Книга - A Daddy For Christmas

A Daddy For Christmas
Linda Ford


Cowboy to the RescueSummoned by two little girls to help their mother in distress, Blue Lyons rushes to rescue widow Clara Weston. When the cowboy discovers the fatherless family has nowhere to go, he offers them food and shelter. But widower Blue won't get too close to the needy trio. He's lost too many people he's cared for, and he isn't about to set himself up for loss again.For Clara, any dangers she may face on the frontier are preferable to staying with her controlling father. Although she's determined to keep her independence, Blue's kindness and tenderness are hard to resist. Can two pint-size matchmakers help Clara and Blue open their guarded hearts in time for Christmas?







Cowboy to the Rescue

Summoned by two little girls to help their mother in distress, Blue Lyons rushes to rescue widow Clara Weston. When the cowboy discovers the fatherless family has nowhere to go, he offers them food and shelter. But widower Blue won’t get too close to the needy trio. He’s lost too many people he’s cared for, and he isn’t about to set himself up for loss again.

For Clara, any dangers she may face on the frontier are preferable to staying with her controlling father. Although she’s determined to keep her independence, Blue’s kindness and tenderness are hard to resist. Can two pint-size matchmakers help Clara and Blue open their guarded hearts in time for Christmas?


“I’d love to go to church with you.”

Blue blinked as if surprised at her agreement. “Really?”

She laughed, although she felt somewhat annoyed. “Why did you ask if you expected me to refuse?”

“Because I’m worried. I don’t want to see anything happen to you or the girls.”

Her annoyance fled, replaced with gratitude for his concern. “Blue, you’re a good man.”

She watched, surprised, as he turned pink beneath his tan. She chuckled. “Not used to hearing compliments?”

He merely shrugged.

Blue seemed to truly care about her safety and that of the girls. Like she’d said, he was a good man. He should really remarry. He has so much to offer. He—

Not knowing where those thoughts came from, she slammed the door on them right quick.

If Blue Lyons chose to marry or otherwise, it was none of her concern. She had her own issues to worry about. There was no room in her life for wondering if Blue would ever consider taking another wife.

So why couldn’t she stop wondering what it would be like to be married to a man who treated her like an equal and yet showed tenderness and concern?


LINDA FORD lives on a ranch in Alberta, Canada, near enough to the Rocky Mountains that she can enjoy them on a daily basis. She and her husband raised fourteen children—four homemade, ten adopted. She currently shares her home and life with her husband, a grown son, a live-in paraplegic client and a continual (and welcome) stream of kids, kids-in-law, grandkids, and assorted friends and relatives.


A Daddy for Christmas

Linda Ford






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


But God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

—Romans 5:8







Christmas is a special time made more special by sharing it with those I love.

This book is dedicated to you.

Thank you for filling the day and my life with such joy.


Contents

Cover (#uc93d2b7e-4667-5422-9eb5-1f78f7ba114b)

Back Cover Text (#u173acdd9-c583-5ba1-a655-bf85e1c7b9b4)

Introduction (#u3c060116-b697-523c-b6fd-bddd20da17c7)

About the Author (#u91ec8718-9656-5681-8c9d-a74e79393bbc)

Title Page (#u9ffa9635-39d6-5d4a-8718-2ac63abc238b)

Bible Verse (#u81d7832b-c9fd-5c89-b48a-e192cce7131d)

Dedication (#u4d0172c2-d56f-5e5d-b5bc-ea18e4299866)

Chapter One (#u6f2c7356-b1b8-54fb-9aea-cfdfcca9f434)

Chapter Two (#u8e13a133-94d7-5dc7-a273-66f2bb932027)

Chapter Three (#u06626061-550d-5479-9a0a-6527e95ff69b)

Chapter Four (#u1e2087b6-3ac1-5e26-8d4c-07b5b09fcdfc)

Chapter Five (#u361345f5-b6ec-5d6b-bbed-df1b7a3a268d)

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)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_96b1cb0d-1b36-5951-8cdd-62c45854c01b)

Edendale, Alberta, Canada December 1882

The church door clattered open. A cold breeze skittered across the floor as two little girls rushed into the room from beyond the partition of raw wood that separated the entryway from the main part of the partially finished church. They skidded to a halt, staring at him with wide eyes.

The peace twenty-eight-year-old Blue Lyons sought so desperately shattered into fragments as tiny and elusive as the sawdust at his feet.

“We need help,” the bigger girl said, an unfamiliar child with hair the color of caramel candy sticks and heavily lashed eyes as dark as night.

“Something’s wrong with Mama,” the second girl said. This one had sunny-blond hair and blue eyes.

At the fear he saw in their expressions, Blue felt cracks begin to form in the barrier he’d erected around his emotions. Then he tightened his self-control. Part of the reason he’d asked to work here, making pews for the new church in town, was to avoid contact with children. Back at Eden Valley Ranch he was surrounded with them—smiling, laughing, chasing, playing, happy children continually threatening the fortifications he’d built around his memories.

But these two little girls were alone and frightened. “Whoa. Slow down. Where’s your mama, and what does she need?”

The pair gasped for air, then closed the distance to his side, apparently unafraid of him as a stranger. Or were they so concerned about their mama they would seek help from anyone?

The girls caught his hands, one on each side, and tugged at him. He let them drag him forward as the memory of other occasions burst from the locked vault of his mind. Two other children—a boy and a girl—pulling on his hands, eager to show him something. Sometimes it was a new batch of kittens. Sometimes a flower peeking through the snow. Once they’d discovered a baby rabbit hidden in some grass, and the three of them had hunkered down to watch it.

The two girls who had burst into his serenity hurried him toward the door. Then, suddenly, one of them halted.

“Stop. You need your coat. It’s too cold to go out without it.” The older one had suddenly grown motherly and concerned. She spied the coat hanging from a nail and dropped his hand to point at it. “Best put it on.”

He hesitated. He’d like nothing more than to get back to the peace he’d found in his work. But how could he until he made sure everyone was safe? So he obeyed and slipped into his warm winter coat.

The girls rocked back and forth, their little faces wreathed in concern and urgency.

His nerves twitched at the impatience of the girls, but he would proceed cautiously. “We haven’t met. My name is Blue Lyons. I’m going to be working here for a few days, making pews. Do you have a name?” he asked the older child as she twisted her fingers in her worry.

“I’m Eleanor. I’m the oldest. I’m eight.”

The little one piped up. “I’m Libby. I’m seven, so I’m just about as old.” She gave her sister a challenging look.

Eleanor’s dark eyes flashed. “Are not.”

Little Libby’s chin jutted out. “Am, too.”

Blue did not let the argument escalate. “What’s your mama’s name, and where is she?”

“Mrs. Weston,” said Eleanor with a degree of triumph that she had spoken first.

“Clara Weston,” Libby added, not to be outdone.

Reminded of their mission, they again grabbed his hands. “Come on.”

He let them pull him along, as curious as he was concerned. “Where are we going?”

“To Mama,” Libby said. “She fell down.”

His heart lurched. He tried to still it, but it refused to obey. “Is she hurt?”

“I don’t know.” Libby’s voice wobbled.

Oh, please don’t cry. Please don’t.

Eleanor must have had the same thought, though likely for an entirely different reason. “Libby, don’t blubber. We gotta get back to Mama.”

She sounded so grown-up. The responsible one of the pair. Now why would he think that? He knew nothing about them. He slammed shut the quaking doors of his heart. All he had to do was make sure their mother was safe.

They trotted onward, both girls latched on to his hands as if afraid to let go. Their fear and concern knotted in his stomach. What if their mother—

No. He would not think the worst.

Though nothing could be as bad as what he’d seen two years ago. The fire. The—

He would not, could not, think of it.

They headed for the river. A dozen possibilities rushed at him, none of which he hoped to find.

“There she is.” Eleanor pointed. With a cry, she broke free and rushed to the figure facedown on the ground.

Blue’s heart flipped over. His breath stuck in his chest.

Libby stopped, pulled Blue to a halt. “She won’t wake up,” the child wailed as she turned and pressed herself to his side.

He couldn’t move with her clinging to him. But he must check on the woman.

“Eleanor, see to your sister.”

Eleanor stepped back and pulled Libby to her. The pair stood with their arms around each other, eyes as wide as moons as they watched him.

He knelt at Mrs. Weston’s side and pressed his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. Good, she was alive.

Seeing no sign of injury, he rolled her over. “Mrs. Weston, wake up.” No response. He patted her cheeks. She felt cold. So very cold.

“Clara.” He spoke louder. It wasn’t right to use her Christian name so freely, but if it got her to wake up, she’d surely forgive him.

She stirred, tried to raise her eyelids and failed, then mumbled something.

He bent closer. “What did you say?”

He made out the words. “My girls.”

“They’re here. They’re fine.” Then she stilled, and he could get nothing more from her. “Gather up your things,” he told the girls. “We’re going back to the church.” He considered his options for about two and a half seconds. What he was about to do seriously crossed the boundaries he had built around his life as well as overstepped rules of proper conduct. But he didn’t see what other choice he had. He scooped Clara Weston into his arms and trotted back to the church. The two little girls tried to keep up but were burdened down with carrying their bags. He didn’t wait for them; he rushed into the building.

He began to lower Clara to the floor, then realized it was bare and cold. His bedroll was nearby, and Blue kicked it toward the stove and used his boot to spread the bedding. He’d expected he might see some cold weather, so he had brought a supply of furs. Now he saw how right he’d been in thinking ahead, though never in his wildest imagination did he think he might need them to warm up a sick or injured woman.

He lowered her to the padding just as the girls entered, yelling for their mama.

“What’s wrong with her?” Libby demanded, her hands on her hips as if she held Blue responsible.

Eleanor hushed her and knelt by her mother’s side. “Mr. Blue, is she gonna die?”

He wanted to assure them otherwise, but he’d never offer false hope when their mother lay before them so still, her skin so pale it was transparent. “I think the first thing we need to do is get her warmed up. Why don’t you two bring me some more firewood?” Eddie Gardiner, owner and operator of Eden Valley Ranch where Blue worked, was always organized and had put a supply of firewood inside, near the back door, so Blue would have dry wood to last him a few days.

