranch. After breakfast, when he went down to the barn to milk the cows, Mark toted the baby along with him. Everything was going just fine until Mark put Heath down so he could start taking care of the cows.
When Heath’s bottom touched the ground, he switched into a crawling position and took off across the dusty terrain. “Heath!” Mark shouted, jumping up to chase after his son. Startled, Heath cried at once. He sat up straight and bawled, tipping his head back, so his little brown curls hung down his neck.
Agitated, Mark rolled his shoulders to release some tension, then knelt to pick up Heath and bring him back beside him. Mark sat the baby down a second time and flexed his fingers, preparing to set about his chores once more. Heath moved from his bottom to his hands and knees without hesitation to crawl away quickly. “This is not a game,” Mark called out to his son, who didn’t seem to mind his father’s words at all.
As Mark picked up Heath, he didn’t cry, but he did squirm in his father’s arms. The baby cried in earnest when Mark plopped Heath down beside his workspace. “Now, what am I going to do?” Mark asked, leaning over to pick up Heath. “I’m never going to get any work done at this rate,” Mark sighed to his son as he brought the boy close to his face.
Eagerly, Heath reached out and caressed the freshly shaven jawline. Mark thought of Miss Fitzpatrick and how she had shown him this trick the evening before. He remembered her offer to come and help with the baby. Though he didn’t like to recall how she had suggested that she become his wife, he reluctantly acknowledged that it made the most sense. As a young lady, she couldn’t very well come live in his house, cook his meals, and take care of his child without also being his wife.
Heath squirmed in his father’s arms, trying to reach further up to feel Mark’s nose. “She has experience with people who are blind,” Mark said thoughtfully, tipping his head so his son could successfully touch his nose. Then Heath grabbed one of Mark’s heavy eyebrows. “Hey,” Mark said when Heath plucked a few hairs from the area. He moved his son back slightly so he could look at the child. “We need the help, don’t we? Do you think that maybe I should accept Miss Fitzpatrick’s offer?” Mark asked, and he felt that his son’s quiet reaction was answer enough.
Walking from the cow barn, Heath still nestled closely to his side as he moved, he wandered over to the horse stables, where he figured Jack would already be working that morning. “Jack?” Mark called out.
“Yeah, Boss,” Jack replied, popping his head out of one of the open stalls. He had a pitchfork in his hands, and Mark could see that he was mucking out the stalls.
“I’m going to need someone to watch Heath for a little while so I can head into town. I shouldn’t be long.”
