The elderly man stepped into the St. Charles Avenue mansion. He'd been to the third-floor of the Pickwick Building on the corner of Canal and Carondelet for the tremendous bargains at L. Fellman & Co. for his unconventional granddaughter. He'd purchased stylish knee pants in navy, tan, and gray linen. Doc ambled to the parlor, chuckling to himself as he heard the rapid creaking of wooden rockers. He stared at the petite redhead sitting atop the buckskin rocking horse. Lark's injuries hadn't slowed her down at all, especially since the girl was riding the animal as if she was a U.S. Marshal chasing outlaws across the prairie. Just like her father. Doc noticed his oldest granddaughter curled in her father's massive armchair with Josephine. As always, the silver poodle was watching over the girls. He fiddled with his ear, feeling contrite that he hadn't brought anything for Vivienne, but he'd expected her to be at school. He hoped Josephine would share her surprise with her older sister.
"Pép!" the toddler shouted, sliding off the deep brown leather saddle that was a replica of her father's. She bounded to her grandfather and hugged him, glaring over her shoulder as her dress was yanked down. "Stop," she ordered while swatting at Josie's hand.
Josephine frowned. "It wasn't me." Her frown quickly faded as her grandfather embraced her and kissed the top of her head.
"I did it, Lark. Your bloomers were showing," Vivienne explained to the moppet, stepping forward to properly greet her grandfather with a hug and peck to his cheek.
Doc kissed his oldest grandchild's forehead. "Vivi, I expected you to be at school."
"Well, Alexandre and Luc wanted to visit Jean-Joseph, so I decided I'd stay home, too."
"Vivi's teachin' me," Josephine declared.
"Oh, she is…is she?" Doc grinned at Josephine, proudly casting his eyes on Vivienne. He wondered if teaching would be her vocation if she didn't choose to run the hotel. She'd masterfully taught her sister French and had been working on reading and writing to prepare Josie for kindergarten.
"I can write my whole name."
"Fine. Just fine, Josie. You'll have to show me after I show you three what I brought for you," Doc suggested, scrubbing his hand over his mustache at Lark's high-pitched, enthusiastic shout. He glanced toward her and the three pairs of knickers she'd taken out of the bag without his permission.
"Like Allie's!" Lark jumped up and down, clutching the breeches to her chest.
"Yes, like Alexandre's," Doc good-naturedly rumbled, crouching to the moppet's level. He knew how much Lark idolized her big brother. He figured that was one of the reasons she wanted to wear pants instead of frilly dresses. "Now, let's put these back in the bag. You can wear your new pants tomorrow if Maman says it's okay."
"Okay," Lark chirped. "I show Maman," she haphazardly shoved the pants into the bag. "Thank you, Pép!" she hollered as she ran out of the parlor.
Doc rose to his full height, surveying the other girls. He rummaged through another bag and pulled out a small box. He knew they would recognize the elegant packaging of Confiserie Broussard.
"Merci, Pépère," Josephine crooned, guessing the box held macarons while her grandfather handed it over. She carefully popped the lid off, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of the meringue-based confections. "Framboise et caramel," she told Vivienne, giving her one of the caramel ones.
"Merci, Quatre," Vivienne accepted the macaron and took a small bite. "Le caramel est mon préféré."
"Je sais."
With a full-hearted smile on his face, Doc shuffled to the settee while he picked out the bits of French he understood from the sisters' conversation. He dropped onto the plush cushions and devoted his attention to Josephine as she wandered over to him with a crayon and sheet of paper in her hand. He watched her settle at the coffee table, writing her name with a juvenile flourish. "Your penmanship is as pretty as a filly in a field of buttercups, Josie."
She grinned. "Pépère, why am I named Josephine Lillian?"
"Quatre, you are named after your grandmothers," Kitty enlightened as she walked into the parlor. She smiled at her daughters and surrogate father while adjusting the yellow-gold brooch clustered with her children's birthstones that she'd pinned to her blouse. The mother was still exhilarated from her victory of fitting into clothing that she hadn't worn in months. "Josephine was your papa's mère, and Lillian was mine."
"Grand-maman's eyes are brown like mine," the little girl professed.
As she eased into her husband's armchair, Kitty scrutinized her five-year-old. She wondered if her clairvoyant girl had seen her namesake. Her thoughts were interrupted, hearing Noah's discontented, loud wails. She stood as Delia brought the infant to her. "What on Earth? I put him down for his mornin' nap a half hour ago."
Delia dipped her head. She'd been surprised to hear his crying while she cleaned the second floor. Since he'd been born, Noah had been the best sleeper of the brood. His first nap of the day usually lasted until lunch. "He ain't happy about being awake, Madame. I wouldn't either if I'd been poked in the face by a little finger."
Kitty took her son, swaying with him while patting his bottom. "Lark Rebecca Dillon!" she thundered over the crying. She set her eyes on the redhead warily peeping around the wall and crooked her finger. "C'mere."
