“So the opinion of the good folk of Golden Prairie hasn’t changed?”

Linc’s words were low, as if resigned to the inevitable.

Sally didn’t answer.

“What do you think?”

His question, so direct, so void of emotion, jarred her from trying to maintain disinterest. She jerked her gaze to him and saw something in his eyes that said he wasn’t as uncaring as he tried to portray.

She swallowed hard. “I think …” Her heart opened up and dumped out a tangle of emotions—things she couldn’t identify and didn’t want to own. They seemed to pull her in a hundred different directions. “I think Abe is right. You deserve a chance.”

His expression faltered. He shifted on his feet, then nodded. “Does that mean we can be friends?”

She smiled softly. “It looks like we already are.”

“Good to know.” His words were brisk.

Had she disappointed him? Friends was good, wasn’t it?

Strange, then, how it felt totally unsatisfactory. As if she’d fallen short of gaining a prize.

The Cowboy
Comes Home
Linda
Ford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My God will supply all you need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.

—Philippians 4:19

For Sierra.

As my eldest granddaughter you hold a special place in my heart. It has been my joy to watch you grow and see you become a beautiful young woman. I hope we can become closer in the future. My prayer is that you will find true joy and meaning in life through opening your heart to God’s love. I love you.

Chapter One

Golden Prairie, Alberta, Canada

Spring 1934

She needed eyes in six places at once to keep track of that child.

“Robbie!” An edge of annoyance worked itself into Sally Morgan’s voice. Yes, she understood how a boy who was about to turn six might be upset by so many changes in his life. His mother had passed away just after Christmas. His maternal grandmother had stayed until spring and then Sally started coming during the day. But the child needed to realize life was easier if he didn’t fight every person and every rule.

Sally found Carol playing with her doll in the patch of grass next to the big tree at the front of the lot, her plain brown hair as tidy as when she’d left for school. Even her clothes were still neat and clean. The girl was only eight but had adjusted much better than her brother. “Have you seen Robbie?”

Carol didn’t even glance up from her play. Simply shook her head.

“Where can he be this time?” As soon as she’d realized he was missing she’d searched the house. She’d looked in the shed in the back of the lot where he often hid. Now she marched toward the barn. The children’s father would be home shortly and expecting his meal. She’d left the food cooking on the stove. If she found Robbie soon she could hope to keep supper from burning.

She stepped into the cool, dark interior of the barn, now unused. Mr. Finley didn’t own a horse. He drove a fine car instead. “Robbie!” she yelled, then cocked her head to listen. She heard nothing but the echo of her voice, the flap and coo of pigeons disturbed by her noisy presence and the scurry of mice heading for safety.

She left the barn and turned her gaze to the narrow alley separating the fine big yard on the edge of town from the farm on the other side. Would Robbie have ventured into forbidden territory? Most certainly he would if the notion struck.

Sparing a brief glance at the house where the meal needed attention, she headed for the gate, pausing only long enough to call to Carol, “You stay there while I find Robbie.”

Her steps firm with determination and mounting frustration, she strode across the dusty track to the sagging wire fence. From where she stood she saw nothing but the board fence around the back of the barn. Sighing loudly, she stuck her foot on the wobbly wire to clamber awkwardly over the fence. She landed safely on the far side and hurried forward. Three steps later she skidded to a halt.

A man leaned against the fence. A man with an I-own-the-world stance, a cowboy hat pushed back to reveal a tangle of dark blond curls, and a wide grin wreathing his face. She spared him a quick study. Faded brown shirt, tied at the neck like a frontier man of years ago. Creased denim trousers. He dressed like he’d very recently come off a working ranch.

Sally’s worry about Robbie collided with surprise at seeing a man in Mrs. Shaw’s yard. A sight, she added, that made her feel a pinch in the back of her heart. It had to be the way she’d hurried about searching for Robbie that made her lungs struggle for air.

Robbie. She’d almost forgotten she was looking for him. Her gaze lingered on the man two more seconds. Then she forced herself forward another step, following the direction the man looked.

Her heart headed for runaway speed.

Robbie stood within reach of the hooves of a big horse.

She choked back a warning. If anything startled the animal he could trample Robbie, which would certainly reinforce some of the things the boy had been told, like don’t go near a horse that doesn’t know you. Stay out of people’s yards unless invited—but she had no desire to see him learn in such a harsh fashion.

“That’s it. No sudden moves.”

She didn’t need to turn to know the deep voice came from the man leaning against the fence. He sounded every bit as relaxed as he looked. Her gaze darted back to him. Yes. Still angled back as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. He was a stranger to her. She knew nothing about him except what she saw, but it was enough to convince her it took a lot to upset his world.

She envied him his serenity.

“His name is Big Red. I just call him Red.”

“Can I touch him?” Robbie’s childish voice quivered with eagerness.

She shifted her attention back to him. Normally the boy didn’t ask permission and if he did, he paid no mind if it was refused, but he stood stock still waiting for the man to answer.

“Sure. He’s as tame as a house kitty. But speak to him first. Maybe tell him your name and say his, like you want to be friends.”

Sally watched in complete fascination as Robbie obeyed.

“Hi, Big Red. My name is Robbie Finley. Can I be your friend?” Slowly, cautiously, perhaps a bit fearfully, the boy reached out and touched the horse’s muzzle. The horse whinnied as if answering the boy.

Robbie laughed out loud.

The horse lifted his head, rolled back his lips and gave an unmistakable horse laugh.

Sally chuckled softly. It was all so calm. Sweet even. Not at all the way Robbie usually behaved.

“I suppose you’ve come for the boy?” The man peeled himself from the fence and headed in her direction.

Her amusement fled. Feeling exposed and guilty, she glanced about. She was trespassing, along with Robbie. But that didn’t bother her as much as the foolish reaction of her heart and lungs, her thoughts and skin—she’d never known her skin to tingle so that it made her cheeks burn. It was how the man grinned that filled her with a need to run and hide.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Linc McCoy.”

She nodded, unable to push a word to her brain let alone her mouth. The name had a familiar ring to it. Or was it only her stupid reaction making her think she’d heard it before?

“Are you Robbie’s mother?”

Words jolted from her mouth. “Oh, no.” A rush of them followed. “His mother is dead. I’m only the housekeeper. I take care of them. Every day. I make meals and—” Then a blank mind.

“Oh. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Pleasure? Yes, it was a word that fit this man. He seemed to embrace life with his smile, his relaxed stance. Even his dark eyes—brown as mink fur—said life was good. Fun. To be enjoyed. Ah. That would explain why Robbie had responded so well to him. Robbie didn’t have much use for rules or anything interfering with his idea of fun. She tried to think how unnatural it was in a grown man but instead she smiled back, as bemused as Robbie was with the horse. Suddenly she realized he grinned because she hadn’t given her name. When had she ever been so foolish? So slow thinking? “I’m Sally Morgan.”

“Looks like we’ll be neighbors.”

Another burst of words shot from her mouth. “Oh, no. I don’t live here. I only come in the daytime. I live out of town.” She waved in vaguely the direction of the Morgan home. “Not very far from town. Just a nice walk. I come to take care of the house and the children.”

How could she have forgotten her responsibility? “Come along, Robbie. Your father will be home shortly.”

Robbie stuck out his lip in an all-too-familiar gesture.

Linc McCoy strode to the boy’s side with a rolling gait. “Nice meeting you, Robbie. Red says so, too, don’t you, Boy?”

The horse whinnied and nodded his head.

“See. He agrees.”

Robbie giggled, but when he turned back to Sally his look overflowed with rebellion. He had the same coloring as his sister, brown hair, brown eyes. On Carol it was sweet. Not a word she would use to describe Robbie.

Mr. McCoy planted a hand on Robbie’s shoulder and turned him toward Sally. “You run along now. Perhaps you can visit again.”

“Only with permission,” Sally warned.

“That’s right. You have to ask before you come over. Wouldn’t want to worry Miss Morgan, would you?” He shifted his warm, steady gaze to Sally, and her breath stuck halfway up her windpipe. “It is Miss, isn’t it?”

She nodded. It was an innocent enough question. It was only her befuddled brain making her think it brimmed with interest. “Yes.” If she didn’t get back in a matter of minutes, not only would supper be ruined but she was bound to say something really and truly stupid.

Robbie didn’t protest when she grabbed his hand and hustled him to the fence. He scampered over, but she hesitated. There was no graceful way to climb over and land on her feet.

Mr. McCoy followed her. “Allow me.” He pushed the wire down with his foot and extended his hand to help her over.

What a predicament. Place her hand in his and most certainly stumble over her tongue, or climb over on her own and most certainly stumble to the ground.

She chose dignity over wisdom, placed her fingers in his cool firm palm and wobbled her way over the swaying wire. “Thank you,” she murmured, managing to make her thick tongue say the two syllables without tangling them.

