Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “I’m going to help you.”

      His mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut.

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

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

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

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

      “Nothing. But how hard can it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      She held out her hand. “Agreed?”

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

      “Now show me what to do.”

      “You certainly are bossy.”

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

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

      “What bad word did I say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Libby