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Prairie Cowboy
Linda Ford


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesLinda Ford grew up devouring books and making up stories in her head often late at night when she couldn't sleep. But she hadn't planned to write. Instead, she dreamed of running an orphanage. In a way, that dream came true. She married, had four homemade children, adopted ten and lived (at times, endured) the dream. During one of those times when the dream seemed more like a nightmare, when several of the kids were teens and acting out in weird and awful ways, she discovered the wonderfully controllable world of writing.Writing first took her to non-fiction human-interest articles for newspapers and eventually a non-fiction book about tuberculosis set in the 1930s and 1940s (Touched By The White Plague). But romance had always been her first love and she turned to writing love stories. She is multi-published in the CBA market.She lives on a small ranch in Alberta where she can see the mountains every day. She and her husband continue to enjoy their children and grandchildren. Linda also provides care for a paraplegic, double-amputee man. She still finds a great deal of enjoyment and satisfaction in creating imaginary worlds, only now she does it on paper or rather, at the computer.









“Where did you learn to do that?”


“What? Tidy my hair?”

“No. Halter a bull. Not many women can do that. Lots of men can’t, in fact.”

Virnie chuckled. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”

Conor laughed, too. “You could say that.”

“I have to admit, it feels good to surprise Conor Russell.”

“Why is that?” He moved closer. In the light from the open door she saw his eyes were dark and watchful.

She met his look without revealing any sign of how her nerves jittered at having him so close.

“Because you have it all figured out. Women are weak and useless. There is no place for them on the farm or in your life. And pretty things have no value.”

He didn’t speak or indicate how her statement affected him.

“Maybe I proved you wrong.”




LINDA FORD


shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures, as well. Taking twelve kids in a motor home on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her website at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.




Linda Ford

Prairie Cowboy















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


I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore, with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.

—Jeremiah 31:3


Dedicated to the teachers who have touched my life and the lives of my children in a positive way and especially to godly teachers who both teach and live a Christian example. May you be blessed in your work.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


Dakota Territory, 1886

Her dream was about to come true in living, vibrant color.

In a few minutes she would welcome her first class of students. Eighteen-year-old Virnie White stood in the doorway of the brave little white schoolhouse and watched the children arriving in the schoolyard. The brittle yellow grass had been shaved by one of the fathers and the children’s feet kicked up soft puffs of dusty mown grass.

A horse entered the gate of the sagging page wire fence. The rider, a man, reached behind him. A child grabbed his arm and dropped to the ground.

The boy wore overalls that looked as if the only iron to touch them had been a hot wind. He wore a floppy hat that did little to hide the mop of wild brown curls. He needed to be introduced to a pair of scissors.

Virnie expected the father to ride away as soon as the boy got to his feet but he hesitated, glancing about until he saw her in the doorway. She felt his demanding look and gathered her skirts in one hand and hurried across the yard. He dismounted at her approach. She held out her hand to the black-haired man. “Miss Virnie White, the new teacher.”

He took her hand in his large, work-worn grasp and squeezed. “Conor Russell.”

She pulled her hand to her side. “And this is…?” The boy raced over to join the boys in kicking around a lump of sod.

“Ray.”

“How old is Ray?”

“Eight.”

At the note of longing in the man’s voice, Virnie turned. His gaze followed his son, concern evident in the tense lines around his eyes and the way he pressed his lips together. She studied him more closely. A handsome man with thick black hair that needed trimming almost as much as his son’s, eyebrows as black as his hair, and dark blue eyes that shifted toward her, giving her a look as full of challenge as the superintendent had given at her interview.

She lifted her chin, clasped her hands together and met the man’s look without flinching.

“Ray…well, Ray is…” He shifted his gaze past her to the men in the wheat field bordering the schoolyard.

She’d watched them earlier as they tossed stooks into the wagon and had breathed in the delightful nutty scent of ripe grain.

“What I’m trying to say is Ray’s mother is dead.”

One thought vibrated through her brain. A widowed father who cared about his child. She wanted to squeeze his hand and tell him how noble and wonderful he was. But the knowledge of his concern picked at a brittle scar and somewhere behind her heart a tear formed. Willing herself to ignore the place that held those hurtful things, she tipped her chin higher. Her lips felt stiff as she spoke. “Mr. Russell, rest assured I shall treat Ray with kindness and fairness.” As she intended to treat all the children.

He touched the brim of his hat in a gentlemanly expression that made her feel she had given him the assurance he needed. “I hope so.” He swung back into the saddle and kicked his horse forward, urging the animal to a gallop as soon as he left the schoolyard.

She stared across the field to where the men worked. The creak of the wagon as it groaned under the weight of stooks made little impression on her conscious thoughts.

Four little boys, Ray among them, raced past her chasing the steadily shrinking clump of sod. Did the child realize how fortunate he was? But then he was a boy. Obviously not the same thing to deal with as a motherless girl.

Virnie pulled herself back from the ghost of her past and with clipped steps headed for the schoolhouse. She glanced at the empty bell turret. How pleasant it would be to ring a large bell by means of a rope, but the community could not yet afford one so instead she picked up a hand bell from the step where she’d left it.

At its ringing, the children hurried toward her.

“Girls on my right. Boys on my left.”

They quickly sorted themselves out except for Karl and Max who didn’t appear to understand English.

She went to the pair and pointed them toward the boys’ line. She counted the boys—only eight and she knew at last count there were nine boys and eight girls. She checked the girls’ line and immediately saw the problem.

“Ray, the boys are in this line.”

Several of the children tittered and Ray shot her a blazing look.

Hilda, twelve and the oldest Morgan girl, leaned over and whispered. “Ray is a girl. Rachael Russell. It’s just her pa doesn’t know what to do with a little girl.”

Shock burned through her veins as hot and furious as the prairie fires she’d read about with a shiver of fear. Her vision alternated between red and black. She feared she would collapse. No. She couldn’t do that. Not on her first day of being a better-than-average teacher. She sucked in a breath, amazed the rush of air did nothing to dispel her dizziness. She knew firsthand how it felt to have your father wish you were a boy. Her father had gone so far as to say it. “Too bad you weren’t a boy. Would have made life simpler.”

How could she have run so forcibly into such a blatant, painful reminder of her past? A past she had vowed to completely forget? And she would forget it.

Miss Price had rescued her, taught her to be a lady, and modeled how to be a good teacher. She was here to emulate Miss Price.

Lord God, give strength to my limbs and forgetfulness to my thoughts.

She straightened her spine and went to the little girl. “Rachael, what a beautiful name. I’m sorry for my mistake.”

The child ducked her head, hiding her face beneath the brim of her hat.

Virnie gently removed the hat. Her eyes widened as a wave of brown curls fell midway down the child’s back. “Why, what beautiful hair you have.”

Rachael sent her a shy look of appreciation.

Something in the child’s eyes went straight to Virnie’s heart and pulled the scab completely from her wound. Her past stared at her through the eyes of Rachael Russell. And in that heartbeat of time, Virnie knew she had come to Sterling, North Dakota, for a reason as noble and necessary as teaching pioneer children. She had set her thoughts to becoming a dedicated teacher who found ways to challenge each student to do his or her best. Those who needed the most help would be her special concern. Those who excelled would receive all the encouragement she could provide. She’d make Miss Price proud of her by imitating her noble character as a teacher.

But just as Miss Price had done seven years ago when she saw Virnie’s need and reached out to help her, she’d repeat the way Miss Price had helped her by reaching out to Rachael and perhaps repay her by doing so.

Her mind made up, she welcomed the children and had them march inside where she proceeded to get them into grades according to some rudimentary testing. Karl and Max Schmidt were problems. She couldn’t test them when the only things they said were, “My name is Karl,” or, “My name is Max,” and, “Please.” But here was her first challenge. Teach these two to communicate in English.

Correction. Her second challenge. Rachael was her first.