Abe’s car pulled into the narrow driveway.

Oh, no. She couldn’t possibly make it back before he discovered her absence. “Run, Robbie.” She grabbed his hand and fled for the back door.

They burst into the house. Sally choked on the burnt smell. Abe held a smoking pot in his tea-towel-protected hand.

“I’m sorry,” Sally gasped and rushed to take the pot. The potatoes were ruined. She dumped the pot in the sink and quickly checked the rest of the meal. The green beans she’d shoved to the back of the stove looked a little limp but were edible. The meat simmered in now glutinous gravy, but it could be salvaged with the addition of hot water. “Everything will be ready in a minute or two. I’ll call Carol.” But when she turned to do so, Abe blocked her way.

“Where were you? I come home expecting supper and discover my daughter home alone, you and my son missing. Did you let him run away again?”

Her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. She sucked saliva to moisten it. Why did he blame her when Robbie was so difficult?

“I need someone who can handle my home and children.”

She nodded miserably. She had always considered herself efficient until she started work here. And her future depended on proving it. Everyone knew Abe Finley was in need of a new wife and mother for his children. He was a man with a good home and a government job that offered stability. Too bad he couldn’t smile with as much pleasure as Mr. McCoy did. She dismissed the thought before it had a chance to roost.

“It won’t happen again.” Not if she had to chain Robbie to the stove.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He turned on his heel. “Call me when you have things properly organized.”

She was organized. She did watch his children with due care. A thousand protests sprang to her mind but were quickly squelched as she turned back to the stove. Abe wasn’t unkind. He simply liked things done properly, neatly. It wasn’t too much to expect. Especially if she wanted him to offer marriage to make the arrangement permanent.

Too bad he couldn’t enjoy life as much as Linc McCoy appeared to.

Sally slammed a pot lid on the cupboard with more force than necessary. Why was she thinking about a stranger when her future lay in this house? If she proved herself acceptable—and she vowed she would. And who was Linc McCoy to be hanging about Mrs. Shaw’s place like he owned it?

She managed to present a passable meal, substituting slabs of bread for the potatoes. Her father had always said there was nothing quite as good as bread and gravy, but she could tell Abe didn’t share the opinion. However, he ate without complaint and pushed from the table a little later, having eaten enough to satisfy most any appetite.

“You did fine despite your mistakes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She met his gaze for a moment but as always felt awkward and darted her glance past him to the dirty dishes. “I’ll wash up before I head home.”

“I appreciate that.”

Yet somehow she wondered if he did, or if he expected it. Immediately she scolded herself for her wicked thoughts. Why was she suddenly so keen to criticize him? She had no right. She was here to do a job. With the unspoken agreement that it could lead to more.

A window stood over the sink and as she washed dishes, she glanced out frequently. She faced the back of the yard, toward Mrs. Shaw’s place. A gate near the barn swung back and Linc, astride Big Red, rode out. He sat on the horse like the two were one, his hat pulled low to shield his eyes from the slanting rays of the sun. Red raced down the alley between the two properties. Linc and Red flowed like fast-moving water down the fence line. At the corner, the horse reared.

Sally’s heart clamored up her throat. He was going to be thrown.

But instead, he let out a loud whoop that reached her through the open window. Then he laughed and rode back.

He saw her staring at him and waved his hat, grinning so widely and freely it tugged at some remote part of her heart. Oh, to feel so free and full of enjoyment.

With another whoop, he guided the horse past the barn and out of sight.

She didn’t know who he was, but he certainly seemed to think life was a lark. She forced her attention back to the stack of dirty dishes and hoped he would ride fast and far, out of her thoughts.

Linc galloped two miles down the road before he turned and allowed Red to keep a sedate pace on the way back to his grandparents’ farm—now Grandmama’s farm. Grandpa had died two years ago and ever since, Grandmama had been begging Linc to come back and help her.

He might never have come, except for the way things had worked out.

He settled back in the saddle and thought of the afternoon. Little Robbie had ventured into the corral, unaware Linc watched. The little boy wore nice clothes but an unhappy expression. He wondered what brought such a look to a child’s face until Sally said the boy’s mother had died. Linc understood how that felt. His own mother had died when he was but fifteen. Much older than Robbie, but still too young to be motherless. Mothers kept the family together, provided a moral compass. Without a mother … well, his family had certainly gone downhill. Not that he intended to dwell on it or try to find someone or something to pin the blame on.

His mood shifted and he grinned as he thought of Sally. He didn’t remember her from before, so the Morgans must have moved in after they left when he was sixteen. Otherwise he would have certainly remembered her. Even then he liked a good-looking woman. And Sally was certainly that, with wavy brown hair falling to her shoulders, capturing the sun’s rays like miser’s gold in each wave. Eyes the color of olive-green water, like he’d seen in the mountains to the west. Eyes that widened in surprise at seeing him, narrowed with caution before taking his hand. He rubbed his hand against the warm denim on his leg. He had only meant to be helpful, but her cool flesh against his had felt like a hot iron, searing her brand on his palm. He pressed his fist to his chest, feeling marked inside as well and ignored the urge to thump himself on the forehead at such silly ideas. He dropped his hand back to his leg.

Obviously a proper young woman.

Even if she didn’t know the McCoy reputation, she would soon enough hear it. Not that it mattered what people said. He’d tried to tell his pa and older brother so six years ago. Stay and prove the rumors false, he’d said. But he was only sixteen and they weren’t about to listen to him.

Now he was back and determined to do what he’d wanted back then—prove the McCoys were not sticky-fingered scoundrels.

And of course, care for his injured father.

Time to get back to the task.

Despite the duties calling him, he took his time unsaddling Red, then spent a leisurely thirty minutes grooming him and tidying up the barn before he headed for the house. He paused inside the door and breathed in the homey scents of yeasty bread and cinnamon. No matter where he’d gone in the past six years, he’d missed this place.

Grandmama sat in her favorite spot—a rocking chair by the window—doing needlework. “I ‘spect you’re missing your freedom.”

He understood what she didn’t say. That she feared he would leave again as soon as Pa—

Memories of a pretty face flashed through his brain. Even if he had planned to leave, getting to know Miss Sally better was enough to make him reconsider. “I never wanted to go in the first place.”

Grandmama glanced up then. “You should have stayed. You could stay now and run this place.”

He wondered if anyone else would hope he’d remain. “I had to go with Pa and Harris.” Though he couldn’t exactly say why. Guess the same loyalty that brought him back with Pa. “How is he?”

“Haven’t heard from him.”

Which meant he was sleeping. The painkiller the doctor provided was doing its job. Once it wore off, Pa would start hollering and cussing. Poor Grandmama—having to listen to Pa in one of his rages. Yet when Linc showed up on the doorstep dragging his injured father, she had calmly opened the door and welcomed them. And she’d cried when Linc said Harris had died in the mining accident that injured Pa.

“He was my oldest grandson. Despite his rebellious ways I have never stopped loving him and praying for him.” She’d hugged Linc long and hard. “Are you still walking in your faith?” she asked when her tears were spent.

He’d had his struggles, his ups and downs and times of doubt, but he was happy to be able to give her the answer she longed for. “I hold fast to my faith and God’s love.”

“I don’t suppose Harris or your Pa ever made that choice?”

“Not Pa. I don’t know about Harris. You know how he always tried so hard to please Pa.” Even if Harris believed in God, he might well hide it from Pa so as to not incur his displeasure.

“Then this is why God sent you home. To allow Jonah another chance to change his ways. My Mary would want her husband to become a Christian.”

Linc permitted himself a moment of aching emptiness at the mention of his mother’s name, then pulled his thoughts back to the present. “I’ll check on him.” He strode to the bedroom off the front room where Grandmama had made up a bed for Pa. Pa murmured in his sleep. Doc said the drugs made him restless, but for the moment he seemed comfortable. The bruises on his face had faded to yellow and the swelling had subsided. His leg was bound and splinted. Doc changed the dressings on it every day. But it was the injuries to his chest that had done the most damage. Doc said he couldn’t tell how badly Pa’s internal organs had been damaged. His chances were slim, Doc had been honest enough to say. “About all we can do is keep him comfortable.”

Which meant giving him pain medication.

Linc shook the bottle of medicine. It was almost empty. As were his pockets. It had taken a whack out of his savings to bury Harris and the rest to get himself, Red and his father home. He’d have to find himself some sort of work in order to keep the bottle full.

Satisfied his Pa didn’t need anything for the moment, he returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, turning his chair to face Grandmama.

“I met a young lady today. Sally Morgan. Do you know her?”

Grandmama carefully put away the yarn and folded the piece of fabric she worked on before setting it on the little table beside her chair. “I know the Morgans. Mr. Morgan died a few years back. The two older girls have married recently. Louisa, the eldest, married a widower with a little girl. They adopted one of the orphan girls before they headed west where he has a ranch. Madge and her husband now own the Cotton farm. They’re a hard-working young couple.”

