Книга - Wolf Creek Wedding

Wolf Creek Wedding
Penny Richards


Widow Abby Carter hoped to find love again—unlikely with a man like Caleb Gentry, who doesn’t even believe in it. Their marriage isn’t ideal, but Abby’s two young children need security, and Caleb’s daughter needs a mother.Perhaps this is one of the Lord’s more mysterious answers to Abby’s prayers. When Caleb Gentry’s wife passes away, he knows he’ll need help to raise his baby girl. Abby’s loving spirit, strong faith, and warm heart, makes Caleb want to be a better man. It won’t be easy. But Caleb's never had things come easy in his life, and making this new family work will be his most important challenge yet.







A Marriage of Necessity

Widow Abby Carter hopes to find love again—unlikely with a man like Caleb Gentry, who doesn’t even believe in it. Their marriage isn’t ideal, but Abby’s two young children need security, and Caleb’s daughter needs a mother. Perhaps this is one of the Lord’s more mysterious answers to Abby’s prayers.

When Caleb Gentry’s wife passed away, he knew he’d need help to raise his baby girl. Abby’s loving spirit, strong faith and warm heart make Caleb want to be a better man. It won’t be easy. But Caleb’s never had things come easy in his life, and making this new family work will be his most important challenge yet.


“I’ve thought about things all night,” Abby said at last. “The only solution is for me to quit. You can hire someone else.”

“Who?” Caleb challenged. “Widows with infants aren’t all that plentiful in Wolf Creek, and if I hired someone else it would just spark the same gossip we’re dealing with.”

Abby chewed on her lower lip. “I could take Betsy to my place,” she offered.

He shook his head. “We’ve already discussed that. She belongs at home. Winter will be here before we know it, and getting back and forth will be a nightmare when the weather gets bad. Besides, I already know how hard it is for you to manage things at your place, and I don’t think you can make it through the winter alone with three children.”

She sat down in her chair and rested her elbows on the table, regarding him with tear-glazed eyes. “What other choice do we have, Caleb? I can’t think of any other way.”

The full force of his silvery gaze met hers. “The only way I can think of is for you to marry me.”


PENNY RICHARDS

has been writing and selling contemporary romance since 1983. Confronted with burnout, she took several years off to pursue other things she loved, like editing a local oral history project, coauthoring a stage play about a dead man (known fondly as Old Mike) who was found in the city park in 1911, got a double dose of embalming and remained on display until the seventies. Really. She also spent ten years renovating her 1902 Queen Anne home and getting it onto the National Register of Historic Places. At the “big house” she ran and operated Garden Getaways, a bed-and-breakfast and catering business that did everything from receptions, bridal lunches, fancy private dinners and “tastings” to dress-up tea parties (with makeup and all the trimmings) for little girls who liked to pretend to be grand ladies while receiving manners lessons. What fun!

Though she had a wonderful time and hosted people from every walk of life, writing was still in her blood, and her love of all things historical led her to historical fiction, more specifically historical mystery and inspirational romances. She is thrilled to be back writing and, God willing, hopes to continue to do so for many years.


Wolf Creek Wedding

Penny Richards






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife.

—1 Corinthians 7:14


This book is for Mom, my biggest cheerleader. I owe all my creativity—cooking, writing, art, all of it—to you. You were a great example. Wish you were here to help me in the garden. I miss you.


As always, thanks to LaRee and Sandy for your input and encouragement.


Contents

Chapter One (#ub061a3d5-861d-5a7c-84f9-fbc6fbc56009)

Chapter Two (#u897ed6d3-1f1e-50c4-9612-ae57463de11a)

Chapter Three (#u12b59700-4e14-5284-bf17-6f08f43c5646)

Chapter Four (#u65733f89-f4e1-57dc-b1e1-f3f0aa64bd3c)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Wolf Creek, Arkansas

October 1885

The faintest sound of a baby’s crying was carried on the brisk October breeze. Dr. Rachel Stone’s buggy pulled to a stop in front of a large, rambling farmhouse, which was located west of town, three miles down the road that led to Pisgah.

Forest-green shutters framed the front windows and contrasted with pristine white clapboards. A porch, complete with a green swing, spanned the front of the house. Autumn’s chill was slow to arrive in southwest Arkansas. Blue morning glory climbed up posts toward the roof, and blankets of native clematis rambled onto the lawn, hundreds of tiny white flowers bobbing in the gentle breeze.

Abby Carter made a sound of disbelief, and her wide-eyed gaze found her friend’s. On some level she’d known the Gentry family was one of the most affluent in Wolf Creek, but until now, she had never given it much thought.

Smiling at Abby’s astonishment, Rachel climbed down and looped the reins over the hitching post. Rounding the carriage, she reached up to take baby Laura from Abby’s arms.

“Mind your manners,” Abby reminded six-year-old Ben as he scrambled down. Still wearing an expression of amazement, she jumped to the ground, and they all started up the broad steps of the porch.

They had barely reached the top when the front door crashed open. Abby’s startled gaze flew to the face of the man who would be her new employer. Caleb Gentry. Wealthy gentleman farmer. Father of newly born Betsy. Widower, as of a few hours ago. He was a big man—tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his features too chiseled and angular to be considered handsome. His clothes looked as if he’d slept in them—which he no doubt had, if he’d managed any sleep the previous night—and he was in dire need of a shave. His thick, coffee-brown hair stood on end, and there was a wild look in his steel-gray eyes.

He looked angry and unapproachable. Difficult. Abby’s heart sank. What had she gotten into?

* * *

At the first sight of the quartet coming up the steps, Caleb flung open the door, relief sweeping through him. Their arrival offered welcome respite from the sickening churning of his stomach that had plagued him since Rachel emerged from his wife’s room and informed him that Emily was dead. Stunning news to a man who had only recently come to terms with the idea of being a father.

Accustomed to dealing with the many unexpected problems that cropped up with the running of a successful farming operation and his most recent enterprise, a gravel business, Caleb felt that in general he handled his life with a certain competence. In the blink of an eye, though, he discovered things were going to be very different. When Rachel left him in charge of the baby while she went to talk to Abby Carter about becoming a wet nurse and to inform Emily’s parents of her death, he’d known that he was not prepared to bear sole responsibility for every aspect of his daughter’s welfare.

In fact, thus far, he’d done a miserable job of things.

The baby, whom he had named Betsy according to Emily’s wishes, had spent more time crying than sleeping. Scared witless to hold her, he had nonetheless picked her up and patted, bounced and even tried singing to her. “Old Dan Tucker” vocalized in a gravelly baritone hadn’t done a thing to still her wailing. He had drawn the line at diapering—she was just too little and it was too scary to handle her any more than necessary. No doubt she was wet as well as hungry, which is why he was so relieved to see the approaching foursome.

Rachel Stone led the way, carrying a baby who looked just under a year old. A boy of five or six followed her, and a slight blond-haired woman who must be Abby Carter brought up the rear.

“What the devil took you so long?” he growled, raking long fingers through hair that already stood on end.

“We got here as soon as we could,” Rachel said in a conciliatory tone, ushering Ben ahead of her.

Betsy gave another ear-piercing wail. Without waiting for introductions, Caleb turned his wild-eyed gaze to the newcomer, grabbed her arm and hauled her through the doorway. “She’s been screaming for hours,” he snapped. “Do something.”

Instead of answering, Abby Carter looked from the fingers gripping her upper arm into his eyes. Hers were calm, though he thought he detected a hint of reproach and maybe even irritation in their blue depths. He snatched his hand away, as if she were hot to the touch.

Without a word, Mrs. Carter crossed to the cradle sitting near the fireplace, where a small blaze kept the chill at bay. She took a diaper from a nearby stack and set about changing Betsy while murmuring whatever nonsensical things women say to children in need of comfort. Things that were missing from male vocabularies. Finished, she wrapped a flannel blanket around Betsy and looked at Rachel, a question in her eyes.

“The kitchen is through there,” Rachel said, pointing. Without a word, Mrs. Carter disappeared through the doorway, bestowing the briefest glance on him as she passed.

Caleb planted his hands on his hips and dropped his head, silently berating himself for his impatience with the woman who had only come to help. From the kitchen, Betsy’s crying stopped. Quiet, the first in hours, filled the room, bringing with it a calming peace that Caleb had sense enough to know was bound to be short-lived. He scrubbed a trembling hand down his face.

“I know it’s nerve-racking,” Rachel said. “You’ll get used to it.” Seeing the expression of panic return, she offered him a weary smile. “Abby can’t fix everything, Caleb. Babies cry for lots of reasons, but everything is going to be fine. She’s a good mother.”

Caleb was not so sure about anything being fine ever again.

“Did the Emersons come while I was gone?” Rachel asked.

He nodded. “Your dad sent someone...for Emily. They’re coming back later to see Betsy.”

“Well, then,” Rachel said, setting Mrs. Carter’s baby on the floor, “I’ll just take care of the birthing room, help get Abby settled and get back to town.”

She gave Ben instructions to keep an eye on his sister, and disappeared into the room Emily had moved to early in her pregnancy because his “tossing and turning” kept her awake.

With silence reigning in the kitchen and the knowledge that Abby Carter was there to help smooth out this new wrinkle in his life, a sudden weariness overtook Caleb. Huffing out a deep sigh, he sank into a corner of the camelback sofa and revisited the events that had changed his life forever.

More than four hours ago, the crying and pleading and screaming had stopped, replaced by the sudden, angry wail of a baby. The reprieve lasted only until Rachel stepped into the room carrying a small bundle in her arms and told him that he had a daughter and that Emily was dead. He was trying to assimilate that fact when Rachel informed him the baby would require a wet nurse and suggested recently widowed Abigail Carter. His head spinning with the gravity and magnitude of the events unfolding in his life, Caleb acquiesced and sent Rachel on her way.

A log fell in the fireplace, bringing him out of his drowsy trance. His glance wandered toward the kitchen. Thank goodness Rachel had been right about Mrs. Carter’s willingness to help.

* * *

In the kitchen, Abby’s tender gaze lingered on the face of the baby in her arms while her fingertips skimmed the incomparable softness of Betsy’s dark hair. Was there anything more precious than a new life or anything sadder than a child growing up without the love and guidance of a parent? She was struck with a sudden pang of loss. Even now, eight months after William’s death, she often experienced a stark reminder that he would not be there to share or to help with the joys and trials that cropped up daily with Ben and Laura. As difficult as it had been for her since he died, she knew life would be just as trying for Caleb Gentry, though in an entirely different way, something that she’d understood full well when Rachel had arrived earlier and told her the news of Emily Gentry’s death.