During the lunch break, she whispered to Hilda that Rachael’s hair would look beautiful brushed. She gave Hilda ribbons. Hilda smiled and nodded. A bright girl. And before the lunch break ended, she’d fixed Rachael’s hair and so no one would realize it was for her benefit, she redid her two little sisters’ hair as well.

When the school day ended and Virnie dismissed the children, Rachael hung back waiting for the others to leave before she sidled up to Virnie.

“Teacher, thank you for the ribbons.”

Virnie touched Rachael’s head. “I don’t need them any longer. You enjoy them.”

“I will.” She raced outdoors.

Virnie followed.



Conor had no call to get Rae. She was perfectly capable of finding her way home. Had for two years now. But he wanted to see the new schoolmarm again. All day her face had filled his thoughts. Was she really as pretty as his memories said? He muttered mocking words. He knew pretty was useless out here. How did it help anyone create a solid home?

It seemed all the other children had left but he waited on horseback for Rae to exit. She ran out, the new school teacher at her heels.

Yup. Just as pretty as he recalled. Her hair was a doe-soft brown and pulled back into a bun. He couldn’t say for sure if her eyes were brown, only that they were dark and watchful and this morning he’d decided she had a kind look. Soft, too. He could tell just looking at her. He’d give her a month, two at the most, before she found life a little too much work on the wild prairie and turned tail and ran. Took a special woman to survive frontier life and Miss White didn’t have the hardy look at all.

Without even glancing at Rae, he reached down and pulled her up behind him then touched the brim of his hat by way of greeting to the schoolmarm. As he tugged the reins and left the schoolyard he wondered why she gave him such a disapproving look.

“How was your day?” he asked his daughter.

“Good.”

“You like the new teacher?”

“Yeah, Pa.”

He didn’t say more as he thought of that pretty new teacher. Now if they were back East, living in relative comfort, he might just think about courting the young woman. But he wouldn’t be thinking another such foolish thought. Two months, he decided. She wouldn’t last a day longer than that. Too many challenges. Like… “How did she manage the Schmidt boys?”

The family had been in the community only a few months. John, the father, could barely make himself understood and he knew Mrs. Schmidt spoke not one word of English.

“Miss White taught them lots already. She said we must all help them. When George said he didn’t come to play mama to some foreigner, Miss White said she would tolerate no unkindness.”

Conor grunted. He knew George Crome. A big lad. It surprised him George’s father hadn’t kept him home to help with harvest, but then the Cromes weren’t exactly suited to farming. They seemed to think the work would take care of itself. He imagined the way George would lift his nose and sniff at having to help two small boys. “What did George do?”

“At first he growled but Miss White reminded us we are all newcomers. Wouldn’t we want people to help us?”

Sounded like a smart woman.

They neared the Faulks’ property and a big brute of a dog raced toward them, barking and snarling. “I see Devin is visiting his folks.” The dog belonged to the grown Faulk boy who wandered in and out at will. Conor turned the horse to face the dog and shouted, “Stop. Go back.”

The dog halted, his hackles raised, his lips rolled back to reveal his vicious teeth. But he didn’t advance.

Rae’s fist clutched at his shirt as if she thought the horse would rear and she might fall.

“Noble isn’t about to let an old dog make him act crazy.”

Her fingers uncurled. “Yeah, I know.” She sounded a little uncertain.

“You aren’t scared of that old dog, are ya?”

“Nah.”

“Good, because he’s nothing but hot air and bluff.”

They resumed their journey and his thoughts slid uninvited and unwelcome back to the schoolmarm. Rae’s mind must have made the same journey because she resumed talking about the day.

“Miss White asked George what his best subject was. He’s very good at arithmetic. Miss White gave him all sorts of problems to solve and he did them all. Miss White said he needed to cap’lize on his strengths. Pa, what does cap’lize mean?”

He grinned, picturing little Miss White finding a way to make George feel good after a scolding.

“Capitalize means to make the most of something.”

“I like Miss White.” Rae’s voice was soft, filled with awe.

Conor’s skin prickled. He knew his little daughter missed having a mother. But she would only be hurt if she looked for a substitute.

“I hope she stays.”

Best to make Rae face the truth. But he wanted to spare her pain. Maybe with a little help she would figure it out herself. “You think she will?”

“She’s smart.”

“Uh-huh. But is she tough?”

“She’s awfully pretty.”

He squeezed the reins until they dug into his palm. He’d endured enough pain and disappointment with pretty women. So had Rae. Best she face facts and deal with them. “Now, Rae, how many times have I told you what use is pretty?”

“Yeah, Pa. I know. A person has to be strong to survive.”

“Don’t you be forgetting it.” They turned toward their little house. This was where they belonged. He would fight to keep this place. He’d teach Rae to deal with the hardships. “You go on in while I unsaddle Noble.”

A few minutes later he returned to the house, intent on getting a drink of water before he resumed working. Rae stood peering into the cracked mirror over the washstand. She turned as she heard him enter and grinned, waiting for him to admire her hair.

He felt like someone whacked him alongside the head with a big old plank. Oh, how she looked like her mother. “Hair ribbons.” Pretty stuff. Useless stuff. The sort of thing that made women pine for a life that wasn’t possible out here. People—men and women alike and children, too—had to forget the ease of life back East where supplies were around the corner, help and company across the fence and being pretty and stylish mattered. Out here survival mattered and woe to anyone who forgot. Or pined for things to be different. His wife had done the latter. She’d willingly left the comfort of Kansas City to follow his dream of owning land but she’d been unprepared for the challenges. In the end, she’d let them defeat her. She got a cold that turned fatal because she didn’t have the will to live. “Where did you get them?” His mouth felt gritty.

“Miss White gave them to me. And Hilda did my hair.” Her eyes were awash with hope and longing.

He could allow this tiny bit of joy. But no. He must not allow weakness in himself any more than he could allow it in Rae. “Tomorrow we give them back.”

“Pa.” Pleading made her drag out the syllable.

“How many times have I told you? Only the strong survive out here. You want to survive or don’t you?”

“Yes, Pa.”

“You and me are going to make ourselves a home out here. Now aren’t we?”

“That’s right, Pa.”

“Then put the ribbons aside before they get dirty and tend to your chores.”

She nodded. In her eyes determination replaced hope. And how that hurt him. But he had to be strong for the both of them. She pulled off the ribbons, rolled them neatly and put them beside her lunch bucket.

“There’s hours of daylight left. I’ve got to get the crop cut and stooked. Uncle Gabe will be coming any day.” He and Gabe helped each other. “I won’t be back until dark. You know what to do. Think you can handle it?”

She tossed him a scoffing look. “I can handle it. You know it.”

He pulled her against his hip for a quick hug. “Proud of you, Rae.”

“You’ll come in and say good night when you get home? Even if I’m sleeping.”

“Always. You can see me from the yard. If you need me all you have to do is bang on the old barrel.”

“I know.”

He hated to leave her although he’d been doing so longer than he cared to think about. Since Irene had laid down and quit living more than two years ago, leaving him to raise Rae on his own. But he didn’t have much choice. The work did not do itself, contrary to the hopes of men such as Mr. Crome.

He turned and headed for the field as Rae went to gather eggs.

It was dark when he returned. He searched the kitchen for something to eat and settled for a jam sandwich. He wiped dried jam from a knife in order to use it. They were about out of dishes fit to eat from. He’d have to see if Rae would wash a few. He’d also have to find time to go see Mrs. Jones who sold him his weekly supply of bread.

Rae had dumped out her lunch bucket in preparation for tomorrow’s food. The hair ribbons lay on the lid.

Miss White would no doubt look all distressed when he returned the ribbons and set her straight about what was best for Rae. He could imagine her floundering as she tried to apologize. Best she learn life here was tough.

Maybe she could return to her safe home back wherever she’d come from. Before she had to endure the harshness of a Dakota winter.

Yet he felt no satisfaction at knowing he would be among those who drove Miss White away. And his regret made him want to kick himself seven ways to Sunday. He knew better than most the folly of subjecting a pretty woman to the barren pioneer life.