“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t so interested in the family as in Sally.

“Miss Sally is working for our neighbor, Abe Finley.”

He knew that, too.

“He’s a widower with two young children.”

“I met Robbie. He came to visit me and my horse.”

“Young Robbie has been a bit of a …” She hesitated. “A concern since his mother died.”

Linc smiled. “You couldn’t come right out and say he’s a defiant child?” He’d seen the way he’d glowered at Sally when she said he had to go home.

Grandmama sniffed. “I don’t believe in speaking ill of others.”

“Too bad others don’t share your view.” If they did, Linc and his father and brother wouldn’t have felt they had to leave town six years ago. And maybe Harris would still be alive. He missed his brother. A blast of sorrow hit Linc and he looked out the window, waiting for it to pass.

He saw the corrals out the window and remembered he was asking about Sally. “So what do you know about Miss Sally?”

Grandmama gave him her best warning expression. “Everyone expects she and Abe will decide to marry. So you stay away from her, you hear?”

“This understanding that everyone has, is it official?”

Grandmama’s eyes narrowed. “There’s been no announcement, if that’s what you mean. But you listen to me, Lincoln McCoy—”

Uh-oh. When she used his full name, he knew she was deadly serious.

“Abe Finley is a fine match for Sally. Don’t you go interfering with it.”

And he wasn’t suitable? Is that what she meant?

“You hear me?”

Linc sighed. He wouldn’t argue with her. After all, she had given shelter to Pa and she didn’t even like him much. Just as she’d welcomed the four of them when they returned eight years ago, when Ma was filled with cancer and dying. And perhaps she was right. He was a McCoy, after all, and even if he convinced everyone they hadn’t stolen the things they’d been accused of, he would still be a McCoy—and who were they but wanderers? Pa never stayed long in one place. In fact, come to think of it, the two years they’d spent on this farm made the longest he could remember being in one place.

Grandmama nudged his leg. “You hear me?”

“I hear ya.” What he heard was there was no formal agreement between Sally and Abe.

Chapter Two

Sally pulled a tray of cookies from the familiar oven of home and scooped them to a rack to cool. Ginger cookies perfectly rounded, nicely browned with a sprinkling of sugar. She was a good cook. Yet she experienced so many failures at the Finley place. She must be trying too hard. She sucked in spicy air and pushed her frustration to the bottom of her stomach. She needed to remember she was a child of God, and as such had His approval. “I’ll take these over to the Johanssons as soon as they cool,” she said to her mother. “I’m sorry to hear the mother is still not feeling well.” Mrs. Johansson hadn’t regained her strength after the birth of daughter number five. “The children will appreciate fresh cookies.”

“How did your day go at the Finleys’?” Mother glanced up from sewing a button on a sweater.

Sally didn’t want to trouble her mother with tales of her struggles with Robbie and news of a ruined meal. “There was a man at Mrs. Shaw’s.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“I saw him out in the corrals. He showed Robbie his horse. Big Red, he’s called.”

Mother studied her with watchful eyes.

Fearing her expression would reveal more than she wanted, Sally shaped more cookies.

“So you met this man?”

Sally nodded. “When I went to bring Robbie back. His name is Linc McCoy. I thought I’d heard the name before but can’t place it.”

“The McCoys are back?” Mother sounded as if a murderer had escaped into their presence.

“I only saw the one. Are there more?”

Mother pushed to her feet and strode to the window. “I don’t suppose you know the story. It was fresh when we first moved but died down shortly after.”

Sally stared at her mother’s back. “What did they do?”

Mother faced her and sighed. “Mrs. Ogilvy kept some expensive jewelry in her home.”

Sally waited for more. Everyone knew Mrs. Ogilvy to be the richest lady in town. She lived in a big house at the opposite end of the street from where Mr. Finley lived. She lived alone except for a woman who came in to help care for the house. Mrs. Ogilvy had once ruled Golden Prairie society but had been ill for the past couple years. She was on the mend now and again dominating social activities. Why, at Christmas she’d instigated a town party for everyone, including hobos from their shelter down by the tracks. Sally had even heard Mrs. Ogilvy allowed some of them to live in the old coach house she no longer used. Sally liked the woman who used her worldly goods to help others.

Mother sighed and continued with her story. “Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels went missing. It was never proven, but all the evidence pointed toward the McCoys. They were known as the kind of people who—” Mother stopped. “I don’t like to speak ill of others, but from what I understand they had sticky fingers.”

“The McCoys?” This news didn’t fit with the relaxed, smiling man she’d met. “How many were there?”

“A father and two sons—the younger several years younger than the older.”

“What do they have to do with Mrs. Shaw?”

“Mrs. McCoy was Mrs. Shaw’s daughter. Her only child. She came home to die of cancer.” Mother shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine how she must feel to lose her daughter, then have her grandsons and son-in-law branded criminals.”

“But you said they were never convicted.”

“No, they weren’t, but people believed it was only because of poor police work. They left town to avoid the censure of the community.”

Sally pulled out another tray of baked cookies and put them to cool, then slipped a tray of unbaked ones into the oven, welcoming the chance to contemplate all her mother said.

“You say you met Linc McCoy? I’m not certain but I think he was the youngest son. From what I recall, about fifteen or sixteen when they left town.”

“They might be innocent. You know what gossip is like.”

Mother crossed to Sally’s side. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I don’t want you feeling sorry for this man. It would not serve your purpose to get involved with him. Whether or not they’ve stolen the jewels, their name carries trouble.”

Sally met her mother’s eyes without flinching. She understood what Mother meant. People would likely feel the same way about the McCoys now as they had back then. She shifted her gaze. The lowering sun shone through the west window, highlighting the ever present dust in the air. Through the window, she studied the struggling garden. “I need to take water to the garden.” She’d saved the dishwashing water. “I’ll feed the chickens as soon as I finish the cookies.”

Mother returned to her sewing, knowing they were in agreement. Sally would do nothing to besmirch her reputation or put her security at risk. She’d avoid Linc McCoy, which shouldn’t be hard.

Mother paused. “I wonder what brought them back.”

Sally wondered if all of them had returned. She’d seen only Linc—the man who seemed to think life was for enjoyment.

Well, so did she, only she liked to enjoy it on her terms. She recalled one of her memory verses. A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.

She could well say, rather than Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels.

She wanted nothing more to do with Linc McCoy and the shady doings associated with his family.

Sally slipped into the Finley kitchen and began breakfast preparations. Overhead, she heard the family rising. They would soon descend—Carol ready for school, Abe dressed and groomed for his job and Robbie with his eyes silently challenging her.

She sighed. She and Robbie would become friends sooner or later. She just wished it would be sooner.

A short while later, the children descended, Abe’s hand firmly on Robbie’s stubborn shoulder. Carol was dressed for school, not a seam out of place. From the beginning she insisted she could manage her hair on her own and did a fine job. Robbie wore wrinkled overalls with threadbare knees. If she didn’t miss her guess, his shirt was buttoned crookedly, but she would ignore it unless Abe insisted it be corrected. Abe was even neater than Carol, as if he’d pressed his suit while on his body so not a crease was out of place. Freshly shaven, smelling of bay rum with his dark brown hair brushed back. One thing about Abe: he knew how to make the most of his looks, and there was no denying he was a good-looking man and well respected—a good Christian, a devout churchgoer, a man of honor.

Sally recited his attributes as she dished up porridge and poured Abe a cup of coffee. She hated the stuff, preferring a pot of well-steeped tea, but had learned to make a brew to satisfy his requirements. She’d eaten with Mother before leaving home but sat with the family and drank tea as they ate.

Abe left as soon as he finished. He spared them all a hurried goodbye.

Sally found it easier to smile once he’d gone, even though she still found his rushed exits strange. Her father had hugged each of the girls and kissed Mother when he left the house. He always had a kind word for them. She’d told herself several times it wasn’t fair to any man to compare him to Father, and yet she wished Abe would at least read a chapter from the Bible and pray with the children before he left for the day.

At first, she’d debated with herself as to whether she should take on the responsibility. The deciding factor had been that she should begin as she expected to go on, and if she were to become a permanent part of this home, Bible reading and prayer were what she wanted.

But rather than read from the family Bible, she brought a series of Bible stories on cards with pictures on one side and text on the other that she’d collected in her Sunday school days. She chose the next in the stack to read.

Carol listened intently. Robbie fidgeted, wanting to leave but knowing Sally would insist he stay. They’d fought that battle the first day and Sally had won, knowing she must.

She made her prayer short, asking for the children and their father to be safe. In her heart, she prayed she could live up to expectations and not let foolish thoughts distract her. And why the thought shaped into a grinning man in a cowboy hat, she wouldn’t let herself consider.