“How awful!” Abby had said. “I can certainly sympathize with Mr. Gentry’s loss.” She’d never met Caleb Gentry, but she knew who he was, as did everyone in Pike County.

“Of everyone I know, I knew you’d understand,” Rachel told her.

“You look worn out,” Abby noted, ushering her friend inside. “Come on into the kitchen and rest a bit. I just took some cookies from the oven and I’m rewarming the breakfast coffee.”

“Thanks, but I can’t stay,” Rachel told her. “Too many things to do. Before I drove out here, I had to go and tell the Emersons about Emily so that they could make arrangements for her body to be moved.”

“They must be devastated,” Abby said, unable to imagine losing either of her children. “What can I do to help? Make Mr. Gentry a meal?”

“Under different circumstances, I’m sure that would be appreciated, but that isn’t why I’m here. To be blunt, little Betsy Gentry is in need of a wet nurse.” Rachel hurried on before Abby could object. “I know things have been tight for you since William died, and I thought you might be glad of the extra money.”

Abby stared into Rachel’s dark eyes, her mind whirling with implications of the unexpected offer. For months now, she had systematically, often tearfully, sold almost everything she owned of value, consoling herself with the maxim that her father’s pocket watch and her mother’s silver coffee service were just things. Things she did not need. She had juggled the meager funds and prayed for some sort of miracle to provide for her children. She’d even considered trying to teach again, but Wolf Creek was no different from other towns, which wanted only men or unmarried women instructing their young ones. Even if that were not the case, she wasn’t sure how she’d manage a full-time job with two children of her own.

God will provide...He never shuts a door that He doesn’t open a window...all things work for good.

Abby was familiar with all the platitudes, had even heard them coming from her own lips when the trials and losses were someone else’s. She believed what the Bible said, and blamed the weakness of her faith that allowed worry to creep in, even though the Lord always came through.

Like now. Here was Rachel with the answer to her prayers, though the answer she offered in no way resembled anything Abby had considered during the long, worrisome nights. Wet nurse!

There was no one left to ask for help. Nathan Haversham at the bank had been more than understanding, but when she’d last spoken to him, he’d explained that he couldn’t let his sympathy get in the way of the bank’s business much longer, and just last week, she’d received a letter giving her a month to come up with the necessary funds or she would receive a notice of foreclosure.

She lifted a brimming blue gaze to Rachel’s. When she spoke, her voice was as unsteady as her smile. “In truth, it’s the answer to my prayers. When do I start?”

Rachel flipped open the cover of the gold watch that hung from a chain around her neck. “How about we gather up enough to tide you and the children over for a few days? I’ll drive you to Caleb’s, clean things up and help you get settled.”

“Now?” Abby had asked, stunned.

Rachel had offered her a wan smile. “I imagine Miss Betsy Gentry is getting mighty hungry about now, and I’m sure her daddy is pacing the floor and tearing at his hair, wondering what in the world he’s supposed to do about it.”

Abby had gone about gathering up as much from her kitchen as she could on such short notice, and grabbing the clothes she and the children would need for the next couple of days.

Now, remembering the conversation, a smile claimed Abby’s lips. Rachel’s description of Caleb Gentry had been right on the mark. When she’d seen him framed in his doorway, he’d looked exactly as if he’d been tearing at his too-long hair.

She smiled down at the sleeping baby. Wealthy or not, Betsy Gentry’s daddy could still get as ruffled as the next man. Somehow the thought made him a bit less intimidating.

The sound of something crashing to the floor sent Abby’s gaze flying to the kitchen door, her smile of contentment changing into a frown. She couldn’t imagine what had happened, but suspected it had something to do with her children. There was nothing to do but go and see.

* * *

The sound of something breaking sent Caleb bolting up from the sofa. Realizing that he must have dozed, he rubbed at his gritty eyes and looked around to see what had caused the noise. It didn’t take long to spot the shepherdess figurine that had belonged to his mother. Caleb had found it tucked away in one of his father’s drawers after his death. Now the keepsake lay in dozens of broken fragments on the heart-pine floor. Abby Carter’s son stood looking at him, guilt and fear stamped on his freckled face.

Caleb’s lips tightened. The boy shouldn’t have been snooping! He should have been sitting down minding his own business the way well-brought-up children should. So much for Abby Carter’s mothering skills. Still, as furious, frustrated and exhausted as he was, he realized that he could not afford to fly off the handle, as he was prone to do. Not now. Instead, he stifled the words hovering on his lips, took a deep, calming breath and struggled to assess the situation with some sort of objectivity.

If he had to hazard a guess, he would say that the baby—a girl it seemed, from the lace adorning her smock—had been crawling around, doing some sort of infant reconnaissance while her brother followed her—though to what purpose Caleb could not fathom. Most likely the baby had bumped into the spindly legged table Emily had brought back from St. Louis when she’d gone to visit her sister, sending the porcelain shepherdess to her demise.

Caleb’s gaze moved back to the boy, who regarded him with unconcealed apprehension. The baby had pushed to a sitting position amid the broken shards, poked two fingers into her mouth and regarded him with the same intensity as her brother. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, she plopped her plump palms to the floor and headed for a colorful, gilt-edged piece that snagged her interest.

Scowling with amazement at how fast she switched her focus, Caleb strode across the room and swung her up just as she was about to grab the jagged shard. To his surprise, she gave a gurgle of laughter. Marveling again at the quicksilver shifting of her attention, he turned her to face him, holding her out at arm’s length. She rewarded his frown with a wide grin. Something about that sweet and innocent smile with its four gleaming teeth took the edge from his anger. Arms straight out, he carried the baby to the sofa and plunked her smack-dab in the middle of the cushions.

Sensitive to the situation he found himself in, and as uncertain how to deal with Abby Carter’s offspring as he was his infant daughter, he wondered what to do next. Other than him and his brother being children many years ago, he had never been around the peculiar little creatures, and what he knew about how to deal with them could be put in a thimble with lots of room left over. From what he’d observed around town, many of them were meddlesome and troublesome, which the recent incident proved. His tired, troubled gaze returned to the child who stood gaping at him in fearful anxiety. He had to do something.

Caleb raked a hand through his tousled hair and pointed from the boy to the couch. “You,” he said in a too-quiet tone. “Sit.”

* * *

Wearing an anxious frown, Abby emerged from the kitchen holding a sleeping Betsy close. Just inside the doorway of the parlor, she stopped. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Ben sat immobile on the sofa, looking as if he were afraid to even breathe. Laura, unaffected by the tension in the room, leaned against him, happily chewing on the hem of her dress. Caleb sat on the hearth, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his folded hands, daring him to move. Abby’s lingering gratification at having helped Betsy Gentry and her father vanished.

“Can we go home now?” Ben asked, both his voice and his lower lip trembling. “I don’t like it here.”

Abby’s gaze swung from the fear on his face to Caleb Gentry, who sat watching the boy with the intensity of “a hawk watching a chicken,” as her grandmother might have said. Her heart sank. Ben had done something wrong. Her frantic gaze raked the room for confirmation, lighting on the pieces of what looked like a broken figurine that lay scattered on the polished floorboards.

Rachel chose that moment to exit the bedroom, an armful of bedding clutched to her chest. “I’ll just take these to the laundry in town and bring them back in a few d—” She stopped in her tracks and looked from Abby to Caleb and back again.

Sensing the tension in the room, Rachel said, “I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about. Just let me take these out to the carriage, and the children and I will go into the kitchen for some of those cookies you baked. You did bring them along, didn’t you, Abby? Ben, take Laura into the kitchen. I’ll be there in a minute.”

It didn’t escape either Caleb or Abby that even though Rachel spoke in her most professional tone, she was almost babbling, something the no-nonsense doctor just didn’t do.

Abby nodded, watching as Ben hefted his baby sister onto his hip and left the room, his relief almost palpable. Caleb’s frown grew even darker. When the children were gone, he made no move to address the disaster, other than to get up and begin picking up the bits of pottery. Watching him, Abby found herself torn between demanding to know what had happened and the urge to tell him that she would not be taking the job, after all. The memory of the bank’s letter stopped her. She could not afford to reject this lifeline out of hand.

Why did you have to die on me, William? she thought angrily. Realizing how silly it was to berate her dead husband and knowing that even if he’d lived, she would still be in a pickle at the bank, she gave a deep sigh, placed the sleeping baby in her cradle and went to help clean up.

She and Caleb worked together side by side, neither speaking as they picked up pieces of his past. Finally, he stood, held out his hands and said, “It was my mother’s.”

Having been forced to part with several things that had once belonged to her own mother, Abby could imagine how he felt losing something dear to his heart just hours after losing his beloved wife. She straightened and placed the pieces she’d gathered into his big hands. The backs of her fingers brushed against his. Caleb stiffened. Abby stifled a small gasp and plunged her hands into the pockets of her skirt. Her confused gaze met his. The anger was gone, replaced by something akin to bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Yes, well, so am I.” The strange moment passed, and once more his voice held a note of annoyance. “If the children had been seated as they should have been, it would never have happened.”

Abby gasped, thoughts of foreclosure forgotten. Anger rose inside her like Wolf Creek floodwaters in the spring. How dare he say anything about her children! How dare he? From across the room, Betsy snuffled in her sleep. The slight sound was enough to remind Abby of the sorrow and strain the man standing before her must be feeling. Fearing that her eyes still held the remnants of irritation, she lifted her gaze no higher than the second button of his shirt.

“You’re right,” she said with a nod. “They should have been seated.” Then, feeling that her babies had been unfairly judged, she couldn’t help adding, “But if you will recall, you were so anxious to see Betsy calmed when I arrived, that we weren’t even properly introduced.”

Her meaning could not be clearer. Caleb had demanded that she do something to calm his daughter, and in her hurry to do so, Ben and Laura had been left in his and Rachel’s charge. Abby gave a small sigh. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Being correct did not give one the right to say so.

Her cautious gaze climbed up the tanned column of his throat to his rugged face. The red of either embarrassment or anger tinged his sun-darkened features. She stifled a groan and wished—as was often the case—that she could call back her rash statement. Dear Lord, I try to bridle my tongue; You know I do.

