Charlene Sands - A Cowboy Worth Claiming

She peered down at him with tentative blue eyes, her brown hair still a messy bird’s nest of curls. She didn’t want to face her grandpa. That much he could read from her expression. He softened his voice. “C’mon, Lizzie.”

She leaned down and he lifted her from the saddle, her hands steady on his shoulders as her boots hit the ground. She stood facing him, all her life’s misery written on her face. Chance knew that look too well. But he hadn’t survived all this time by being mollycoddled. If things were as bad as he thought on the Mitchell spread, she’d have to toughen up to endure hardship.

He stepped back and gestured to the house with a nod of his head. “Go tell your grandpa I’m here.”

She chewed on her lower lip and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression had transformed and a downright determined look settled on her features. Chance watched her pick up her soggy skirts and march right into the house. Then he led Joyful to the barn to unsaddle her.

He hadn’t seen Edward Mitchell since the day he’d stepped in and saved his life. Chance had been twelve, fighting for what was his against three ruffians. They’d cornered him behind a cropping of trees outside of town. If Edward hadn’t taken that little-known side road to town, Chance would have been beaten to death for certain. Edward had intervened just in time, entering the fray and tossing off his attackers one at a time, taking several hard blows himself to save the bedraggled orphan boy.

Chance remembered little else after that. When he woke up, he found himself in the care of the town doctor with Edward Mitchell by his side making sure Chance had proper medical treatment. Edward stayed until Chance had recovered enough to be adopted by the town’s wealthiest citizen, Alistair Dunston. The only thing Edward asked of Chance was to write to him in Red Ridge once a year.

Chance never broke that promise. Fifteen letters over fifteen years. And Chance kept every one of Edward’s return posts. He’d read those long insightful letters over and over and taken Edward Mitchell’s words to heart. In a way, Edward was more a father to him than Alistair Dunston had ever been.

“Well, look at you, boy.” Edward Mitchell stood under the patched overhang in front of his door as Chance approached. Age had not done him any favors, Chance noted. His shoulders were rounded from a slight natural curve of his back. He looked like he hadn’t seen a hearty meal in a decade; his arms and legs were stick thin. Yet, he wore a true smile, his brilliant blue eyes remarkable in a weary face that obviously had known suffering. “You’ve grown up.”

“Tends to happen over the years.” Chance grinned and strode the distance to shake Edward’s hand. He was instantly struck by the frailty in the older man’s grip. This was hardly the same man who’d gone up against three younger men to save Chance’s life years ago. “How are you, Edward?”

“Thankful that you honored an old man’s request, that’s how I am.” He patted Chance’s back several times as he ushered him inside. “Come in. Come in. Lizzie went to change outta her wet clothes. Poor gal, she’s beside herself with worry about her dolls.”

Edward gestured for him to sit down on a settee upholstered with flowery material. Chance removed his hat and took a seat. Edward slumped in a blue-velvet tufted parlor chair. Chance took a moment to glance around the rest of the room. The furniture seemed far too grand and out of place for a small ranch house. There were two doors beyond the kitchen area that he assumed were bedrooms, and all in all the interior of the home held more warmth and refinement than he thought possible, considering the neglect to the exterior.

“She told me what happened, boy,” Edward said with a strain in his voice. “Thank you for bringing my Lizzie home. I’ve told her time and again not to use that boat. Good thing Lizzie’s a swimmer or she might have drowned.”

Not that good of a swimmer, Chance thought. She’d been a victim of her own foolishness using that unreliable rowboat to cross the lake. And then thinking she could retrieve her precious dolls from the lake’s bottom. Dang things were probably ruined anyways.

Edward coughed from deep in his chest. Chance noticed the toll it took on his body. “She’s been brave, that girl. Trying to keep the ranch going.” He looked into Chance’s eyes and lowered his voice. “I can’t thank you enough for coming, boy. I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t essential.”

“Tell me.” Chance glanced at the bedroom door. Lizzie was still busy in there and he knew Edward wanted to speak his mind while she wasn’t in the room.

Edward leaned forward. “I should be offering you a bite to eat. Something to drink. Don’t mind my bad manners. I haven’t been right lately.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re eyes are hard, boy. You’ve known more misery in your life, haven’t you?”

Chance had always had a roof over his head. He’d always had food to eat. He’d made a little money over the years. Yet, no matter how hard he’d tried to fit in and become an upstanding citizen, there were always people who’d judged him unkindly. Who’d tested him and who’d set him up to fail. They’d never let him forget that he came from the orphanage. He was the boy nobody wanted. When Alistair Dunston came along Chance thought his life would be grand. After all, the man had a big ranch, land that spread out for hundreds of acres. He had a wife that couldn’t bear children. Chance was to be their son. Only, Clara Dunston died unexpectedly, and Alistair began treating him more like a hired hand than his kin. Soon everybody else got that notion, too.

“I’m not complaining, Edward.”

The man smiled sadly. As if to say, there’s much more in life. Chance wouldn’t know about that. Edward rose from his seat and walked to a china cabinet displaying fancy blue and white dishes on the shelves. He opened a drawer from below and pulled out a small square box. He carried the box carefully as he shuffled over to him. “This is yours, Chance. It’s about time I give it back to you.”

Chance gazed down at the walnut box carved with the letter W.

“I had the box made when I arrived home from Channing.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Times were better then.”

Chance knew what was inside. Taking a deep breath, he opened the lid and there, resting on the white silk lining, was a thin gold chain with a pear-shaped ruby pendant. The sparkling deep crimson gem was the size of a plum pit. He stared at his mother’s necklace—it was the only thing of value Chance Worth had ever owned. He was almost afraid to lift the chain, to touch the ruby. He remembered the day that he’d protected this necklace from three robbers who were intent on taking the one thing Chance valued above his own life. And after that beating, he realized he couldn’t hold on to the necklace. One way or another, he’d never reach adulthood with it in his possession.

Take it, Mr. Mitchell. Take it and keep it for me.

Chance had pleaded with Edward to keep the only remembrance he had of his mother. Losing his parents to marauders and then struggling to survive in an orphanage, he’d learned early on there weren’t too many people he could count on and trust. But Edward Mitchell with his kind eyes and generous spirit had been one of them. In a sense, Chance’s life had been whittled away to the sum total of that necklace and he entrusted Edward with its safekeeping.

I’ll know it’ll always be safe. With you.

Edward had agreed to keep the necklace until Chance could retrieve it. “Why are you giving this to me now, Edward?”

The older man glanced at the closed bedroom door and lowered his voice. Any minute now Lizzie would step out, and Chance noted his urgency to speak before she did.