The girls hustled over and filled their arms. Two chunks of wood each was about all they could carry. He could have done three times that in one trip but that wasn’t the reason for getting them to help. The girls needed to be kept busy.

He knelt at Clara’s side. My, wouldn’t she be offended at the familiar way he thought of her and addressed her, but it was hard to be proper and formal when the woman looked ready to expire. “Mrs. Weston. Clara.” He rubbed her shoulders, held her icy hands. Why was she out in this weather without adequate clothing?

He pulled one of the furs over her and threw some of the wood the girls brought into the stove.

“Has your mama been sick?”

Libby began to say something, but Eleanor grabbed her hand and jerked it. She spoke for the pair of them. “She’s not been sick.”

He knew everyone in town and the surrounding area. These people were new. Must have been dropped off from the last stage earlier today. Petey, the driver, had immediately headed back to Fort Macleod with four important British investors of one of the nearby ranches.

“Is your papa coming for you?” Likely he was one of the many new settlers in the area.

“Got no papa,” Libby said. “He died.” Her words carried a weighty sorrow that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

“Libby, remember what Mama said.”

At Eleanor’s warning, Libby clamped her hand over her mouth.

Blue nodded. “Were you planning to meet someone?”

Silence from both of them.

“Where are you going?”

His question was met with more stubborn silence, though Libby dropped her hand and looked about to speak. Then she glanced at Eleanor and thought better of it.

“Do you girls have a secret?”

Eleanor scowled. “Mama said not to tell strangers our secrets.”

He gave them a faint smile. “That’s something to remember most days, but right now your mama needs to get someplace warm and safe, so I think it’s okay if you tell me where you’re going.”

Eleanor’s face crumpled in what he could only think was confusion. “We can’t.”

They were making this difficult. “I already explained about secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.” Eleanor sighed expansively. “We don’t know where we’re going.”

Perhaps their mother hadn’t given them the information. “Who is meeting you?”

The girls shook their heads.

“You don’t know?”

More head shaking.

This was getting him nowhere. He turned back to Clara. She still lay motionless, her skin tinged a faint blue. He touched her cheek. Still icy cold.

“Mrs. Weston, wake up. Open your eyes.”

The girls knelt beside him. “Mama, wake up.”

Libby’s voice broke, and Eleanor wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Libby, ’member what Mama said. God will take care of us.”

Blue kept his opinion to himself. But he didn’t see God taking care of these people. Blue was doing it, and he sure didn’t consider himself God. Or even godly. If he had a fraction of the power God had, he would have quenched the fire that had consumed his house and killed his family. At the very least, he would have gotten there in time to pull them from the inferno. He’d never forget the leaden weight of his legs when he saw the smoke, saw it was his house and ran until his lungs nearly exploded as he tried to get there to rescue them.

Tried and failed.

“I—I know.” The words stuttered from Libby. “But I asked God to send us food, and He didn’t and I’m so hungry.”

“Me, too,” Eleanor whispered and shot Blue a look that seemed to warn him she didn’t mean for him to hear.

He sat back on his heels. “When did you last eat?”

Eleanor’s expression grew stubborn, but Libby hung her head and sighed dramatically. “We had supper yesterday. Some biscuits Mama found. And some cold bacon.”

Eleanor grew thoughtful. “But Mama didn’t have any. She said she wasn’t hungry. Lots of times she said she wasn’t hungry, but I think she was.”

He considered this latest information. They obviously had no funds. The girls didn’t know where they were going or who was meeting them. He was beginning to think no one was.

So Clara might be suffering from hunger as well as cold. He wrapped the furs more tightly around her and added another piece of wood to the fire. The heat was enough to make a man sweat buckets, but she was still like a block of ice.

“Clara. Open your eyes.”

The girls patted her cheeks. “Mama.” Eleanor’s voice caught.

Libby laid her head on the furs and sobbed. “What if she never wakes up?”

Clara’s eyes fluttered.

“Lib. Lib.” Eleanor nudged her sister. “Look.”

Libby lifted her head. Both girls grinned when they saw their mother had opened her eyes.

“Where am I?” Clara’s voice was so faint he almost wondered if he imagined it.

He scooted closer so her eyes found him. “You’re at the church. You’ll be safe now.”

Clara sighed deeply and closed her eyes again. Her color had improved. The warmth of the fire had done that. She needed one more thing before she’d be on her feet again—food—and he knew where to get some.

“Wait here,” he instructed the girls. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Watch your mama and make sure she stays warm.” He dashed out the back door and trotted over to Bonnie and Claude Morton’s. The couple ran the business of feeding travelers and providing baked goods for Macpherson’s store. He burst through the door.

Bonnie glanced up, a startled look on her face. “You’re early for dinner.” He planned to take his meals here while he was working on the church.

He snatched off his hat and turned it around and around in his fingers. He realized he was nodding while she waited for his answer.

He pushed the words from his brain. “Would you have anything ready at the moment?”

“I suppose the soup could be served anytime. The bread isn’t ready yet, but there are biscuits. There’s always biscuits. Macpherson says he can’t keep enough of them in the store. Would that suit you?”

“Yes, fine.”

She reached for a bowl and put it on the table. She thought he meant to eat here.

“Ma’am, could you put the soup in a container so I could take it back to the church?”

“You’re welcome to eat here.”

“I know, but I need to take it to the church.” He would tell her why but not until he had a chance to talk to Clara. For some reason, he felt he had to protect her until she said otherwise.

“Very well.” She reached for a pint jar.

“You got something bigger?”

Her hand went to a quart jar.

“How about that one?” He indicated a half-gallon jar.

With a little chuckle, she filled it. “You are hungry today, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “And I’ll take a bowl.” He scooped four from the shelf and tucked them in his pocket, hoping she wouldn’t notice. From the way she watched him, her eyes narrowed, he guessed she had.

“I suppose you want half a dozen biscuits?”

“Yes, please. I’ll pay you extra for this.” Bonnie and Claude meant to feed him as part of their contribution to the church project, but this was more than one man would eat.

He hurried out before she could demand to know what was going on. It wasn’t like he could answer her. What were Clara and her daughters doing here? Where were they going? Most of all, how had he managed to get himself involved?

* * *

Warm furs ensconced Clara. She’d glimpsed the girls hovering over her, then closed her eyes to stop the dizziness that made her queasy. She should say something to ease their minds, but she couldn’t dredge up enough energy to do so. She forced her eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Why did it shimmer and shift as if driven by a wind? Perhaps she was dreaming. If so, she didn’t want the dream to end. She wanted to keep floating on the warm bed.

“Mama?” Eleanor’s voice came from a long way off.

Clara pushed at the edges of her mind, blinked as she tried to find her children. “Eleanor? Libby?”

Two sweet, smiling faces floated in front of her, so close she felt their warm breath.

“Where am I?”

“We’re at the church,” Eleanor said. “The one we saw on our way to the river.”

“Mama, we was so scared. You fell down and wouldn’t get back up.”

Clara pushed harder to escape her dream. Then she remembered. She’d been by a river. Had wanted to get a drink. That was the last she could recall. “How did I get here?”

“Mr. Blue carried you.”

“Mr. Blue?” Were they imagining such a person? Clara thought the strong arms and comforting voice had been part of her dream.

“We talked to a stranger,” Libby said.

“You aren’t mad at us, are you?” Eleanor’s voice quivered.

“No. Not this time.” If she was to be angry at anyone, it would be herself. She should have made more of an effort to find food. Begged if necessary. Please, God, provide a way.

Clara collected her thoughts.

She had managed to get to Edendale only to learn the stagecoach wouldn’t be going north for at least a week. Maybe two. The stagecoach driver had been rather nonspecific in his answers to her questions. He had no set schedule for the hundred-mile trip to Fort Calgary and only went when it was necessary. Right now, he said, he had to make another run back to Fort Macleod. It was a pressing matter. After that, he’d take her north.

It had never crossed her mind that transportation would be so uncertain.

She needed to get to Fort Calgary. A newspaper story had said there was a shortage of women in the area. There’d even been an ad from a man wanting to hire a housekeeper to care for his three young children. She’d sent a letter saying she was willing to do so. Now she wondered if the letter still sat somewhere, waiting to be delivered. Just as she waited to get there.

Fort Calgary was in the middle of nowhere. Which suited her perfectly. No one would expect her to go to such a remote place, especially her father. He thought twenty-eight-year-old Clara was unable to take care of herself in a city full of conveniences, let alone look after herself and two little girls in the primitive west.

Edendale was equally as remote, but she had seen no opportunities for work in the little town. And she had to prove she could manage herself and her girls.

The girls sprang up. “He’s back.”

Clara closed her eyes. How was she to face a man who had carried her in his arms? Something else came to her thoughts. He’d called her by her Christian name. Highly improper, but she could hardly protest. Her name on his lips had pulled her back from the valley of darkness.

She heard the sound of boots clattering on the wooden floor. The smell of winter and leather grew closer. A movement of air signaled his nearness.

“Mrs. Weston?”

Oh, yes, she was Mrs. Weston now. She’d combined her married name of Westbury and her maiden name of Creighton in the hopes her father wouldn’t be able to find her. She reasoned that way she wasn’t really being deceitful by combing her maiden and married names. Hopefully, it was enough to put her father off her trail for a time, at least.

“Are you awake?” the man at her side asked.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked straight into gray ones that held her gaze so firmly she couldn’t blink. It was like looking into deep, still waters and finding herself reflected back from the depths. What a strange thought, she realized.

“You’re awake. Good.” He turned aside. “I brought food for us all.”

He twisted a lid from a jar, and the aroma of something savory—tomato and beef, if she didn’t miss her guess—made her empty stomach tighten like a fist.

Metal rang against glass. Was he serving soup into bowls?

“Thank you,” the girls chorused.

She imagined them eating eagerly, their complete attention on the food. She knew nothing but gratitude that their empty tummies would be warmed and filled, but she didn’t want to owe this man.

Although she already did.