He checked on Rae. She slept in her shirt, her overalls bunched up on the floor beside the bed. Dirty clothes lay scattered across the floor. He didn’t have time to do laundry until after harvest.

He pulled the covers around Rae and stood watching her for a few minutes. He would never understand how Irene could give up on life. He thought she shared his goal. Having grown up in Kansas City with a father who went from one job to another and took the family from one poor hovel to the next, he’d vowed to provide for himself and his family a safe, permanent home even if he had to wrench it from this reluctant land with his bare fists. He would let nothing stand in his way. Not weakness. Certainly not a hankering after silly, useless, pretty things. Rae’s mother should have fought. For Rae if not other reasons. He renewed his daily vow to make sure Rae had a safe and permanent home.




Chapter Two


He took Rae to school the next day. “Run and tell Miss White I need to speak to her, then go play with your friends.” He didn’t want Rae hearing this conversation.

Miss White paused to speak to one of the Schmidt boys as she crossed the yard to where he waited. She smiled at him as she drew closer. Her lips were pressed together. No flash of white teeth like he’d seen as she spoke to the children. Perhaps Rae had said something to warn her of his displeasure.

He held out his hand. “Here’s your hair ribbons.”

She refused to lift her hand and take them. “I gave them to Rachael. They’re hers.”

“She has no need of them. This is pioneer country. One has to be strong to survive.”

“And how, sir, does a ribbon in one’s hair make for weakness. Does it somehow suck life blood out the roots of one’s hair?” She faced him squarely, her eyes bold and challenging.

What happened to the apologetic distressed female he’d imagined? “It’s what it signifies.”

“You mean self-respect?”

She was one argumentative woman. “Useless things. Things for looks.”

“Beauty is not a useless thing. It’s a refreshing thing. Like a rainbow, a sunset or a blossom.”

Conor wondered what use a blossom was. “Do any of those put food on the table or hay in the barn?”

“‘Man shall not live by bread alone.’”

“Might surprise you to know that I recognize that as a Bible verse and I’m pretty sure it refers to needing God’s word. It has nothing to do with things just for lookee see.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward. He uncurled her fingers and pushed the ribbons into her fist. “Don’t have no need for hair ribbons.”

My how her eyes did flash, as full of fire as a winter stove. Faint color brushed her cheeks, making her look like some kind of fine china. But the way she stood, her fists clenched at her side and her jaw jutted out as if about to challenge him to defend himself, he knew she was a little scrapper. He liked that in a person.

His thoughts collided so harshly he reached for his forehead intending to grab it to stop the sudden headache, but then he thought better of it. No way would he let her guess she’d surprised him.

Yeah, she might fight for an ideal while surrounded by safety of the schoolyard, a town within walking distance and a home in one of the finest houses in the virgin settlement. But real life was vastly different. “Pretty little hair ribbons and righteous indignation are about as necessary and helpful as…” His thoughts stalled. “As dandelion fluff.”

She sniffed and tossed her head as if his words were meaningless. “Are you going to tell God His creation is useless?” She stomped away—daintily, of course—without a backward look.

Which left him no choice but to call to her back. “Me and Rae are survivors.”



Survivors! As if that provided excuse enough for the way he treated Rachael. Forcing her to grow up like a boy. Virnie paused inside the door where no one could see her and struggled to gain control of her emotions.

Miss Price had helped her get past the feelings deposited by her father.

She lifted her head. She would do the same for Rachael. There were things she could do in school and she intended to do them but she’d like to help the girl more.

Lord God, provide me an opportunity.



The next two days Conor brought Rachael to school and returned to wait for her when the day ended. He didn’t ride away until Virnie looked at him. And his look warned her not to interfere with the way he raised his daughter.

His silent insistence only increased her determination. She would find a way to help Rachael. She continued to pray for some kind of opening.

Friday afternoon, the children raced home, happy for the weekend. Except for Rachael who sat on a swing outside, waiting for her father.

Virnie, having no desire to see Conor again and relive all the emotions that insisted on surfacing each time she saw him, remained at her desk marking papers. Or at least she tried. Finally she put her pencil down, planted her elbows on the ink-stained surface and tipped her head into her palms. It was seven years since she last saw her father. She’d firmly put that part of her life behind her when she left with Miss Price. It was dead and gone as far as she was concerned. So why did it haunt her?

She sighed and returned to marking the papers. She knew Conor was the reason. Conor and Rachael. Their situation too clearly mirrored her early life and brought back unwanted memories.

The swing creaked. Virnie glanced out the window. Rachael still waited. Where was her father? She moved to the window and glanced down the road. No sign of dust indicating a rider. She slipped out to join the girl, sitting on the nearby swing so they could talk.

“Is your Pa coming for you?”

Rachael scuffed her shoes in the dust and studied the tracks she made. “Don’t think so.”

“How are you to get home?”

“Walk. Done it lots of times.”

Virnie waited, wondering why the child hadn’t already left but Rachael didn’t seem about to offer any answers. “Did you want something?” Perhaps this was the opening she’d prayed for. “Is your father at home?”

“He’s cutting the crop.”

“I see.” Only it didn’t answer her question as to whether or not he would be watching for her return. “Do you want to help me clean the chalkboard?”

“Sure.” She raced back to the school, Virnie on her heels. As they washed the board and cleaned the brushes, Virnie talked and silently prayed.

“I sure appreciate your help. You’re a good worker.”

“Pa says a person has to pull their weight in this country.”

Virnie supposed it was true about most places. She wanted to know how Rachael felt about being a girl. “Guess it doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl, you can do your share.”

“Pa says women have to be strong in order to survive out here. Say there’s no room for weakness.”

He did, did he? Well, strength could be disguised under velvet just as much as it could be revealed in leather. And it was time Conor found that out. Except she didn’t plan to be the person to show him. He reminded her too much of her past and she didn’t welcome the reminder.

She washed the chalk dust off her hands. “The blackboard and brushes are nice and clean, ready for Monday morning.”

Rachael had no reason to linger and yet she did. Tiny bubbles of apprehension skittered along Virnie’s nerves and she shivered. Was there a reason Rachael did not want to go home? Was Conor hurting her physically and Rachael wanted to tell Virnie but didn’t know how? “Is there something wrong at home that you don’t want to go there?”

Rachael shot her a surprised look. “Not at home.”

Relief warmed Virnie’s veins. Somehow she found it difficult to contemplate an abusive Conor. “Then what’s wrong?”

Rachael hung her head and studied her toes.

Virnie caught the girl’s chin and forced her to face Virnie. She kept her voice soft even though tension made her feel brittle inside. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Rachael scrubbed her lips together as she considered Virnie. Finally, her dark brown eyes wide, she whispered, “I don’t want to walk home.”

“But why? Haven’t you done it lots of times before?”

Rachael shrugged and pulled away. “It’s nothing.”

“No. Something is bothering you. Tell me what it is and maybe I can help.”

“You can’t do nothing.”

She ignored the poor grammar. “Why don’t you let me decide that?”

Rachael shuddered. “It’s Faulks’ dog.” The child’s fear beat like something alive.

But Virnie wasn’t getting any closer to what bothered Rachael. “Who are the Faulks?”

“They live on my way home.”

“Ahh. So you pass their place and you’re afraid of the dog?”

Rachael shot her head up and gave Virnie a defiant look. “I’m not scared.” But her eyes said she was.

Virnie made up her mind to see if the fear was legitimate or not. But she sensed she would offend Rachael if she made her plan obvious. “Rachael, I’m planning to visit all of my students’ homes. This afternoon would be a good time for me to visit you. Would you mind if I walk home with you?”

Tension drained out of the child so quickly she swayed. “That would be nice.”

Virnie closed the windows and the door then followed Rachael outside. They walked along the dusty road. The day was warm with a breeze that kept it from being unbearable. The sky was so blue that if Virnie lifted her head she could feel like she walked into a vast flat lake. Birds lifted from the yellow blades of grass as they passed, calling out a warning as they flew away.

