Montana Cowboy Family. Linda Ford
Читать онлайн книгу.
choke her.
At the sight of Sammy in Logan’s grasp, she dropped her skirt and ran her hands over her head to make sure every hair was in place. Logan was pretty sure not one single strand would dare escape.
She spared Logan the briefest of glances and turned her attention to Sammy. “I was concerned about you.”
“I’s okay.”
“Except you’re supposed to be at school with the others.”
“I don’t like school.” Sammy sighed mightily. “But I promised my ma I would go.”
She held a hand out to him. “Then let’s return.”
Sammy ducked away from her offered hand and sauntered across the yard in the general direction of the store.
Miss Young paused to speak to Logan. “Thank you for taking care of him.” She was too shy to even meet his gaze.
“I know you have students to look after at the moment, but when classes are over, you and I need to talk about this.” Like he’d said to Sammy, the boy must take responsibility for his actions. If left unchecked, stealing lunches might escalate into stealing bigger things. Things that would get him jailed or hanged. Best to nip the tendency in the bud.
Miss Young’s gaze jolted to his at those words. “I’ll deal with the boy in school.”
“He stole from me. That makes it my business.”
Her demanding look had likely been perfected with her wayward students, but he’d lived with Pa and Grandfather long enough to endure the most challenging of looks without flinching. Not to mention two older brothers, Dawson and Conner. They were only four and two years older respectively, but not above bossing Logan around. Even his little sister, Annie, who at nineteen ran the house ever since Ma died four years ago, felt she had the right to expect Logan to do as she asked.
Nope. No mousy little schoolmarm had a hope of making him quake in his shoes. He touched the brim of his hat. “Until school is out,” he said, and sauntered away.
* * *
Sadie would have welcomed more time crossing the street and rejoining the classroom. Something about Logan Marshall left her heart fluttering and her breathing so rapid she might have run around the block three times. But she’d left one of the older girls in charge long enough. She’d have to deal with her turmoil of emotions later. She rang the bell and called the children in from their play behind the store. The area was little more than the back alley, but until they moved into the schoolhouse, it sufficed. Lunch time had precipitated Sammy running away. For the fourth day in a row he had forgotten his lunch. She began to think no one prepared one for him. The children made the same conclusion and teased Sammy. Before she could intervene, the boy had gone outside saying he wasn’t hungry. When she’d checked on him, he was gone. The same thing had happened yesterday but, before she could search for him, he had returned, swaggering a little, looking slightly smug. Her warning bells had sounded. This little boy of seven brought out all the protective instincts she possessed, but she wasn’t lulled into believing he wasn’t capable of mischief.
And she was right. He’d stolen from Logan Marshall! What had he taken? And why had he stolen from a Marshall? They ruled the town with unwavering firmness. Sammy’s family had recently moved to Bella Creek, so Sammy might not know that yet. She spared a tight smile, wondering if knowing would make any difference to the boy. He had a certain brashness to him that made her think he often did things he shouldn’t.
The children filed in. She read to them. She assigned lessons and checked answers. She replied when spoken to though, from the questioning looks on several faces, she guessed they had asked their questions more than once. Finally the afternoon classes ended and she dismissed the children with a wave and a wooden smile. Only then did she sink to her chair, plant her elbows on the desktop and bury her face in her hands. She made certain to have a book open in front of her, should anyone step in unannounced. Hopefully, they would think she pored over lesson preparation.
Shudder after shudder raced up and down her spine. She was no longer a naive sixteen-year-old but a wiser, stronger, more careful woman. Still, the thought of facing one of the Marshall men with their broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes filled her with dread.
Big or little, powerful or weak, she simply did not trust men. Not after her father’s business partner had cornered her in her bedroom, tossed her on her bed and done unspeakable things to her.
After he was done, he smiled at her. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
To this day she didn’t know if he’d meant the words seriously or simply mocked her pain. After he’d left she’d curled into a little ball, her pillow clutched to her chest and cried. Her tears were spent, her insides hollow, when her mother came in some time later. She’d confessed it all, hoping for, longing for, comfort. But she’d been instructed to wash her face and come down to dinner even though that man—Walter—would be at the same table.
She’d been told to never mention what had happened. It would ruin her father, would put the family out of business and lastly, as if it mattered least, it would ruin Sadie.
Every time she had to face the man brought a repeat of her pain and fear. After a few weeks she had persuaded Mother to let her go stay with Aunt Sarah, her mother’s younger sister. Sadie had found a degree of comfort there, but her insides remained raw that her family—the very people who should protect her—had turned their backs on her pain and fear.
Time was supposed to heal all wounds and she tried to believe it. She had even allowed herself to be courted by shy, gentle Ronald Wilson. She’d gone so far as to agree to marry him, but as the time for the wedding approached she couldn’t go through with it. She had never told Ronald her reason for breaking it off. Could hardly explain it to herself. Yes, she was afraid of the intimacy of marriage, but it was more than that.
She was soiled. Ruined. Unworthy.
She drew in a long breath and lifted her head. That was in the past. Time healed all wounds, she repeated to herself. Or perhaps time simply allowed a scab to form.
All that mattered now was being a good teacher, showing the children how to succeed in life and protecting them from dangers.
She rose. Her knees shook and she sat down again. She needed some inner strength and knew where to go for it. Since her own Bible was in her new living quarters—two little rooms on the end of the schoolhouse—she reached for the bigger Bible that she kept in the classroom.
She pulled it to her and opened to a verse that had become her strength in the four years since that fateful day. 1 Samuel 30:6 “David was greatly distressed...but David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.”
Her finger trailed along the verse as she offered a silent prayer for help. God, strengthen me and uphold me with Your righteous right hand. Help me be able to speak boldly to Logan. Like she’d said to Isabelle Redfield the first day they arrived, the Marshall men frightened her with their size and self-assurance.
To be honest, she felt something more than guardedness around them. Something more than stiff awkwardness. The Marshalls were the kind of men who held strict standards. She feared that if any of them learned her secret she would be run out of town as a fallen woman. They must never know.
She closed the Bible, tucked in her chin and waited for Logan Marshall to appear.
She didn’t have long to wait. He rapped on the door frame and stood, worn gray cowboy hat in hand, waiting for permission to enter.
Feeling at a disadvantage sitting, she stood and waved him to the nearest chair.
He drew it forward, parked it in front of her desk and plunked down, piercing her through with his blue eyes.
Her knees wobbled and she sat. She lowered her eyes, avoiding his unblinking look, but still managed to study him. He was clean shaven, wore a gray shirt that had a smattering of wood dust on the shoulder and blue jeans that showed wear at the creases at the knees. Her gaze settled on his scuffed