Carol departed a short time later then Sally turned to Robbie. “Play out back where I can see you.”

She washed dishes and put together soup for dinner when both Abe and Carol would come home. Every few minutes she glanced out the window to check on Robbie. He’d dug a hole in the end of the garden and used the dirt to construct a barrier, no doubt hoping to build a place where he could hide from his troublesome world.

Sally grinned. After Father died she’d done the same, only she’d had the loft of the barn where she used loose hay to encircle a little patch where she took her books and an old school notebook, in which she wrote copious amounts of purple prose full of emotionally charged words like hopelessness, emptiness and loneliness. She had felt safe and secure in that little place.

Forbidden, her gaze sought the area across the alley. Quickly, telling herself she was only allowing her eyes a chance to look into the distance, she glanced to the corrals, past them to the bit of yard within her view. Maybe he had left again. No reason such a thought should make her sad. She snorted as several of the words she’d used in her loft hiding place resurrected.

The soup simmered on the stove. She mixed up baking powder biscuits to go with it.

Another glance out the window showed the Shaw yard still empty and Robbie struggling to build his dirt walls higher. The soil was so dry it sifted into a slack pile.

Remembering her own efforts to create a safe place, she ached for the little boy. Hoping he wouldn’t be angry at her interruption, she hurried outside. “I can show you how to build higher walls if you like.”

He didn’t move for a full three seconds.

She knew he warred with a desire to dismiss her and frustration over dealing with the piles of dirt.

“How?” He made certain to sound as if he was doing her a favor.

“I saw some scraps of lumber in the shed. I think you could use them to provide support. Come. I’ll show you.”

He followed her to the shed and allowed her to fill his arms with bits of lumber.

Back in the garden, she drove the thinner pieces into the ground as uprights and showed him how to place the wider pieces against them and hold them in place with the dirt. As they worked, she told him about the place she’d made in the loft.

She heard a horse trot down the alley and kept her gaze averted to the count of five before she glanced up. Linc on Big Red rode toward the center of town.

He nodded at them, grinning. “Playing in the dirt, I see.”

She tossed her hair out of her eyes. “We’re building.”

“What are you building?”

“I’m not sure. Robbie, what are we building?”

“A fort.” He didn’t pause from scooping dirt against the walls.

Linc looked from Robbie to Sally, paused a moment then returned to Robbie. “What sort of fort?”

“To keep out the bad guys.”

For a moment Linc didn’t move, didn’t say anything and his grin seemed narrower. “Guess we all need a safe place.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Perhaps I’ll see you later.”

Sally waited until he rode out of sight then pushed to her feet. “I have to check on dinner. Call me if you need any help.”

Robbie kept shoveling dirt.

We all need a safe place. Exactly her sentiments. She paused outside the door and studied the house. A good solid house. A safe place? She glanced over her shoulder. Safer than a man on horseback who dropped in from who-knows-where and would likely drop back out as quickly and silently.

She hurried indoors and put the biscuits in the oven to bake.

The meal was ready when Abe stepped into the house. The table was set neatly. She’d put the soup in a pretty tureen in the middle of the table and arranged the biscuits on a nice platter. She’d even found a glass dish for the butter.

Robbie had come in without arguing. He’d dusted his clothes and washed his face and hands. Hardly any evidence remained of his morning spent playing in the dirt.

Sally was satisfied the meal looked as good as it smelled. Everything was done to perfection. As she’d taken care of the many details of creating this meal, she’d taken care of one other thing—sorting out her thoughts. She needed a safe place and this was it. Nothing could be allowed to take that away from her. Especially not a man on a horse.

They all took their places and without any warning, Abe bowed and said grace.

It still startled Sally the way he did it. Father had always said, “Let us pray.” And waited for them all to fold their hands and bow their heads.

Abe did things differently. Nothing wrong with that.

He ate in silence for a few minutes, then, as he broke open another biscuit and drenched it in butter and jam, he said, “I hired a man to work on the barn. I want it converted to a proper garage. The yard could do with some cleaning up, too, so I gave him instructions to fix the fence out back, prune the apple trees and generally take care of the chores.”

“I see.” Abe was one of a handful of people who could afford to pay someone to do repair work for them.

“I don’t have time to show him around so perhaps you would do so. Give him access to the tools in the shed. Make him feel welcome. Perhaps offer him coffee in the middle of the afternoon. That sort of thing.”

“Will he be taking meals with us?”

“I shouldn’t think so. He lives close by.”

She quickly did a mental inventory on the neighbors, wondering which one had been so favored by Abe.

“I think he’s down on his luck. As a Christian man I feel it my duty to give him a helping hand.”

That tidbit didn’t help her. Most of the families in town were having trouble making ends meet.

He pushed back and reached for his hat. “He said he’d come over after lunch. It would please me if you helped him in any way you can.”

Sally waited, expecting a name, but Abe headed for the door. “Wait. You didn’t say who was coming.”

“Oh, didn’t I? Sorry. It’s Linc McCoy. He’s staying at his grandmother’s just next door.” He pointed toward the farm.

Sally’s heart quivered. Linc was coming here to work? Abe expected her to help him? The man did strange things to her equilibrium. Things she didn’t like or welcome.

Abe must have read her hesitation. “There have been cruel rumors about him in the past. This morning I saw Linc in the store asking after a job and overheard some not-so-kind-hearted women saying no one in town would hire the likes of him. Not a very Christian attitude in my opinion. I believe our church should do what it can to dispel such unkindness. As a deacon I intend to take the lead. I hope I have your support.”

“Of course.” Thankfully her voice didn’t reveal her confusion. “It’s very noble of you to give this man a chance.”

Her praise brought a pleased smile to Abe’s lips.

Sally vowed she would do what she could to help Abe’s cause.

Linc considered this job an answer to prayer—an opportunity to earn money to buy more medicine for Pa, but even more, the chance to prove a McCoy could be trusted. Grandmama seemed troubled by the job offer and warned Linc that Sally’s association with him, even indirectly, could harm her reputation. He understood her warning and was prepared to stay as far away from Sally as the large yard allowed. But Abe had told him to go to the house for instructions on where to find tools.

He first toured the yard, noting all the things needing attention. Abe wanted the barn converted to a garage for his car. Linc went inside to study what it needed.

“What are you doing here?” Robbie asked from the dark interior.

“Looking.”

“At what?”

“The barn.”

“You never seen a barn before?”

“Oh, yeah. Lots of them. I could tell you all sorts of stories about barns.”

“Nothing special about barns.”

“Nope. Guess not. Seems a shame to take the stalls out though.”

Robbie emerged from the shadows. “Why you going to do that?”

“So your father can park his car in here.”

Robbie made a rumbling noise with his lips. “I’d sooner have a horse.”

“Me, too, little guy.”

They stood side by side in shared sorrow at the way horses were being replaced with automobiles and tractors.

Linc moved first. “I need to ask Miss Sally to show me the tools. Want to come along?”

“Yep.”

Linc wasn’t sure who needed the other the most. He, to keep his thoughts in order when he spoke to Sally, or Robbie, who seemed to crave attention, but together they marched to the back door. Robbie stood by his side as Linc knocked.

Sally opened the door. “Mr. Finley said to expect you. He said I should show you what needs doing.”

Linc backed up two steps. Robbie followed suit, though not likely for the same reason. Linc did it to gain a safety zone. Even so, he felt her in every muscle. She smelled like home cooking and fresh laundry, the most appealing scent he’d ever experienced.

She slipped through the doorway. “I’ll show you around.”

I’ve already looked about. The words were in his brain but refused to budge. Instead he nodded, and he and Robbie fell in at her side.

She led him to the back corner of the yard. “Mr. Finley said the crab apple trees should be pruned.”

Robbie climbed one of the trees and sat in a fork, pretending he had a spyglass as he looked out across the yard.

Linc and Sally stood under the scraggly trees that were shedding the last of their blossoms and trying to bud, finding it difficult because of the lack of moisture. He examined the three trees. “Lots of dead branches that need to come out.”

She nodded. “I figure they must be tough as an old cowhide to survive the drought and wind and grasshoppers. Especially the grasshoppers. The little pests have gnawed most of the trees to death around here.”

“Then I guess they deserve lots of care.”

He turned from examining the branches. She stood under a flowering bough. Their gazes collided. Her eyes were wide and watchful. Wary even. No doubt she had heard about the McCoys by now. “You know I’m Beatrice Shaw’s grandson?”

She nodded. “My mother told me.”

“Did she tell you about the McCoys?”

Sally’s gaze never faltered. “She said your mother had died and you have a father and older brother.”

“My brother is dead, too. In a mining accident.”

“I’m sorry.” She brushed his arm with her cool fingers then jerked back, as if she was also aware of the tension between them.

“Pa was injured, too. That’s why I’m here. To let him rest and recover.” He clung to the hope Pa would get better.

