Chapter Five

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered.

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

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

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

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

      “Don’t suppose you’d like a ride?”