Rachael skipped along beside her, chattering about all sorts of things until they had gone a mile and she slowed drastically. A house stood on a rise of land a few hundred feet away.

Virnie made a few quick assumptions. “This must be where the Faulks live.”

“Shh. If we’re really quiet maybe the dog won’t hear us.” Rachael tiptoed at the far edge of the road.

Virnie abandoned the middle of the road in favor of the side as well, not sure what she faced but certain of Rachael’s fear. Surely, she consoled herself, no one would keep a dog that threatened a child. Surely, Rachael’s fears were unfounded.

A snarling black shape bowled toward them.

Virnie’s heart clamored up her throat. This was the dog Rachael feared and for good reason. He barreled toward them like a freight train. Virnie backed away, her mouth suddenly as dry as the dust at their feet.

Rachael grabbed Virnie’s skirt and pressed close to her back. “It’s him. He’s going to get us.”

Something fierce and hot surged through Virnie. “No, he’s not.” She faced the attacking dog, now within twenty feet of the road. “Stop,” she yelled with all the authority she could muster. “Stop.”

The dog didn’t slow down one iota.

“Don’t move,” she told Rachael though she wondered if either of them could force their limbs to run.

She lowered her voice to her deepest tones. “Stop.”

A distant voice called, “Tictoc, you get back here right now, hear.”

The dog slowed slightly.

Virnie tore her gaze from the approaching menace to the house. A plump woman stood on the step waving a broom.

“Tictoc, don’t you make me come after you.” The woman banged the broom against the wall.

The dog stopped, still growling, still considering whether he wanted to continue his attack or obey the cross mistress.

“Tictoc, I’m warning you. Get back here. Now.” Another solid whack with the broom.

The dog edged backward, clearly wanting to complete what he had started. But another whack of the broom made him turn and slink away. Virnie stared as he skittered past the house and disappeared under a nearby fence.

The danger was over but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her lungs seemed to have forgotten their job was to provide oxygen to her body. Her brain remained in shocked numbness.

“He’s gone,” Rachael whispered. “Let’s go.”

Virnie’s breath escaped in a loud whoosh and she leaned forward as she sucked in air. She must not let Rachael know how frightened she’d been. Sudden anger pushed her fear into distant corners. “Does that dog threaten you every time you walk by?”

“If he’s here. He belongs to Devin Faulk. He’s their son. He has a farm south of here and takes the dog with him. I like it when he’s not here.”

Virnie started to giggle. She knew it was a mixture of relief and anger. “Tictoc? What sort of name is that for a dog?” She tried to control her giggles but couldn’t.

Rachael stared at her and blinked, then her eyes sparkled. “Tictoc like a clock.” For some reason the little rhyme amused them both immensely and they giggled like mad.

They continued toward the Russell home.

“That’s my house,” Rachael said with obvious pride, pausing to let Virnie have a good look.

Virnie saw a low house of moderate size and felt an instant sense of relief. At least Rachael didn’t live in one of those tarpaper shacks some of the settlers had for a dwelling, nor in a sod shanty. The wood had not been painted but it looked a substantial enough place. To one side were pens for the animals and a sod-roofed building she took for the barn. A small pen housed chickens and another fenced area indicated what might have been a garden. Some buckets lay scattered along the garden fence. Rags were caught along another fence. Apart from the general air of untidiness, it seemed to promise a solid future. Virnie stood several minutes taking it all in, trying to confine her feelings to how this affected Rachael but she couldn’t stop a trickle of memories. She enjoyed hours with her brother, Miles, at a farm. One bigger and more developed than this one, but seeing the pens and the barn brought things to mind she’d purposely pushed away. Following Miles around, trying to imitate him, trying to earn his approval, hoping if she did, her father would voice his…what? She didn’t know what she’d expected then any more than she did now. Perhaps a word of praise, a sign that he didn’t regret having a daughter? She turned from studying the Russell farm. “Are you going to show me your house?”

Rachael grabbed her hand and ran. Virnie had no choice but to trot after her.

They ducked into the house. Virnie remembered her manners in time to stifle a gasp at the mess before her. They stood in a nice-sized room that served as living quarters for the residents—combining sitting area, dining area and kitchen. The room had potential to be bright and cheerful but it did not live up to its possibilities. Dirty dishes covered the table. The stove held an array of blackened pots and pans. Clothing of every description from a Rachael-sized shirt to a heavy winter coat lay scattered across every surface. Virnie had to wonder where they sat, how they managed to prepare a meal, how they kept clean. She deliberately shifted her gaze to the two doors opening into the room. Both stood open to reveal beds buried beneath clothing and assorted objects. How did they find room to sleep in those beds? And how did Rachael manage to find clean clothes to wear to school?

Mentally, Virnie began to roll up her sleeves. She could tackle the worst of this mess while she was here, perhaps show Rachael a few coping skills. She wondered how long she had until Conor returned because she didn’t have to be a genius to sense he would object to her interference.

“Rae.” The faint call came from outside, some distance away.

Rachael grabbed Virnie’s hand. “Don’t tell Pa about the dog.”

The child’s request drove all else from Virnie’s mind. She assumed it would be the first thing Rachael said. Such an encounter should be reported and dealt with. Why was Rachael afraid to tell Conor? “You need to let him know so he can do something.”

“No. Pa needs me to be strong.”

“Rachael, you need to be protected.”

Rachael swallowed so hard she grimaced. “I can take care of myself.”

Virnie knew she couldn’t. What if Mrs. Faulk hadn’t been there to call the dog off? Virnie shuddered to think of the child facing that dog alone. “You need to tell him.”

Rachael shook her head. “Promise you won’t tell.”

Virnie considered her responsibility to report the incident against the child’s obvious reluctance. “I won’t tell him but I want you to promise you will. He needs to know.”

“Okay, I will.” Her reluctance was obvious.

Conor burst into the house and Virnie could not pursue the subject. She had given her word. Now she must trust Rachael to keep hers.

“Where have you been? Why are you so late?” Conor demanded of Rachael and then he shifted his gaze to Virnie. “Why did you bring her home?”

“Pa, she is visiting all the families and I got to be first.”

Conor narrowed his eyes, still studying Virnie. “Is that a fact?”

Virnie’s struggle to deal with her reluctant promise about the dog ended suddenly at the challenge in his voice.

“Do you have any objections?” She meant both visiting in general and making Rachael her first visit.

He blinked before her directness. “Why is Rae so late?”

“She helped me clean the chalkboard and brushes so we could walk home together.” She darted a glance at Rachael, hoping to convey that now would be a good time to tell her father about the dog. But Rachael refused to meet her eyes.

“Do you expect me to serve you tea?”

She almost laughed but managed to confine her amusement to a grin. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” She let her gaze circle the room and knew a sense of victory when he looked uncomfortable.

“It’s harvest time. Don’t have time to spend cleaning up the house. It can wait. The crops can’t.”

She didn’t say it looked like the house had waited a very long time but knew her eyes must have flashed her disbelief when he scowled.

The sound of an approaching rider reached them.

“It’s Uncle Gabe,” Conor said.

Rachael screamed and raced outside calling, “Uncle Gabe. Uncle Gabe.”

Conor did not release Virnie from his look, rife with warning, but beneath that she read more—his latent worry about Rachael being late. Realizing his unspoken concern, something sharp and hot drove through her thoughts. This man cared about his daughter even though he treated her like a boy. Perhaps she could appeal to him on that basis, somehow make him see the harm he inadvertently inflicted on his child. She could explain—but pain twisted through her at the mere thought of telling someone how it felt.

The look in his blue, bottomless eyes shifted, seeking a response that had nothing to do with Rachael.

A noise outside made him jerk toward the door, freeing her from his stare and allowing her to think clearly. She didn’t intend to get involved with this man. Yes, he might care in a flawed way about his daughter but Virnie did not have any desire to relive her own experience in order to help him. She would pray for some other way to help Rachael.