“How is he?”

“Not good.”

“Again, I’m sorry. If there is anything I can do to help….”

He stood stock-still, letting her concern filter through him. Not many around here knew of the accident. No reason to hide the fact but no reason to tell it either. He didn’t want or expect sympathy—just a fair chance to prove the McCoys were an okay bunch. Yet the way her eyes filled with regret and concern made him realize how much he wanted to share his sorrow.

He leaned against a tree. “I was working on a ranch when I got word about the accident. Harris—that’s my brother—was killed outright. Pa was in terrible shape. I made arrangements to bury Harris.” He told her details of the funeral. “It was ten days before Pa was able to travel. The doctor out there said to take him home so he could die in his own surroundings. Grandmama’s place is the only home we’ve ever had so I brought him here.”

She listened to his whole story without uttering a word, but murmuring comforting sounds.

He fell silent, feeling a hundred pounds lighter having told her. Suddenly he jerked upright. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you the story of my life.”

She laughed softly. “I expect there’s more to your life than that and I didn’t mind. Helps me understand.”

He didn’t ask what it helped her understand, and she didn’t explain. Perhaps they both knew the answer without speaking it—his tale helped her understand him, just as sharing it helped him understand how kind and sympathetic she was. He had never before felt so comfortable with another human. Sure, he had unburdened himself to the occasional horse—Red heard lots of his woes—but never before to another person, and most certainly not to a woman.

Grandmama warned him she was a genuinely gentle person. Now he understood what she meant.

Guilt flared through his blood, searing his nerve endings. He glanced over his shoulder as if Grandmama watched.

Chapter Three

“Abe said you would show me where the tools are.”

Linc’s words jerked Sally back to her responsibilities. “Of course.” She didn’t offer to show him the barn but marched toward the shed at the back of the yard. She paused as they reached the garden. Robbie followed at their heels and veered toward the hole he’d been digging this morning.

She watched him and spoke her thoughts. “I’d like to plant a garden.”

“I’ll dig the ground for you.”

She thought of arguing. Would she look as if she couldn’t manage? On the other hand, his help would certainly make the work go faster. Still undecided about how she should handle his offer, she opened the door and stepped aside as he entered. But two feet of distance did not protect her from acute awareness of the warmth of his body as he passed, nor the scent of leather and freshly cut hay. And something more she could not identify, nor did she intend to try. But whatever it was made her feel as if a weight pressed against her chest, making her lungs reluctant to work.

He took his time looking about, then emerged with a round-nosed shovel and a rake.

She had thought long and hard about planting a garden. Well, actually she’d only thought of it this morning and decided growing a garden would prove to Abe she was efficient and capable. Her plan had been to dig the soil on her own, but suddenly accepting Linc’s offer to help seemed the wisest thing in the world. It would enable her to get the garden in sooner, which was good.

When he told her about his father and brother, she sensed a man who valued his family above people’s opinions. She respected him for that.

He strode to the edge of the garden and began turning over the soil.

Robbie stood before the hole he’d dug. “You can’t touch my fort.” His expression dared anyone to do so. Sally knew he would fly into a rage if they did.

Linc leaned on the shovel, his expression serious, and pushed his hat back to reveal a white forehead. Brown dirt dusted the rest of his face, and a thin layer wrapped about his pant.

Sally smiled gently. The man could look as handsome in work-soiled clothes as in a polished and pressed suit.

He nodded toward Robbie. “I respect a man who defends his property.”

Robbie’s expression revealed confusion. “What’s that mean?”

Linc scratched his hairline and seemed to consider his answer with due seriousness. “It means I think it’s a good thing you want to protect what you’ve made.”

“It is?” Robbie suddenly stood up straighter. “I sure ’nough plan to do that.” He picked up a stick and brandished it like a weapon.

Linc held up a hand. “Now hang on a minute. Did I threaten your fort? Did I say I was going to mow it down? No. I listened to your words. No need to get physical when your words work.”

Robbie dropped his weapon.

Linc returned to digging, his back muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his faded brown shirt.

Sally stared. The McCoys had a reputation for taking things. What no one had said, perhaps had not noticed, was this McCoy had a way of giving things. He’d given Robbie the assurance his words could convey his desires. He’d given Sally a feeling of safety.

Now why had she thought such a foolish thing?

She spun around and stared at the house, as if it provided the answer to her question. Just because Linc knew what to say to Robbie to defuse his anger did not mean he offered safety. Safety meant a house. Assurance of staying in one place. Steady employment. Enough to eat.

Her heart burned within her at a rush of other unnamed, unidentifiable things that safety and security meant. She grabbed the rake and smoothed the garden soil behind Linc.

He turned. “I can do that.” His voice rang with amusement and so much more.

She stopped and considered him. Did he think she needed protecting?

No one had thought so since Father died, and a lump lodged in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. “Is there something wrong with the way I’m doing it?” Confusion made her words sharp.

He studied her, a grin slowly wreathing his face. “Can’t say as I ever considered there might be a right or wrong way to rake.” He leaned on the shovel and contemplated the idea. “I suppose if you had the tines upward. Or tried to use the handle—”

Her tension disappeared and she laughed. “You’re teasing.”

“Seems like a good idea if it makes you laugh. You should laugh more often, don’t you think?” Without waiting for her to say anything, he turned back to digging.

She stared at his back. Didn’t she laugh often enough? Or was he saying he liked hearing the sound of her amusement? Perhaps liked making her happy? As she bent to resume raking, she tried to think how she felt about the idea. No one else seemed to care if she laughed or enjoyed life. Abe certainly didn’t. Seems all he cared about was if she kept his life orderly.

There she was again, comparing Abe to another. It didn’t escape her troubled thoughts that this time it wasn’t her father but a man hired to do chores.

She banged a clump of dirt with the rake, taking out her annoyance on the soil. She knew what she wanted and how to get it. And it wasn’t by comparing poor, unsuspecting Abe to every man she knew or met.

Linc worked steadily up the length of the garden, turning over clumps of dry hard dirt. She followed, smoothing the soil for planting. Without rain she would have to baby the plants along with rationed bits of water, the same as she did at home.

Neither spoke as they worked. Crows flapped overhead, cawing. The wind sighed through the grass and moaned around the buildings. Robbie yelled some sort of challenge to an unseen intruder. Sally paused to watch the boy.

Linc had stopped, too, and grinned at Robbie’s play. Then turned his smile toward Sally, capturing her in a shiny moment.

The amusement they shared made her eyes watery, and she turned away. The feeling was more than amusement but she refused to acknowledge it. She riveted her attention to Robbie.

He leaped out of his dirt fort and charged at the invisible foe, brandishing the same stick he had waved at Linc. He turned, saw them watching and lowered his weapon. Then determination filled his eyes and he marched toward Sally, his stick held like a sword. “You are my captive. I will take you to my fort. You will stay with me until someone rescues you.” He shot Linc a narrow-eyed look.

Sally backed away, uncertain how to respond.

Linc straightened and grew serious. “Never fear, fair maiden. I will rescue you from your wild captor.”

She giggled and allowed Robbie to shepherd her into his fort. The hole might be the right size for a five-year-old but barely accommodated her legs, so she stood awkwardly while Robbie guarded her from the solid ground of the garden. They were on eye level with each other, close enough that she saw the mixture of excitement and worry in his eyes. She understood how badly he wanted to play, yet couldn’t believe any adult would play with him. When had she ever seen Abe play with the boy? Never. When did she play with him? Almost never. Sure, she read to him. Gave him crayons and coloring books. Even helped him do jigsaw puzzles, but she had never romped with him. Why not? Father had played with her and her sisters. She could remember games of tag and hide-and-seek. He’d even taught them to play ball and croquet.

Her thoughts stalled as Linc crouched low and worked his way cautiously to the edge of the garden. “Someone has captured my fair maiden,” he murmured. “I must rescue her before she is harmed.”

Robbie pressed a hand to his mouth to silence his excitement and wriggled with delight.

Linc pretended to search behind a clump of grass. “Where can they have taken her?” Keeping low, he ran to the shed and opened the door. “Maybe they will capture me, too. I should hide.” He darted inside and pulled the door shut.

Silence followed his disappearance.

Robbie stood stock-still, seemed to consider his next move then yelled out in his fiercest voice. “Mister, I got your lady over here.”

The door cracked open. Linc peeked out, and seemed surprised to see Robbie and Sally. “The fair maiden. I will come to her rescue.” He emerged, brandishing a length of wood matching Robbie’s. He planted one hand on his hip and danced forward in some kind of fancy step while waving his wooden sword. “I challenge you to a duel. Come out and face me like a man.”

Sally chuckled softly, but her enjoyment ran much deeper than amusement. Linc made a mighty impressive swashbuckler.