The need to accept help and the desire to take care of herself warred for but a minute. She was not in a position to refuse this man’s kindness. As soon as she felt stronger, she would return to her plan.

Plan? For a moment, she couldn’t remember what the plan was. Oh, yes, take care of the girls. Keep them from Father and wait until the stagecoach driver saw fit to make the trip north, where I expect to find employment.

She tried to sort out the details of the past few hours. “You know my name.”

“Your girls told me. Allow me to introduce myself. Blue Lyons.”

“I believe you rescued me. Thank you.”

“Your girls are very persuasive.”

She didn’t know if those words should please her or alarm her. Before she could decide, Blue’s hand slipped around her shoulders, and he raised her head. She thought to protest the familiarity but couldn’t dredge up words.

“Eat this.” He held a spoon to her lips. Not even stubborn pride stopped her from opening up like a little bird. He tipped the spoonful of soup into her mouth. Her taste buds exploded at the succulent flavor. She couldn’t begin to describe the pure pleasure of hot food; she simply enjoyed the first decent meal she’d had in days. He held another spoonful to her lips and then another. She consumed it greedily.

The warmth filled her stomach and spread throughout her body.

She shifted so that she sat upright without his supporting arm. The fur around her shoulders slipped to her lap as she reached for the spoon. “I can feed myself.”

He yielded the spoon to her but continued to hold the bowl. She scooped out a bit of the mixture. When she tried to raise the spoon to her mouth, her hand shook so much she lost the contents.

He took the spoon back. “Think it might take a little longer for your strength to return.”

She didn’t want to feel helpless, but he was right. “I feel like a baby,” she murmured.

“’Cause Mr. Blue is feeding you?” Libby asked.

“Yes.”

“She’s not a baby, is she?” Libby demanded of Blue.

Clara darted a glance at him under the curtain of her eyelashes.

“Nope, she’s a mama.” Blue continued to feed her as if it were an everyday experience.

She looked directly at him, matching him look for look, silent assessment with silent assessment. “I perceive you’ve had practice at this. You must have children.”

His hand paused midair. He stared into the distance, then shifted his attention back to her. “I once did. Once had a wife, too.”

Once? He spoke as if they were gone now. It could mean nothing else, and her insides wrenched with the thought of his loss. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s the past.” The words came out flat, as if he felt nothing.

A shiver crossed her shoulders. She knew it wasn’t something that left a person immune.

He mistook her shiver. “You’re still cold.” He tossed the last of the gathered wood into the fire.

“I’m not cold.” Any more than you aren’t sorrowful. She shifted again and reached for the bowl and spoon. She managed to eat the rest of the soup without spilling it. He handed out biscuits, and the girls sighed blissfully as they bit into them.

Clara couldn’t blame them. The biscuits tasted fine and went a long way toward filling the emptiness in her stomach. Though she’d fed the children whatever food she’d found the past two days, she’d no doubt they were still hungry. She watched as they ate with glee.

Blue sat cross-legged facing her. “Ma’am, if you tell me where you’re going, I’ll see you get there.”

She studied the half-eaten biscuit in her fingers. Felt his waiting and the watchfulness of the girls. She had to say something and settled on a portion of the truth. “I’m waiting for a ride from someone.”

When he didn’t say a thing, she looked at him. She wished she hadn’t when she saw the way his expression grew hard. He glanced at the girls, then back at her. He leaned in. “This person is going to come today?” He was so close his breath brushed her cheeks.

“I’m not certain when to expect him.” Petey, the stagecoach driver, had made only one thing clear about his return.

“Ye’ll know when I’m back in town,” he’d said. “Won’t likely stop long with winter weather to contend with. So be here and be ready if you want a ride. ’Twill be the last trip I make north for the winter.”

“So you’re stranded until this person shows up?” Blue asked. “What if he doesn’t?”

She sat up straight and tipped her chin. She had no intention of telling this man her plans. “I’m trusting God to take care of us. He will provide.”

He sat back. “Exactly how long are you planning to wait for that to happen?”

“As long as it takes.” It sounded foolish, simplistic, even childish, but she had no one else to turn to but God, nor did she trust anyone else. Anyone could reveal her whereabouts to a seemingly concerned person asking after her, and that bit of information could be relayed to her father. She managed to control the shiver racing through her. If Father found them...

“In the meantime, are you planning to sleep in empty buildings? Faint from hunger and cold? What about—” His gaze darted to the girls and back.

This was not a conversation she wanted her daughters to hear. “Girls, you can go play quietly.”

“Where, Mama?” Libby’s surprise was expected. Where could they go but to a different corner of the big room?

Eleanor took her sister’s hand. “Come on, Lib. They want to argue, and we’re not supposed to hear.”

“We aren’t going to argue,” Clara called as they marched away. She faced Blue squarely. “I can take care of the girls with God’s help.”

His eyes never flickered. His expression never changed. “It’s none of my business, but seems to me you need a better plan than sitting around waiting for something to fall from the sky.”

“I trust God.” She knew she sounded as stubborn as Libby often did, but she clung to her faith.

“Well, that makes it easy.”

She waited, wondering if he believed what he said or mocked her. When he didn’t say anything more, she got her feet under her and stood. “Thank you for the food. I will pay you back someday.” She would continue to trust Him even though her plans had fallen through. Not fallen through, she amended. Only delayed.

“Mrs. Weston, I don’t want repayment. The only reason I helped was because of your girls. I lost two children who would be about their age now.” He turned away as he spoke, and his voice again grew flat, emotionless. He was hiding, she knew, hiding emotions so deep and raw that he didn’t know how to face them. “I could do nothing to save them, but helping your girls was something I could do.”

“And I thank you for that.”

Libby and Eleanor chased each other up and down the length of the building, laughing and squealing.

She smiled. Her heart overflowed with love. They trusted her to take care of them.

How was she to do that? It was too cold to sleep outside and not safe, but there was no hotel in this little town even if she could afford a room. If she had a warm place to spend the night, then she could devote time to finding a way to feed them. But where? She glanced about. The church would make good shelter. Her gaze settled on the bedroll upon which she had so recently lain.

Blue obviously spent the nights here.

That eliminated the only option she’d been able to discover in this tiny pioneer town. There had to be something somewhere.

God could not fail her now.

She set her feet going toward the door.

“Wait a minute.”

At his words she paused without turning around.

“I can take you someplace safe and warm.”

Why had he used the word safe? Did he suspect she was running from someone?


Chapter Two (#ulink_e1976079-4b1a-5af8-b71e-2001ea8c465a)

Blue analyzed everything she’d said and wondered if there truly was someone coming for her. And if so, when? One thing was certain. He couldn’t let a woman and two little ones manage on their own in winter weather without any sign of shelter or home. Never mind that it triggered memories he had sworn to bury and never resurrect. He could forget them again. He was good at forgetting.

“I could maybe send a messenger to let your party know you’ve arrived. Or take you there myself.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. Come on, girls.” She signaled them.

The pair had been racing around the room and now skidded to her side.

“Mama, where we going?” Eleanor asked, her joy of a moment ago swallowed up in worry. “Back to Grandfather?”

Clara’s shoulders stiffened enough for Blue to understand she didn’t care for the notion. “Certainly not.”

Libby’s expression grew stubborn. “But it’s warm here.”

“We’re going.” Clara hitched one bag over her shoulder and tucked another under her arm and marched for the door.

Blue watched. Did they plan to return to the river? They’d freeze to death. He groaned. He couldn’t allow it even if every minute increasingly threatened the fortress he’d erected around his heart.

“You need to reconsider. My boss at Eden Valley Ranch is Eddie Gardiner. His wife, Linette, often has people staying there.” Linette would soon have a baby, and Eddie had imposed limits on how many people she could take in. Still, Blue allowed himself a tiny smile. He couldn’t see Linette turning anyone away if she saw a need, even if Eddie didn’t approve. “It’s twenty minutes’ drive away,” he added. “You’d be most welcome.”

“Thanks, but no. We need to wait here.”

He strode across the room to stand perilously close to the trio. The girls looked up at him, their expressions full of hope, silently begging him to help them.

Clara, on the other hand, kept her back to him, her shoulders rigid.

He scrubbed his fist over his chin. “Ma’am, you can’t wander around in the cold.”

She shrugged.

Whether it meant defeat or resistance, he couldn’t say. “If God is looking after you, surely He means for you to accept help.”

She spun around to face him, her eyes flashing. “We’ve already accepted your help.”

The girls sighed as if realizing she meant to say no.

He couldn’t allow it.

“Ma’am, don’t let your pride be the cause of putting your children in the way of danger.” He hoped his words would make Clara rethink her decision without alarming her daughters.

“It’s not pride.” Then she clamped her mouth shut.

“You need help. Why not admit it and accept it?”

He watched a war wage behind her eyes. For some reason she hesitated to accept help. Why? If not pride, was it independence? Fear? He guessed he saw flickers of all three in her struggle. And it brought a rush of emotions to his heart. He appreciated a person’s need to take care of herself, but of what or whom was she afraid?

Resignation filled her expression. “I must stay in town.”

He wished he knew why, but it seemed futile to ask her. She kept her reasons to herself.

“Then stay with someone in town.”

Hope flared in her eyes. “Do you know of someone needing help for a few days? I could work for food and lodging.”

He considered everyone in town. None needed help this time of year. If it had been summer, the Mortons could have used someone to assist with meals.

That gave him an idea. The Mortons had a shack on their property, one where Cassie had lived before she married the ranch foreman, Roper Jones. It was better than sleeping in the open and at least there was a stove. “I have an idea. Stay here while I check it out.” Blue didn’t wait for her agreement or otherwise. He grabbed his coat and rushed out the door and across the space between the church and the Mortons’ place.

He swallowed hard and slowed his breathing before he stepped inside.

Bonnie chuckled. “Back so soon? Wanting more food?”

“Not food this time.” Again he twisted his hat. “Would you be willing to let someone use your little shack?”

She gaped at him, then shrugged. “Guess it would depend who needs it. You? I thought you meant to stay at the church.”

