Montana Cowboy Daddy. Linda Ford
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I might have a book that will help you. If I can just remember where I put it.” He ducked down to paw through the contents of the cupboard beneath the counter. “Never thought I’d be able to sell the book, so I stuck it away somewhere.” His voice echoed as he dug further into the shelves. “Ah, yes. Here it is.” He straightened, turned to one side to blow dust from the book. “A Guide to Practical Housewifery. Think that will do?” He handed her the volume.
She opened it to the index and read some of the chapter headings. Soup. Fish. Oysters. Meat. Several kinds of cakes. Food for the Sick. Remedies. Other Practical Matters. She flipped through a few pages. The instructions looked easy to follow, as if written for someone in her situation. “It’s perfect. I’ll take it. How much?”
He named a sum that she found more than satisfactory, and she counted out the coins to pay him.
From the back room, Isabelle heard the murmur of Sadie’s voice. Sadie had convinced everyone that a temporary classroom could be set up in the back room of the store and within a couple of hours the transformation had been wrought.
“Did all the expected students come for classes?” Isabelle asked.
“Only a few showed up this morning but she has a full house this afternoon. It’s rather pleasant to have the children traipse through the store and to hear their voices.”
A child’s voice reached them and Isabelle cocked her head toward the sound. “Is that Mattie?”
Mr. Marshall nodded. “She’s a special little girl.” He studied the door leading to the temporary classroom. “We’ve all done our best to give her a good life but the child needs a mother.”
“Doesn’t she have Annie?”
“Don’t get me wrong. Annie does well. But doesn’t she deserve a life of her own? That girl is barely more than a child herself and has spent four years taking care of her father and brothers, not to mention Grandfather. And Mattie on top of it.”
He shook his head. “You know, a number of unmarried women have tried to earn Dawson’s interest but he rebuffs them. That man needs to forget how his wife treated him and realize not all women are like that. But then, I shouldn’t be gossiping like an old woman, should I?” He turned his attention back to her purchase. “Would you like this wrapped?”
She started to say no, but a horse rode by and she automatically glanced out the window. She didn’t care to have everyone in town know what she’d bought. “Yes, please.” It took but a moment for Mr. Marshall to wrap the book and hand it to her.
“I wish you all the best,” he said with a kindly smile.
As she made her way across the street, she mulled over the storekeeper’s words. What did he mean about Dawson’s wife?
Not that it was any of her concern. She had other things to occupy her mind, and she hurried into the house, where she went immediately to the kitchen, sat down and began to study her new book.
Thankfully, the kitchen windows faced the alley, so she couldn’t see Dawson and the other man working on the school.
But with every ring of a hammer, every shush-hushing of a saw cutting through wood, with every muted sound of one man talking to the other, she thought of him and wondered about his marriage.
Forcing her attention back to the book before her, she chose what she meant to make and gathered together the ingredients.
Later in the day, a tray of oatmeal cookies cooled on the table and Isabelle smiled with satisfaction. She’d prepared vegetable soup for supper and it simmered on the stove.
If only she had someone to share her success with, but Kate and her father had gone out of town to attend an injured miner. A glance at the clock over the doorway showed the time had come for the children to be released from school, and she hurried to the window overlooking the street and watched as, one by one or in groups of two or more, the children ran from the store, laughing and calling to each other.
Mattie exited, chattering away to the girl at her side. Isabelle curled her hands. All these cookies should be enjoyed by a child returning from school.
She turned away and carefully put the cookies into containers. She tried not to think of Mattie and how much she’d enjoyed putting the child to bed, tucking her in just as her mother once tucked her in. For a moment she’d dreamed of spending more time with Mattie, but Dawson’s warning made that impossible. Isabelle was not the kind of woman he wanted Mattie to associate with. What had she done to make him judge her so harshly?
* * *
School was over and Mattie ran across the street to join Dawson.
When he rose this morning he had hoped he could escape to the hills but Grandfather had had other ideas.
“Miss Young suggested she start holding classes in the back room of the store. Seems a reasonable idea. Ride on in and let George know. Help him arrange things. And seeing as your brothers are away, get back to construction on the school.”
He’d protested, reminded his grandfather of the cow herd he needed to look after, pointed out that the work didn’t require the presence of a Marshall. He might as well have talked to one of the empty chairs. In the end he did as Grandfather said simply because he figured the sooner he did so, the sooner he could ride out to check on his cows. Mattie had demanded to go with him to town because she didn’t want to miss the opening of school.
Uncle George thought turning his storeroom into a classroom was a good idea. He, Dawson, Sadie and a couple of others hanging about the store had the room cleaned out in less than an hour and set six tables and a dozen chairs in place. Uncle George had arranged some empty shelves and Sadie placed her books on them.
There hadn’t been time to notify everyone, but word got around, and after lunch the town children were all in attendance.
He should be pleased at the resumption of classes, but it meant Mattie would be in town, where she would see Isabelle Redfield far too often. His brows knotted. Why did that name seem familiar? He searched his memory but could think of no reason.
Dawson had spent the day working on the school, which, unfortunately, stood next door to the doctor’s house, allowing him plenty of opportunity to observe the coming and going of people seeking medical attention. Doc and Kate would be busy. How did Isabelle spend her time? His gaze went often to the wooden wall.
He’d pretended not to watch when she dumped wash water on the two bushes someone had planted to replace those destroyed by the fire. He told himself he needed to stretch his back when he straightened to observe her fetch some pieces of wood for the stove. He had to order his feet not to run over and offer to help. But when she went out the front door and crossed the street, his hands grew still. His eyes followed her every step. Did she look both ways to make sure no wagon or horse bore down on her? He eased out a sigh when she stepped into the store. Someone needed to keep an eye on her.
With a groan of frustration he realized he had been doing exactly that and bent over his work. But mentally he counted the moments until he heard the door across the street squeak open and had to check and see if Isabelle returned.
She’d stood on the steps of the store, smiling at the package in her hand. What had she purchased in Uncle George’s store that brought such a pleased look to her face? Not that he cared. He hoped he’d made himself clear on that matter.
Then she’d picked up her skirts and stepped into the street, pausing to let a wagon go by.
Dawson had waited until she disappeared into the house then measured the board for the schoolhouse wall. He measured again to be certain then turned to mark the piece of wood on the sawhorse. What were the measurements? He took the tape and again stretched it out. This time he promised himself he would not be distracted by wondering what Isabelle did all day long behind the walls of the house next door.
He cut the wood, more than a little relieved when it fit perfectly, and nailed it into place. Only one other man had joined him in the work and the sound