Montana Mail-Order Wife

He flung his arms wide and rolled his eyes. “That’s Ursula’s job.”

Her temper rising, Rachel scowled. “Your attitude explains why the poor kid’s been struggling on his own to master camping skills.”

“A camping award isn’t worth burning down my timber,” Wade said, but he sounded less sure of himself than before.

“He didn’t intend to burn your timber! He was teaching himself to start a fire without matches.”

Wade massaged the back of his neck as if he had a pain. “Judging from ten acres of ashes, I’d say he’s mastered the technique.”

Rachel rammed her fists on her hips and lifted her chin to meet Wade’s mellow gaze. “The wind picked up and blew sparks into dry grass. Jordan tried to stomp it out. When that didn’t work, he attempted to beat it out with his shirt. You’re lucky your son wasn’t burned alive trying to save your precious timber.”

Wade shook his head in disbelief. “All over a camping award?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Your son could have been burned to a crisp, a part of those ashes you’re complaining about.”

For a moment, when his assured expression slipped and doubt glinted in his eyes, she thought she’d made her point.

Then he broke into a grin. “Now that you’re here, you can keep him safe.”

“Aargh!”

Rachel wheeled and hurried toward the house, leaving him alone in the driveway. She shouldn’t have bothered explaining. Despite the compassion Wade had shown her after the train wreck, he was as ignorant as a mule where Jordan was concerned.

Recalling the boy’s tear-streaked face, Rachel whirled and returned to Wade.

“Why can’t you get it through your thick head it’s his father’s approval, not some award, that’s important to Jordan?” She poked her finger against the hard muscles of his chest. “The poor kid believes he has to win a medal, just so his own father will love him.”

She snatched her finger away and clenched her trembling hands at her side, astonished by the strong maternal urge that had overwhelmed her, infusing her with an unfamiliar courage. Either some repressed memory had activated her response, or the skinny little kid had worked some kind of spell on her.

A glance at Wade made her rethink her last assumption. His eyes, alight with growing awareness, gleamed in the twilight like polished stones. She squirmed beneath his rapt gaze.

Maybe it wasn’t Jordan who had cast a spell.

Horrified at her boldness, she raced across the dew-wet grass toward the house, fleeing Wade’s probing scrutiny and the corresponding quiver in her heart.

WADE WATCHED HER GO. He’d wanted a mother for Jordan, so why wasn’t he delighted when Rachel acted like one?

Because she’s pointing out your faults.

He ignored the twinge of conscience. He’d done his best with Jordan, raising the boy as his own dad had raised him, with an iron hand, strict rules and swift and speedy punishment for misbehavior. And he, Wade, had turned out all right, hadn’t he? True, he’d always had more fear than fondness for his father, but the ornery old cuss had taught him right from wrong and how to run a ranch. Passing on those values was more important than love, wasn’t it?

Besides, Wade had to instill in Jordan a strong moral fiber, so he wouldn’t grow up to be like his mother.

The memory of Rachel’s green eyes reproached him, and he attempted to relieve his guilty conscience with more excuses, but he was too bone-tired to argue, even with himself. He’d spent hours helping the firefighters hose down hot spots. All he wanted now was a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.