How to explain his predicament? “Not me. I’ll be fine at the church. Closer to my work.” He saw Bonnie’s confusion. “It’s for this lady and her two girls. Mrs. Weston. Her girls are Eleanor and Libby. They’re seven and eight.”

Bonnie leaned back on her heels and grinned. “A woman and two girls. Where did you find them?”

“They’re waiting for someone.”

“I see. Who are they waiting for?”

He curled his fingers around the brim of his hat. “They didn’t say. I offered to take her to the ranch, but she says she has to stay in town and wait.”

Bonnie chuckled. “Why, Blue Lyons, how did you manage to get yourself involved with a woman and two children? I’ve always thought of you as a loner. Someone who avoids people.”

“Yes, ma’am.” That was him all right. “I just happened to be the one who stumbled upon them. That’s all.”

She nodded, but judging by the way her mouth tipped upward in amusement he guessed she wasn’t agreeing.

“About that shack?”

Bonnie shook her head. “We’ve been storing things there.”

“So they can’t use it.” Now what? He reached for the door handle. Maybe... No, it wouldn’t be proper to stay in Macpherson’s store or the livery barn. Blue was out of suggestions.

“Wait.” Bonnie stopped him. “How long would they need the place?”

“I can’t rightly say.” Clara had been unwilling to reveal any details.

“I suppose we could fit them in. They would be crowded, but if they don’t mind...”

“I’ll bring them over.” He hurried back to the church.

Clara stood where he’d left her.

Eleanor and Libby sat on their bags, their elbows resting on their knees and their chins in the palms of their upturned hands. Their expressions were dejected until they looked up and saw him. Then they smiled, so trustingly, as if convinced he would solve their problems. He hesitated. He didn’t want anyone trusting him to take care of them. Didn’t want the concern and fear that came with it.

He shifted his gaze to their mother. “I found a place for you.”

She didn’t move. “I will only go where I can take care of our needs myself. I won’t accept charity.”

Seemed to him she was long past that. “It’s just a shack mostly used for storage. It’s no castle, but there’s a stove in it and the owner said you were welcome to use it.”

Still she stood there as stubborn as a long-eared mule.

“Why not have a look at it and then decide?” he suggested.

“Very well.” She hitched her bags higher and stepped out of the church.

He reached out to help, but she shrugged away and gave him a look that made him drop his hand in haste.

“I thought she was going to say no,” Eleanor whispered to Libby as she got to her feet.

Libby sighed and rose more slowly. “Sure glad she didn’t.”

He led them to the Morton place. The path skirted the edge of town but wasn’t exactly invisible. Soon enough Macpherson would know of Clara’s presence. Soon enough everyone would. He couldn’t say why it mattered if they did, except that he preferred no one linked his name with hers.

Bonnie had been quick enough to jump on that thought. Made a man glad there weren’t a whole lot of people in the area, though the population had certainly swollen greatly in the two years he’d been working at the ranch.

Libby dropped her bag on the ground and plopped down on it. “I’m tired.”

“Come on, Libby,” Clara said, her voice full of patience. “We might as well see what’s ahead.”

Libby shook her head. “I don’t care. I’m not going anymore.”

Blue waited. The sooner he got them safely into a shelter and got back to the church and the peacefulness of his own presence, the better.

Eleanor and Clara studied Libby.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked.

Libby shook her head. “No.”

“Very well. Come along, Eleanor.” She turned to Blue. “Lead on.”

Blue jerked back. “You’re going to leave her here?”

“She’ll come once she sees we’re leaving.”

“No, I won’t.” Libby stuck out her chin.

Blue carefully considered his options. He could take Clara and Eleanor and hope Libby would follow. Or he could stand here and wait. Or he could—

Oh, for goodness’ sake. He scooped up the child. “Now let’s get this done.”

Libby grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”

Clara sighed. “Libby, you don’t need to be carried.”

“Yes, I do.” She settled into Blue’s arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

What he had gotten himself into?

* * *

Clara wanted to snatch her daughter from Blue’s arms. She’d taught Libby better than that, and normally her youngest was shy around strangers. But not Blue, and that had Clara’s nerves twitching. Libby could be stubborn to the point of exasperation. Having her decide Blue was someone she could trust was dangerous. He already knew far too much about them. Should anyone ask, he had no reason not to say what he knew. At every stop, on every train, buggy and stagecoach, she had kept her head down and instructed the girls to do the same. She had changed her way of dress. She had changed her name. The girls had been told not to tell people anything about who they were or where they were going. She didn’t dare hope they had outrun her father. Not yet.

If only the stagecoach would whisk them away. Fort Calgary offered her a place to live and work and take care of herself. To prove to one and all she could provide for her girls.

Until then she had little choice but to wait.

But if she arrived there too weak to work, her plans would fail. She made up her mind. She would accept this shack for now. Find a way to provide food for her daughters and be prepared for the trip north.

She followed Blue along the pathway as Libby glanced over his shoulder, a triumphant look on her face.

Clara hated to admit it, but it was time she reined in her younger daughter.

They turned into a neat yard bordered by trees. She spied a pathway that led to the river. To their right lay the store and other buildings of town that she’d seen upon her arrival and where she’d asked if they had need of someone to help.

A woman waited at the tiny shack at the back of the yard. Wooden walls rose to shoulder height, then gave way to canvas nailed to slats. Blue was right about one thing. It was no castle.

He introduced Bonnie Morton to them.

“Blue told me you needed a place to stay.” The blonde woman greeted them. “This is nothing fancy but you’re welcome to it.” She glanced at the girls, seeming somewhat taken back by the sight of Libby in Blue’s arms. “You’re more than welcome to share our house.”

“I’m sure this will be fine.” Clara was weary to the point of falling over again. All she wanted was to rest.

“If you’re sure.” Bonnie opened the door and indicated Clara should step into the building. Clara pushed past a stack of wooden crates and into a space barely big enough for herself, Eleanor and Blue, who had followed still holding Libby. There was a table with a lamp on it, two chairs and a tiny stove by way of furniture. A trunk stood in one corner, and on it were stacked more boxes.

“It’s fine.”

“I like it,” Libby announced from her perch in Blue’s arms.

“Me, too,” Eleanor added. “Can we light the stove?”

“Of course,” Bonnie said. “There’s plenty of firewood stacked outside. Help yourself. The well is out there, too. Water’s free to anyone who needs it.”

Blue put Libby on her feet and went to the stove. “Let me check the pipes first and make sure they aren’t plugged. Wouldn’t want a fire.”

“But we do want a fire,” Libby protested.

“Only in the stove, little one. Only in the stove.”

Clara’s throat closed off at the tenderness in his voice. No one but herself had ever shown anything but disinterest in her girls unless they had something to gain. Her dead husband, Rolland—a much older man her father had arranged for her to marry—had only spoken to them if he had to and always in a brusque tone. Father had ignored them except to tell them to smile pretty or sit nicely.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Bonnie said. She stopped in the doorway. “I see you don’t have supplies to make meals, so please join us. I feed people. That’s what I do.”

“Thank you.” Clara meant for the use of the shack. She wouldn’t be taking any free meals. Surely in all this array of stuff she could find a pot and make her own meals.

Out of what? Could she snare a rabbit, catch a turkey?

Never before in her life had she felt such resentment at the upbringing that had left her unprepared to take care of herself. No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d proven she could manage without a man. Could look after her girls, too. They’d escaped her father’s domain in Toronto and had traveled the many miles to Edendale. She’d run out of money days ago except for the amount she hoarded to secure passage to her destination. She’d washed dishes in a dining room, hung laundry at a boardinghouse and dusted shelves in a store. Until they headed north from Fort Macleod. Since then she’d been unable to find anything but dust and icy snow.

“I’ll check the pipes outside.” Blue stepped past Clara.

In a minute the stovepipes rattled and soot puffed into the room; then he returned with wood in his arms. When he started to build the fire in the stove, she sprang into action.

“I can do that.”

“I expect you can.” He continued anyway.

She could hardly elbow him out of the way, so she stood aside, all of three feet away, which was as far as the room allowed.

He closed the lid and turned around. “There you go. You’ll be crowded but warm.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

He nodded, went to the door and stopped. Slowly, as if reluctant to do so, he turned around to face them. “I don’t know what your story really is, or who you think is coming to get you, but you’re safe here for as long as you need.” And then he was gone.

What a strange man.

“He’s nice,” Eleanor said. Then as if her mother’s words had finally resonated, she asked, “Mama, who are we waiting for?”

Clara hadn’t told the girls her plans. If they didn’t know, they couldn’t tell anyone. And that’s how she wanted it.

“Someone we haven’t met yet.”

“If we haven’t met him, how do you know it isn’t Mr. Blue?”

Why were the girls so ready to accept Blue as their friend and helper? So ready to trust him?

“I know it isn’t him because this isn’t where we’re going.”

Libby crossed her arms over her chest. “Then where are we going?”

“You’ll have to wait and see. Now let’s get ourselves organized.”

They pushed the table and chairs into one corner and shifted some boxes so they could put their bags on them. There was room enough for them to stretch out on the floor at night. She thought of poking through the boxes for a pot, but it seemed intrusive and she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Do you want me to read to you?” she asked the girls when they grew restless.

She pulled her Bible from her bag, trailed her fingers over the cover. This book had been her comfort for many years. A kindly servant girl had given it to her just prior to her marriage. “Let’s read Exodus.”

She explained that it was the story of the Israelites fleeing Egypt.

“Just like we’re fleeing Grandfather,” Eleanor said with more insight than Clara expected.

She read about how the pharaoh wanted to kill the boy babies but let the girl babies live.

“Good thing we’re girls,” Libby said. “Pharaoh would have let us live.”

“Mama?”

Clara turned to Eleanor.

“Did our father wish we were boys?”

“Of course not. He thought you were precious.” Though he gave them barely a passing glance, she admitted to herself. He seemed to share her father’s opinion that girls were useless objects.

She returned to the story, her daughters listening intently.

After a bit, Libby interrupted her. “Mama, are we going to a land flowing with milk and honey?”

Eleanor sighed. “I miss having milk.”