Lark shook her head, scurrying through the foyer. Her eyes widened as the double leaded glass door swung open, revealing her father. The toddler skidded past him, her little legs still pumping as the giant lifted her off the ground.
"Hold on a minute here," Matt rumbled, wondering what he'd returned to since Noah was screaming at the top of his lungs and Lark was attempting an escape. "What's going on?"
"Twouble," Lark mumbled, pushing her hair out of her eyes while being hoisted onto her father's hip.
"What did you do?" he exhaled as his youngest daughter shrugged her shoulders. Matt glanced at the grandfather clock, noting the time. He narrowed his eyes on the petite redhead fiddling with his shirt collar. "Lark, did you wake Noah?"
She bit into her lip, confirming with a succinct nod while avoiding her father's gaze. "I jus' poked 'im, Daddy. Jus' a li'l…"
"Lark Rebecca," Matt sighed. "What have we told you about your brother? You have to be gentle with him. No poking. No waking him up when he's sleeping. He's little, and he's growing."
"I sowwy."
"Lark, you don't apologize to me. You're gonna apologize to Noah."
"Yes'sir, Daddy," she mumbled, burying her face into his neck as he toted her into the sitting room.
"I caught the fugitive from justice, Honey," Matt announced to his wife while putting Lark on the heart of pine floor. He bent to her level, meeting her big blue eyes. "You tell Noah how sorry you are, and you're not gonna do it again."
Without a word, Lark nodded her head, slinking toward her mother and baby brother on the settee. She stared at the calm infant and sweetly pressed her lips to his forehead, whispering, "I very sowwy, Noah."
"Thank you, Lark," Kitty murmured. "Do you understand why you're not supposed to poke at him and wake him up?"
"He's li'l an' growin'."
"That's right, Sweetheart." She put her arm around Lark's shoulders, drawing her closer to her to press her lips to her daughter's temple.
"Maman, Noah's sleepin'."
"He is. He needs a lot of rest. When you were a baby, you did, too," she whispered while observing her husband pat his shirt pocket, a signal that he had news that wasn't for little ears.
Doc acknowledged the retired lawman's gesture and rose to his feet, reaching for Lark's hand. "Let's go see what Sadie has in the kitchen for a snack then I'll push you on the swing. Girls, come with me."
Kitty bid her daughters goodbye, watching them follow their grandfather out. She drew in a steadying breath as Matt closed the parlor doors. "What is it, Matt?"
"A telegram addressed to you. I haven't read it," he said, sitting next to her while she transferred Noah into his waiting arms. Matt chuckled at his son's groan and stretch as he comfortably settled from the exchange.
Kitty slipped the paper from The Western Union Telegraph Company out of her husband's pocket. She read the words, feeling her heart drop at the news.
The brown-haired, ice-eyed man followed his friend turned employer to the first-floor office. He glimpsed at the family portrait situated above the retired lawman's executive desk before setting his eyes on his favorite part of the work space. He drifted to the decanter filled shelf of the bookcase lining the back wall, pouring himself a generous tumbler of whiskey. Frank Reardon took a slow sip, expecting the auburn-haired beauty would want to get right down to business since the afternoon meeting had been planned for weeks. Matt had given him the run-down of what was expected of him while the family would be in Baton Rouge for the bulk of summer, but Frank had absolutely understood that Kitty would cement his obligations. It hadn't taken him long at all the realize that she was the brains behind the businesses. He licked the whiskey off his lips as he leaned against the shelf. "Why the long faces? You two are actin' like somebody died."
Matt straightened his spine, resting his hands on his belt as he narrowed his eyes on his pal. "Frank," he rumbled, "somebody is dying."
Frank swallowed the whiskey, wincing at his blunder. He scanned Kitty's face, finally seeing her red-rimmed eyes. "Hell, Kitty, I'm sorry. You know I rarely go a day without puttin' my foot in my mouth."
"It's alright, Frank," she murmured with a sniffle. She leaned back in the banker's chair, folding her hands in her lap. "It's Sam. Hannah Cobb wired me."
"Hannah Cobb?"
"I sold The Long Branch to her. She was the only one that would accept my condition of making Sam half-owner. He suddenly took ill, and he's askin' for me. Frank, I don't want to regret not seein' him."
Frank refilled his empty tumbler, understanding her need to look the faithful bartender in the eye, to tell him what he'd meant to her, and to hold his hand when he drew his last breath. He focused on the amber liquid swirling, shoving away his regret for not being with his wife in her final moments. "What do I need to do? Am I goin' or stayin'?"
"Staying," Matt answered, pouring his wife a brandy. He took it to her and gave her shoulder a squeeze before sitting on the edge of her desk.
"Thank you," she whispered, taking the proffered snifter. "If you don't mind, Frank. Caro will look after The Seraphine and Confiserie Broussard. You'll need to look after everything else."
"The house, too?"
Kitty shook her head. "Yves can manage. You're more than welcome to stay here if you want, Frank. If you need help with anything at all, you ask Yves."
"Is Festus goin' back to Dodge?"
"I wired him. He's most likely on his way here now," Matt supplied. "Octavia and Rémy will take care of The Oaks."
