Linda Ford - The Cowboy Comes Home

Abe was very proud of the modern fixtures, especially the stove. “It’s a Canadian invention,” he said with enough pride that Sally thought he would like to take credit for the innovation.

She shifted her gaze, itemizing the benefits of the house. Two stories. Four bedrooms and an indoor bathroom upstairs. All the bedrooms had generous closets.

Downstairs, besides the kitchen and back room, there was a formal dining room, complete with a china cabinet holding a fancy twelve-place dishware collection. Sally thought the plain white dishes with gold trim rather unnoteworthy. Her choice of pattern would have been something with a little color in the form of a flower. There were so many lovely rose patterns.

“I like to entertain here,” Abe had said, indicating the formal dining room and the array of dishes. “Dinner parties for my business associates.” He eyed the dark wood paneled room with windows covered by heavy forest-green drapes shutting out most of the light. Obviously it was his favorite room in the house.

Sally had nodded, her smile wooden. She could cook a meal for twelve with no problem. But a dinner party? Business associates? It sounded stiff and dull.

She gave herself a little shake. Of course she could do a dinner party. No need to be nervous because she didn’t know Abe’s business associates and had never given a formal dinner. How hard could it be? Cooking was cooking.

And if she didn’t get to her meal preparations this minute, she would be hard-pressed to have supper ready when Abe came through the door.

She hurried to the back room and found potatoes. As she peeled them, she enjoyed a view of the backyard. Robbie played in his fort. Carol sat cross-legged nearby, scratching in the dirt. She paused often to glance up, a dreamy look on her face. Sally didn’t need to follow the direction of her gaze to know the reason. Linc had returned to pruning the crab apple trees. From what she could see, he removed a great number of branches. The trees looked downright sparse. I hope he knows what he’s doing . Abe would be very upset if Linc killed the trees.

Linc stepped back and surveyed the damage, then hoisted the ladder to his shoulder and went to the little shed. After stowing the ladder, he headed for the house. His gaze flicked to the window and he smiled.

Sally developed a sudden interest in the task of peeling potatoes and hoped he didn’t think she’d been staring.

He knocked.

She dried her hands on a towel, smoothed her apron and walked slowly to the door just to prove she had other things holding her attention. “Yes?”

“I’m headed home to check on my pa. Tell Abe I’m done with the trees and will start working on the barn tomorrow, unless he prefers I do something else.”

“I’ll let him know.” Abe no doubt would have specific ideas of what he wanted done and in what order.

“I’m off then.” He took a step toward the back gate.

“I hope your pa is okay. Say hello to your grandmother for me.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll do that.” His mouth pulled to one side. He seemed to consider saying something more, then nodded without voicing his thought. “See you tomorrow.” And he swung away, passing the garden. He echoed a goodbye to the children before he vaulted over the fence, not bothering with the gate.

Sally stared after him until he disappeared from view behind the board fence. Even then she continued to stare. What was it about this man that pulled at her so hard? Like a promise. Of what? The man was a cowboy. By his own confession, he slept on the cold, hard ground, often with nothing but cows for company. It should have turned him into a recluse or at least a man with poor social skills. Linc might not fit into everyone’s idea of a refined gentleman, yet there was something about him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she also couldn’t deny its existence, even though she wanted to.

“Is he coming back tomorrow?”

Sally’s gaze lingered one more heartbeat, her mind indulged in one more puzzled thought, then she turned to Carol who stood before her, her face a mixture of hope and fear. “Your father has hired him to do yard work. I should think he’ll have enough to keep him busy for a week or two. Perhaps even a month.” She utterly failed to keep a note of joy out of her words.

“Good.” Carol marched past her, into the house and up the stairs. The words of a song trailed after her. “Oh, do you remember sweet Betsy from Pike?”

An echo sounded from the garden in a low, monotone singsongy voice.

Sally stared. Robbie was singing? Come to think of it, he’d been pleasantly occupied all day building his fort. She watched, her eyes narrowed in concentration. In her experience, Robbie being content was foreign. The few times it happened had led to a major explosion. Maybe he’d wait until she left to shift into defiance. Except … how would Abe deal with it? He had little patience with Robbie acting out. “Losing his mother will not be tolerated as an excuse,” Abe insisted. Yes, she understood Robbie must find a better way to express his displeasure but—

Lord, these children are hurt and frightened by their loss. Help me help them. Help them find joy in life and be able to believe they can again be safe .

She thought of how she’d found the feeling of safety after her father died, through helping her mother and sisters keep things organized and in control, doing what she thought her father would approve of. How could she help these children find the same sense of safety?

“Robbie, come wash up for supper.”

He jerked as if she’d struck him, and his chin jutted out. “Leave me alone.”

“Your father will soon be here, and he expects you washed and ready to sit down.”

Robbie gave her his fiercest glower.

“Robbie, I think your mother would want you to do your best to please your father.”

His scowl deepened. “She won’t know what I do.”

“Maybe not. But you will. You know what would please her. You can honor her by doing it.”

He turned his back to her and continued moving a pile of dirt. It seemed he did his best to make sure most of it fell on him.

“Robbie, please come to the house.” She kept her tone firm and soft.

“You ain’t my mother.”

“I know that.” She didn’t expect she could replace their mother if she married Abe—when she married Abe, she corrected. “No one can replace your mother.” She let the words sink in.

“I betcha Linc didn’t wash his hands when he camped out with cows.”

“I have no idea if he did or didn’t, but I noticed how well he cleaned up before coffee.” She’d noticed far too well, taking in how his face shone from the scrubbing and how his hair, bleached almost blond on the ends but darker where it had been hidden from the sun, had been plastered back in an attempt to tame the curls. How they slowly returned to their own wayward tangle.

She’d had to refrain from checking her hair to see if her curls were doing likewise. “He cleaned up really well.” Her words had a difficult time squeezing past the tightness in her throat.

Robbie studied her reply for a moment, then bolted to his feet to race across the yard. He didn’t slow down as he passed her, nor did he glance toward her. His whole attitude clearly said he would wash up because a man like Linc, a man he admired, had done so. He would not do it to please Sally. No siree.

She sighed and followed him inside. Would she and Robbie ever have anything but an uneasy truce? She didn’t have time to think about that at the moment with dessert to finish, potatoes to mash and the meat to check. She took dishes from the top shelf—the best everyday dishes—found a red checkered tablecloth and set the table as nicely as she could. Too bad she didn’t have flowers to put in a vase in the middle of the table.