Yes, He knew she fought a constant battle with her stubbornness and her temper, which flared hotly and died just as fast. Always had, and, she thought with another sorrow-filled sigh, probably always would. Her quick tongue had often landed her in trouble as she’d grown up, but when she’d met William, she met a man who valued her opinions, one who insisted that anyone as intelligent as she was should speak her mind. Though the final decision was always his, he had listened to her thoughts and ideas—an advantage she was aware that few wives were granted. As for her temper, more often than not, he just grabbed her in a big bear hug and held her until she quit struggling, laughing at her all the while, which quickly defused her ire and had her laughing with him.

But Caleb Gentry was nothing like her husband, she thought, staring up at features that might have been carved from unyielding Arkansas stone. How could they ever deal with each other in a practical way when, aside from her brief, annoyed outburst, the thought of just speaking to him turned her legs to jelly?

Before Caleb could say the words she knew were hovering on his lips, Rachel, the basket of cookies hooked over her wrist, returned, slanting Abby an uneasy look before disappearing into the kitchen. Abby stood, her chin high, all thought of retaliatory criticism dissolving as she realized that her brief spurt of provocation had probably jeopardized the job he offered.

Without speaking, Caleb tossed the breakage into the ash bucket that sat near the fireplace. Swiping his hands on the legs of his denim pants, he turned to face her with his arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression in his unusual gray eyes.

She was still trying to formulate an acceptable apology when he heaved a great sigh and asked, “Is Betsy all right, then?”

Surprised, both at the evenness of his voice and the turn of the conversation, Abby stammered, “Y-Yes. Fine. She was just hungry.”

That basic problem, indeed the problem, cleared up to his satisfaction—at least for the moment—they stood there, their mutual strain growing with every indrawn breath. Finally, she took her courage in hand. Knowing that even if she had messed up her chance to provide for her children, she could not leave without offering him what comfort she could for the days to come; she cleared her throat.

“Mr. Gentry,” she said, lacing her hands together at her waist to still their trembling. “I want you to know that I am very sorry for your loss, and while I cannot know your exact feelings, I do know what it’s like to lose a mate. My husband died eight months ago, shortly after Laura was born.”

The expression in his eyes could only be described as bleak. “I had heard that.” He cocked his head to the side, regarding her with a curious expression. “Tell me, Mrs. Carter, did you love your husband?”

Abby’s eyes widened with surprise at the personal nature of the question. “Of course.”

“Well, let me assure you that in no way could your feelings be compared to mine.”

Her breath caught at the strength of his statement, and her twisting hands stilled. He must have loved Emily very much, though it was hard to imagine such a fierce, hard man ever feeling any emotion as tender as love.

Deciding to clear the air before she lost her courage, she said, “There are some things that we should talk about before we make the decision as to whether or not I accept the position you’re offering.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. He was not used to a woman taking the lead in the dialogue.

“I agree.”

“First, I would like to apologize again for the destruction of the figurine. Since I wasn’t here, I can’t say for certain how it happened, but please believe me when I say that Ben is seldom meddlesome, though he is quite curious, as most children are. I will be glad to repay you for it.” Nerves made her speech stilted and formal, and she had no idea how on earth she would make good on her promise if she did not land this job.

“I didn’t see it happen, either, Mrs. Carter, and I concede that you were right in stating that I was anxious when you arrived and did not give you time to see that the children were properly settled. Most likely your baby—”

“Laura,” she supplied.

“Laura. Laura probably bumped into the table and toppled the figurine. We can certainly ask, uh—”

“Ben.”

“Yes, Ben.” He cleared his throat, and his next words seemed to come only with the greatest effort. “I would venture to guess that it was just an unfortunate accident.”

She nodded, sensing how hard the admission must have been. “You should know about all our warts,” she said, determined to lay out possible problems beforehand. “Ben is very much a boy, and is often loud and rowdy, and Laura is just beginning to venture about and explore things....” Her voice trailed away on a sigh, and she lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. Surely he could see where she was leading.

“They are good children, Mr. Gentry,” she said, an earnest expression on her face, “and they are easily set to rights, but they are children, nonetheless.”

Sensing that he was about to speak, she rushed on. “Another thing. Ben still misses his father very much, and that grief manifests itself in different ways—sometimes tears, sometimes misplaced mischief and even anger. If I were to take this position, I would appreciate your showing us as much patience as possible as we try to find our way in our new roles. Of course, knowing the suddenness and depth of your loss, we will extend you the same courtesy.”

She was surprised that Caleb did not interrupt as many men would have. Again, she chided herself for speaking with such boldness and ruining all chance of employment, but as much as she needed the position, it was more important that her family be happy.

“I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Carter,” he said in a tone whose mocking edge caused her to doubt the sincerity of the statement. “And you should understand that I’m unfamiliar with children as well as being rather set in my ways. It will take some time for us all to adjust. As you say, there will have to be compromises on both sides.”

Abby swallowed hard. “I would like to apologize for my rude outburst. My husband was a man who felt women are intelligent individuals and should voice their opinions, even when those attitudes may cause discord.” She released a soft sigh of contrition and met his gaze with a stubborn determination. “I fear I have become used to doing just that. I realize that his attitude is not shared by other men and will do my best to bridle my tongue.”

She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes, but he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “One more thing.”

Abby looked at him, wondering what else was on his mind.

“Since this will be your home for the next several months, I would appreciate it if you took on the responsibilities of cooking and cleaning. I will, of course, pay you extra for that.”

Abby felt her mouth drop open in surprise. She snapped it shut, as her fair eyebrows puckered. “My home? I’m not sure I understand.”

Another of those frowns drew his dark eyebrows together in an expression of surprise that mimicked hers. “Surely Rachel explained that you and the children would have to stay here for the next few months. At least until Betsy is of weaning age.”


Chapter Two

Abby’s eyes widened. “Do you mean live here?”

Caleb resisted the urge to sigh. Without a word, he went to the kitchen door and summoned Rachel, who left Ben and Laura eating cookies. She came into the parlor, a troubled expression in the dark eyes that moved from one friend to the other.

“I think you’d do a far better job than I in explaining to Mrs. Carter why it’s necessary for her and the children to make this their home for the next few months.”

Rachel nodded and turned to Abby. “I can’t see any other way, can you?”

When Rachel suggested Abby become Betsy’s wet nurse and told her to gather up enough things for a few days, Abby had been so eager to help and so thankful to see some ease from her financial problems that she hadn’t given much thought as to how seeing to Betsy’s needs would be accomplished or what it might entail.

“Couldn’t I keep the baby at my place?”

Rachel looked to Caleb with raised eyebrows. After he’d vetoed the idea of Abby and her children moving in with him because they would be “disrupting his life, poking through his things, tracking in dirt and whining,” Rachel had suggested that he allow Abby to take Betsy to her place until she was old enough to drink from a cup, at which time he could hire someone to care for her through the day, while he took the nights.

Caleb had nixed the notion outright, proving the inflexibility he was known for. “Betsy belongs here,” he’d said. “Why can’t Mrs. Carter come over a few times a day and uh...feed...Betsy and then go home, or maybe she could stay all day and go home at night?”

Clearly near the end of her rope with his stubbornness, Rachel had given him her most stern “doctor” look. “I understand how you feel, Caleb, but Abby lives almost two miles on the other side of town going toward Antoine. Around six miles from here. It would be impossible for her to traipse back and forth with two children in tow, especially with winter coming on. Besides, babies get hungry through the night, too, at least for a while. Caring for Betsy would be a full-time job. Still, she is your child, and it’s your decision.”

Setting his jaw, Caleb had stared down at the baby. Neither scenario suited him, but he felt his resolve eroding in the face of necessity. As usual, he’d been given little choice in what happened in his life. With a sigh of acquiescence, he had set aside his feelings and agreed to what was required.

“Betsy belongs here,” he said now, repeating his earlier answer while staring implacably into Abby Carter’s anxious eyes.

Abby chewed on her bottom lip, her practical side battling her tender heart, weighing the facts as if they were on scales. On one side was the letter from the bank; on the other was a baby who needed her. She sighed. It all boiled down to one thing. Did she believe what she professed? Did she really trust that God was in control and that He answered prayers?

She thought of her house situated a half mile off the road between Wolf Creek and Antoine, with its small, homey kitchen she’d made cheerful by the addition of yellow-print feed-sack curtains and the copper pots that once belonged to her mother—one of the few things she hadn’t sold. Leaving the home she’d shared with William held little appeal, but with no other way to catch up on her missed note payments, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be leaving it sooner or later. One way or the other.

“How much are you willing to pay?” she asked, and gasped in surprise when she heard Caleb’s generous offer.

“That would include your taking on the household chores and cooking that I mentioned earlier.”

“I would be happy to take care of your household chores, since I’m not accustomed to idleness,” she told him. A sudden thought struck her. She looked from Rachel to Caleb. “What about my animals? Who would take care of them?”

“I can make arrangements to move them here for the time being,” her prospective employer offered.

Abby gave a helpless shrug. “It seems that between the two of you, you’ve thought of everything.”

“Not everything, I’m sure,” Rachel said. “The biggest obstacles, perhaps.”

At long last, Caleb unfolded his arms and extended his hand. “It seems, Mrs. Carter, that we find ourselves in positions of mutual need. I will do my best to be patient with your children if you will take good care of my daughter. Do we have a deal?”

Weighing her children’s requirements against the troublesome voice that whispered that she must be mad, she held out her own hand. Caleb Gentry’s was warm and strong and rough with calluses. When he released his hold on her, she took a step back. It was too late to renege now.

“I hear Laura,” Rachel said. “I’ll go tend to her and Ben while you two work out a few details.”

“Thank you.”

Once Rachel disappeared into the kitchen, Abby and Caleb spent the next several moments discussing how she would pay for the things she needed to run the household, and she explained the number and kinds of animals he would be taking responsibility for. He specified what times he liked his meals, and Abby explained that she spent a portion of each morning in lessons with the children, and had Bible time before bedtime, assuring him that she would not let it get in the way of her care of Betsy.

“There is one more thing,” she said, when it seemed they had most of the obvious wrinkles worked out.

“Yes?”

“Weather permitting, the children and I attend Wolf Creek Church every Sunday. I hope that won’t be a problem. Of course, it’s impossible to take Betsy out now, but I’ll be glad to take her when she’s old enough.”

“I have no problem with that, but I will not be accompanying you.” He excused himself, saying that he needed to unload her things from Rachel’s buggy and speak to his hands about moving her animals.

When he left the room, Abby drew in a shaky breath. She and Caleb Gentry would do their best to deal equitably with each other the next few months, since each had something the other needed. Simply put, neither of them had much choice. No matter what happened in the coming weeks and months, they would grin and bear it.