"I'm sure you had to twist her arm. Rémy might catch that catfish ole Doc's been after," he chuckled. The retired midwife's husband had taught him a thing or two about fishing. He believed Rémy Fontaine could summon a mud cat from the water with a snap of his fingers. "Told the goats yet?"
"Not yet. We're doing that tonight."
Frank nodded, speculating on how the children would react. He knew the older children were well traveled, but he didn't believe Josephine and Lark had been outside of Louisiana. He'd miss seeing their astonished faces on the journey to Kansas. He set his glass down and approached the redhead, closing his fingers around hers. "You don't worry about a thing, except gettin' to Sam. I'll hold down the fort," he promised.
After a supper of shrimp étouffée served over rice, five of the six children filed into the library and sat on the Persian wool rug to wait for their parents. Vivienne pulled Lark onto her lap while listening to her brothers speculate if their summer at The Oaks would start early. The boys' excitement bubbled as they chattered about all the fishing they'd do. She furrowed her brow. "Delia wouldn't have packed so much up for that," she quietly reasoned. The eleven-year-old wouldn't mind going to Baton Rouge early. She'd been itching to see Princesse, the filly of L'Impèratrice and Cheval Noir. She hadn't seen the foal since she'd been born in late April and was curious to see how much she'd grown.
"Where else would we be going, Vivi?" Alexandre inquired.
"I don't know," she mumbled to her twin as she struggled to keep Lark from wandering off.
"But we always go to The Oaks. It's not really summer if we don't go," Luc added.
Matt cleared his throat, breaking his children's whispered speculations. He squeezed his wife's hand as they walked side-by-side into the room. He followed suit as Kitty lowered herself onto the olive-green, velvet tufted Chesterfield sofa. The gentle giant kissed his youngest daughter's head while she climbed into his lap.
"Daddy," Luc broke the silence, glancing at his siblings who weren't bold enough to ask. "Are we going to The Oaks?"
"We're not, Son," he answered, raising his hand to silence the instantaneous questions and objections spilling out of Alexandre, Vivienne, and Luc's mouths. "We will go to The Oaks, but we have to visit Dodge first."
"Dodge City?" Alexandre's voice rose a pitch as his blue eyes widened to the size of saucers.
"Kansas?" Luc gasped, scrambling to his feet. "We'll see Indians! And buffalo! And real cowboys! And saloons and gambling houses!" he shouted, anticipation completely taking ahold of him at the chance to see all the things he'd heard about in bedtime stories.
Vivienne caught her mother's dismayed expression and latched onto the waistband of her brother's pants, snatching him onto the floor. "Sit back down. Daddy's not done talking, Luc."
Matt chuckled at the overzealous eight-year-old glaring at his older sister. "Luc, most Indians are on reservations now. There aren't many buffalo left on the plains. You might see a cowboy or two. You will not be setting one foot in a gambling house or a saloon. A saloon is no place for a child."
"Not even The Long Branch that Maman used to own?" the dark-haired boy innocently asked, wondering if he shouldn't have asked since the big man had faltered in bouncing Lark on his knee.
Kitty's sapphire eyes flashed to her middle son. A part of her regretted that she'd been honest with him the time he'd asked how she'd known so much about cards, but the other part of her had been pleased to have the courage to be so candid with Luc. Just like his papa, he hadn't been ashamed to learn she'd been the proprietress of the finest saloon in Dodge City. She softly cleared her throat, shaking her head. "No, Luc…not even The Long Branch."
"Maman, why are we going to Dodge City?" Vivienne asked.
She felt her husband's hand on her thigh, comfortingly rubbing. "You remember me telling you about Sam?" she asked, looking at her sons and daughters while they gently nodded.
"Your friend," Josephine piped up from her spot on the rug, taking in her beloved mother's sad expression. She'd felt the older redhead's sorrow since lunch and had tried her best to brighten her mood. The little girl stood as she noticed the tears lining her mother's eyes and walked to her. She hopped onto the cushion next to her mother, swiping away the tear gliding down her cheek. "Monsieur Sam's sick."
Kitty swallowed hard, wrapping her arm around her astute daughter. "He is, Quatre. He's asking for me, and I'd very much like to see him."
"I'd like to meet him, Maman," Josephine whispered, kissing her mother's cheek.
"Baby, I'm sure he'd like to meet you…all of you," she tearfully proclaimed, gazing at her children while envisioning the smile on Sam's handsome face upon meeting the Broussard-Dillon offspring in person. "We'll be leaving tomorrow morning."
"Is Uncle Festus going with us?" Luc asked.
"He is," Matt answered his son.
"When's he getting here?"
"Faster than you can say rat run over the roof with a piece of raw liver in his mouth!" the hillman hollered, smiling at the chorus of voices thrilled by his presence. He prepared himself for the herd running toward him. Festus caught each child in a fierce hug until the combined force of Luc and Lark's bodies sent him backward. For once, he was glad he'd listen to the old scudder and taken off his spurs.