“Remember the sweet cakes the cook made? Mmm.” Libby rubbed her tummy. “Wouldn’t I like one right now.”

Eleanor licked her lips. “I’d like a dozen of them.”

“Girls, we aren’t going back to your grandfather’s.” She should have never gone back in the first place, but after Rolland had died a year ago, she had been too shocked to resist her father’s insistence that she must move home. For a year she’d turned a blind eye to how her father treated her like a brainless, helpless female. But when she’d heard him telling the girls they didn’t need to attend their lessons because all they needed was to learn how to smile and be pretty, she’d confronted Father. He administered the money left to her by Rolland, and when she’d asked for funds to get her own place, Father had flatly refused. He’d made it clear that she couldn’t manage on her own. Told her he was arranging another marriage for her.

She shuddered at the thought. She had no desire for another husband handpicked by her father. He must have read the resistance and rebellion in her expression for he’d bent closer at that moment.

“And if you think you can take the girls and leave, or perhaps think you might throw yourself on the mercy of one of your friends, you best reconsider. I would not hesitate a minute to gain custody and forbid you to ever see them again.”

That’s when she’d made up her mind to slip away without his notice. Not that she thought he would simply let her go. He would follow her to the ends of the earth if only to prove himself right. Tension snaked across her shoulders, and she glanced around, half expecting to see him poke his head through the door. But of course he wasn’t there. He’d expect her to go to a city and find comfortable lodging. It was why she had chosen the opposite. The move might have bought her some time, but sooner or later he would realize she’d gone west, and he’d find her. She could only pray by then she would have proven she could manage on her own.

She settled her nerves. God had led them this far. She’d trust Him for the rest of the journey. “We’ll have a home again soon,” she said. “I promise. I trust He’ll provide us with good things, too.”

“Like this little house?” Libby asked.

Clara nodded. “It suits us just fine for now, but it isn’t where we’ll be staying.”

“Will we have a new home in time for Christmas?” Eleanor asked. The girls studied each other a moment as if sharing a secret, then regarded Clara.

“I hope so.”

They smiled widely.

She wanted to warn them not to get their hopes too high. She couldn’t guess what accommodations they’d find in Calgary. Please, God, let us have a home by Christmas. She wished she could plan a bountiful Christmas for the girls, but this year would be vastly different from previous years. No china dolls or satin dresses or fur muffs. However, having a home would be the best present she could offer them.

Eleanor looked thoughtful. “I think Mr. Blue is a good thing, too.”

Clara smiled. “He might not appreciate being called a thing.”

“Mama, I’m hungry. Are we going over to eat with that lady?”

“No, Libby. We already ate, thanks to Mr. Blue. But I’ll find something for us. I promise.”

“But, Mama—”

“Girls.” She cut off Libby’s protests. Eleanor kept her thoughts to herself, but her expression said she didn’t care for Clara’s decision any more than Libby did. “Hasn’t God taken care of us so far?”

They nodded.

“He won’t fail us now.”

They studied her intently.

“What will God do?” Eleanor asked.

“Why don’t we ask that nice man for help?” Libby added.

“We don’t know that he’s a nice man.”

Libby nodded stubbornly. “I know he is.”

There was no point in arguing with a seven-year-old who saw things as she wished they were.

“Mr. Blue is nice,” Libby persisted. “He has a good face. Didn’t he, El’nor?”

Eleanor grinned. “I’d say so. I liked the color of his hair. Kind of red but not brick red.”

“Sandy red,” Libby said with the degree of certainty only an innocent child could portray.

Eleanor nodded.

Libby got a dreamy look on her face. “He is very handsome, isn’t he?” she asked her mother.

Clara stared. “I’m sure I didn’t notice.” Which wasn’t entirely true. She’d noticed his eyes and had been impressed with his kindness. That was all. “I’m surprised you did.”

Eleanor sighed. “Grandfather said she was precocious.” She stumbled over the word but Clara knew what she meant. Father had said the same thing to her, and he hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

“Your girls should be learning to mind their manners,” he’d growled.

He meant they should be seen and not heard. Seen as pretty things with vacant heads. How well she remembered the frustration of dealing with Father’s disapproval at any sign of the ability to think for herself.

She returned to reading aloud to the girls, but it was soon obvious their minds wandered and she left off.

The afternoon hours dragged. Her stomach lurched at the smell of food coming from the nearby house.

“Mrs. Weston?” Bonnie called from the other side of the door. “Supper will be served in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, but we won’t be coming.”

Bonnie spoke again. “The food is ready. I’ll just have to throw it out if you don’t come.”

Clara closed her eyes. Being independent was so hard. “Thank you, but we’ll manage on our own.”

“Mama!” Eleanor protested in a shocked whisper.

“Hush.” She waited for the woman to depart. “Girls, we can’t accept help from everyone.”

Was she doing the right thing? Was she trying to prove she could manage on her own when she obviously couldn’t? Was she punishing her girls in order to prove something?

God, what is the right thing for me to do?

She thought of the chapters she’d recently read. God told Moses he would deliver His people. He would bring them out. He’d promised to put words in Moses’s mouth. Could He not just as easily put food in her children’s mouths?

But by what means? If she accepted the offered meal, how could she repay the woman’s kindness?

Seemed she was stuck between two failures. If she accepted charity, it would prove that she couldn’t manage. Yet if she didn’t accept help, the girls would suffer and again prove she couldn’t manage.

She had no doubt Father would use either against her.

A knock sounded on the door; then Blue burst in without waiting for an invite.

“Clara Weston, are you so prideful that you would starve rather than accept a meal offered by that good woman out there?”

She stared at him. He thought it was pride that compelled her? Pride meant nothing. At the darkness in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth, she shivered.

What did he intend to do?


Chapter Three (#ulink_104c940a-2de0-59ae-9afc-e09d857d07df)

Blue stood stock-still as Clara stared at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Her wheat-blond hair had been smoothed back into a tidy knot at the back of her head. He noticed such details with only a portion of his mind as he hovered in the doorway. Did she think he threatened her?

He sucked back air and forced calmness to his voice. “Bonnie said you refused to join them for supper.”

When Bonnie had told him that, Blue had stomped over to the shack and burst in without considering his actions. All he wanted was to see this trio safely taken care of so he could go about his business without worrying about them. How could he do that if she holed up in this tiny shack and starved herself and her girls to death?

“Do you think that gives you the right to burst in here roaring like a madman?” Her voice quivered just enough to confirm that his action had frightened her as much as annoyed her.

The girls peeked out from behind her.

“Do you want us to leave so you can argue?” Eleanor squeaked.

“We aren’t going to argue, are we?” He smiled; he guessed it looked as if it required a bit of effort, which it did. Why must she be so prickly when all he wanted to do was help her so she’d get out of his hair?

Clara sucked in air as though she’d forgotten to breathe for a bit. “That is entirely up to you.”

“Me? I never wanted to argue in the first place. Why don’t you just come along quietly and enjoy the nice meal Bonnie has made?”

“Mama,” Libby began.

“Hush.” Clara held up a hand to silence her little daughter.

Blue’s smile came more easily when he saw Libby tip her head and glance at the ceiling as if seeking patience from someone up there.

“Very well. But after tonight, I must find a way of taking care of us without...without accepting charity.”

“You mean without accepting help.” He thought to say more about the trouble this stubborn pride would cause her, but she hustled the girls into their coats, grabbed her own and gave him a challenging look. “Well?”

“Well, what?” What was wrong with the woman?

“Are you going to stand there blocking the door?”

“Course not.” He stepped aside, feeling as if he’d lost the ability to think rationally. He ground his molars together. The sooner he got this troublesome woman out of his hair, the better.

He followed her across the yard and into the Mortons’ kitchen, then stopped dead as he realized he’d just insisted they sit at the same table as he. He grunted, bringing Eleanor’s attention to him.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Blue? Somethin’ hurting you?”

“No. I’m fine.” He could hardly tell this innocent beauty that what was hurting was his way of life. He was a loner, and she and her sister and mother were tromping all over his plans to remain that way.

He had left the ranch to work at the church so he could be alone and shut his mind to everything but the task at hand. Summer was easier as he always asked Eddie to send him to the farthest line cabin and he spent weeks alone with the cows and wildlife. Winter was harder as he had to be at the ranch, where most of the men were hunkered down for the winter. Too many talkative cowboys. Too many cowboys with wives who liked to talk.

“I’m delighted you chose to join us.” Bonnie took Clara and the girls’ coats, then led Clara to the table. “It really bothered me to think of you cramped up in the crude little shack with nothing to eat.” She chuckled. “Though that’s where Claude and I spent the first few weeks we were here.” She indicated the girls should sit on either side of their mother, then turned to Blue. “Join us.”

He shed his coat and stared at the place Bonnie indicated. Right across from Clara. He shrugged. So what? In an hour or less, he’d return to the church and finally find the solitude he had come in search of.

Claude joined them and said a quick grace. Bonnie passed around a platter of roast pork, a bowl of mashed potatoes, cooked carrots and thick slices of fresh bread.

“Oh, Mama.” Libby stared at her plateful of food. “This is like eating at Grandfather’s.”

“Better,” Eleanor added. “We’re allowed to sit with the grown-ups.”

“Girls, mind your manners.” Clara spoke quietly, and Blue thought she seemed tense.

Libby nodded. “I know we’re not supposed to tell people our business, but that was okay, wasn’t it?”

Clara smiled. It seemed a bit forced to Blue. “Just eat your meal.” She turned to Bonnie. “This is very good, and we’re most grateful.”

Bonnie looked pleased. “I love cooking, but there haven’t been many travelers through here of late. So nice to have you folks with us.” She paused thoughtfully. “Where are you planning to go? Is someone coming for you?”

Clara shot the girls warning looks before she answered. “We’re waiting for someone.”

Bonnie’s eyebrows went up with obvious curiosity, and Clara quickly added, “I’m afraid I can’t say anything more.”

A startled silence filled the room.

Claude cleared his throat. “Glad you’re going to make those pews, Blue.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He couldn’t wait to get back to the church.