More likely they would grit their teeth and bear it, she thought, recalling the look on his face when she’d entered the parlor after the figurine had been smashed. She remembered the expression on Ben’s face when he’d said he didn’t like it there. Well, life had a way of throwing a lot of things at you that you might not like, a lesson Ben ought to learn sooner than later.

Putting on a determined face, Abby headed to the kitchen to relieve Rachel of the children and see if she could get to the bottom of what had happened to the shattered shepherdess. She prayed she could find the words to tell Ben they wouldn’t be going home for a while.

“Well?” Rachel said, when Abby entered the warmth of the kitchen.

Abby’s gaze found her son, who was helping Laura drink from a cup, holding a dish towel beneath her chin to catch the drips. At the moment, he was not paying any attention to the adults in the room. “It seems I have a job. Thank you.”

Abby leaned down and gave her friend a hug, then helped herself to a cookie and sat down across the table.

“I won’t sugarcoat things,” Rachel said with a grim smile and her customary honesty. “Caleb is a decent man, and I think folks who have business dealings with him would call him a fair man, but make no mistake, he is also a hard man and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. I’d be less than a friend if I told you the next few months will be easy...for either of you.”

Abby broke off a piece of cookie, her lips curving in a wry smile. “Believe me, I know that.”

She popped the piece of cookie into her mouth and Rachel sighed. “Somehow I feel guilty for putting you in this position, even though my intentions were the best.”

Abby smiled. “I know that, too.”

Once Rachel had gone back to town, Abby sat down on the bench next to her son, took Laura on her lap and handed Ben another cookie to help soften him up for the news she was about to impart. She decided to begin with the lesser of the two concerns. “The figurine that got broken belonged to Mr. Gentry’s mother,” she said. “It was very special to him. What happened, Ben?”

“It was an accident,” he told her, his blue eyes earnest. “You told me to be good and mind my manners, and I was trying. Dr. Rachel put Laura on the floor and told me to keep an eye on her. I was afraid Laura would get into something she shouldn’t, so I was trying to watch her.” He took a huge bite of cookie, as if he needed to fortify himself.

Good intentions, then, Abby thought with a feeling of relief.

“She was crawling around, and then she sat up real fast, and when she did, she bumped the table and the next thing I knew we were in trouble.”

“What did Mr. Gentry say?”

Ben shrugged. “Nothing much. He told me to sit down and then sat there just looking at me. I don’t like him,” Ben said. “I want to go home.”

Abby uttered a silent prayer for guidance. “We need to talk about that, Ben.” How did she explain the direness of their situation in a way he could understand without getting into past-due notes and bank foreclosures?

Loosing another sigh, she said, “I know you realize how hard it has been for us since your father died, and how I try to do not only my work but what I can of his, too. And you know how tired and cranky I’ve been sometimes.”

Ben gave a solemn nod and finished off the last of his cookie.

“Before we came, I told you that Mr. Gentry’s wife died today.”

Another nod of understanding. “Well, Mr. Gentry is in the same position that I am in—needing to be both mother and father.” How to explain in more detail? “Husbands and wives are partners.”

“Partners are people who work together toward the same goal,” Ben said.

“Yes.” Abby smiled her approval. Every day, she tried to give him a new word definition and encouraged him to use the word as often as possible to build his vocabulary. Partners had been the word several weeks ago.

“In the case of marriage, that goal is to be a happy, healthy family who believes in truth and honesty and responsibility and hard work, one that puts God first. In most circumstances, the father is responsible for the hard, outside work like plowing and putting up hay and chopping firewood, as well as handling the money and seeing to the bills. The mother is responsible for taking care of the home and the children, the cooking and cleaning...that sort of thing. Though,” she added, “in some cases, like ours and Mr. Gentry’s, it becomes necessary for one parent to take on the duties of both parents, the way I’ve been trying to do.”

Her faltering smile was sorrow-filled. How could she tell him that her present circumstance was due in part to William’s inexperience, which had forced him to borrow from the bank? Or how she had sold almost everything she owned of value to try to satisfy the loan? She couldn’t. Not now or ever. Ben had adored his father, and she would not be the one to say anything to lessen that feeling.

Her voice was thick with unshed tears when she spoke. “I’ve been having a hard time dealing with your father’s responsibilities, Ben, and I’ll be frank, I’m not doing a very good job.”

“I think you’re doing fine,” he said. “I’ll bet Mr. Gentry won’t do nearly as good a job of being both parents as you do.”

“Thank you, Ben. And that’s the thing. Mr. Gentry already knows he can’t do a good job as Betsy’s mother.” Dear Lord, help me find the words. “Men just aren’t...equipped with the right...trappings...to be a mother. That’s why Dr. Rachel came to me. Mr. Gentry would like for me—us—to stay here for a while so I can take care of Betsy.”

Abby watched Ben’s lower lip jut out and his eyes take on a familiar belligerence.

“It won’t be forever,” she hastened to say. “Just until Betsy gets a bit older, or until Mr. Gentry finds someone else. Until springtime, maybe. He and I will be partners, in a way. He will take care of our place and our animals, and I will take care of him and Betsy and the household chores. He will pay me a wage, just as if I had a job in town at the mercantile or the restaurant, and that money will help me take care of our obligations. That can be our word for the day.

“Obligations are things that are our responsibilities. Like what I was talking about when I described the duties of fathers and mothers. Parents have the obligation to bring up children to be good, God-fearing citizens. You are responsible for keeping your room clean and setting the table and feeding the animals and milking Nana. When I tell you to keep an eye on Laura, it is your obligation to see that she’s safe. Sometimes, obligations involve money. Things we must pay for.”

There! She had prepared him as best she could, though she felt she had done a poor job of it. To his credit, Ben did not spout off or throw a fit. Only the downward turn of his mouth and his refusal to meet her gaze spoke of his misery. Finally, he looked up at her.

“Like buying eggs when the hens stop laying and sugar and flour and coffee?” he asked.

“Yes.” And shoes and shirts and medicine when your children get sick, Abby thought as she pulled him close to her side. “I have always been as truthful with you as I have felt you could understand, so I will not lie to you now. This will be hard on all of us.”

Ben pulled away and regarded her with a solemn expression. “It won’t be hard on Mr. Gentry. He doesn’t have to live somewhere different.”

“Actually, he does,” Abby said with a gentle smile. “He won’t be staying in his house while we’re here. He’ll be moving into the bunkhouse with his hired men. He will just take his meals here and use his office when necessary. That’s quite a sacrifice for him, as well as having people he doesn’t even know taking over his home. And we mustn’t forget that his wife just died. I want you to think about how you felt when your father passed away. You were sad and angry with him and God for at least a month, and you took it out on your sister. Remember?”

Ben nodded.

Abby smiled and brushed back a lock of his fine blond hair. “Just remember that Mr. Gentry may be feeling the same way for a while, and try to be patient and forgiving. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Abby said.

She gave him a final hug and stood. As they were about to leave the kitchen, Caleb came through the door, looking rugged and unyielding, his arms laden with things she’d brought from her own kitchen. He set a loaf of bread wrapped in a clean dish towel onto the table next to the basket of cookies, and put a heavy cast-iron kettle of squirrel and dumplings on the stove.

“I’ve put your things in your room.”

“Thank you,” Abby said.

“Would you mind if Ben and Laura sleep with you for a day or two? I’ll have to move some things from Emily’s room into the attic for Ben to have his own room.”

“That will be fine.”

“I thought I’d put Betsy’s cradle in your room, too, so you can be near both girls.”

“Perfect.”

“Let me show you around,” he said, relieved that there were no objections.

He led the small procession down the hallway. The bedroom was furnished simply with a bed, an oak armoire and a highboy. Abby noted that he had built a small fire to combat the autumn chill, and warmth was already starting to spread throughout the area, which was far larger than any room at her home. As spacious as it was and even though she knew the furnishings were of good quality, the house seemed sterile somehow, as untouched as Caleb Gentry’s heart. Shifting Laura on her hip, she ran her fingertip through the dust that had gathered on top of a chest of drawers. And it could use a thorough cleaning.

“I guess it needs a good cleaning,” he said, echoing her thoughts.

The sound of his voice sent Abby’s gaze winging to his, and she saw that the dull red of embarrassment had crept into the harsh sweep of his cheekbones. Too late, she realized what she had done. Oh, dear! Could she and the children do nothing right?

“Emily didn’t have much energy the past few months, and I—”

“There’s no need to apologize, Mr. Gentry,” she rushed to assure him. “Any woman who has carried a child to term understands.” She offered him a nonjudgmental smile. “It’s a lovely home and it won’t take much to get things in order.”

“I suppose not.” Clearly eager to be away from the house and all the turmoil and unhappiness in it, he said, “I need to get one of my hands to go over to your place and see to your animals tonight. We’ll move them tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to put you to the trouble.”

“It’s not a problem.” She told him how to find her house and he gave a sharp nod. He looked as tense as she felt. It seemed as if they were both trying to outdo the other in civility.

She offered him a thin smile. “I’ll just get our things put away and check on Betsy again.”

“I have to go into town and make arrangements at the, uh—” he cleared his throat “—funeral home, so I can’t stay to see that you get settled in. Feel free to just...look around if you need something. I’ll be back by dusk for supper. Just fix whatever you want.”

Laura muttered something that sounded remarkably like “supper” and offered Caleb one of her incredible smiles. Just as incredibly, the bleakness in his storm-gray eyes dimmed the tiniest bit. Though it in no way could be called a smile and was so fleeting that Abby was certain it must be a trick of the light, it seemed that just for a second, the unyielding firmness of his mouth softened somewhat.

She gave her daughter a squeeze. It seemed that at least one of the Carters was not intimidated by the overwhelming presence of the man, and even seemed to be taken with him! Much to her own mortification considering the circumstances, Abby realized that in his own rough, brooding sort of way, Caleb Gentry was an attractive man.

* * *

Caleb rode his gelding into town, his body past weariness, sporadic images flitting through his weary mind like flashes of lighting against a sullen sky. Rachel coming from the room where a baby’s crying was the only sound after Emily had gone suddenly quiet. His gaze straying to the bed, where a sheet covered Emily’s face. His heart stumbling in his chest, and the resolute, relentless ticking of the clock, while his exhausted brain struggled to assimilate what his eyes were seeing. Rachel’s voice, filled with weariness and regret. Emily was dead and his baby daughter needed someone to take care of her, to feed her. An overwhelming certainty that there must be something terribly wrong with him for his inability to feel anything over his wife’s death but panic and fear....