“I’ve been expecting him,” Conor said.

“Your brother?” Virnie asked.

“No, just a good friend.”

“I’ll be on my way.” But before Virnie could make her way through the door, Rachael returned, pulling a man by his hand.

His eyes widened when he saw her and he whipped off his hat. “Didn’t know Conor had a lady friend visiting.” He grinned widely at Conor then shifted his attention back to Virnie. He didn’t say anything but the way his grin deepened, Virnie knew he thought she was worth a second look.

She took the liberty of giving him a good look, too. A man with fine features, blond hair, blue eyes and unrepentant amusement.

“’Bout time old Conor acknowledged there’s more to life than work.”

Conor grunted. “Miss White is the new schoolteacher.” He nodded toward Virnie. “You probably figured out this is my friend, Gabe. Gabe Winston.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. And might you have a Christian name?”

“Virnie.” She looked at Conor as she spoke, wondering if he would ever take the liberty of using her name. But he scowled like he had a pain somewhere. She pulled herself straighter. She knew that look. Had seen it often from her pa. And she understood she was the source of the pain. For Conor as well as her pa. “I’ll be on my way. Good day.”

Gabe made a protesting noise but stepped aside as she steamed out.

She hurried away with long, furious strides. Why did she let Conor’s attitude pull unwanted memories to her mind?

She stomped hard on the dusty surface of the road, raising dust to her knees. She’d have to polish her shoes and brush her skirt when she got home. The extra emphasis to each step did nothing to stop her from remembering.

Too bad you’re a girl.

After all this time, the words still twisted her heart into an agonized knot.

Lord God, the past is past. You provided Miss Price to give me a different life. Help me forget those days of pain and uncertainty.

Her thoughts slipped to Rachael. How similar their situations. If Miss Price were here she’d surely find a way to help. What would she do?

Virnie stopped at the school to get some papers and texts so she could prepare lessons then returned to Maxwell house where she boarded. She liked living with them. Their formal parlor and old-fashioned furniture reminded her of living with Miss Price. She found comfort in their routine and stiff mannerisms that also reminded her of Miss Price. She paused to greet Mrs. Maxwell then retired to her bedroom to pen a letter to Miss Price. In great detail she told about her first week, asking advice on how to teach the Schmidt boys English and how to challenge young George to apply as much interest to literature and penmanship as he did to arithmetic.

She closed with, “There is a child who reminds me of myself. She is motherless. Her father dresses her like a boy. He expects her to be tough. I would like to help her but find myself dealing with memories of my own past that I prefer to ignore. I must in all honesty say this child’s father doesn’t seem to be unkind toward her.”

Thinking of Conor filled her with confusion. Her first glimpse of him convinced her he cared about Rachael. Today she knew she’d seen worry in his eyes over Rachael’s tardiness in returning from school. She’d seen something in him that made her lonesome inside. But when had she become so maudlin? She had only to consider Rachael’s fear about the Faulks’ dog to know there was something wrong.

She turned back to her letter. “Please pray that I might have wisdom in this situation.” What if God wanted her to do more like Miss Price had done? “And the courage to do what needs to be done.”




Chapter Three


Gabe stared after Miss White and as soon as she was out of earshot, let out a low whistle. “You sure know how to pick ’em.”

Conor snorted. “She’s Rae’s teacher. I had nothing to do with her being hired.” His insides had gradually grown tenser as he watched for Rae to return from school and when he’d seen Miss White escorting her, all he could think was Rae had been hurt. He’d crossed the field in great leaps. To discover Miss White only wanted to check on him had only twisted his insides further because of the strange mix of unwanted emotions—embarrassment at the state of his house, defensiveness at her silent accusation and—he didn’t want to acknowledge it but he couldn’t deny it—loneliness. He’d had a sudden flash of what life could be like with a woman to share the load.

Even now he kicked himself mentally at his nonsense. He’d learned the pain of expecting a beautiful, gentle woman to accept frontier life. He dreamed that dream and reaped the disappointment and grief. A lesson he didn’t intend to repeat. He’d ask for and expect help from neither God nor man—or perhaps he meant it was only from women he couldn’t expect help.

Not that he’d lost his belief in God. Just his trust.

“Being a teacher don’t make her less pretty.” Gabe poked him in the ribs to emphasize his point.

Rae hung from Gabe’s arm. “I told Pa she was pretty, too.”

Conor shot them both a look burning with fury. “Tell me what good pretty is.” He strode out the door. Of course it was too much to expect Gabe would take the hint and shut up on the matter.

“Pretty is mighty nice to see when a man returns home tired and hungry.”

Conor put up mental barriers at Gabe’s reminder of what he missed. “I suppose you count yourself an expert? Don’t see you inviting young Diana to join you.” Gabe had left his intended back in Philadelphia when he came West promising to send for her when he was settled. That was two years ago.

“Figure it’s about time. Soon as I get the barn up and the harvest in.”

Conor scoffed. “Heard that last year.”

“My barn’s still not up.”

“We’ll do that this fall.” He figured mentioning that fact would give Gabe something to think about. Seems he came up with more excuses than necessary for not sending for Diana. Conor kind of figured Gabe wasn’t quite ready to commit to marriage. He guessed the delay wasn’t a bad idea and wanted to warn Gabe that Diana might have unreal expectations about what pioneering meant but didn’t want to turn the conversation back to the one topic he wished to avoid—the risk of expecting a woman to labor at his side. Gabe’s side, he corrected.

“So what was Virnie doing out here? Seems a long way from the schoolhouse.”

“Miss White—” he emphasized the proper title “—seems to think she should visit each of her students’ homes.”

He felt Gabe’s amused grin directed at him but ignored it and tromped toward the field where the last of the sheaves waited to be stoked. “Rae, you look after your chores.”

“Yes, Pa.” She dropped back, disappointed at missing out on the conversation.

Gabe waved to her. “See you later, little gal.” He closed the distance between himself and Conor. “So how many other homes has Virnie visited, do you suppose?”

“I’d guess none.”

“Mighty interesting that she chooses this place first.”

Conor stopped and faced his friend. “I know what you’re doing. But I am not interested in Miss White. You saw her. Does she look the type to embrace frontier life?”

Gabe shrugged. “She came of her own free will, one would assume.”

“And I expect she will leave of her own free will before Christmas.”

“Conor, not every woman is like Irene. Some are even stronger than their men. Why, you only have to look down the road to the Faulks. It’s the old lady who does most of the work while the mister supervises and her son wanders about looking for who knows what. Sure, he says he has a farm somewhere but I have my doubts.”

His example supported Conor’s argument. “When was the last time you had a good look at Mrs. Faulk? She’s built like a small ox. Nothing pretty or soft about her.”

Gabe laughed loudly. “I bet all that padding’s plenty soft.”

“You know what I mean.”

Gabe stopped and faced him, forcing Conor to stop, too, or reveal his dislike of this conversation by ducking around him. He chose to face the man squarely.

“I know what you mean better than you do.” Gabe seemed intent on speaking his mind.

“Humph.”

“Yup, you’re scared you might get hurt again. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Not all women are like Irene.”

Conor refrained from voicing a warning that Gabe might soon enough discover for himself the true facts of the situation. “Look, are we going to stand around jawing all day or get this crop harvested? Could be you’re delaying so you don’t have to send for Diana.”

“I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.” He bent his back and worked like this was the last day available.

The next two days Rae teased Gabe into giving her a ride to school and picking her up afterward. It interrupted their workday and made Conor uneasy. Sure, Rae liked Gabe’s attention but was this something else? He began to suspect Miss White had said or done something to make Rae think she must be escorted to school. On the third morning, he decided to test his theory.

“Rae, Gabe’s too busy to take you to school. You’ll have to walk. Same after school.”

“Okay, Pa.” She skipped off down the road.

Conor stared after her. There went that suspicion and with it the argument he’d used to deflect the memory of Miss White standing in this very room.

