Prairie Cowboy

He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Rae can do most anything she sets her mind to.”

Rae rewarded him with a blinding smile. “I’m tough.”

“That you are,” he agreed.

“The meal is ready.” Virnie’s voice remained low with no hint of disapproval but Conor would not look her way to see how she’d reacted to Rae’s pride in being tough. He didn’t want to deal with it. Not tonight. Not with the house clean and a meal on the table. For today, he would accept the gifts without worrying about what the giver thought of him.

He washed up and sat at one end of the table. Virnie sat at the other end and Rae on the side between them. He trailed a finger over the wood, remembering how he had planed and polished it to smooth perfection. Then, realizing what he was doing, he pulled his hands to his lap. The table didn’t matter any longer. Any more than the rest of his dreams. Dead. Gone.

“Would you like to say grace?”

Virnie’s question pulled him from his mental meanderings. He nodded. Been a long time since he’d felt the need to thank God for anything. He wasn’t sure he should be grateful now. No, he was wrong. For the food ready to eat, he was thankful. As to the other stuff—his resurrected dreams, the gentle woman at the end of the table who was responsible for their revival—perhaps that was his own fault. He should have never asked her to stay with Rae.