The random images faded, and reason—of sorts—returned along with memories of the past couple of hours. He conceded that he had jumped to conclusions with Mrs. Carter’s boy. It wasn’t his fault his sister had broken the shepherdess, but with Caleb’s own emotions so raw, and his feelings of inadequacy at the surface, he had been eager to place blame. The truth was that his whole world was turned upside down. Nothing would ever be the same, so he might as well get used to the idea of Mrs. Carter and her children being around, at least for the foreseeable future.

Whether he liked it or not.

With a grunt of disgust, he guided the horse down Antioch Street, and took a right toward the railroad tracks. The house Rachel Stone shared with her father, which also housed her medical office, sat on a corner beyond the tracks that ran a block down from and parallel to Antioch. The funeral home was situated at the rear of the house, added a few years before, when Rachel’s father, Dr. Edward Stone, had suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed.

Caleb rode around back, tied his horse to the hitching post and stepped through the doorway of the funeral parlor. Edward, who sat behind a gleaming desk, looked up when he heard the bell on the door ring, a solemn expression on his lined face. He rolled his wheelchair around to greet Caleb with his hand extended.

“I’m sorry, Caleb.”

Caleb only nodded.

“Bart and Mary picked out a casket and brought her a dress. I didn’t think you’d mind.” When Caleb shook his head, the older man said, “She’s ready, if you want to go on in.”

Caleb nodded, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He entered the viewing room, where Emily lay dressed in a frilly gown of pale pink, her favorite color. Her dark lashes lay against the delicate paleness of her cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was sleeping.

Dry-eyed, he stared down at the woman who had been a part of his life the past six years, waiting for the grief to overtake him and wondering if he should pray. But grief for losing a beloved wife did not come, and he had no idea what he could—or should—say to a God with whom he’d had so few dealings. The only sorrow he could define was sadness that Emily had been taken in her prime and would not be there for Betsy.

There was guilt aplenty.

Guilt aggravated by the nagging memory of the jolt that had passed through him when his fingers had touched those of Abby Carter. What kind of man was he to feel anything for any woman so soon after his wife’s death?

The answer was clear. He was, perhaps, a man who hadn’t tried hard enough to make his marriage a good one. A man who’d let someone else plan his marriage and shape his life...which might explain that unexpected awareness of Mrs. Carter but certainly did not excuse it.

He and Emily were both twenty-four when they married. Pretty enough, but thought to be a bit uppity, she was considered to be the town spinster. Caleb’s father had instigated the notion of his marrying her. His father stated that since Gabe, whom Lucas Gentry bitterly referred to as the “prodigal,” had shown no signs of abandoning his wayward lifestyle to come home and share the burden of labor, it was past time for his elder son to choose a wife and sire a son to inherit the Gentry fortune.

Emily’s parents had encouraged her to accept Caleb’s offer—most probably her last. So they married and lived with Lucas in the house he had built for his own wife, Caleb and Gabe’s mother, Libby.

Unfortunately, Lucas had died of a stroke three years ago, without seeing the birth of his grandchild. More regrettable perhaps was the fact that despite the tales Caleb had heard about love often following marriage, for him and Emily it had not.

Until now, he had never questioned why. They’d both been content to let the days slip by...sharing a house but not their lives, treating each other with respect but not love, neither of them caring enough to look for a spark of something that might be fanned into the flames of love. In retrospect, he found that troubling, but then, what did he know of love? He and Gabe had lost their mother to another man at a young age, and love was a sentiment foreign to their embittered father.

Father. He was a father now, and he hoped to be a better one than Lucas Gentry had been. He would be better. He might not know anything about loving his daughter, but he knew how to take care of her. Duty and obligation were things Caleb Gentry understood very well. And he would let her choose her husband when the time came.


Chapter Three

With a few free moments before starting the evening meal, Abby poured herself a cup of coffee and sank into a kitchen chair. Emily’s funeral service had been held that morning, and Caleb had yet to return from town. Laura and Betsy were down for their afternoon naps, and Ben was taking advantage of the sunny afternoon, playing on the back porch with the wooden train set William had made him last Christmas.

The two days since she and the children had arrived at the Gentry farm had been somewhat stressful as they tried to adjust to their new home and responsibilities, but with the absence of any further mishaps or misunderstandings, Abby felt she was beginning to find her stride.

She took a sip of her coffee and contemplated what to fix for supper, which turned her thoughts to Caleb. In an effort to please her new employer, she had asked what he did and didn’t like to eat, and he had informed her that not liking something was a luxury he and his brother had not been allowed. He ate everything, and she soon learned he ate a lot of it, tucking into a meal as if it might be his last. So much food might have made another man overweight, but Caleb was as fit any male she’d ever seen.

She’d learned a bit about him the past couple of days. His work ethic could not be faulted. The care he took with his animals and the upkeep of the farm spoke of concern, dedication and pride in his accomplishments, which was reflected by his affluence. In fact, he worked from sunrise until sunset with an intensity she understood too well, readying the farm for winter wheat planting between visits from the few neighbors who came to offer food and condolences.

Abby was a bit surprised that there were not as many visitors as she might have imagined considering the Gentry family’s long-standing presence in the community. She was also surprised at how uncomfortable he seemed with accepting their simple kindnesses.

She understood filling your days with work in an attempt to hold the pain of loss at bay, but she did not comprehend his awkwardness in accepting well-meaning compassion from people who wanted to show they cared. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to deal with their kindness.

He seemed to be trying his best to make her job easier, always giving a polite answer to her questions about the workings of his household, and plenty of leeway to take care of Betsy in whatever way she thought was best. Still, in no way could his actions be interpreted as friendly. Sometimes she caught him looking at her with a strange expression that seemed to straddle the fence between skepticism and remorse.

She often caught him regarding the children with wary uncertainty, sometimes giving them looks that dared them to so much as breathe, but he also tried in a heavy-handed way to engage them in various ways. Despite how painful accepting their presence might be, Abby couldn’t help feeling that he was doing his best, even though his best lacked enthusiasm or warmth and more often than not fell short.

There had been one sticky moment that first evening when he had started eating the squirrel and dumplings she had brought from home, only to be halted by Ben who regarded him in disbelief and said, “We didn’t say the prayer.”

Looking somewhat abashed, Caleb had stopped, bowed his head and listened while Ben gave thanks for the food. He had never forgotten after that. It was a small thing, but one for which Abby was grateful. She was also grateful that other than to show up for meals, she had seen little of him, which made everyone’s life easier, especially the days she recalled the unexpected spark she’d felt when their fingers touched. Labeling it a figment of her imagination made it no less troubling.

The morning after her arrival, Caleb had taken Frank, one of his two hired men and a wagon to her place where they’d rounded up her few remaining chickens, the rabbits and their cages, and Nana, one in a long string of goats she and William had purchased because Ben had not tolerated cow’s milk well. They had tethered Shaggy Bear, her milk cow, to the wagon, loaded what feed she had and brought the whole kit and caboodle back to his place. When Caleb had come in for supper, she thought she’d heard him mumbling something about “milking goats” under his breath, but she could not be sure.

She was doing a top-to-bottom cleaning of the house and admitted that caring for it was much easier than caring for hers. While not a fancy place per se, the Gentry home was more than a simple farmhouse, designed not only for the convenience of a farming family, but also with an eye toward rustic charm. The house was the product of Gentry money, yet nowhere was there a hint of ostentation. The oak floors had been planed smooth and waxed to a satin sheen, as had the bookcases flanking the massive rock fireplace that was the hub of the parlor. The plaster walls throughout were painted in various colors, most of them too dark for Abby’s taste, but classic colors that somehow suited Caleb.

Though blessed with a fine house, Emily Gentry seemed to have taken little interest in putting her stamp on it. Abby understood being so dragged down by pregnancy that regular cleaning became a chore, but where were the little touches that showed care and love? Other than a quilt or two and the occasional pastel drawing Emily had done, there were few of the personal touches Abby felt transformed lumber and nails from a house into a sanctuary away from the cares of the world.

If it were her home, she would paint the rooms light colors and swap the heavy drapes framing the windows for white muslin curtains, perhaps with a crochet-and-tassel edging to brighten things up.

Shame on you, Abby Carter! How dare you presume to redecorate a dead woman’s house or think it lacked love?

Why, Caleb himself had indicated that even though Abby had lost her husband, she could have no idea how he felt at his own loss. A sudden wave of melancholy for the simple, love-filled house she and William had once shared swept through Abby, but she pushed it aside. Indulging in nostalgia for the past served as little purpose as speculating on Emily Gentry’s personality and her relationship with her husband.

Caleb never so much as mentioned her name, and though Abby saw the grimness in his eyes as he approached each day with stubborn determination, she knew only too well what he must be going through.

Though she and William had not seen eye to eye the last months of their marriage, she had loved him, and it was weeks before anyone could mention his name without her tearing up. But as her preacher had counseled her, God made our wondrous bodies not only to heal themselves when overtaken with physical problems—if given care and time—He had done the same with our emotions. Time, he had told her, was the cure for her sorrow. He’d been right. There were still moments when thoughts of William brought tightness to her throat and tears to her eyes, but for the most part he had been relegated to a special place in her memories and her heart.

So, when things became tense and stilted between her and Caleb, she reminded herself of his recent loss and prayed that the sharpest edges of his pain would be smoothed over by God’s grace.

And you still haven’t decided what to fix for supper.

She was debating on whether to cook a pot of beans or fry some salt pork and potatoes and cook up the turnip and mustard greens Leo had picked for her that morning, when she heard footsteps on the front porch. Caleb must be back. Then, hearing a woman’s voice and what had to be more than one person’s footsteps, Abby leaped to her feet. It must be someone coming to pay his respects. She had been so careful not to overstep the boundaries of the duties Caleb had outlined that she wasn’t sure if she should answer the door or not.

Then again, he wasn’t here. Deciding that she should welcome his guests, she hurried through the kitchen, smoothing both her hair and her apron as she went. She was halfway to the front door when it was pushed open, and Caleb, accompanied by a rush of cool air and carrying a pot of something, stepped through the opening. His in-laws followed, each holding a wooden tray covered by a tea towel. Their eyes were red-rimmed, but their wan faces wore resolute smiles.

Abby’s questioning gaze flickered to Caleb. “The people from town fixed enough food for an army,” he told her. “We brought what was left here.”

“Indeed they did,” Mary Emerson interjected, doing her best to summon a vestige of cheer. “There’s no way Bart and I can eat it all before it goes bad, and I know Caleb eats like a horse, so we decided to share with you and the children this evening. I hope you haven’t started supper.”

