Free Head in the Clouds by Karen Witemeyer Page B

called him Papa.
    Bella cried herself out and fell asleep thirty minutes later. Miss Proctor promised to watch over her until she woke, so Gideon changed his soaked shirt and headed outside, thanking God that she had been there. The fear he had felt in those moments before Miss Proctor took control of the situation haunted him still.
    He searched out his foreman and found him by the smokehouse skinning a deer strung up by its hind feet. Chalmers’s coat dangled from a nail protruding from the side of the smokehouse, well away from the butchering.
    “Well, that explains how the blood got on your shirt.”
    Miguel, bare from the waist up, whirled around to face him. “Señor Westcott.” He wiped his knife across his trousers and slid it into the small sheath attached to his belt. Remorse creased his face as he moved toward Gideon.
    “ Lo siento, patrón . I’m so sorry. I only went to la cocina to ask Señora Garrett if she want a fresh venison roast. Then the little señorita , she walk in and start screaming. I … I not know what to do.” His shoulders arched upward and his hands followed, palms out. Gideon recognized his helplessness. Bella’s screams had debilitated him, as well.
    “Forgive me, señor. I not come to the big house dirty again.”
    Gideon laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are welcome in my house at all times, Miguel. The state of your attire is immaterial.”
    Miguel hung his head. “ Gracias , but I not make the same mistake again. The little señorita, she is too tender for my rough ways.” He paused for a moment. “She reminds me of my little Rosa.”
    “Rosa?” Gideon took a step back. When he’d hired Miguel to herd with him back in California, the man had given no indication that he’d be leaving family behind.
    “Sí, my niece. Only she’s not so little anymore.” He lifted his face and gazed off to the west, a touch of a smile on his lips. “One of the young vaqueros from the rancho where I used to herd had his eye on her. He is a good man. Maybe they are wed by now, eh?”
    Miguel met Gideon’s gaze finally, and for a brief moment their friendship seemed to supersede their business relationship. How could he have worked side-by-side with this man for two years and not known about his family in California? Perhaps Miguel had his reasons for not sharing, but most likely he took his cues from his gringo employer, who never saw fit to ask.
    Gideon understood how difficult it was to be apart from one’s family. He looked forward to the newsy letters his mother sent twice a month, chronicling the lives of his brothers and their wives, the neighbors, and the latest social buzz. Yet Gideon couldn’t recall a time when a letter for Miguel had arrived in the post. “Have you not heard from them since you left?”
    The herder shrugged. “My sister, she no read so much. And Rosa is young. Her mind is filled with other things. But no es importante . How is the little señorita?”
    “Better.” Gideon leaned his back against the smokehouse wall, bracing the heel of his boot on a protruding board. “Sleeping, I think.”
    “Bueno .”
    Gideon nodded. “It’s odd, though. Bella has seen blood before and not made a fuss. Remember when I sliced my finger open on that broken window glass? She held my hand and watched you stitch me up like an experienced nurse.”
    His foreman’s eyes lit with a thoughtful gleam. “Sí. That is true.”
    “Miss Proctor believes there was something specific about the stain on your shirt that triggered her reaction.”
    Gideon turned back toward the house, imagining Miss Proctor sitting at his daughter’s bedside. In actuality, they’d not discussed it much further than the brief exchange in the kitchen, but knowing her supposition matched his brought assurance and, with it, control. Odd that it had stemmed from a woman.
    His experience with the fairer sex had been derived predominantly from the social sphere. He’d never witnessed a