Robbie, holding his sword high, stepped forward, meeting Linc at the edge of the garden. Crack. Whack. The swords crashed against each other.

Sally sat on the edge of the hole, grinning at the pair. One thing about Linc—he seemed to know how to have fun. He also knew how to talk to Robbie in such a way as to bring out the best in him. Guess she’d have to give him credit for being loyal to his family, as well. It couldn’t have been easy to bring his father back to a place where he knew he’d face censure. But he’d returned so his father could recover … die … in comfort. Her eyes stung with unshed tears.

Linc fell to the ground, and Sally jolted to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

He pressed his hands to his chest. “Mortally wounded, fair maiden. Mortally wounded.”

Instinct brought her out of the hole, but Robbie waved his sword and ordered her back. “You must stay until you are rescued.”

She shook her head as she realized it was all play acting and sat down again on the edge of the dirt hole.

Linc groaned, rolled on his side and heaved a deep sigh. Then he was quiet. So quiet and still that Robbie tiptoed over. Linc waited until he bent over him to check if he was okay, then grabbed Robbie’s sword and held it to the boy’s chest. “You are my captive. Set the fair maiden free or prepare to die.”

Robbie backed toward the dirt fort. He signaled Sally. “You have been rescued. Go and never bother me again.”

Linc reached out and helped Sally from the hole in the ground. He pulled her to his side.

All pretend, she assured herself. Her silly feelings of being protected were not real.

Linc laid Robbie’s wooden sword on the ground and edged away, keeping Sally pressed close behind him. “We will meet again, you scoundrel. Next time you won’t be so lucky.” He turned, grabbed Sally’s hand and raced around the shed and out of sight to lean against the warm, rough wall. He laughed, long and hard.

Sally giggled, as delighted with his merriment as she was by his sense of play.

Finally he sobered enough to speak. “Harris and I used to play war games.”

“Who was your fair maiden?”

“Usually some poor unsuspecting neighbor girl.” He laughed again. “It got so the girls ran indoors when we approached.”

She chuckled, enjoying the mental picture of girls running away screaming. Suddenly her amusement died. She doubted the girls ran from him still. Not that it mattered to her if they did or not.

Robbie tiptoed around the edge of the building. “What are you doing?”

“Is it safe to go back to digging the garden?” Linc asked.

Sally sprang into action. “I have to get to work. No more play.” She hurried back to her raking. What had she been thinking? She had responsibilities.

Behind her Linc spoke to Robbie. “She didn’t mean it. There will always be time to play.”

Sally snorted. Showed what he knew. “Play is for children.”

“Do you really mean that?” Linc picked up the shovel and resumed digging.

“I guess there is a time and place for play. And people who can take the time.” She spoke the words firmly, as much to convince herself as him.

“I gather you don’t count yourself one of them.”

“Not when I have responsibilities.”

He worked steadily. “There will always be responsibilities.”

“True.”

He reached the end of digging and stopped to wipe his brow on his shirt sleeve. “So you don’t play? Grandmama says you have two sisters. Surely you played with them.”

“I used to. When I was young and carefree.” Why did she feel she had to defend herself? She expected him to ask why she wasn’t any longer carefree, but instead he asked, “What games did you and your sisters play?”

“Dress up. Plays. Tea parties.” She didn’t want to mention the games she’d played with Father.

Linc placed the stake in one end of the garden and stretched a length of twine to the far end, marking a row for Sally. As he worked, he was acutely aware of her studying his question, though her fingers sorted through a small tin bucket full of seed packets.

She’d been a good sport joining in Robbie’s game. The boy seemed almost afraid to play. Or rather, to engage adults in his play.

Linc tried to remember a time his father had played with him, but couldn’t. Harris, five years older, had been the one who roughhoused with Linc, threw a ball endlessly while he learned how to connect with the bat, and involved him in long complicated games of cops and robbers.

“My father died almost five years ago,” Sally finally said. “Just before the crash. Mother says it was a mercy. That it would have broken his heart to see how his family had to struggle.”

Linc sat back on his heels and watched her. She had forgotten about the pail of seeds and stared into the past. Her eyes darkened to a deep pine color. A splotch of dirt on her cheek made him want to reach out and brush it away, but he didn’t want to distract her. He guessed she would stop talking if he did, and he longed to hear who she was, who she had been.

A shudder raced across her shoulders. “I can’t believe how things have changed.”

He didn’t know if she meant from her father’s passing or the depression that followed the stock market crash. Likely both. “It’s been tough.” It was both a question and a statement. So many unemployed men, many of them in relief camps in the north. The idea behind the camps was to give the unemployed single men a place to live, food to eat and meaningful work to do. Linc thought the reason was more likely a way to get the desperate-looking men out of the way so people weren’t reminded of the suffering of others. He had seen women with pinched faces, aching from hunger and something far deeper—a pain exceeding all else—as they helplessly listened to their children cry for food. The drought and grasshopper plague took what little was left after the stockmarket crash. Things were bad all over, but he wanted to know the specifics of how her life had changed. He wanted to know how she’d survived.

“The whole world—my whole world—went from safe to shattered in a matter of days.”

“Losing a parent can do that to you.”

She blinked, and her gaze returned to the present. Her eyes, holding a mixture of sorrow and sympathy, connected with his. “I guess you understand.”

Something in the way she said it, as if finding for the first time someone who truly understood her feelings, made him ache to touch her in a physical way, to offer comfort. And keep her safe. Only the distance between them stopped him from opening his arms. “Your sisters would, too.”

She averted her gaze, but not before he caught a glimpse of regret. “Of course they do, but they coped in their own way. Madge, she’s a year older than me, did her best to take Father’s place. She guided Mother in making decisions about the farm, and because of her efforts our house is safe and secure.” She brought her gaze back to his and smiled, as if to prove everything was well in her world. “Louisa is two years older and spent so much of her time sick and forced to rest that she lived in her books. Father’s death hit her hard.” This time she seemed to expect the shudder and stiffened to contain it to a mere shiver. She brightened.

He discovered he’d been holding his breath and released it with a whoosh.

“I didn’t mean to get all sentimental. I mentioned my father because you asked about games. He taught us to play softball.”

“Ball, hmm.” He pushed his hat far back on his head and stared away into the distance, imagining a father and three little girls laughing and giggling. “Did you like the game? Were you good at it?” His question seemed to surprise her.

“I tried really hard because I wanted to please my father, but I preferred a game of tag. Father knew a hundred different ways to play the game—frozen tag, stone tag, shadow tag—” She giggled nervously. “I guess that’s more information than you expected.”

It wasn’t. In fact, he wanted more details. “Why did you like tag better than ball?”

She shuffled through the seeds and waited a moment to answer. “Because—” Her voice had grown soft, almost a whisper. “It’s just for fun. No one can be disappointed because you couldn’t hit the ball.” She again turned to the bucket of seeds. “Now I must get this garden planted. And I’ve kept you from your work long enough.”

Her words hung in his ears. She seemed to care so much what her father thought. But then, didn’t everyone? His father made it clear he thought Linc didn’t measure up to Harris. Although he didn’t want to be the sort of man his brother had been—rowdy and hard living, caring little for laws or who got hurt in his schemes—Linc did wish his father viewed him as more than a mother’s boy. Too soft for real life. Of course, his father’s version of real life hadn’t exactly worked out well for either him or Harris.

But Sally was right. Work called. He’d promised a day’s work for a day’s pay, and he intended to provide it. He went into the shed, found a ladder and saw and carried them out. Sally bent over a row, dropping seeds into a little trench. He paused, thoughts buzzing in his head like flies disturbed from a sunny windowsill. Noisy but nameless. His heart strained with wanting to say something to her that would—what? He could offer nothing. She came from a good family, and he? He was a McCoy.

Until today it hadn’t mattered so much.

He hurried across to the struggling crab apple trees. Every step emphasized the truth. He was here to take care of his injured father. She had aspirations to marry Abe Finley.

But as he tackled his job, he stole glances at her. She worked steadily, seeming unmindful of the searing sun and the endless wind whipping dirt into her face as she bent over the soil. At that moment the wind caught the branch he had cut off and practically tore him from his perch on the ladder. He struggled to keep his balance, and had to drop the branch. It lodged in the heart of the tree. He jerked to free it, and managed to kick the ladder out from under him. He clung to a solid branch with his feet dangling. The branch cracked ominously, and he stopped trying to pull himself upward.

How inglorious. Hanging like a kitten gone too far out on a limb. “Sally. Could you give me a hand?”

He couldn’t turn to see her, but he knew the second she realized his predicament.

She gasped. “Oh, my word. Hang on. I’m on my way.”

“Hang on?” he sputtered. “I fully intend to.”

She giggled a little as she trotted across the yard. The ladder was heavy and awkward and she struggled to place it in a spot that would enable him to use it. “Try that.”