“No. No, I haven’t,” Abby told her. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Besides,” Mary added, with another smile, this one faint and sorrowful, “it seemed only right that we come spend some time with Betsy. Especially today.”

Again, Abby’s gaze sought Caleb’s, hoping to gauge his reaction to the impromptu visit, but he had already disappeared through the kitchen door, and she could only nod.

“We’ll just put it in the kitchen, then.”

“That’s fine,” Abby said as the older woman followed her husband and Caleb through the house.

Not wanting her presence to remind the Emersons of their loss, Abby decided that she should stay out of sight and hopefully out of mind. She went to check on the babies and found them still sleeping. Letting herself out the front door, she rounded the house to the back porch to check on Ben. He was still playing with his train, the three open cars loaded down with green-and-black objects.

Abby’s eyes widened when she recognized the cargo for what it was: onyx-and-jade chess pieces from the set displayed on the table next to the front window. A vivid recollection of the scene with Caleb and Ben she had interrupted mere days ago leaped into her mind. Her heart dropped to her toes and she sucked in a horrified breath. While she watched, he took the kings from their respective cars and began to have them “fight” each other. Her first instinct was to yell at him to put them down, but caution prevailed. If he dropped one of them and it broke, it would be total disaster!

Instead, she sauntered over to the steps. “Hi, sweetheart. Having fun?”

Ben’s head snapped up and his wide eyes met hers. The guilt she saw there said without words that he knew he was in trouble. He swallowed and nodded.

“Aren’t those Mr. Gentry’s chessmen?”

He nodded again.

Abby sat down on the steps. “What are you doing with them?”

“Just playing sheriff and train robber,” he said in a low voice.

“I see.” She hoped her tone was reasonable. “Did Mr. Gentry give you permission to play with them?”

If possible, Ben’s eyes grew even wider. “No, ma’am.” His voice was the merest thread of sound.

“Hmm,” she said with a nod. “You know full well you are not to bother other peoples’ belongings, don’t you, Benjamin?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why did you?”

Ben stared at the now-abandoned chess pieces. “I just needed something to haul in my train. I was being careful.”

“I’m sure you meant no harm, and I’m sure you were being careful, but accidents happen. Remember Laura breaking the figurine? What if you’d broken one of Mr. Gentry’s chess pieces? What do you think he would say?”

Ben looked up, his freckle-splashed face draining of color.

Abby sighed. “Well, no harm done. I don’t think he knows they are missing yet. I’ll put them back, and when Mr. and Mrs. Emerson leave, you will tell Mr. Gentry what you did and apologize.”

Ben’s face crumpled. “Do I have to?”

“You do.” Abby reached out and took the chess pieces from the train, placing them in the pockets of her skirt. “Why don’t you spend some time on your reading?”

“I’d rather go fishing,” the boy said, a forlorn look in his eyes.

A sudden pain racked Abby’s heart. Fishing was a venture Ben and his father had shared and something she knew Ben missed very much. She swallowed back the tightness in her throat and forced a smile. “It would be nice for you to get in one more good fishing session before it gets too cold,” she agreed. “The next time we go into town, I’ll ask Dr. Rachel if Danny can come out one day and fish. Frank says some mighty big crappie live in Wolf Creek.”

“That would be fun,” Ben said, his eyes brightening. Rachel’s son, Daniel, was Ben’s best friend. “Maybe we could take a picnic the way we used to when Dad...”

The sentence trailed away and his smile faded.

“A picnic is a definite possibility,” Abby said, “if the wind isn’t blowing too much for the baby. It’s still pretty warm, and we could take a basket for her and a quilt for Laura, though I think she’ll be walking before much longer.”

Ben’s wide grin made Abby’s heart glad. “Yeah, she’s pulling up to everything the past few days.”

“If we had the picnic at midday, Mr. Gentry might like to join us,” Abby suggested.

Ben’s happy smile vanished. He looked up, his mouth already open to tell her that he didn’t want Caleb to come along.

Abby tapped his mouth with a gentle finger “Matthew 7:12.”

“Treat others the way you want to be treated,” he said in a disgusted tone.

“Close enough,” Abby said with a smile. “Now go find something to read for an hour or so. The Emersons have come to see Betsy and they brought supper, so there will be a lot of good things to choose from.” She winked at him. “I even saw a chocolate cake.”

Ben’s blue eyes brightened at the mention of his favorite.

“This is a sad time for them, Ben, so be extra nice, all right?”

Ben nodded. Abby bent and pressed a kiss to his white-blond hair, then ushered him through the kitchen and into the parlor. To her surprise, he went straight to Mary Emerson and gave her a hug, following suit with Bart. Abby felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. He was a sweet boy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze moving from one adult to the other and lingering on Caleb, whom he made no move to hug. Then without another word, he went to the room he shared with Abby.

She stifled a groan while fighting the conflicting urge to smile. The apology had not only been for Ben’s sorrow about Emily. By snaring Caleb’s eye, she somehow felt Ben had cleverly included his regret for playing with the chessmen without permission. Well, she might as well follow suit and take the coward’s way out, too. There wasn’t much Caleb could do or say with Emily’s parents in the room. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the room to the chess set, pulled the pieces from her pocket and placed them on the board. Heaven only knew if they belonged in a special spot. She was only thankful they were undamaged.

That done, she shot Caleb a quick glance. It was no surprise to see that his pewter-hued eyes had gone a stormy gray, like gloomy, rain-drenched clouds before a summer thunderstorm, one that would no doubt hit after the Emersons left.

* * *

Bart and Mary spent the remainder of the afternoon alternating between rocking Betsy and going through Emily’s belongings, separating them into piles to keep, be given away or be tossed. Caleb had retreated to the fields, telling them to take whatever they wanted. Abby spent the afternoon taking care of the babies’ needs, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible and biting her trembling bottom lip and blinking back her own tears when the sounds of sobbing escaped through the closed door.

By late afternoon, the chore was done, and everything was packed into two trunks and loaded onto Bart’s wagon. Abby made sure that supper was warm when they finished, so that Mary, who must be emotionally exhausted, would not feel the need to offer her help.

The meal was over and they were almost finished washing the dishes when Mary said, “I understand from Rachel that you didn’t bring much with you.”

“No. We were in a bit of a hurry to get here.”

“If you’d like, I can drive out early in the morning to watch the children while Caleb takes you to gather your things. I know you’d be more comfortable if Laura had her crib.”

“I appreciate it, Mrs. Emerson, but I’m not sure that would be convenient for Caleb, and I don’t want to make any more work on him than necessary.”

“Please call me Mary,” Emily’s mother said. “I’ve already talked to him, and he’s fine with it, as long as you don’t mind my watching Ben and Laura.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out and clasped one of Abby’s hands. “Bart and I are so very glad that you’re here for Betsy and Caleb, and we want to do everything we can so that you’ll feel more at home.”

Abby was overwhelmed by the heartfelt declaration. “Thank you, but I’m sure you’d have found someone, and actually, I’m the grateful one.”

Mary and Bart left soon after the dishes were washed and put away. Just before stepping onto the front porch, a tearful Mary pulled Abby into a close embrace. “If you or the children ever need anything, please let either me or Bart know.”

Abby promised she would and watched the carriage disappear down the lane. She drew a relieved breath at the older woman’s glad acceptance of the situation. If only she could somehow bring some of that acceptance and just a smidgen of joy into Caleb’s life, perhaps the next few months would be worth it.

* * *

Abby and Ben were in the parlor later, having their evening devotional, when Caleb came into the room. Abby looked up from the verse she was reading and found his gaze on Ben. She held her breath, hoping against hope that he would not fly off the handle.

“Ben.”

“Sir?”

Abby heard the quaver in his voice.

“That chess set was a gift to me from Doc Stone,” Caleb said in an even voice that somehow managed to fall just short of angry. “It isn’t a toy, son, and it isn’t to be played with unless you’re playing an actual game of chess. If you want to learn—”

“Don’t call me son!” Ben shouted, lifting his belligerent blue gaze to Caleb’s.

“Benjamin!” Abby cried, leaping to her feet. She was stunned by Ben’s sudden outburst, when Caleb had been trying to discuss the matter in a conciliatory tone. “You will apologize to Mr. Gentry at once.”

“I won’t!” he yelled, scrambling off the sofa and running to the bedroom. “I’m not his son!” The door slammed with a jarring thud.

Abby lifted her horrified gaze to Caleb’s, wondering if he would tell her to start packing “I—I’m so sorry,” she said in a near whisper. “I don’t know what got into him.”

His silvery eyes held a weary sorrow. “I do. I understand exactly why he’s upset. I’ve been where he is, remember?”

Abby recalled that he’d lost his mother when he was young. “You’re being very decent about this.”

“You told me yourself to expect that kind of outburst, and even though I may be short-tempered and stubborn, I like to think I am a decent man.”

“I never meant to imply—”

A fleeting sorrowful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know.”

Abby regarded him thoughtfully and set out to try to make him understand. “Ben had no idea how expensive that chess set is, but that’s neither here nor there. He knows better than to bother other people’s things. I’m not trying to make excuses, but he just wanted something to haul in his train cars. He—”

“Leave it, Abby,” Caleb said, but the weariness of his smile took the sting from the command. “I was going to offer to teach him how to play chess in the evenings, but I don’t think he’d be very receptive to that just now.”

Without another word, he crossed the room and began moving the chess pieces, presumably where they had been before Ben confiscated them. Caleb had made no mention of sending them packing, and she wasn’t going to bring it up. She gave a rueful shake of her head, not fully understanding why he had not flown off the handle, but grateful that he had not. It was progress. Of sorts.

* * *

Bright and early the following morning, while dew still sparkled on the browning grass, Abby found herself seated in the wagon beside Caleb. Mary had arrived shortly after daybreak to take care of the children. She’d brought along a newfangled bottle from the mercantile so that she could give Betsy a little sugar water if she grew fussy before Abby returned. Frank, the older of Caleb’s two hired hands, followed the wagon on a bay gelding.

Caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on his denim-clad knees, his tanned, callused hands holding the reins in a loose grasp. Completely and easily in control. Again, she thought that even though he was not what one might call handsome, there was something striking about him. It was no wonder that he’d once been the catch of Pike County, or little doubt that once a decent time of mourning had passed, he would be again.