Gabe, as always honing in on his secret thoughts, punched him on the shoulder. “If you didn’t want me seeing Virnie every morning you only had to say so or take Rae yourself.”

Conor grabbed his hat. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

Several days later they worked on the last of Conor’s crop. He enjoyed the hard work. It kept him from thinking too deeply about anything but the grain, the cows and his plans for the fall. Like Virnie White. It seemed everything he said or did made him think of her.

“I warned Diana how cold Dakota winters can be and she says she will bring lots of warm clothes and make some extra warm quilts.”

If Gabe brought Diana out right after harvest, the two of them would share the cold winter months. Conor straightened and let his gaze rest on the house across the field. His house. His lonely house. When he’d moved West he had envisioned a home full of warmth and welcome. A flash of Virnie’s pretty smiling face flitted across his mind. He blinked and dismissed it. He wasn’t lonely enough for the kind of pain brought by sharing his life with a pretty woman.

Gabe watched him. “Virnie seems like a fine woman. I saw how she handles the kids. A fine woman, indeed. Perhaps you should get to know her better.”

Conor didn’t answer but he tossed bundles to Gabe fast enough to make him pant.

That night they scrounged a meal by opening several cans. They gave three plates a quick wipe and found a place to set them by pushing things off the table.

Conor saw the knowing look in Gabe’s eyes and silently dared him to mention the state of the house and suggest it needed the touch of a woman. “Now my crop is done I’ll make arrangements for Rae then we’ll go to your place.”

After they’d finished their simple meal, he rode over to the Joneses’ where he normally left Rae if he planned to be gone overnight. They lived close enough Rae could run back and forth to look after the cows and the chickens. But Mrs. Jones was down with something and said she couldn’t manage.

He returned home with the awkward news. “Can’t take her with us. She needs to tend to the chores.”

Rae edged forward. “You could get someone to stay here.”

Something about the look on her face warned Conor her suggestion wouldn’t be to his liking. “Maybe. But most everyone has chores at home.”

“I know someone who doesn’t have chores. Miss White.”

“No.” The word exploded from him.

Gabe chuckled. “You sound mighty scared and you won’t even be here.”

Conor did not want to picture her in his house, touching his belongings, filling his kettle, sweeping his floor. “No.”

Gabe laughed hard. “Man, what’s gotten into you? You’re jumpy as a spring colt. Virnie must really have gotten under your collar.”

“You can’t begin to understand. And her name is Miss White.”

“Ain’t what she told me.”

Conor knew an incredible urge to physically remove that teasing grin from Gabe’s face.

Gabe leaned closer, making it even more tempting. “Seems to me you’re overreacting, unless…” He dragged his sentence out as he sat back waving a finger. “You’re more interested in her than you’re willing to admit.”

“You’re plumb loco.”

“Then ask her.”

“Please, Pa, please.”

Conor sighed loudly, letting the pair know just how annoying they were. “Fine. I’ll ask. But don’t expect she’ll say yes.”



Virnie had been grateful to Conor’s friend for bringing Rachael to and from school. But it only lasted a few days. When Virnie got a chance to speak to Rachael privately, she learned the Faulk boy or man, whichever he was, had left again and taken the dog with him.

“Did you tell your pa about the dog?”

“Didn’t need to. He’s gone.”

“What about when he comes back?”

Rachael gave an unconcerned shrug. “Maybe he won’t.” And Virnie had to be content with that. So why did she stare down the road every morning until Rachael arrived and check every afternoon, sighing in disappointment when Rachael marched down the road, swinging her lunch pail and kicking up little clouds of dust? It wasn’t because she hoped Conor would ride up for his daughter. It couldn’t be. Because she wouldn’t allow herself such silly thoughts. His behavior was too much like her father’s. And forget the worry and concern she’d seen in his face over Rachael. It didn’t count.

And forget the way his probing look had stirred such an unfamiliar response deep inside in places she had never known existed. Now those places refused to be ignored despite her firmest efforts. The ignited feeling both frightened and thrilled her. With a decided shake of her head, she pulled her thoughts into submission and focused on the letter from Miss Price.

She skimmed over the suggestions on ways to help the Schmidt boys learn English more quickly and nodded as she hurried through the problems Miss Price had sent that would require George to do extra reading before he could solve the challenging arithmetic problems. She found what she really wanted at the end.

As to your questions about your little student, bear in mind that not all parents are willing to let their children benefit from personal involvement with a teacher. In my experience, there has only been you and Belle.

Belle had been a student before Virnie. She came from a large family and when her parents decided to move farther west they made the choice to let Belle continue her education. Boarding with Miss Price had been a perfect solution for Belle. Her parents had left her reluctantly.

Unlike Virnie. In her case, she had learned to accept that her father was glad to be rid of her.

She turned back to the letter.

“That is not to say there aren’t other ways of helping this child both inside and outside the classroom.” Miss Price went on to list several scenarios such as involving Rachael in extra reading, or performing in a drama or being involved in some community endeavor. “I will pray for such opportunities.”

Virnie folded the letter and put it in the drawer with the previous letters from Miss Price. She owed it to her mentor to do something for Rachael even if it meant having to deal with Conor and her errant feelings around him.

But what?

God would have to provide the answer.

The next day, Conor surprised her by bringing Rachael to school. Rachael ran to Virnie. “Pa wants to talk to you.”

She wondered at the excitement in Rachael’s voice. But her main concern when she crossed the yard to where Conor waited was controlling the sudden roll of her heart that left her breathless.

“You wanted to speak to me?” She kept her voice admirably calm despite the way her insides vibrated at speaking to this man who had inadvertently opened up an unwelcome door in her heart. She didn’t know what lay past that open door and didn’t intend to find out. She had her life plans laid out firmly. She would be a dedicated teacher such as Miss Price had trained her to be. And because it was what she wanted.

Conor seemed very interested in the reins draped across his palm. “Umm. I have to go to Gabe’s farm and help him with his harvest.”

She nodded. “Does that mean yours is done?”

“Yes, and a fair harvest, too.”

“Good. I’m glad for you.” Though she wondered what it had to do with her and why he continued to twist the reins.

“Rae can’t go with me.”

“Of course not. She has to attend school.”

“And do the chores at home.”

She nodded. “You’ll miss her, I suppose.” She had to see his response, assure herself he did care, that Rachael being a girl wasn’t reason enough to resent her.

Conor’s gaze rested on Rachael standing near the school watching them. Then he turned to look hard at Virnie.

She saw his stark feelings about his daughter. He loved her so much it seemed to almost hurt him.

“I will miss her.” His voice was low, edged with roughness. “But out here we do what has to be done without complaining.”

She nodded, not understanding the warning note in his voice.

He sucked in air and jerked his gaze away as if aware of the tension lacing the air between them. “She needs someone to stay with her.”

“Certainly she does.”

He shifted back to look at her. “Would you?”

His gaze was so intent, so demanding, she found it difficult to think. “Would I what?”

“Would you stay with her?”

Her mouth fell open. She forced it shut and swallowed hard. Was this God’s answer for a way to spend more time with Rachael? He’d certainly found a unique way of doing it.

Conor took her hesitation for regret. “I wouldn’t be there. Be gone for a week or two.”

“Why I’d love to stay with her. On one condition.”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me before I agree.”

“You allow me to teach her a few skills around the house.”

Darkness filled his eyes. “Don’t need fancy stuff.”

“Seems to me from the little I saw that you would benefit from someone knowing a few basics like washing dishes and tidying up.”

They did silent battle with their eyes and then he nodded. “So long as you don’t teach her to be a silly, weak female.”

She laughed, despite feeling like her past had slapped her full-on. “Female doesn’t necessarily equate weak and silly.” She’d tried to prove it to her father. Unfortunately, she had failed so miserably he had sent her away and never again contacted her. She pushed the hurt of her former life back into the shadows. This was not about her. It was about Rachael.

Conor only quirked his eyebrows at her quick defense. “I have to leave immediately. Take good care of her.” He waved Rachael over.

