Page 10 of Her Gentle Protector
“Come on in,” Midge said hesitantly, her voice barely audible over the rain. She opened the door, revealing a dimly lit room that seemed to be held together by sheer willpower.
He stepped into the room and his water-filled boots made a distinct squelching noise against the wooden planks of the floor. He noticed Midge was going barefoot.
“You were out there without boots?”
She shrugged, taking off the wet jacket and hanging it on a peg. “I could move faster without shoes.”
“You’ll end up with a cold. You want that?” Baxter asked gruffly, his blue eyes scanning the room as he stepped inside. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the children huddled together on the floor, their ragged clothes clinging to their shivering bodies. “Is this what all the stealing was for?”
“Please, don’t judge us too harshly,” Midge pleaded, wringing her hands anxiously. “I ain’t proud of what I did, but I had no choice. Since Pa left us, I’ve been trying to keep my family from falling apart ever since.”
“What kind of man abandons his own children like that?” Baxter scoffed.
“Pa wasn’t always like that. But when Ma died, something in him broke. He started drinking and gambling, and one day, he just never came back.”
“Still ain’t an excuse for stealing,” Baxter muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. But despite his harsh words, his heart went out to Midge and her siblings. They were just kids doing their best to survive in a cruel and unforgiving world.
“Like I said, Mr. Hartman, we’re doing the best we can,” she replied, her words firm. Baxter noted the frantic pulsing of her neck as he focused on her. “We don’t need your pity.”
“Is that so?” he asked, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. “You needed my chickens, though.”
“Look, I know I did wrong,” Midge said, her voice wavering as she tried to hold back tears. “I’ll pay you back. But if it means keeping my family fed and together, I’d do it again.”
Baxter stared at her for a moment, his gruff exterior crumbling under the weight of her vulnerability. He knew he couldn’t turn her in to Marshal Briggs, not after seeing the direness of their situation. But something had to be done, and he was determined to figure out what that was.
“Alright,” he said finally, sighing heavily. “Let’s see if we can find a better way to keep your family fed without resorting to thievery.”
“Like what?” Peter snapped, his hazel eyes narrowing with suspicion. “We ain’t got no money, and our crops ain’t worth spit.”
“Peter, hush,” Midge admonished, though her own expression echoed her brother’s doubts.
“Listen,” Baxter began, addressing them all. “I don’t want to see you suffer. But I won’t stand for thieving, either. We can figure something out, I reckon.”
Midge swallowed hard, her eyes flicking toward the window as if expecting to see Marshal Orrin Briggs already bearing down on them. “Please,” she whispered, her hands clasped tightly together. “Don’t tell the marshal. He’d take my family apart, and we ain’t got no one else.”
“Let’s just focus on getting y’all fed for now,” Baxter said gruffly, unwilling to make any promises he couldn’t keep. “I need to go catch that hen.”
“Really?” one girl said. “Need some help?”
“Nah. It’s raining. She is probably roosting on the porch by now.”
“Thank you,” Midge whispered, relief flooding her face. She turned to her siblings, her eyes softening as she took in their frightened expressions. “Don’t worry,” she told them gently. “We’re gonna be alright.”
As Baxter watched Midge comfort her siblings, he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. It wasn’t just sympathy or pity; it was something deeper, something that told him he needed to help this family.
Sighing, he tried to dispel the feelings building inside. If Annamae even thought that he was getting soft, she’d be laughing from here to next week.
Finding the chicken right where he thought it would be, he made quick work of butchering the bird. The same girl who offered to help him stood at the door, watching. She wasn’t like any girl Baxter had ever seen. She wore buckskins and was covered in dirt. Hair, shorter than he had seen on any woman, stuck out from her head.
“Which one are you?” he asked, as he took his knife out to skin the bird.
“I’m Petunia. They call me Pet.”
“Okay, Pet.”
“I like to hunt, but Midge won’t let me.”
“You got a rifle?”