It was only when it came to expressing the more tender emotions that Caleb Gentry seemed to be wanting. That and the lack of a relationship with God. She wondered why he had left no place in his life for a God who had been so generous to him, but she was far too cautious to ask. In truth, she spoke to him as little as possible, since she had the impression that he did not want anyone getting too close to him and seemed disinclined to get close to anyone, which was rather sad, even though it made her life easier.

She glanced again at his hands. They were strong hands, hands whose callused palms and scarred fingers spoke of hard work. She’d seen those hands move in unerring swiftness to soothe a nervous horse and calmly remove an adventurous kitten from the branches of an oak tree, proving he was capable of tenderness. Yet for some reason that kindheartedness was not extended to people—at least not that she had seen.

Well, that was not exactly true. Even in the few days she had been at the farm, she’d seen his softening toward Laura, who made a habit of pulling up to his legs and demanding that he hold her, something he did without hesitation or complaint. He even allowed her to explore his face, poking her tiny fingers into his ears and eyes, and once offering him a wet, openmouthed kiss. When he’d swiped a palm down his cheek and made a soft growling sound of disgust, Laura had laughed in delight, which only made his scowl grow fiercer. It was all Abby could do to keep from laughing herself, but she managed to stifle the urge, knowing it would not do at all.

She saw him growing more confident with Betsy, too, as he made time for her after the evening meal and before going to his study to work on his account ledgers. Abby wondered if he saw Emily’s face when he looked down at their daughter’s delicate features. Once, he ran a strong finger over the curve of Betsy’s cheek, and remembering the little shock that had run through her when their hands touched, Abby experienced a brief, sudden stab of longing. It seemed like aeons since she had felt the tenderness of a man’s touch. Would she ever again bask in the certainty that she was so cherished?

“Are you all right?”

The sound of his voice brought her wandering thoughts back to the present. Her gaze flew to his, which held a curious gleam. “Y-yes. Why do you ask?”

“You made a strange sound, and I thought something might be bothering you.”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

She slid him a sideways glance and said the first thing that came to mind. “No offense, Mr. Gentry, but you don’t pay me enough to be privy to my thoughts.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back. They were something she might have said to William. Almost...flirty, somehow. And totally inappropriate.

He regarded her for a moment, and then something bearing close kinship to a smile lifted one corner of his mouth for a heartbeat. “No offense taken, Mrs. Carter, and you’re right. It’s just that it’s seldom you’re so quiet. You’re always talking to the children about something—even Laura and Betsy, who have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I was just respecting your privacy. You don’t seem like the kind of man who indulges in idle chitchat.”

“You’re right,” he said with a slow nod. “I have little use for chitchat and gossip, but I enjoy an intelligent discussion now and again.”

Abby wasn’t surprised that he valued intelligence. Chess was not a game for dummies, and no man who handled the myriad business responsibilities he did could be lacking in intelligence. If his impressive book collection was any indication, he was well read. The shelves on either side of the parlor fireplace were filled with titles that ranged from F. H. Bradley’s The Principles of Logic to treatises on successful farming. There were many poetry and art-related books, no doubt Emily’s. Abby tried to envision the creative Emily sharing her views on art and literature with her husband.

“I suppose you miss those discussions with Emily,” Abby said, partly to keep the conversation going and partly because she was curious about his relationship with his dead wife.

“Emily and I had few common interests,” he told her in a tone that said that line of conversation had ended.

“So,” she asked after a few uncomfortable moments, “what shall we talk about?”

“You.”

“Me?” She choked back a laugh. “There isn’t much to tell, I assure you. You’d be very bored.”

“That remains to be seen. From what you said the other day, your husband valued your comments and opinions, so I admit that I’m curious to hear some of them.” He slanted a wry look her way and added, “A bit taken aback by your forwardness, but curious nonetheless. I’m also interested as to why you agreed to help me with Betsy.”

“That’s simple,” she said with her customary bluntness. “Money.”

He shot her a shocked look. “Rachel never led me to believe you were the avaricious type.”

Again, Abby berated herself for speaking without thinking. This man was not William, and should not be answered with flippancy. “Oh, I’m not. Not really. I have little use for money for its sake, but we were forced to borrow against the farm, and the wages you’ve agreed to pay me will help me get caught up at the bank.”

Caleb frowned. “I thought you bought your place outright.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Ah. Gossip?” she challenged.

This time there was no denying his dry smile or the hint of color that crept into his lean cheeks. “The good old Wolf Creek grapevine,” he acknowledged with a nod.

“The good old Wolf Creek grapevine had it right,” she told him. “When my parents died, William and I used the money from the sale of their home to buy the farm and the equipment we’d need to farm it. And if you’ve heard that much gossip, you also know that he was a teacher, not a farmer. He had to borrow against the land.”

“I know he took a job with the Southwestern Arkansas and Indian Territory Railroad Company.”

“Yes,” Abby said quietly. Neither mentioned that William Carter had been killed a short time after his daughter’s birth while trying to connect two lumber-loaded railcars headed for an out-of-state market. Neither did Abby mention to Caleb that a few days before the accident, he had confided with an air of excitement that he had a potential buyer for the farm and he was thinking of taking the offer and moving them back to Springfield, Missouri, to be near his brother and his family.

Unfortunately, William was killed before anything could come of the deal, and Abby had no idea who the prospective buyer was.

“He should never have borrowed against the land,” Caleb said into the gathering silence.

“That’s an easy thing for someone like you to say,” she told him, the memories bringing past heartache to the surface.

“Someone like me? What does that mean?” he asked, his tone mirroring his irritation.

“Someone who has money, has always had money and who never has to worry about how to buy feed for their livestock, or put food on the table or buy shoes for their children. Someone who has options.”

Caleb didn’t comment for long moments. When he turned his head to look at her, there was genuine concern in his eyes, but Abby, who was looking out over the dew-drenched fields, didn’t see it. “So you did decide to take the job because of the money...because you had no other option.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Oh! You make it sound so mercenary. Yes, I needed the money, but I wanted to help, too. Believe it or not, I do not pull wings off butterflies, nor am I greedy and avaricious.”

Confusion filled his eyes. “I never thought you were. How have you managed these past months?”

Sensing that he was not angry, she gave a little shake of her head. “Though I hate to admit it, I’ve sold nearly everything I had that would bring a decent price.” When he made no comment, she added, “Your offer was the answer to my prayers.”

“Really?” he asked with an arched eyebrow of his own. “What took Him so long?”

“I beg your pardon,” Abby said, not following or understanding the sarcasm in his voice.

“God. What took Him so long to answer your prayers? Why didn’t He provide some sort of help sooner? Where was He when your husband died?”

Abby looked at him, taken aback. “It isn’t for us to question His plan for us,” she told him in an even tone. “Through faith, we believe that all will work out the way He wants it to, and for our benefit. And as for where He was when William died, I would imagine God was where He was when His son died.”

Caleb had the grace to look bowled over by that answer. Though he wanted to ask if she dealt with William’s loss by trusting that everything would come out all right and that something better was around the corner, he was silent.

“Surely you believe in God.” The statement was simple and to the point.

“I suppose so,” he said with a negligent lift of broad shoulders. “It’s just that my brother and I were taught to rely on ourselves, so I haven’t had many dealings with God.”

“On the contrary,” she argued, wondering how he’d lost his mother. “You deal with Him many times a day. Every day. Just look around you! It’s beautiful!” Abby spread her arms wide, encouraging him to look at the world around him, to see and acknowledge the glory of it all.

But Caleb wasn’t looking at the fallow fields or the red and gold of the changing leaves. He was looking at Abby. Bonnet-free, she had thrown back her head and lifted her face to the soft shine of the sun. A capricious breeze had tugged tendrils of blond hair from the coil at the nape of her neck and whipped delicate rose color into her cheeks. For the first time, he realized that Abigail Carter was a very pretty woman.

Caleb forced his eyes back to the road. “Yes. It is beautiful,” he said in a husky voice.

Abby glanced at him, saw the set of his jaw and decided that she’d said enough on the subject for the moment. She knew from past experience that the best way to teach was by example. There would be plenty of time to show him in small ways that God was present and working in his life.

* * *

Almost a week had gone by since she and Caleb had made the trip to her place. The intervening days had passed quickly, and things had been going as well as could be expected. Abby’s new routine had taken on a familiar rhythm as she grew accustomed to her new station in life and her new home. So far, neither Ben nor Laura had done anything else to antagonize the prickly Mr. Gentry.

As was her custom, Abby spent thirty minutes each night with Ben in Bible study. On two separate occasions, she had looked up and seen Caleb leaning against the doorjamb of his study, arms folded across his chest, listening as she read or questioned Ben about certain verses. He never commented, and on both occasions, he had quickly shut the door, bade them good-night and headed for the bunkhouse.

Today he was going into town for some feed and to pick up some pantry items Abby needed. When he came into the kitchen to tell her he was leaving, she said, “If you have time, I was wondering if you’d deliver a message for me.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he only nodded. “I’d be glad to.”

“I’m not used to dealing with this sort of thing, but I can. It’s just that William always did, and you’re familiar with business, so I thought...” She drew in another breath and rushed on. “I know it’s an imposition, certainly beyond what most employers would do, but it will be so hard for me to get away with the babies, and—”

“Stop dithering, woman, and spit it out,” Caleb said, scowling at her.

Abby’s eyes widened and she bit back a sharp retort. Dithering? Woman? She lowered her gaze to his shirtfront and struggled to keep her tone pleasant. “It’s just that...would you mind stopping at the bank to let Mr. Haversham know that I’m working for you now, and that I’ll start making up the back payments as soon as possible?”

Some emotion she couldn’t place flickered in Caleb’s gray eyes. “I’d be glad to,” he told her. “Anything else?”

“No. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She watched the wagon disappear down the lane with a sigh of relief. He had agreed readily enough, and didn’t seem to mind any inconvenience it might cause. But it was business, after all, and business was something he understood well.

* * *

“How are things, Caleb?” Emily’s mother asked as he glanced over the list Abby had given him after making a thorough check of his pantry shelves.

What could he say to his dead wife’s mother? He suspected that neither Mary nor Bart suspected the true circumstances of his marriage and how even though he had more money but was self-educated, he had always felt intellectually inferior to Emily, who had received her education at a fancy girls’ school in St. Louis. He doubted they knew that Emily had taken far more joy from her drawing, reading and poetry writing than in making a home, or trying to build a marriage, so that when she had announced she was expecting a baby, it had come as a bit of a shock to them both.

Throughout the following months, her inability to come to terms with the whole idea of motherhood had left Caleb feeling as if he were solely to blame for her miserable pregnancy...and now her death. Thus the daily guilt he suffered.