He swung his feet, found the rungs and eased his weight to them. His body angled awkwardly between his hands and his feet. The limb cracked as he shifted. “Step back in case this breaks.”

“Hurry up and get down.”

He had to let go of the relative safety of the branch and fling himself toward the ladder. He sucked in air, tensed his muscle and made his move. The ladder shuddered but stayed in place. He looked down. Sally steadied it. His heart clawed up his throat. If the branch had broken … if he’d fallen … “I told you to step back.” He sounded angry.

She blinked and looked confused, as if trying to decide if she should obey, then her eyes cleared. “I will once your feet are on the ground.”

He caught two rungs on the ladder on his descent. His feet barely touched the ground before he swung around to face her and planted his hands on her shoulders. He wanted to shake her hard but resisted and gave her only a little twitch. “You could have been hurt if that branch gave way or if I fell. Next time listen to me when I tell you to get out of the way.”

Suddenly, as if obeying his words, she retreated a step, leaving him to let his hands fall to his side.

“If you had fallen and hurt yourself, how would I explain to Abe—Mr. Finley? He gave me instructions to see you had what you needed and offer you coffee. You do drink coffee, don’t you?” Her eyes alternated between worry and interest in his reply.

“Yes, I like coffee just fine.” His anger fled, replaced by something he had no name for. The dark churning feeling in the pit of his stomach made coffee sound bitter.

Her only concern was pleasing Abe, meeting his expectations.

“Fine.” She turned toward the house, called over her shoulder. “I’ll holler when coffee is ready.”

“Fine. I’ll get this tree done.”

Her steps slowed to a crawl and she slowly turned. “Make sure the ladder is secure before you go back up.”

“I don’t aim to break any limbs, except the damaged ones on the tree.” He didn’t even try to keep the tightness from his voice. After all, how could he care for his father and earn enough money for pain medication if he broke an arm or leg?

No sir. He had his priorities straight.

Chapter Four

Sally ground the coffee beans with a great deal of vigor. She had helped him and ended up getting scolded. She should have let the man fall on his head. Might teach him a lesson.

The coffee grinding forgotten, she stared at the far wall of the kitchen. He might have killed himself. Or done serious physical harm. The stupid man. Did he think himself invincible? She shivered as her mind filled with a vision of his battered body beneath the tree.

She sprang to the window to make sure he wasn’t sprawled motionless on the ground. Her breath thundered from her lungs as she saw him astraddle a branch.

She sucked in air, finding her ribs strangely stiff, then turned back to the task of making coffee. She didn’t want him hurt on her watch. Abe would surely think she’d neglected her duties if he was. There was no other reason. But her lungs stiffened again as she thought of looking up in anticipation as he called her name and how her heart jolted when she saw him dangling in midair. The remnant of a panicked feeling lingered behind her breastbone, and she forced it away with determined deep breaths.

She poured the ground coffee into the pot and set it to boil. Carol would soon return from school, and Sally always prepared a snack for the child. Carol was way too thin and barely ate enough to keep a mouse alive. Sally ached for the child, understanding that she mourned her mother’s death. Much as Sally had done for her father.

Linc would have to wait for coffee until Carol got home. She ignored the reason for her decision—there was safety in having both children to hide behind.

How ridiculous. He was only here to do odd jobs for Abe. And she was here to establish how well she could cope. Having focused her goal clearly in her mind, she gave herself a good study. Her skirt carried a liberal amount of dust from working in the garden, and her shoes needed cleaning. Moving toward the plate glass mirror over the couch in the front room, she saw blotches of dust on her face, her unruly curls frosted with the ever invasive brown soil filling the air. “Sally, you look like a homeless tramp. Go clean up,” she said.

A few minutes later, shoes cleaned, skirts dusted, face washed and hair brushed until it gleamed, she paused again in front of the mirror and smiled at herself. Now she’d pass inspection. And just in time, as Carol slipped through the back door. Only because Sally knew enough to listen for her did she even notice her entrance. “Hi, Carol. How was your day?”

“Okay.” She sank into her customary chair at the kitchen table and let her head droop.

“Anything special happen?”

“No.” The word seemed to require a great deal of effort.

Sally studied the child a moment longer, wishing she could offer comfort, but Carol would shrink back if Sally tried to hug her. What she needed was her mother, but her mother was gone. Sally touched the top of Carol’s head. “We have company for snack time.”

Carol perked up. “Who?”

“Why don’t I let you see for yourself?” Sally went to the door and called. “Coffee’s ready. Come and get it.”

Linc dropped to the ground and gave her a wave to acknowledge he’d heard.

Robbie straightened, glanced toward Linc and when he saw the man wave, he turned to Sally and did the same. When Linc dusted off his pants, so did Robbie. Only in Robbie’s case, the result was a brownish cloud.

Sally watched another moment, smiling as Robbie imitated everything Linc did. She wondered if Linc noticed.

The distance prevented her from seeing his eyes, but he flashed a grin at her that made her gasp and duck back inside. She pressed her hand to her chest and instructed her heart to beat calmly. She did not understand this out-of-control reaction. She, Sally Morgan, twenty years of age, was a cautious young woman who did not do foolish things. Nor was she about to change because someone had a wide smile that made her think of wild-flowers and open spaces.

Having set her mind back on a corrected course, she put out a coffee cup for Linc, poured milk for the children and placed a selection of cookies on a plate.

Linc and Robbie came through the door together.

“I got a real good fort built,” Robbie said. “I think I’ll put a fence around it.”

“Good fort needs a good fence.” Linc sounded as if it was the most important thing he could discuss.

“You seen any forts?” Robbie asked.

“Only in museums. I’m grateful we don’t need them to protect us anymore.” He glanced about. “Is there a place I can wash up?”

Sally indicated the sink in the back room that served as pantry and laundry room.

Robbie followed Linc and washed his hands without being told. If only the boy could be so cooperative all the time. She poured coffee into the cup she’d set out for Linc and waited for the pair to return.

Robbie scampered to his chair and downed his glass of milk in loud gulps. “Can I have more?”

“Whoa. Slow down,” Linc said. “You wouldn’t want to drown yourself, now would you?”

Robbie giggled and planted himself more squarely in his chair, apparently intending to wait patiently.

“And who is this pretty young gal?” Linc indicated Carol.

His words jarred Sally into action. “This is Carol Finley.” She told the girl who Linc was, saying he visited his grandmother across the alley, leaving out all the vicious rumors.

“Pleased to meet you.” Linc reached for Carol’s hand and bent over slightly as he shook it.

Carol flushed a dull red, pulled her hand to her lap and ducked her head.

Guess he had the same disconcerting effect on both young and grown girls. The thought comforted Sally, but she experienced a twinge of sympathy for Carol’s confusion.

Linc shifted his attention to the table, nodded toward the cup of steaming coffee. “For me?”

Sally jerked herself out of her thoughts. “Yes. And please, sit down and help yourself to cookies.”

He sat and tasted his coffee. “Yum. Hard to beat fresh coffee.”

Sally refilled Robbie’s glass and passed the plate.

Carol lifted her face as she took a cookie. Her eyes darted toward Linc and she ducked away again.

Smitten, Sally thought. And as embarrassed about her reaction, as I am about mine.

“Did you bake these?” Linc lifted a ginger cookie to indicate what he meant.

“Yes.” Sally prayed her cheeks wouldn’t darken in echo of Carol’s reaction. She was, after all, a grown, self-controlled woman. “My father’s favorite cookie.”

“They’re good.” He sighed. “Not at all like the hard tack and beans a cowboy gets used to eating.”

Robbie nearly squirmed right off his chair. “You a real cowboy?”

Linc held out his arm. “Feel.”

Robbie pressed his hand to Linc’s forearm.

“I feel real to you?”

Robbie giggled.

Carol watched the pair. “He didn’t mean real in that way. He meant do you live out on the hills, camping with cows and herding them?”

Sally almost dropped her cookie. It was the most she’d heard Carol speak at one time since she’d started caring for them a month ago. She tore her attention from Carol back to Linc, as curious over his answer as either of the children.

Linc leaned back, a faraway look in his eyes. “I spent many nights sleeping on the ground with a herd of cows bawling in my ear. Lots of fun but hard work, too. And like I said, often the food wasn’t that great.”

He might not appreciate the food, but there was no mistaking how much he liked his sort of life. A shudder crossed Sally’s shoulders. She could imagine nothing appealing about such an unsettled existence.

“You cook your own food?” Robbie asked, his eyes and mouth as round as the top of his glass.

“Depends on whether I was alone or with a crew. If I was alone, I didn’t have much choice. Either cook or starve to death. But when we had a roundup the ranch provided a cook wagon. That was great.” He sighed and patted his stomach. “Some of those old cooks worked magic with flour and water and fresh beef.”

