The Cowboy's Baby

She refused to step back and let him intimidate her. Instead she drew herself up tall and tipped her chin. “I did pray for you. At first.”

He nodded. “Then you decided to give up on me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then I prayed you’d never come back and embarrass Dorrie with your sinful ways.”

He straightened and stepped back.

Even in the fading light she glimpsed what she could only take for as hurt. She almost regretted her honest words then he grinned and she didn’t regret them one bit. The man was far too blasé about life. Just as he was about responsibilities and friendships.

Not even to herself would she admit it was one of the things she had enjoyed about him—his ability to smile through troubles, laugh at adversity and enjoy life.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” He shifted to stare past her. “What would the good people of the church say if they knew you tried to steal the cross? Do you suppose your father would be embarrassed?”

“This is ridiculous. It’s a burned piece of wood. Aren’t you planning to burn it tomorrow?”

“So what were you doing?”

He wasn’t about to leave the topic alone. But neither was she prepared to share her emotional attachment to the cross. It would make sense to no one else. They would see only how it was burned, damaged beyond repair. Mrs. Percy was right. It should be destroyed. But a flurry of regrets swamped her at the thought.

“Something hidden behind it maybe? Something you don’t want anyone to discover?”

A dull churn of anger ignited at his accusation. She suspected he was purposely trying to annoy her. But how dare he suggest she might be guilty of doing anything wrong. She was a preacher’s daughter who carefully lived a circumspect life. And if she ever missed the expectations of her role by so much as a hair there were plenty of people who would point it out to her. “I was only seeing if there was a way to salvage it.” She lifted her skirts and descended the steps. “Obviously I am being foolishly sentimental. Might as well burn it and put up a new cross.” As she hurried down the aisle, she struggled to control this unfamiliar indignation.

She marched across the yard and into the house. There wasn’t time to dwell on her unexpected reaction to Colby. She planned to finish the quilt tonight and deliver it as soon as possible. Thankfully the evenings had been warm enough of late, but if they had a cold, damp spell the Andersons would be hard-pressed to keep warm with the few things they’ve been given.

Anna paused as she sewed the edging on. She thought of how close she had come to sharing Hazel Anderson’s situation. The fire had been within inches… She shuddered. Life was so uncertain.

She jabbed the needle through the layers of the quilt with unusual vigor. Father might feel charitable toward Colby Bloxham. But all she felt was an enormous need to get the man on his way as soon as humanly possible before he upset her life. Again.

She needed divine help and paused to bow her head. Our Father in heaven, be so kind as to put Your mighty hand on the man’s back and move him onward. Before he turns my world upside down and my heart inside out. Again.

Chapter Five

Anna woke the next morning with a heavy feeling in her limbs. She wanted to believe it was because the night had been unbearably hot. Or because the wind wailed and moaned around the house like a woman in mourning yet did nothing to relieve the heat.

But it was not the warm air or tormented wind that prevented Anna from sleeping.

She had mentally scolded herself far into the night.

Why did she still react to Colby with the same swift pleasure and longing as she had when she was young and foolish?

Why had she let Colby affect her so she said such a foolish thing as burn the cross? Not that the cross mattered except to her.

But his intentions regarding Dorrie did matter. Would he take the child? Could he? She gave a snort of disbelief. Who in their right mind would let him? And she didn’t mean just herself. The town would rise up and stop him. Colby Bloxham raising a little girl?

With sluggish inefficiency she prepared breakfast and tended to Dorrie. It was Saturday so she left Alex sleeping. She didn’t feel up to coping with his reluctance to do his assigned chores even though she suspected he would open his eyes, turn to his back and read as soon as she stepped from his room. She shrugged. What did it matter if he enjoyed a few relaxing moments?

She turned her thoughts back to the cross. During the night she had made up her mind. The cross might mean nothing special to anyone else but it did to her and she wanted to keep it. As soon as breakfast was over she’d take a hammer and screwdriver and figure out a way to get it off the wall before Colby could follow her rash instructions.

Father returned from his morning prayers, his step light. He’d plainly enjoyed his time with God.

She needed some time alone with her Lord, as well. Time to pull her worries into submission. Time to find her peace.

Knowing Colby might show up any moment to start repairs, the church would no longer be a place of refuge for her.

Another reason to resent the man’s reappearance in her life.

She sighed inwardly, her weariness increasing with each moment.

Breakfast was almost ready and she called Alex but didn’t wait for him to get dressed before she informed Father the meal was ready and put Dorrie in her chair. Neither of them could bear to wait for their morning meal.