They ate in strained silence for a few minutes.

Bonnie tried again. “Do you girls have enough to occupy yourself over there?”

“Mama’s reading to us from the Bible,” Libby said, edging forward on her seat as if eager to talk about what Clara read. “It’s the story of the Israelites. They’re running from—” She turned to Eleanor. “Who are they running from?”

“From Egypt.” Eleanor watched her sister as if amused at her intensity.

Libby nodded. “Just like we’re—”

Clara’s hand came down on Libby’s shoulder, making her swallow the rest of what she meant to say.

Blue studied the child. Libby merely sucked in a deep breath and started talking again. “I like your house,” she said to Bonnie. “It’s nice. I like the one you lent us, too. It’s—” Again she consulted her sister. “What is it, El’nor?”

“Cozy and warm.”

“Yes, warm. Mama, where are we going to sleep?”

“I explained that already. There’s plenty of room on the floor for our bedrolls.” She turned to Bonnie and then Claude. “I’m so grateful for your generosity. Is there something I can do to repay you? Help with meals, do laundry...?” Her voice trailed off as a glance around the room proved Bonnie didn’t need any help.

Bonnie touched the back of Clara’s hand. “If we were busier, I would gladly accept your help. But as you see, we aren’t busy. No, you accept the use of that little shack as long as you need it. You’ll be doing us a favor.”

Clara’s eyebrows rose in frank disbelief.

“Yes. You see, when we first came to these parts, I was so sick I couldn’t go on.”

“I was very worried about her,” Claude said.

Bonnie smiled gently at her husband. “Cassie—she’s Mrs. Jones now—had just built this house after spending many weeks in that shack you’re in. With four children if you can imagine it. Of course, it was summer and the children could run and play outside.” She smiled around the table. “She let us use that shack until I was strong enough to continue. So you see, you are allowing us to show our gratitude by extending the same courtesy to someone else.” Bonnie beamed as if the idea pleased her.

Blue saw by the set of Clara’s mouth that she was somewhat less pleased.

When the meal ended, Clara began to gather up dishes. “Let us do the washing up at least.”

Bonnie hesitated. “Very well, if it will make you feel better. I’ll go ahead and set the bread dough.”

Clara hustled about, carrying dishes to the pan of hot water that Bonnie had prepared. She handed drying towels to the girls, and they carefully wiped every dish as she washed it.

Blue wanted nothing more than to hustle back to the church and settle down in his own little world, but first he’d make sure Clara and the girls were safely back at the shack and the fire was banked for the night.

Clara hung the towels and dumped the dishwater in the bucket.

“Thank you again.” She looked at her hands, then toward Bonnie.

“Is there something you need?” Bonnie asked. “If so, just ask.”

“Could I borrow a pot to boil water in so I can wash the girls?”

“Why, of course.” Bonnie drew one from the bottom cupboard. “I apologize for not thinking of it myself. You’ll need a bucket, too.” She handed one to Clara.

Clara slowly raised her hand to take it. Pink stole up her cheeks.

Did she think help came with strings attached? Out here in the west, lending a helping hand to friends, neighbors and strangers alike was the way life was lived.

She stammered her thanks. “Come along, girls.”

As she prepared to leave, Blue grabbed his coat and followed.

Outside the door she turned her back and headed for the shack.

He knew she meant to dismiss him, but he followed on her heels. “I’ll get some more firewood for you.”

She spun around. “No need. I can do it.”

He didn’t stop until he reached the woodpile and began to load his arms. “You remind me of a two-year-old. I can do it myself.” His son, Beau, especially had been so stubbornly independent.

Blue straightened and stared into the dark trees. He had this woman to blame for making him think of his boy toddling about, refusing help.

Clara grabbed an armload of wood. “I could cook for us.”

“What would you cook? It appears you have no food, no supplies, no money. Nothing but a huge amount of pride.” He sighed impatiently. “Don’t let your pride make you stubborn.”

She was close enough that even in the dusky light he could see how hollowed out her eyes grew. “You keep accusing me of pride, and it’s not that at all.”

“Then what is it? What are you running from?”

“Not what.” The words crept from her throat, soft yet full of anguish. “Who.”

“Who?”

She flung him a dismissive, angry look. “I’ve said far too much.” She spun around again and stomped to the shack. The girls chased each other through the shadows.

Blue followed her inside, dumped the wood in a pile by the stove and lifted the lids to check the coals. He strategically added several pieces of wood and adjusted the damper.

She studied him, her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth set in a fearsome scowl. “I can do that, you know.”

“I expect you can.” Satisfied the fire wouldn’t burn too hot during the night, he turned to face her. His sudden movement filled her eyes with surprise, but to her credit she did not back away. “But I never take chances with fires.”

They considered each other unblinkingly. He couldn’t say what she thought she saw in his eyes, but he guessed he saw a couple of things in hers—her constant guardedness underlined by fear, a strong dose of protectiveness. Then she blinked, and he knew she thought she’d learned something about him.

He edged past her and hurried out the door. He’d revealed far too much of himself this day. Far more than he meant for anyone to know about him. He couldn’t pull back the words that had spilled from his mouth. Couldn’t even say why they had. For two years he’d never mentioned his children or the fire that had taken them, yet in a matter of hours he’d said enough for Clara to begin putting the pieces together.

From now on he would say no more. He could only hope she would soon be on her way to wherever she was going and leave him to forgetfulness.

* * *

Clara stared at the door as it closed behind Blue. My, what a strange man. So cautious about fires. Yes, it paid to be careful, but he acted as if he expected the place to burst into flames.

She shuddered and glanced at the canvas roof overhead. Was it likely to ignite? She looked at the crates between where she meant to sleep and the door. Blue had her all nervous. Perhaps that was a good thing.

The girls hadn’t come inside yet. Their voices rang out in the growing dusk. While they were gone, she’d rearrange things. She pulled the boxes from near the door. At least if there was a fire, she could get out. Then she took the bucket Bonnie had lent her and went to the pump to fill it with water. She placed it on the table within handy reach.

Maybe she should thank Blue for making her so conscious of the danger. She pressed her hand to her chest in a futile attempt to slow the pounding of her heart. Or she should scold him for alarming her.

Her daughters dashed in and skidded to a stop.

Eleanor looked around. “You moved stuff. How come?”

“It’s a little more convenient this way.”

“Where’s Mr. Blue?” Libby asked.

“He’s gone.”

Libby drooped. “But, Mama, I thought he’d stay.”

“Of course he can’t. Why would you think such a thing?”

Libby sank to her bedroll. “No one ever stays.” She made it sound as if she were alone in the world.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Our father died.”

“That’s not the same. He was sick and wasn’t going to get better.”

“I know. Then we left. I miss Mary.”

She meant the gardener’s little daughter. At her father’s, Clara had often taken the girls outside to play, and they had become friends with the girl.

“I know you miss her. I’m sorry. But not everyone leaves. I’m not leaving.”

Libby gave her a look of disbelief. “Of course not. You’re our mama.”

Clara laughed. It was good to know Libby trusted her so implicitly. “Soon we’ll find a place where we can stay and settle down.” And be safe.

Libby nodded. “For Christmas. Right?” She gave Clara a trusting look, then turned toward Eleanor. “God will answer our prayer for a new—”

A silent message passed from Eleanor to Libby, and the younger child clamped her mouth shut.

Clara pressed down alarm at Libby’s trusting expectation. God, please don’t let me fail this child.

Eleanor turned to Clara. “Did God send plagues to Grandfather?”

“Why on earth would you think that?” Maybe she’d quit reading Exodus. The girls took it so literally and applied it to their situation.

“’Cause Grandfather said he would never let us go. Just like Pharaoh.”

Clara tried to think how to respond. How could she explain the situation to them without giving them cause for alarm? Without saying things that Libby would inadvertently blurt out at the most inopportune times? “I’m your mother. I’m the one who decides what’s best for you.”

Eleanor nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“I’d like to see Grandfather’s house full of frogs.” Libby pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Girls, it’s time to get ready for bed.” She’d earlier filled the borrowed cooking pot from the borrowed bucket and it heated on the borrowed stove in the borrowed shack.

Borrow. Borrow. Borrow. The word went round and round inside her head. Father would surely see it as failure and use it as proof she couldn’t provide for her children.

She washed the girls as well as she could and heard their prayers. They whispered and giggled for a bit once they lay on their bedrolls. She caught the word Christmas several times, and every time the weight of it increased. Only a few weeks until the day they both looked forward to. Would she be able to keep her promise and provide them a home in time?

Only with God’s help. She’d about run out of opportunity and strength to do anything on her own.

Later, after the girls fell asleep, she explored her options. Bonnie and Claude fed her and provided this place of shelter. She must find a way to repay them.

And she just might be able to do it.

If Blue didn’t prove difficult.

The next morning, she was ready to go to the house for breakfast when Bonnie called. She cautioned the children before they left. “Now, girls, don’t eat too much. And for goodness’ sake, don’t chatter too much.”

Blue crossed the yard as they exited the shack.

Libby rushed up to him. “Carry me.”

He looked surprised for a moment, then swung her into his arms.

“Libby!” She hadn’t thought to warn her daughter against that.

“It’s okay, Mama. Isn’t it, Mr. Blue?” Libby grinned from her perch.

“She’s not heavy.”

Clara wasn’t concerned that he might find her too much of a weight. She was worried that Libby had attached herself to this man so completely after bemoaning the fact that everyone left. Or they left everyone. Libby should be prepared for leaving Blue soon.

They reached the house, and he set Libby on her feet.

Clara wanted to say something, warn him not to encourage her daughter, but now was not the time.

Claude asked God’s blessing on the food, and then they dug in to the generous breakfast—biscuits fresh from the oven, canned peaches, oatmeal porridge. A very satisfying meal.

Blue rose as soon as he was done. “I’ve got work to do.” He paused and looked at Clara. “Do you need anything?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Must he continually treat her as if she couldn’t do a thing on her own? “I’ll be sure and let you know if I do.”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. He blinked and then a slow, teasing grin filled his face. “Yeah, I’m sure you will.” He jammed his hat on his head and, chuckling, left the house.

