The Horseman

that he was the center of attention.

Mariah Gray had set the sturdy basket next to the table, a safe distance from the stove. She unwrapped the baby’s blankets and peeled the mittens from his tiny hands, chatting sweetly to him while she worked.

As Katelyn carried the sugar and creamer to the table, she caught sight of two tiny fists waving in the air. So tiny.

Do not think of it. She refused to think about the baby she’d buried. The little girl she had never held and never murmured loving words to.

The sugar bowl tumbled from her fingers, falling onto the table. The lid toppled and the jar rolled and brown sugar avalanched everywhere.

“I do that at least once a day,” Mariah confessed as she folded her baby’s things. “Something is always spilling.”

It was a kind attempt to make her feel less awkward, but it wasn’t shyness that troubled her. It was that baby, so small and helpless. So precious. Pain sliced through her like an ax stroke to her soul. Did Mariah know how lucky she was?

Katelyn swept up the fallen sugar, wiped down the table and set out spoons, cups and saucers. By the time she’d filled the teapot, Mariah had taken a chair by the window and was rocking the baby’s basket with her foot. A soothing, gentle rhythm that had the little one quieting. Those tiny fists stilled. His perfect, button face relaxed. Dark curly lashes fluttered shut.

“He’s so sweet,” she managed to say past the emotion wadded unwanted and unspent in her throat.

“Thank you. I never thought I would have a baby of my own. I married later than most women do. He is a blessing.” A true mother’s love gleamed in her eyes.

Katelyn had to stare hard at her empty cup. Empty, like she was. There would be no baby for her.

That Dillon could love her, a barren woman, gave her strength. It was the reason she could pour the steeped tea without spilling. The reason she could leave the memory of her daughter in a closed-off room inside her and keep the door tightly shut.

She had Dillon, a good man who loved her. The thought of his touch eased some of the tightness in her throat, some of the pain from her chest so she could breathe.

“Do you sew?” Mariah asked as she reached for the sugar bowl. “I’d like to ask you to my house this Friday noon for our weekly sewing circle. There are three of us who meet, and we would surely like for you to join us. So we can get to know you.”

“I’ve never belonged to a sewing circle before, but I’d love to come.” This was a chance to settle in and make friends with Dillon’s neighbors, and now hers. “What should I bring?”

“Just yourself and your sewing basket. The girls will be so pleased to meet you.” The baby squalled again in mild protest. “Oh, and Jeremy would like to see you again, too. He likes to be the center of attention.”

Mariah lifted the infant from his snug nest and into her arms. The little guy waved his fists and rubbed his face.

She would not remember another little baby. Another little round face.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Katelyn shook her head at her new friend’s kind offer. She poured too much milk into her tea before she set the creamer aside. “No, thank you. He looks content where he is. He’s starting to fall asleep.”

“He’s a good baby. Tell me about you. What part of Montana are you from? All Dillon would say was that he fell in love with you at first sight and he married you before you could change your mind.”

Katelyn struggled to understand Mariah’s words. Her gaze would not lift from the baby. From the tiny rosebud lips and the dimple in the middle of his cute little chin-

Don’t think of her. Katelyn locked the door to that part of her heart and turned the key. She would not remember. Or she would shatter into a million irretrievable pieces.

“Afternoon, Mariah.” Dillon shrank the kitchen with his presence as he lowered a crate to the work-table, the wooden box overflowing with staples for the kitchen. A molasses tin and tea and a small bag of white sugar were a few of the items she recognized.

Dillon swept off his Stetson and dropped it onto the worktable, too. “What did you bring with you today, ma’am? Someone downright precious, I’d say.”

“That he is.”

“Howdy there, little fella.” Dillon lifted the tiny babe with his big, strong arms and cradled him in one arm, safe against his chest. With experience and confidence, the way he did everything. A mighty man stronger for his gentleness.

He’d make a good father. Katelyn ached with sorrow as she watched him. Ached for what could never be.

Dillon’s gaze met hers with longing. With sheer, unveiled desire. Yes, he wanted to be a father. Very much. He didn’t bother to hide his desire from her. What man didn’t want a son in his image?

And Dillon, it was obvious as the smile on his face and the shine of want in his eyes. He wanted a baby boy of his own to hold and love and dream over.

And yet he’d chosen her and courted her and married her. Why? Did that mean as much as he wanted a child that he wanted her more?

“Well, little man, it’s been good seeing you. You come by any time to visit and bring your ma with you. Mariah, thank you kindly for coming by.” He laid the infant in Mariah’s welcoming arms, pressed a tender kiss to Katelyn’s brow and grabbed his hat on the way to the door.

“He sure is in love with you.” Mariah’s eyes sparkled. “My, what a lucky woman you are. It is everything, isn’t it, to be loved wholly and true, and to have the chance to love the same way in return. To love more than you ever thought possible.”

Katelyn nodded, overwhelmed. The door to that small room of her heart was breaking, as if a tornado were hammering at it, splintering it grain by grain, sliver by sliver. “I am very fortunate.”

“Yes, to love someone so completely you would give your life for them.” She pressed a kiss to her son’s brow. “Look at what can come from that kind of love.”

Not for Dillon and me. Katelyn couldn’t help it. As Mariah’s visit concluded, when the tea was gone and they had run out of polite conversation, she sneaked a glance at the child. At how the knit cap snuggled over his round, baldish head. At the fuss he made, shaking his fists and squalling when Mariah slipped his gloves on his soft pink hands.

Mariah rescued her wraps from the parlor and donned them. “I’ll see you in a few days, then.”

Katelyn watched the woman stow the infant safely in the surrey before climbing in. There was something so ordinary about that. She’d probably seen women make sure their babies were safe and snug in their wagons and buggies and sleighs her entire life.

It would never be something she would do. Not for the child she had never been able to hold. Not for the son she would never give Dillon.

The future stretched bleak before her, dim without the chance of her own child. Not the one she’d lost. Not the one she wished she could have, a round-faced, blue-eyed son for Dillon.

There would be no first birthday parties. No first steps. No first day of school. No graduation or wedding. No grandchildren to welcome and spoil and love.

Just an empty house that would never know the sound of a child laughing and at play. There would be days spent in neat order as she embroidered or cleaned or sewed. Evenings spent in front of the fire in the winter or on the front porch in summer, just her and Dillon.

Their lives would be orderly, content and calm. Not interrupted by footsteps pounding down the stairs or an argument between brothers in the yard, or the excitement of Christmas Eve, when the children could not sleep knowing Santa Claus was on his way.

It was so lonely. Her arms were so empty. Grief overwhelmed her, breaking apart the locked place inside her, rending her wide open until she was on her knees, her face in her hands. She willed back tears even as they fell, blurring her vision and wetting her cheeks and tapping to the wood floor.

She wanted her baby, the one she could never have.

“Katelyn?” The back door creaked when he opened it, and his voice echoed through the empty kitchen and