Rachael raced to his side, darting cautious glances at Virnie. “She’s going to do it?”

Conor nodded.

Virnie thought he looked like he regretted it already. She left them to say goodbye. But as she walked away she overhead him say, “Don’t expect her to stay when things get hard.”

Virnie grinned. If he thought she’d turn tail and run at the first challenge she encountered, he didn’t know the things she’d faced in the past.




Chapter Four


Virnie found lots of work to do in the house and enlisted Rachael’s help, hoping to teach her a few coping skills. Her first task was to wash dishes. It was a standard kind of job that occurred in every house across the nation every day. Only this was Conor’s kitchen and as she scraped the dirty dishes she got glimpses of what he ate, the meager sort of meals he endured and wondered how either he or Rachael survived. She felt his presence in every corner of the room. She wondered how he spent his evenings. Did he read? She saw little evidence of it though she didn’t venture into his room. She tried not to think of him sitting over a cup of tea, wanting to share his day with someone.

She pushed aside an increasingly familiar awareness of the empty areas of her life. It would be nice to share stories of her day with someone. She scoffed at her silliness. If she wanted to share she had only to sit down and pen a letter to Miss Price. But it wasn’t the same.

When Rachael complained they didn’t need to wash all the dishes, only what they needed, Virnie chuckled. “Sounds like something your pa says.”

“Yup.” Then thinking Virnie might expect better English from her, corrected herself. “Yes. ‘No need to waste time on needless chores,’ he says.”

Virnie tried to think of a way to show Rachael that house chores were as necessary as farm chores. “Why does your pa insist the pens are cleaned every day?”

“Easier to move a little manure than a lot.”

“Same with dishes. It’s easier to wash what you use every day than face the dirty stack when you run out.”

Rachael looked startled.

“So we’ll wash all these dishes and put them away and then every day you wash the ones you use. That way you don’t have to try and find something clean when you’re hungry.”

They finished the stack. Virnie scrubbed the cupboard and put everything away. “Doesn’t that look nice?” The tabletop was clean and scrubbed, the stove shiny black.

Rachael giggled. “Pa wouldn’t know it was the same place.”

They tackled the rest of the room. Virnie discovered beautiful wood floors that gleamed once she’d scrubbed and polished them. She saw Conor’s handwork in the hand-hewn window ledges and his craftsmanship in every detail of the house. The house revealed a pride that belied its current condition. There must have been a time he valued a nice home.

As Virnie polished a window, she wondered what had caused Conor to change his mind. Certainly the death of his wife formed a large part of it. Aching for his loss, she pressed her lips together to stop their trembling.

Friday afternoon, she followed Rachael into the cleaned house and stopped as a wave of sensations poured over her again, making her feel teary. She struggled to identify the cause of her reaction. The place felt like home. She felt she had a part in making it welcome. It wasn’t her home and never would be but a longing for such a home and welcome grabbed at her insides until she struggled to catch her breath.

She closed her eyes momentarily to stop the sensation.

This was not what she wanted. No. She had set her heart on being a teacher like Miss Price—helping many children, devoting herself to a worthy cause.

She gathered her thoughts and hung her hat on the nearby hook. Next to Conor’s coat. His scent filled her senses—masculine, and hinting of his work with animals, reminiscent of her days helping Miles. She rested her head against the wall and fought for control. This was Conor and Rachael’s home. Her home was a tiny room in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell. Miss Price had taught her to enjoy the privacy of her own room and to realize the rest of the house belonged to others. It was the way things were for teachers. Virnie knew it well and not only accepted it, she enjoyed it.

So why this sudden, overwhelming reaction to a house she had cleaned and polished, this blur of tears at the bouquet of scents from Conor’s coat—reminding her both of Miles and Conor?

Rachael ran out to gather eggs then returned for the milk pail.

“Pa says I’m the best little milker. I can milk the cow faster than he can. I think it’s ’cause she likes me.”

She was gone again, leaving Virnie struggling with her war of emotions. She touched Conor’s coat, fingering the woolen texture, freeing another waft of scents. Why did he treat Virnie like she couldn’t be counted on? Why did he try and make Rachael so tough? What had happened to his wife?

She jerked her fingers from the fabric and pushed herself from the wall, away from her silly meanderings. It was the weekend and she intended to tackle Rachael’s room today. Tomorrow she would wash clothes.

As soon as Rachael returned and the milk was tended to, Virnie led the way to the bedroom. “Rachael, remember what I say in school? A neat desk is an efficient desk. Same with your bedroom. Keep it clean and you’ll waste far less time looking for things.”

Before they could put anything away, it was necessary to clean out the drawers of the chiffonier. In the bottom one, under a collection of rocks and feathers and other little treasures, Virnie found a picture.

“This must be your mother. You look very much like her.” A beautiful woman with lovely hair.

Rachael grabbed the picture from Virnie’s hands. “Don’t tell Pa I got this. I’m supposed to forget her.”

Virnie struggled to hide her shock. It hurt to forget one’s mother. “Why is that?”

“Because she was weak. She was supposed to help him but Pa says she just lay down and quit living all because she missed the easy life of the city. Pa says we have to work hard to have a home no one can take from us.”

That explained so much. His insistence that Rachael be tough, his neglect of the house—no doubt the poor man had lost his dreams along with his wife. Or did men have dreams?

Rachael put the picture back in the drawer and covered it with an old shirt. “I don’t want to disobey Pa but I want to have a ma, too, even if it’s only her picture.”

“I understand. I won’t tell your pa.”

They worked together sorting out the room, but Virnie’s thoughts tended to stray. She identified with Rachael’s need for a mother. In Virnie’s case, Miss Price had proved an adequate substitute. But a person needed a pa, too. Hers hadn’t wanted her so she’d struggled to forget that need. But in spite of her sincerest attempts, she could not shake the desire for recognition from her father. Somehow, she had to make Rachael realize how fortunate she was to have that even if it carried a requirement to be tough.

“At least you have your pa and you know he cares about you.”

Rachael giggled. “He loves me but says it might make me soft if he tells me. So he saves it for special occasions.”

Virnie couldn’t help wondering what occasions constituted as special enough for the words so she asked.

“Christmas morning, the first thing he says is, ‘I love you, Rae.’ And my birthday.” Rachael giggled again. “He makes up special occasions, too—the first robin of spring, the first snowfall. Stuff like that.”

Virnie’s throat tightened and her teeth felt brittle. Tears threatened. As Miss Price often said, her eyes had a tendency to leak. But thinking of Conor’s tenderness hidden under the cloak of his toughness touched her in secret places that ached for something she didn’t dare identify. It so filled her with longing and wanting that she struggled to contain her emotions. If only she could have the same tenderness extended to her. Her imagination raced out of control. She saw herself standing in the living area she had recently cleaned, a savory meal simmering on the stove as she awaited Conor’s return and a taste of that tenderness.

Chastising herself for her inability to rein in her thoughts, she grabbed an armload of dirty clothes off the bed. “Tomorrow you can help me do the laundry.” Hooks on one wall burgeoned with more clothes. “Let’s sort these out.” She quickly determined many of the items were too small or needed serious repair. The last item on one hook was a pretty blue calico dress. Virnie held it out. “This looks new.”

“It is. My grandma from Philadelphia sent it.”

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“I’d only get it dirty.”

“It will wash.”

“Overalls make more sense.”

Virnie didn’t pursue the topic knowing Rachael quoted her father but she had an idea.

Sunday morning, she approached her plan. “I attend church Sunday. I’d like you to come with me.”

Rachael brightened at the idea. “Can I?”

“Of course. Let’s get prettied up.” She’d worn a simple cotton dress in demure gray with a lace-trimmed collar. She’d fashioned her hair into a loose chignon. “Why don’t you wear that dress?”

Rachael shook her head. “Pa says I don’t need to dress up to impress God. Says God’s seen me before I was born and every day since and lots of times naked.”

