The Cowboy's Baby. Linda Ford
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to study her he could say she looked a sturdy child with hair somewhat fairer than his own with a big white bow in the back. He wanted to see and know this tiny bit of humanity he’d made with Nora. He’d come back to be a proper father but he knew so little about being one except to know he didn’t want to be like his pa.
He guessed Anna wouldn’t be leaving the sanctuary of the church while he stood there. “I’ll be back,” he muttered as he swung to Pal’s back.
Several hours later he strode into the Lucky Lady and checked the occupants. No sign of Hugh. Was he still around the area or had he left for something better—or at least different? Could save your energy, Hugh. Different ain’t better.
Arty sat at the same table, his eyes now glassy, his hat askew. Another familiar figure sat across from him—Tobias—neat and tidy as always, and rough shaven just as Colby remembered. He wondered if the man used a dull table knife for a razor.
He saw it all in a glance even as he watched the dark-eyed troublemaker nod to the men on either side of him who then slid away as the man slowly uncoiled himself from the bar to slither toward Colby.
“This the one who caused you a problem?” The question came from Colby’s right.
He tensed, feeling as much as seeing, the two crowding close. He kept his attention on the man crossing the room. Keep coming. Bring your trouble to me. Leave poor old Arty alone.
But the man stopped and slapped the table in front of Arty. He jumped and half tumbled from his chair.
Colby eased forward prepared to help though he perceived it wasn’t Arty the dark-eyed man wanted to tangle with. “Leave him be.”
“Who? This old drunk?” He grabbed the bottle from the table and tipped it over. Only a few drops spilled out as Arty had already drained it, but the old man cried out and lurched to rescue it as if it held several generous drinks.
The man pushed Arty aside. “Sit down, old man. Before you end up facedown in the sawdust.”
Arty stumbled backward, swayed and clutched at the stranger’s arm to steady himself.
“Get away from me, you old bum.” The troublemaker tossed Arty aside.
Colby saw Arty was going to land heavily and he strode forward to catch him.
He didn’t make two steps before his arms were caught on each side. Helplessly he watched Arty skid to the floor and flounder for a grasp on something solid. He found the rung of the chair and started to pull himself back to its seat only to have the chair kicked away from him.
Colby growled. “Leave him alone.”
The third man left Arty and marched over to glower into Colby’s eyes. “You think you scare me?”
“Enough that you enlist two more the same as you to even the odds.” He grunted as the man on his right shoved his arm up his back hard enough to tear at his shoulder. “Just you and me. Let’s see how scared you are then.”
The man nodded to his friends. But he didn’t wait for them to release Colby’s arms to sucker punch him in the stomach and, before Colby could get his fists bunched, landed a blow to his nose.
Ignoring the pain and the blood pouring forth, Colby exploded into a fury of fists. He had the man on the floor before the other two grabbed him. They succeeded in dragging him to the door and tossing him out on the street but Colby made them work for their victory.
As he wiped away the blood and scrambled to his feet, several decent folk passed by on the other side bound, no doubt, for some noble event.
“Why, it’s Colby Bloxham.”
“As rowdy as ever, I see.”
A loud sniff and then a pious “Let’s pray he leaves again real soon,” followed.
Colby grabbed his hat and smacked it hard on his head. He’d give it until morning for Anna to hear that Colby had been brawling. He could explain if she’d give him a chance. ’Course she’d given him many chances in the past and he’d mangled each of them. Not much wonder she wasn’t about to throw open the door to welcome him this time.
No point in expecting a chance to explain himself.
He strode away, heading for the camp he’d set up on the edge of town, close enough to the river for ease of water, close enough to the church he could slip over and watch the goings-on, yet not so close as to give anyone cause for concern.
Anna covered the little cakes with clean towels and arranged the fancy teacups on the table. The members of the Ladies Sewing Circle would be arriving any minute. Everything was ready, in precise perfection. She should be calm and serene.
She was not.
Her emotions raged as she filled the kettle. Father had said it was only natural for Colby to want to see how Dorrie was faring. And perhaps he had truly changed. They needed to encourage him in that direction. After all, hadn’t they often prayed he would turn to God to meet the needs of his heart?
Anna couldn’t meet Father’s eyes as he spoke. Some time ago her prayers had shifted from asking for Colby’s redemption to asking that he never return. How would she survive having her heart ripped out and left to whimper and bleed again? And now the threat was twofold. She could also lose Dorrie. She’d said so to Father.
“Did he say he wanted to take her?”
“He asked to see her.”
“Natural enough, as I said. Let’s leave it in God’s loving care.” He’d taken her hand in his and prayed.
But Anna didn’t find the peace and release she’d hoped for. She couldn’t stop wondering what Colby really wanted. She couldn’t stop worrying how his plans could upset her life.
Her teeth ached from continually fighting this inner battle and she forced her jaw to relax. Please, God, put Your mighty hand on his back and send him down the road again.
Such an ache consumed her that she bent over and moaned. Anna, forget the boy you once knew. Colby is no longer that person. Let him go.
Forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand, she filled the cream and sugar then paused to run a hand over her hair, making sure every strand was in place. She’d changed earlier and the white shirtwaist was immaculate as was the black skirt she’d brushed thoroughly. No one could find fault with her appearance.
But if they could see the turmoil of her heart they might have cause to wonder about her suitability to run the pastor’s home.
She pulled herself taller. She needed to trust God. She said the words. She meant them. But she still felt no peace. Would God allow her to experience loss once again? Pain shafted through her, consuming her. Then she pulled her self-control tight as a corset. Whatever lessons God wanted to teach her through her sorrows, she had tried to learn them. She didn’t want the lesson repeated.
Lord, I try to be obedient and do what You would want.
That’s what she needed to concentrate on— trusting and being obedient.
She hurried into the other room where she had pushed back the wooden armchair and moved the little side table to make room to set up the quilting frame. The top was finished and waiting. The ladies had each contributed to the squares for the quilt. Today they would assemble it with batting and backing and tie it. Anna would finish the edging and then present it to the Anderson family, who had lost everything in the fire.
“It’s a mercy no one was killed,” Mrs. Klein said later as the ladies worked on the quilt. The fire still filled their thoughts and conversation.
“God be praised,” Mrs. Berglund said.
“Now we must do our part to help those who lost their home. Thank God we can make this quilt.”
“God be praised,” Mrs. Berglund said.
Anna bent over the quilt,