Carol had slid forward on her chair, mesmerized by the way Linc talked. “Did you sing to the cows?” She lowered her gaze a brief moment. “I heard that cowboys sing to calm them. Our teacher taught us ‘The Old Chisholm Trail.’ She said the cowboys like to sing that song.”

“Come a ti-yi-yi-yippy-yippy-ah.” Linc half sang, half spoke the words.

Carol’s eyes glistened. “That’s it.”

Linc chuckled. “We had one old cowboy by the name of Skinner. He always brought along his fiddle and played it after supper, just as the moon cast a glow on the trees, making them look like pale white soldiers. I tell you, there’s nothing more mournful than a fiddle playing “Oh Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie.” He shivered but his face belied his words. He looked as if it was the best part of life.

Sally didn’t take her eyes off his glowing face. Without looking, she knew both children were equally as mesmerized. She blinked and forced her attention to other things. Her responsibilities. “Children, finish up. Do your chores and then you can play until suppertime.”

They downed their cookies and milk and raced away—Robbie to take away the pail of coal ashes Sally had scraped out of the stove earlier in the day. He often made a big deal of the chore, when all he had to do was carry the pail to the ash heap at the far corner of the yard and bring the empty pail back. This time he didn’t utter one word of complaint. Carol’s chore was to sweep the front step and sidewalk. She grabbed the broom and hurried outside.

Linc drained his coffee and pushed back from the table. “I thank you.” He grabbed his hat off the back of the chair and headed for the door where he paused. “You coming out again?”

Why did her heart pick up pace at his innocent question? She half convinced herself he spoke out of politeness, not out of any real desire for her to join him. With the portion of her brain that remained sensible, she brought out the right words. “I can’t. I have to make supper and …” At a loss to think what else she needed to do, she let her words trail off.

“Of course.” He pushed his hat to his head and stepped outside. “Thanks again.” He strode away, his long legs quickly creating distance.

She stared after him as he returned to the crab apple trees and gathered the branches he’d removed. His arms full, he headed for the garbage barrel by the ash pile and broke the branches to stuff them into the barrel. What did she hear? She lifted the window sash and listened.

“Oh, do you remember sweet Betsy from Pike?”

He was singing.

She listened in fascination. He didn’t have a particularly fine singing voice. In fact, it was gravelly, as if he sang past a mouthful of marbles, and he missed a few of the notes. But what he lacked in talent, he more than made up for in enjoyment. The notes fairly danced through the air and frolicked into her heart, where they skipped and whirled until they were well embedded.

The front door slammed. Carol skidded into the kitchen and stored the broom. She headed for the back door. “He’s singing.” She left again so fast, Sally didn’t even have time to close the window and pretend she hadn’t been listening as eagerly as young Carol.

Carol trotted to the garden to stand by Robbie. Shoulder to shoulder they watched and listened to Linc, who continued to break branches, oblivious to his adoring audience.

Sally studied the two children. Both were under his spell. She slammed the window shut. They were children, prone to hero worship. She, on the other hand, was a grown woman who knew better than to chase after … after what? She didn’t even know what she thought she’d been chasing. Certainly not stability or sensibility. She turned and studied the kitchen. Very modern, with an electric refrigerator Abe had shipped all the way from Toronto. A gas range stood in the corner to be used in hot weather. He’d shown her how to light the pilot and how to set the controls on the oven, but Sally had never used a gas stove and wondered if she would ever be comfortable doing so. She preferred to use the coal cookstove.

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.

This meal would be flawless. Abe would see that she could run his home as well as any woman.

Robbie came from the back room, water dripping from his ears. He’d combed his hair back.

“You look very spiffy.”

He jerked to a halt and gave her a look fit to fry her skin. “I do not.”

Instantly she realized she’d offended him. Actually, it was pretty hard to miss. She knew exactly what she’d done wrong. She’d made him sound like a sissy. “You’re right. You look like a frontier man. Maybe even a cowboy. Ready to get out and ride.”

He held her gaze a moment then tipped his chin in barely there acknowledgment before he crossed to the table with a faintly familiar swagger.

She didn’t have to think hard to know where she’d seen it before. Robbie had done his best to imitate Linc’s rolling gait.

No, she definitely wasn’t the only one in this house to be affected by his presence. She stiffened her spine and held her chin high. Only she wasn’t a child. She was an adult who knew exactly what she wanted. A stable life, a nice home. No way she’d ever consider camping out on the prairie to be something romantic.

The strains of “Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,” echoed through her head. She meant every word of the song.

Chapter Five

Linc crossed toward his grandmother’s house, singing that silly song he couldn’t get out of his head. Several times he’d discovered he sang it aloud and stopped instantly. He ought to have more consideration for his surroundings. It wasn’t like he was with a bunch of cows or even some cynical, fun-making cowboys who would josh him good-naturedly, or otherwise, depending on their personal objectives in life.

Once he heard Robbie singing along in a voice lacking both strength and musical ability. Not that Linc thought he had the latter. Lots of people had felt free to point that out to him. He countered with the same words every time. “Mostly I sing because I’m happy. Sorry if it has the opposite effect on you.” Mostly he continued to sing, unless it seemed likely to start a fight.

But when he heard Robbie, he figured now was not the time to have second thoughts about raising his voice in song. Seems the boy had little enough to be happy about in this life. Sure he had lots of good things—a warm home, a father with a steady job and the hope of gaining Sally for a stepmother. Momentarily the thought made the song die on his lips. He sure hoped that Robbie, Carol and their father would appreciate Sally the way she deserved. But that thought aside, Robbie didn’t realize how good he had it because right now likely all he considered was what he’d lost. His mother. Linc knew how sorrow could make all other thought impossible.

He’d mostly gotten over his own loss, though there were times when missing his mother seemed like having a pile of hay lodged in his stomach. It just wouldn’t go away. Now he had the fresh pain of losing Harris. And the dreadful specter of his father’s possible death.

But the day had been pleasant. Seeing Sally’s smile, playing with Robbie, watching Carol light up when he sang a cowboy song. As he hit the back step of Grandmama’s house, his happiness dissolved into reality. He flung the door open. “How is Pa?”

“Same, my boy. I gave him more medicine an hour ago. He’s been resting since then.” She turned from arranging slices of yeasty-smelling bread on a platter. “I heard you singing as you crossed the yard.” Her smile was gentle. Not at all reproving.

But Linc felt as if he stood before ten pointing fingers. How callous to be happy with his brother buried in the mountains and his father likely dying a slow, painful death. Yet for a few hours this afternoon he’d shoved the knowledge to the back of his brain and enjoyed himself. Yes, he’d had fun.

He didn’t realize he smiled so openly until his grandmother straightened. “What have you been up to, Lincoln McCoy?”

He sobered so quickly his lips almost knotted. “Grandmama, I was working all afternoon.” Playing with Robbie and Sally most surely qualified as work. He was amusing the boss’s son, after all. “Did you know the Finleys have a tiny grove of crab apple trees? I pruned them. Hopefully they will become stronger and more productive now. And I turned over the garden soil.”

Grandmama sniffed. “Those trees have been there longer than the Finleys.” She studied him a full thirty seconds. “First time I ever saw someone so pleased about a little yard work.”

His sigh was long and purposely exaggerated. “Would you feel better if I dragged through the door, my chin bobbing on the floor and moaned and groaned about how hard life is?”

Her sigh was equally long and exaggerated. “Of course not.”

He started to smile, but she held up a warning hand.

“But I’d feel a lot better if you told me Sally Morgan was away for the afternoon.”

He narrowed his eyes, vowing he would not let her guess how glad he was that she wasn’t gone. “Now why would that make any difference to you?”

She matched his narrowed eyes. Not for the first time in his life he realized how alike they were in their gestures, and often in their speech. “Because I fear it means a lot to you.”

He wanted to protest. Say it didn’t make a speck of difference. Assure her he never once looked at Sally. Never even noticed her. But he couldn’t lie. If he tried, she would know immediately. The trouble with two people having the same mannerisms was she would see his attempt at lying as clearly as if she had lied. Instead he shifted directions. “Didn’t you say she was unofficially promised to Abe Finley? Practically engaged to be married.” He hoped his silent emphasis on unofficially and practically didn’t come across in his words.

“I said it. Did you hear?”

“I must have, since I repeated it to you.”

Grandmama took three steps toward him, stopped with her very sturdy shoes toe-to-toe with his dusty cowboy boots. “I mean, did you hear it here?” She tapped his forehead. “Or is it stuck somewhere between there?” She touched his right ear. “And here?” She flicked his left ear.

“Ow.” He jerked away and grabbed at his ear, pretending a great injury. “Why’d you do that?”

“You don’t need to think you’re too big for me to handle, young man. If you don’t behave yourself I’ll hear, and if I hear, I’ll deal with you.”

“Ho, ho.” He bounced away a few feet. “You might find it hard to put me over your knee and smack my bottom.”

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