Virnie laughed. “That’s true but I think putting on our best clothes for church shows God we respect Him. After all, we wouldn’t go visit the president in anything but our best, would we?”

“I guess not.”

“Then run and put on your dress.”

Rachael headed toward her room with obvious reluctance. She emerged a few minutes later in the dress. The blue brought out her natural coloring.

“You look very nice.” Virnie had one more challenge. “I have some pretty hair ribbons that match that dress perfectly.”

“Pa said we got no need for useless pretty things.”

“I only thought they might keep your hair in place. Keep you tidy. But if you don’t want to…” Virnie made as if to put the ribbons away.

Rachael’s eyes followed Virnie’s hands with obvious regret. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be tidy. Seeing we’re going to church.”

Virnie hesitated. “You’re sure?”

Rachael nodded. “I think Pa would agree they serve a useful purpose.”

“Of course they do. Now sit on a chair while I tend to your hair.” The child had thick wavy hair that required patience to brush. But Virnie didn’t mind. She loved caring for this child, doing for her all the things Virnie had never had done. As she brushed Rachael’s hair she wondered why she couldn’t recall her mother. Virnie had been five when she died but she seemed to have disappeared from memory. In fact, until she met Rachael she had forgotten her father and Miles, too, except for brief, unwelcome flashes. Of course, Miss Price’s counsel to put her past life behind her had caused Virnie to do her best to forget it. But she wished she had a picture of her mother like Rachael did. Somehow it would be comforting to have some reminder.

“There. You’re done. Have a look.”

Rachael went to the small mirror over the washstand and turned back and forth examining her reflection.

“What do you think?”

“It looks nice.”

Virnie hugged her. “You look very pretty.” Rachael stiffened a bit and Virnie guessed she thought of her father’s words about pretty being useless for a pioneer. But he was wrong. A person—a woman—could be pretty, or at least pleasant-looking, and still face the challenges of this new land.

Monday after classes ended, Rachael hopped about as she waited for Virnie to close up the school. “Pa should be back tomorrow.”

“How can you know?”

“’Cause the weather’s been good. He said it would take seven days of good weather. He’ll be back. He never stays away longer than he has to.”

Rachael had such confidence in her father’s affection. “Shall we make it a special occasion?”

“How can we do that?”

“Well, you could help me make a special meal.” She’d been able to fashion simple meals from the eggs, milk and a decent supply of canned goods. On Saturday, as she draped the wet clothes on the fence surrounding the garden patch, she’d found evidence of potatoes and carrots.

Rachael had explained, “Pa plants a garden every spring.”

Virnie shook her head. Weeding the garden might actually allow them to reap some produce. But upon closer examination she unearthed useable potatoes and carrots. “Where does your pa get meat?”

“Goes to the store. I can go and Mr. Brown will sell me something and put it on Pa’s bill. I’ve done that before. Are we going to make a real meal?”

A real meal. For a real family. In a real home. The words danced through Virnie’s mind like the taunt of teasing children. Or the echo of her own heart. “We’ll get some meat on our way home tomorrow.” She squeezed Rachael. “We’ll cook a real meal.” And then her sojourn into pretend would end and she’d return to her lifetime goal.

There was no reason she should dread the idea. None whatsoever.



Conor rode into the yard. Through the window, he glimpsed Rae and Virnie. He wanted to see Rae and assure himself she was fine, put to rest his loneliness, but he hesitated. Virnie was there, too. He didn’t know if he liked the idea or not. Or perhaps he knew the answer and shied away from it.

He rode Noble to the corrals, unsaddled him and took his time about rubbing him down all the while telling himself his only reason for not rushing to the house as he normally would after being away was because of his concern for his horse.

But soon he had no more excuses.

He must face what lay beyond the door across the yard. And what lay within his heart. Things he’d been trying to escape all week. Of course, Gabe’s constant yatter about the pretty schoolmarm made it impossible. But even on the ride home, alone with his thoughts, he hadn’t been able to escape thinking of Virnie.

Stupid. Stupid. He knew she would be anxious for him to return but only so she could go back to her safe little room at the Maxwells’. No doubt she’d had more than enough of pioneer life by now. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care nor expect anything different.

But still he found reason to pause at the corral gate and adjust the bar. He discovered a great need to check the corner post to make sure it was sound. He found an undeniable urge to give a good look around to make sure his fields were still there. He snorted. Like someone could walk away with ten acres. Finally he forced himself to the house, stopping outside the door to gather up his strength to face—what? Disappointment? He had only invited her to stay with Rae. Nothing more. Of course she’d leave as soon as he returned. So what did he need to face then? He sighed and reluctantly acknowledged this house signified a dream that had died with Irene. A dream of home and security and belonging and warmth and—

The dream was dead. Long live reality.

He shoved the door open and staggered back as Rae launched herself into his arms.

“Welcome home, Pa. It’s a special occasion. I love you.”

He squeezed her tight, and recognizing the game they had played for years, he said, “I guess if it’s a special occasion, I love you, too.”

She giggled. “You love me anytime.”

He buried his face in her hair. It smelled sweet and clean. Slowly he raised his gaze and his heart punched a hole clear through his reason as Virnie stood before him smiling a welcome. He glanced about the room. It positively shone. The hole in his reason widened. This was how he imagined the house looking when he had lovingly built it. He jerked his gaze to the stove where pots stood waiting. The scent of roast beef and potatoes caused a flood of hunger. He missed good meals. He tried to stop himself from looking back at Virnie but couldn’t. His willpower had turned all mushy.

She continued to smile. “Welcome home. We’ve made supper for you.”

He let Rae slip to the floor. She continued to press to his side. He squeezed her shoulder, needing something solid to anchor himself to.

He wanted someone to share his life, his home, his daughter. He wanted someone to welcome him home. Someone who would share responsibility in every way, from preparing tasty meals to cleaning the house to—reality kicked in with a vengeance that froze every other emotion.

What he wanted and needed included a woman able to tackle whatever challenges this fledgling country sent. And Miss Virnie White was not that sort of woman. Too soft and pretty to be truly practical.

He pushed his dreams back into the grave and turned to hang his hat and coat on a hook. Right next to a pretty cape and wide-brimmed hat that surely belonged to Virnie. He inadvertently brushed the cape, lifting the scent of sunshine and flowers to his nostrils. For a moment he couldn’t move as his insides responded to the scent. For a heartbeat he let it lift his thoughts from reality. His dreams weren’t about to rest in peace nor to allow him peace.

Rae grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the table. “We made a nice meal. A real meal.”

“We?” He cocked an eyebrow at Rae but his eyes found their way to Virnie who stood demurely to one side, her hands clasped ladylike at her waist and her smile gentle and cautious, almost impatient. Had she been keeping the meal warm for some time?

“Rachael is a wonderful help,” Virnie said.

He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Rae can do most anything she sets her mind to.”

Rae rewarded him with a blinding smile. “I’m tough.”

“That you are,” he agreed.

“The meal is ready.” Virnie’s voice remained low with no hint of disapproval but Conor would not look her way to see how she’d reacted to Rae’s pride in being tough. He didn’t want to deal with it. Not tonight. Not with the house clean and a meal on the table. For today, he would accept the gifts without worrying about what the giver thought of him.

He washed up and sat at one end of the table. Virnie sat at the other end and Rae on the side between them. He trailed a finger over the wood, remembering how he had planed and polished it to smooth perfection. Then, realizing what he was doing, he pulled his hands to his lap. The table didn’t matter any longer. Any more than the rest of his dreams. Dead. Gone.

“Would you like to say grace?”

Virnie’s question pulled him from his mental meanderings. He nodded. Been a long time since he’d felt the need to thank God for anything. He wasn’t sure he should be grateful now. No, he was wrong. For the food ready to eat, he was thankful. As to the other stuff—his resurrected dreams, the gentle woman at the end of the table who was responsible for their revival—perhaps that was his own fault. He should have never asked her to stay with Rae.




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