Claude followed on his heels.

Bonnie stared after the pair. “Well, I’ll be.” She shook her head. “I believe that’s the first time I’ve heard Blue laugh. He’s a real loner, you know.”

Sure couldn’t prove it by her, Clara thought as she turned to wash the dishes. Wouldn’t a loner leave her alone? And Blue didn’t.

She finished the dishes, hung the towels to dry and bid Bonnie goodbye. Time to proceed with her plans.


Chapter Four (#ulink_491a77b2-b082-5d30-aad1-37fa517a633a)

Blue cut the piece of lumber. The smell of the wood filled his senses. As his mind consumed it, he felt himself drowning in the present. That was his way of forgetting the past and ignoring the future. Later he’d sweep up the sawdust that fell at his feet and burn it, enjoying yet another scent. He shifted his mind to the process necessary to complete a pew. Measure, cut, fit, secure, sand, polish. Each step held comforting details to occupy his thoughts.

The outer door clattered open. Now what? Who’d have thought being alone would be so difficult?

Eleanor and Libby rushed into the room, bringing with them a cloud of cold air. Clara followed.

Blue leaned back on his heels and studied them. He saw the determination in Clara’s face and stiffened his spine in preparation for whatever complaint she meant to voice.

“I’ve decided.” She nodded as if to persuade herself.

His eyebrows went upward. What had she decided? And did she plan to tell him? He guessed she did or she wouldn’t be there, facing him with such a fierce look.

“I’m going to help you.”

His mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut.

She held up her hand. “Now before you try and dissuade me, listen to my reasons. I cannot continue to accept charity. It makes me look weak, and that’s not something I can allow. I expect you’re getting paid for the work.”

It wasn’t exactly the case. He drew wages from the ranch. Eddie had allowed him to take on this job off the ranch because it suited everyone to get the church done as quickly as possible.

“I’m not asking much, but I will help, and you can pay me from the pay you receive. All I need is enough to buy my meals from Bonnie.”

Well, if she didn’t take the cake when it came to expectations. “What do you know about woodworking?”

“Nothing. But how hard can it be?”

He snorted. “I learned woodworking from my father.” Back in Texas. He hadn’t seen Pa since he married Alice and moved to Wyoming, where he’d started a little ranch of his own. He slammed the door on the intrusion of memories. He could blame Clara for this constant struggle to keep them at bay. “Pa said woodworking is like playing a musical instrument. Those who do it well make it look easy.”

“I couldn’t say. I’ve never seen anyone make something from wood.”

“Yet you expect me to hire you to help?”

The fierceness in her expression faded, leaving her uncertain. “Couldn’t you teach me to do something?”

He considered the idea. He didn’t need help. Didn’t want it. Most certainly didn’t fancy the idea of having Clara and the girls underfoot day after day. But wasn’t she moving on? Soon, if he didn’t misread her intentions.

If he agreed to let her help, at least he would have the assurance she wasn’t starving herself out of pure foolish pride.

“Fine, but I can’t pay you. All the work done on the church is on a volunteer basis.”

The wind went out of her so quickly he thought she’d collapse.

“But the Mortons feed me as their part in the work. If you’re helping here, they’d expect to volunteer meals for you just as they do for me.”

She lifted her chin. “Fine. Then I accept.”

She accepted? As if she did him a favor? He laughed outright. The sound rumbled from his chest. He stopped. Blue never laughed anymore, and yet he’d done it twice in one morning.

She held out her hand. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He slowly brought his hand up to hers and shook. He drew back so suddenly he almost pulled her off balance. But he hadn’t touched a woman in two years. It felt strangely pleasant.

“Now show me what to do.”

“You certainly are bossy.”

The girls had been dragging their boots through the sawdust, leaving little trails, but they looked up at his comment.

“You called Mama a bad word.” Libby sounded affronted.

“What bad word did I say?”

“You said bossy. Mama says we aren’t to say that to people. But you did.” Poor Libby looked so shocked Blue rushed to apologize.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a bad word.” He glanced toward Clara. She grinned as if she enjoyed his discomfort. Which was hardly fair seeing as he’d never before considered it a bad word.

“It’s okay.” She patted his arm. “Libby will be sure and straighten you out if your language gets too rough.” She laughed, a sound so pure and sweet he could only stare.

He quickly came to his senses. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.” He tried his best to sound aggrieved.

“Sorry. But the look on your face was priceless.”

It was time to get things back to order. He hunkered down in front of the sections of a pew he’d cut. “This is what I have so far. The wood is oak. One of the finest woods they make, in my opinion. Look at the beautiful grain.”

She ran her fingers over the wood. “It is nice.”

“Nice?” He took a beat of silence. Did he expect her to see the beauty of the wood just because he did? “Of course, it isn’t finished yet. By the time I run my plane over it a few times, it will be so smooth you won’t believe it.”

Libby squatted at his side. “Like Mama’s skin?”

Clara blushed bright red.

Blue grinned. It was her turn to have Libby cause her problems. “You keep your mama on her toes, don’t you?”

Libby studied her mother’s feet. “No. She’s not on her toes.”

Eleanor sighed. “Lib, it’s a saying. It means you make her pay attention.”

“To what?”

“To what you are going to say or do next.”

Libby stood up and held her hands in the air in a gesture of confusion. “But how can she know? Even I don’t know.”

Clara rolled her head back and forth. “And that’s a good portion of the problem.”

Blue returned to his full height. His eyes caught hers, and they laughed as they silently acknowledged how this child had embarrassed them both by turn.

She’d done something more, he realized. She’d put them both a bit more at ease.

But was that a good thing or not?

He jerked away and led Clara to the sawhorses. “You can help me measure each piece.” He showed her the plans he’d drawn. “This is what we’re going to make.”

She studied the drawings, then nodded. “Looks simple enough.”

“It is. All I have to do is make sure each cut is exact, the grain is always going the right direction and everything fits together perfectly.”

“Don’t you mean all we have to do?”

“We’ll see.” He had a whole wagonload of doubts about how much help she’d be.

His plans seemed a vague dream at the moment.

He positioned a length of lumber on the sawhorses. “First, we measure. Hold the end of the tape there.” He showed her and took the first measurement. “Hold it firmly. Even a fraction of an inch can have a bearing on the finished product.”

“I have it.”

The girls stood close by, watching.

He measured several different places where he would have to cut. “Now I’ll measure again and make sure they’re all correct.”

“Again? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, but the rule is measure twice, cut once. It’s the safest way.”

“Hmm.” She held the tape as he repeated the process.

“Okay.” He rolled the tape and stuck it in his pocket. “Now I’ll cut.” With long steady strokes, he cut the pieces for the end of the pew. Two for each pew and one for the middle.

Patiently, he allowed her to help him measure each piece needed for the rest of the pew. “Now I need to plane them smooth.”

She blushed as if remembering Libby’s earlier remarks.

Ignoring her reaction, he slid the planer over the wood. Paper-thin curls of wood peeled off.

The girls knelt beside him. “Can we have those?” They pointed at the curls.

“Don’t see why not.”

They gathered up the bits and carried them to the corner, where they were soon busy playing some game.

Blue returned to the task, concentrating on the sound of the blade and his movements.

“Can I do that?” Clara’s voice startled him from his thoughts. “It looks like fun.”

He stared at the planer. He enjoyed the work. But if he didn’t let her do enough to qualify as help in her eyes, who knew what she’d do? He turned over the piece meant to be the seat so she could work on the bottom, where her mistakes wouldn’t show. “Push down just enough to start it shaving. Then keep the pressure firm and continue clear through to the end.” He let her take the planer.

It caught. It stuttered. There would be cross lines at every stop.

“You made it look so easy.” She sounded annoyed, as if she blamed him for her failures. Then she clenched her teeth and started again. Stalled again.

He saw her problem. “Steady pressure. Like this.” And before he could think to stop himself, he placed his hand over hers on the planer and showed her how to do it. A thousand sensations rushed through him. They threatened the boundaries he had so carefully and solidly built. And yet there was something about them that filled him with comfort.

He jerked back and let her do it herself.

She grinned as the shavings peeled from the wood.

For some strange reason, he grinned, too, pleased at her success.

Then he wrenched his attention away. He had work to do here and put his mind to building pews until the morning passed.

“It’s time for dinner.” He grabbed his coat and was halfway out the door before he stopped himself. Like it or hate it, he couldn’t hurry away and leave them to walk across on their own.

* * *

Clara fairly bubbled with excitement as she traipsed across to the Mortons’ for dinner. She’d never seen a piece of furniture under construction before, never dreamed she might have a part in the process. Yes, it was a small part. But hopefully one the Mortons would deem worthy of a meal for her and the girls.

Bonnie flew to Clara’s side as they entered the room. “I was worried about you. I went over to invite you to join me here. I know the shack is small and thought you might like to visit. But when you weren’t there...” She fluttered her hands.

“I’m helping at the church.”

Bonnie stared at her. Claude came to her side. “Are you helping Blue?”

“Yes.”

“Why, I think that’s a great idea.” Claude squeezed his wife’s shoulders, and they gave each other a glance that seemed full of secrets.

Clara wouldn’t look at Blue to see his reaction. But she sensed if he thought the pair saw romance budding between them he would run for the hills and never return. But he needn’t worry. One thing she did not want or need in her life was a man. And she meant to prove it. To her father, to anyone who might voice a concern and most of all to herself.

She wondered how to broach the subject of receiving the meals in exchange for help at the church when Claude spoke up.

“Our contribution is to provide meals to those who work on the church. Clara, that includes you, so sit down and enjoy the food Bonnie has prepared.”

“Thank you.” For the first time since she’d stepped off the stagecoach at Edendale, she felt as though she could achieve at least part of her goal. Why, was that just yesterday? It seemed so much longer.

God had provided in a way she could not have imagined, and she ate the meal with gratitude. When she offered to help wash up, Bonnie waved her away. “I have all afternoon to do it. You go on back and help Blue.”

Blue had departed a few moments earlier and now Clara and the girls followed his footprints back to the church.

