The Cowboy's Baby. Linda Ford
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final bit of bottom had fallen out of her world when she discovered he’d left town. She’d had to deal with the accident on her own.
The memory of it lived forever in her mind, in vivid color and sharp sounds. A wagon skidding on one wheel for what seemed a very long time. The scream of horses. The terrified cries of a woman with a baby clutched to her chest. She’d watched, powerless to stop the accident. Then in scenes so slow, so detailed she knew she would never erase them from her mind, the wagon hit a rock, flipped skyward, tipped over and landed upside-down. The woman flew through the air, landing with a heart-stopping thud. Then only the wheels moved, turning round and round.
She thought they would never quit.
She’d remained frozen to the spot until warm, demanding arms drew her away.
Her beloved stepmother, Rose, had died. As had baby Timmy.
She sucked in air and pushed away the memory, barring it from her thoughts.
At sixteen she had become a mother to Alex, six years her junior, and she had taken over her father’s household.
And Colby had left. He didn’t come for the funeral. He didn’t come to offer comfort. He didn’t come to share her fears. He returned eighteen months later with a wife soon to have a baby. Nora had died giving birth to Dorrie and Colby had thrust the newborn into Anna’s arms.
She shouldn’t have been surprised when Colby left a second time even though she could blame herself. She told him to leave. What she’d meant was for him to change his ways.
She no longer held out hope of him doing so and with decisiveness, shut her heart against caring, against hurting, and answered Laura’s question. “He’s never been one to stick around when things get difficult.”
“Then I expect he’ll soon be gone again.”
The thought should have been comforting. Instead it sliced through her heart like an out-of-control butcher knife. She turned away lest Laura guess at her turmoil. Why did she still care even after all the pain he’d brought to her life?
Thankfully there wasn’t time to discuss the matter further. Nor mull over silent questions. The ladies waited.
As she served tea and cakes, fourteen-year-old Alex came in from school. She went to the kitchen to speak to him.
“Come and say hello.”
“Do I have to?” He shuddered, headed for the back door and escape, his face alternating between a flush and pallor.
She knew how he struggled with social occasions but he must learn to do what was proper. “Yes, you do. It’s common courtesy.” She wished she could inject Alex with some self-confidence but every effort she made only seemed to cause him to pull back more quickly. She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder and steered him to the parlor where the ladies enjoyed tea and visiting. “Just say hello and then you can play with Dorrie.”
“’Lo.” It was barely audible and more of a mumble than anything.
She ached for the way he shied away from people, preferring to live with his books and toys. She’d done her best for him but she knew nothing about raising a child.
Rose had married Father when Anna was almost five. Rose had brought joy and love into both Father’s and Anna’s life. After her death, Father had withdrawn into his Bible study.
Not, Anna realized, unlike Alex and his withdrawal from people.
Alex played with Dorrie a few minutes before he sidled up to Anna. “Can I go now?” he whispered.
She nodded.
As he slipped away, Dorrie protested loudly because her favorite playmate had left.
Anna picked up Dorrie to quiet her and realized every eye watched her. They had been talking about her. And decided she needed their helpful, friendly advice. She shifted her gaze to Mrs. Percy, expecting she would be the self-appointed spokeswoman. When Laura reached out and squeezed Anna’s hand, Anna understood she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear.
Mrs. Percy adjusted her posture so she looked even more imperious than ever, which had always been enough to strike fear into Anna’s heart. “What’s to be done about the cross?”
Anna knew she meant the wooden cross that graced the wall behind the pulpit. It had been badly damaged by the fire. She wondered what the women thought should be done about it.
“We obviously need a new one.” Mrs. Percy spoke as if it had been firmly decided.
She thought of the burned cross and how important it had been in her life. “When you think of how the cross saves us from the flames…” She meant in a spiritual sense but seeing the confusion on the faces of the women around her, she knew they didn’t understand, perhaps thought she meant the cross had somehow stopped the fire from consuming the church.
She didn’t finish her thought but if there were any way possible, she’d salvage the cross. Not because Mr. Steves had been the one to hang it on the wall. Not because it was part of the original decoration, but because of what it meant to her.
But it was not the cross, nor repairs to the church that crowded her mind after the ladies left. It was Mrs. Percy’s report of Colby’s behavior.
He hadn’t changed.
Colby would never be the man she needed and ached for.
She must persuade Father to talk to Colby, make him see the harm his presence was doing and convince him to leave town.
She would talk to Father tonight as soon as Alex and Dorrie were in bed.
Chapter Three
But it was the next morning before she got an opportunity to speak to her father. He surprised her with an announcement.
“Father, you didn’t?” She had no right to question Father, but it took all her rigid self-control to keep from revealing the depth of her shock.
“I think it is an excellent idea. It takes care of many problems at the same time.” He nodded as if completely satisfied with his decision and settled before the desk in the front room where he opened his Bible and prepared to turn his thoughts to study.
Anna stared at the contents of the room—the wooden armchair now back to its normal place beside the desk, the small table with a lamp and stack of pleasure books, the brown leather sofa that seemed best suited for decoration rather than comfort, the bookshelves holding Father’s precious library, the ornately framed daguerreotypes—one of Rose and Father’s wedding and the other of her own mother whom she barely remembered. She saw nothing in the contents of the room to calm her fears.
“How does hiring Colby solve any problems?”
“Isn’t it obvious, dear daughter? He will get the repairs done to the church on time, leaving me to attend to other things. He’ll be close enough to get to know Dorrie.”
Exactly. Close enough to make it impossible to keep him from seeing her. And who knows what he’d want next? How that solved anything, Anna could not begin to understand.
“The young man and I had a good talk. I believe he’s sincere in wanting to change. Who better to help him than us? Isn’t that what the church is for? To provide help for those who need it?” He sent Anna a gently reproving look that brought a flood of guilt to war with her anger and fear.
“Of course but…”
Father smiled gently. “Don’t give up on him. Nor disregard the Lord’s work in his life.”
Tears burned the back of Anna’s eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in God and what He could do, but believing in Colby had brought her nothing but pain and disappointment. She could not survive another shattering experience with him—trusting him, loving him against her best intentions, only to watch him ride away. Or worse, hear after days of waiting and wondering that he’d