Her dying had ended the steady ebb and flow of his life. Though Abby had a hot meal waiting for him when he returned to the house each evening, it was difficult for a man who liked the status quo to walk into the house and find strangers there. Being unable to enjoy the quiet peace and comfort of his home in the evenings made him nostalgic for the uncomplicated life he’d grown accustomed to during his marriage. Being with someone for six years forged habits and rituals that, when they ceased to exist, were missed nonetheless.

“I miss having her around,” he told them truthfully.

The smile on Mary Emerson’s face told him that his answer had pleased her, and that was all the thanks he needed.

Consulting Abby’s list, Mary helped him select some just-picked apples and a small tin of cinnamon. He had a hankering for an apple pie, and so far, Abby hadn’t balked at anything he’d suggested she fix, which, he had to admit, was a pleasant change.

“How is the arrangement with Abby Carter working out?” Bart Emerson asked, as if he could read his thoughts.

The troubled expression in the older man’s eyes warned Caleb that something was wrong. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he said, eyeing the older man thoughtfully. “What is it? I can tell something’s wrong.”

Bart cleared his throat. “I hate to mention it with everything you’ve been through lately, but you’ll find out soon enough, I reckon.”

“Spit it out,” Caleb said, leaning against the counter.

“Well, uh, there are some folks in town making a terrible fuss about Mrs. Carter staying at your place.”

Caleb’s dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, fuss?”

“They don’t think it’s right, both of you being single and living under one roof.”

Caleb swore beneath his breath. Though he was far from perfect and couldn’t claim to be religious, the maliciousness of some so-called Christians never failed to astound him.

“Don’t they know I just lost my wife, and I have a baby who needs to be fed every few hours?” he demanded. “Besides, Abby is newly widowed. And just for the record, I’m staying in the bunkhouse.”

“I know, I know,” Bart soothed. “You’d think they’d be more understanding what with Emily—” he cleared his throat “—and all. I’m thinking the problem is that Abby Carter is young and pretty. Maybe it would be different if she was old and ugly.”

“And if she was old, I wouldn’t need her, would I?” Caleb countered. He pinned Bart with a hard look. “Who exactly is ‘they’?”

“Several in town,” Bart hedged. “But the main one is Sarah VanSickle.”

“The biggest gossip in three counties,” Caleb muttered. He slapped his list onto the counter. “When I leave here, I have some business to see about for Abby, and then I’ll go have a talk with Sarah.”

“It won’t do any good,” Mary said. “She’d just make something of that. She’s like a spoon, Caleb. She likes keeping things stirred up. The best thing to do is ignore it.”

“Ignore it? That’s easier said than done. I don’t fancy being grist for the town’s gossip mill, and I suspect Abby won’t like it, either.”

“I suppose not,” Mary said, frowning. “Will you tell her?”

“No!” Caleb said in near panic. “She might decide to leave, and there’s no way I could manage without her just now.”

“I see your predicament, son, but you really ought to tell her before she finds out from someone else,” Bart reasoned. “It’s just a matter of time before Sarah’s poison makes its way through the whole county.”

Caleb hadn’t thought of that, but knew Bart was right. He couldn’t let Abby come to town and face the gossips without even preparing her, but how would he tell her? What would her reaction be? Furious and fearing he already knew the answer to that, he ground his teeth. Was anything in life ever easy?

* * *

It was almost dark when Caleb pulled the wagon to the rear of the house. The temperature was dropping since the sun had gone down, and he shivered, dreading the conversation to come. The feeling of trepidation vanished somewhat the moment he opened the back door and felt the tide of warm, cooking-scented air rush out to meet him. Breathing in the delicious aromas, he shifted the heavy sack of flour from his shoulder to the floor. Venison. Purple hull peas. Cornbread. Every night since Abby had come to stay he’d come in at suppertime to find something simmering on the back the stove.

Never much of a cook, Emily had stopped all attempts to do so when she’d announced her pregnancy, complaining of nausea, backaches and a general malaise. Soon she declared she was unable to do anything but knit and read, and in the subtle way she had, she made him feel like pond scum for putting her in her delicate condition. Rather than let the whole town know the situation, Caleb himself did what cooking and cleaning was to be done. Coming in and finding dinner waiting was nice, cooked by a stranger or not.

“How were the Emersons?” Abby said, setting the plates on the round oak table.

“Fine.”

“Did you get the apples?”

He nodded. “Just picked.”

“Wonderful.” They sat down to eat, Ben said the prayer and after a few more questions that received short answers, Abby deduced that Caleb was not in the mood for any type of conversation and stopped talking except to ask if she could pass him any more food.

When the awkward meal was finished, she put Laura in the square, quilt-lined “pen” William had made for her and gave Ben a piece of butterscotch Mary had thoughtfully sent. Abby told him to eat it on the porch and to get ready for bed as soon as he was finished. Caleb helped clear the table, something he’d gotten used to doing while fending for himself and continued to do for Abby.

He was setting a glass into the dishwater when she turned suddenly, a frown on her face. She was so close that he could see the almost-purple flecks in her blue eyes. So close he could smell the faint scent of the gardenia-scented soap she used for bathing. The sudden rush of awareness that jolted through him caught him off guard. Bart was right. Abby Carter was pretty. Very pretty. The revelation was swept away on another tidal wave of guilt. He took a sudden step back. What was the matter with him? His wife dead not two weeks, and he already found himself responding to the nearness of another woman!

“You seem distracted, Caleb. Is something wrong? Did Mr. Haversham refuse to discuss the farm?”

“No,” Caleb said, thankful to turn his thoughts to something else. “As a matter of fact, he said he’d drop by on Sunday afternoon on his way back from his daughter’s.”

“Good,” she said, but the worry stayed in her eyes. “Do you think he’ll be open to what I have to say?”

Careful not to look at her, he wrapped the leftover cornbread in a flour-sack dish towel and lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t get into things with him, but Nate’s a fair man, so I’m inclined to think he’ll listen with an open mind.”

“That’s a relief.” Neither spoke for several seconds.

“Abby, I—”

“Caleb, what—”

They both started to speak at once.

“Ladies first.”

“It’s just that something’s wrong,” she said, her blue eyes worry-filled. “I can tell. Did Ben—”

Caleb’s first thought was that it was amazing that she could read his mood after less than two weeks, something Emily had never been able to do. “Ben’s done nothing that I know about.”

“Then what?”

He drew a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest and plunged. “There’s gossip in town.”

“Gossip? About what?”

“Us. It seems Sarah VanSickle and some of the others in town think it’s morally indecent for us to be living in the same house.”

“But I go to church with Sarah,” Abby said, as if the statement would negate the whole affair.

“If that old battle-ax is a Christian, I want no part of it.”

“None of us is perfect, Caleb, and you’d do well to think twice about throwing out the baby with the bathwater.”

Though she said the right thing, in her heart, she wanted to go to Sarah, confront her about her vicious character attacks and demand an accounting. Had the spiteful woman given any serious thought to her actions? Did she have any idea of the harm she was causing two innocent people—even more if you considered the children? Abby blinked back the sting of tears. As much as she might want to confront her accuser, she knew she wouldn’t.

A sudden thought occurred to her. “Caleb, we aren’t living in the same house! If we make that clear, everyone will understand.”

Caleb set the towel-wrapped bread in the pie safe, rested his elbow across its corner and regarded her with angry gray eyes. “Believe me, that was the first thing I pointed out to Mary and Bart, but they reminded me that a trifling thing like the truth does not matter one bit to Sarah. As a matter of fact, she’s notorious about never letting facts get in the way of her maliciousness.”

Abby cradled her hot cheeks in her palms. While the unwarranted accusations infuriated Caleb, the tears swimming in her eyes said she was more hurt and embarrassed than angry. He thrust his hands into his front pockets and stared out the window at the darkness, wondering what he could do to fix the mess they found themselves in.

“Do you think there are other people in town who feel the same way?” she asked.

He shot her a look that said he couldn’t believe her naïveté. “Count on it.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave first thing in the morning,” she said firmly, as if the decision would put an end to the whole matter.

“You will not!”

Shocked by his vehemence, she shook her head and said, “It’s the only thing we can do. My reputation is at stake. So is yours.”

“I’m not worried about my reputation,” he said, a muscle in his lean jaw tightening. “People have been talking about the Gentrys for years. But I am concerned about you. And I’m very concerned about my daughter.”

He took a breath and let it out slowly, as if he were trying to release the tension holding him. The fierce look in his eyes softened a bit as they met Abby’s. “Look, we’ve already been through all this and decided this is the best way.”

“But that was before Sarah’s accusations.”

“I understand, but we don’t need to let her wreck a perfectly good partnership. Why don’t we both sleep on it tonight. Things always look better in daylight. Maybe we’ll dream up some way to resolve things that even Sarah VanSickle can’t argue with.”


Chapter Four

Abby lay quietly in her bed, the covers clutched in her fists, and tried to keep from flipping and flopping and waking Ben, who slept beside her. Though Sarah VanSickle’s reputation as an inveterate gossip preceded her, the fact that Abby herself was now bearing the brunt of that hatefulness was a definite shock. The situation with Caleb was not what she would have chosen, but there was no denying that the opportunity to get her life in order had come along at a perfect time, and had seemed like the answer to her prayers. But if that were so, why was it being jeopardized by senseless gossip?

Dear God, what am I to do?

God was silent.

The faint fingers of dawn were poking through the window when she finally drifted off to sleep, tears of hopelessness drying on her cheeks as she faced the only moral decision possible. As much as Caleb might dislike her decision, as soon as she could gather her things, she was going back to her own farm.

With or without his daughter.

* * *

Being a man who preferred action, Caleb paced the path from the bunkhouse to the house over and over. He vacillated from self-pity over Emily’s death and his current situation to fury at Sarah VanSickle for making an already bad situation worse. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by the unexpected turn of events. Hadn’t he always been the one saddled with the responsibility of doing the right thing?

As the older son of Lucas Gentry, it had fallen to Caleb to follow in his father’s footsteps, while Gabe played the spoiled, pampered son. Though both boys were required to work the farm, more often than not, Gabe’s contribution had been to keep everyone laughing at his jokes and antics, while Caleb was expected to toe the line and pick up the slack left by his younger brother. Caleb was the one who worked the longest hours and took the tongue-lashings and razor strap beatings, the one forced to learn farming from the ground up, including how to manage the soil and take care of the books. His father’s demands left no time for fun, something Gabe enjoyed to the fullest.





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