Clara suspected he might wish she’d change her mind about helping him, but he’d soon learn she wouldn’t.

Eleanor went to Blue. “Mama says we must do our share. What can we do?”

He straightened and met Clara’s eyes over the girls’ heads.

She gaped. She had not meant for the girls to feel they, too, must earn their food. Parents provided for children.

Libby teetered back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Mama says we should owe no man nothing. She says that’s in the Bible.”

Blue’s eyebrows rose, and his lips twitched. “Is that a fact?” His gaze rested on Clara.

“If Mama says it’s true, then it is.” Eleanor spoke with utmost loyalty.

Clara could almost believe she saw a twinkle in Blue’s eyes.

“Glad to see you girls listen to your mama.”

The pair nodded their heads as Clara floundered for a way to explain that although she’d said the words, she’d meant them for herself, not the girls.

Blue leaned back on his heels. “And now you want to help?”

More nodding.

“That’s a very noble thing. Let’s see.” He looked around the room.

Clara did, too. It might be good if the girls had something to do that made them feel useful, but what on earth could two little girls do that wouldn’t put them underfoot?

“Well, you could always make sure there are three pieces of firewood by the stove. You could keep the stack by the door neat. When I’m not sawing, you could clean up the sawdust and put it in that coal pail.” He pointed. “And I think you could keep those buckets full of snow. I melt it for my water. You think that’s enough?”

“Yes,” they chorused and sprang into action, grabbing the buckets and heading outdoors to find snow. There was plenty from a previous snowfall along the north side of the church and in the trees.

Clara waited until the door closed behind them. “Thank you. That’s most generous of you to give them useful tasks.”

He picked up a board and carried it to the sawhorse. “Children should feel useful and appreciated.”

“I certainly agree. Even if they’re girls.”

He put the board down and stared at her. “What difference does it make if they are boys or girls? Each child can contribute something.”

Not wanting to meet his gaze, she stared at the board between them. “Some people don’t value girls the same way.”

“Well, that’s just plumb foolish.”

She wondered if he truly believed it or only thought he did. “You said you had two children. Were they girls?”

“One of each.” His answer was curt, and she glanced at him. His eyes had grown cold and distant.

“Did you treat your daughter as you did your son?”

He grabbed the tape measure. “I have no idea what you mean. Here, let’s measure this.”

She took the end of the tape and held it where he pointed. She understood his reluctance to talk about his losses and would not press him even though she was a bit curious. But that was all. What events had shaped his life mattered little to her. Just as her life mattered little to him. They’d been thrown together by accident, and only temporarily. Not that she wasn’t grateful for a warm place to sleep, good food to eat and a job that allowed her to earn her own way.

He tossed aside the tape measure as if it had offended him. Then he grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket. “Would you like to see how the pews are going to look?”

“I’d love to. You know, I never considered the workmanship that goes into furniture making.” She ran her hand along the smooth finish of a piece of wood ready to assemble. “But it’s kind of fun.”

He nodded, his eyes again alive with feelings. “Wait until you see the finished product. You’ll be amazed at how much pride it gives you to know you had a part in making it.” He stood up a piece of wood cut in an angled L shape. “Hold this.”

She did so as he stood up a matching piece. The girls skidded in at that moment, snow dusting their coats, their faces rosy from being outside.

“Who’d like to help put the pew together?” Blue asked.

“Me,” the girls cried in unison and shed their coats.

“Hang them up,” Clara reminded them.

They did so, then hurried to Blue’s side. He showed them how to hold the other upright and picked up another piece. “This will be the seat.” As he worked, he explained everything he did.

He screwed the seat into place. Clara helped him with the back and let herself glow with pride to realize he would have struggled to do it on his own.

“There is our first pew.” He stood back, hands on his hips, grinning. “Who wants to try it out?”

The girls didn’t need any more invitation. They sat down and folded their hands primly as if attending a service.

“It’s very nice,” Eleanor said.

Libby ran her hands along the seat. “It’s so smooth. Just like Mama’s—”

“Libby!” Clara could not let her again mention her smooth skin. She’d already been embarrassed enough.

Blue chuckled.

Clara remembered what Bonnie had said about him. That she’d never heard him laugh. Seems her girls had restored his ability.

She sneaked a glance at him. Did he appreciate it or resent it? She couldn’t tell from his expression.

“You and Mama should try it out, too,” Eleanor said.

Clara hesitated. She didn’t care to sit next to the man on a church pew. She tried to assess her feelings. They’d bent over the same piece of wood, he’d guided her hand when she tried to plane the wood that now made up the seat of the pew, she’d walked across the yard with him. Why would sitting side by side on the pew make any difference?

It didn’t.

Aware the girls watched her curiously, she sat down next to them.

Blue faced them. He eyed the spot beside her.

She almost laughed at the wary expression on his face. So she wasn’t the only one who found this a bit awkward.

“Mr. Blue,” Libby said. “It’s a nice bench.”

“I’m sure it will hold all of us.” Eleanor paused. “Won’t it?”

“Of course it will. I made it strong.” He took the two steps that brought him to them and sat down, perching as if ready to run for the hills at any moment.

The idea so amused her that she couldn’t contain a chuckle. She tried to cover it with a cough.

He turned and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

She nodded. “But no more than at myself. I was just as leery about sitting here, though I have no idea why.”

He sucked in air and slowly relaxed until he sat against the back of the pew. “Nor do I.” He shifted a little. “The pew is quite comfortable.”

“Yes, it is.”

The girls got down and hurried over to the sawdust with broom and dustpan.

Blue and Clara remained on the pew. For a pair so reluctant to sit they showed no sign of being in a hurry to get up.

Clara told herself it was simply that it felt good to rest for a few minutes. When was the last time she felt so relaxed? She tried to think. Certainly not since she’d left her father’s house. Not while she was living there, either. Maybe when she’d lived in the house Rolland had provided. Her own little domain. Would she ever have such a thing again?

Blue shifted to glance at her. “That was a mighty big sigh.”

“I didn’t even realize I sighed.”

He continued to study her.

She met his eyes and saw the questions and uncertainty there. Likely he hoped she would explain what she was doing in Edendale. But she dared not. She suspected that if Father showed up, Blue would feel it his duty to turn her and the girls over to his authority.

She sprang to her feet and hurried to the piece of wood on the sawhorses. “I’ll help you measure this.”

He pulled the tape measure from his pocket and handed her one end.

She ducked her head and concentrated on the task, giving it far more attention than it required.

For a moment, she’d let her guard down. It must not happen again. If she didn’t keep her wits about her, keep her goal firmly in mind and her senses tuned for danger, she could end up losing her daughters.

A tiny groan escaped her lips. She felt Blue’s silent question but would not look at him. Good thing he was a loner. Equally good she didn’t want anything from him but a chance to feed herself and the girls until she could leave this town.


Chapter Five (#ulink_dd8f13c8-d5c1-510b-81c2-db08f6cffffb)

Blue ignored Clara’s groan. He wouldn’t let her problems be his concern. He reminded himself that he only allowed her to help in order to make sure the girls got regular meals. He’d want people to do the same for his kids if they’d lived.

He bent over as if to pick up something off the floor, but it was really to stop the pain that grabbed his gut.

Eleanor and Libby had stacked the woodpile neatly and now played with bits of bark from the firewood. He caught bits and pieces of their conversation. Something about Christmas and a new—

But he never caught the word and refused to dwell on the subject. Christmas had meant nothing to him since the fire.

The two girls were pleasant enough. Their mother seemed a nice woman. But he didn’t welcome them into his world.

He straightened. Only one way to make this afternoon pass quickly, and that was to keep his mind on work. And hope whoever Clara waited for would arrive quickly. Like right this minute.

But of course nothing happened. No wagon or buggy rattled into town. No rider came looking for a young woman.

Did she really have a plan, or was she hoping for something to fall from the sky?

A bit later, he glanced out the window at the fading light. “It’s quitting time,” he announced. He’d succeeded in keeping his mind on measuring, measuring again, cutting and using the plane. Well, almost. At every move, Clara had been at his elbow, reaching to help, holding the tape, insisting she could use the plane.

“I love doing this,” she said as thin shavings peeled from the wood. “Am I doing a good job?”

He admitted she did. “I’ve never seen a woman doing woodwork before, though my pa said he knew of one and said she did a good job. Said she had a light touch, which he recognized in all her work.”

Clara sat back on her heels. “Maybe I could make furniture.” She sounded as surprised as he felt.

“Why would you want to? Won’t you remarry? Seems running a home and raising kids is work enough.”

She came to her feet, her eyes flashing like lightning. “What you are saying is I require a man to take care of me and all I need to do is sit around and look pretty.” She spit out each word as if they were the pits of sour fruit.

He held her gaze without flinching. He knew she resented what he’d said and couldn’t understand why. “From what I’ve seen, running a house and looking after the children doesn’t allow much time for sitting around. My wife worked very hard, as I recall. Most of her days were longer than mine.”

Slowly, the fire faded from her eyes. “I have no use for sitting around being ornamental.”

Nor did he, but why should she think such a thing? He took in her blue eyes, her hair with varying colors of blond that reminded him of finely grained wood. She was a beautiful woman. Why hadn’t he realized that when he’d first seen her? No doubt she’d pitch a fit if she knew what he thought. Nevertheless, he finished his assessment of her. Skin so pure that it was no wonder that Libby used it as a comparison. Shapely hands that had proven to be capable of working with wood. A grin came unbidden to his mouth. “Seems to me you’d have a hard time not being ornamental.”

Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered.

He continued to grin, pleased he had left her speechless. “We best head over for supper.” He gathered up his coat. The girls followed suit.

Clara made a sound of exasperation, then grabbed her coat. “It’s far more important to be useful,” she muttered as they left the church.

“No reason a woman can’t be both.” He spoke airily, knowing most women would have welcomed the compliment. But she only huffed toward the Morton place without offering any explanation.

Libby slowed her steps. “I’m awfully tired after working so hard.” She gave Blue a sad look.

“Don’t suppose you’d like a ride?”





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