The Cowboy's Baby (4 page)

N
ot until the door closed after Colby did Anna’s nerves stop twitching. She watched out the window as he strode down the road to the right. Where was he going? Apparently it was too much to hope he’d leave town now rather than later after they all started thinking he might stay.

But at least he was out of her house, out of her sight. Just not out of her thoughts. Try as she had over the months, she could never get him completely out of her thoughts.

“Anna, what if he does want to take Dorrie?” Alex’s voice thinned with worry—a worry that scratched the inside of her mind, as well.

Father appeared in the doorway. “He says he doesn’t. Do we have any reason to doubt his
word?” Carrying his Bible Father left to visit a family whose mother lay sick.

Anna could think of many reasons for mistrusting what Colby said—and even more for not counting on him. Experience had taught her those cruel lessons. But it had not taught her a way to subdue the portion of her heart that longed for the closeness they had shared. It had been a childhood friendship. Nothing more. But she couldn’t stop the yearning in her heart that wanted to reignite that friendship. Feel again the closeness, the bond, the instant understanding they once had.

Only her rigid, well-honed self-control enabled her to dismiss such foolishness and turn her attention back to Alex’s need. She squeezed his shoulder. “Alex, we can pray and trust God to be in control of the situation.”

Alex skittered a sideways look at her. “I’m afraid.” He ducked his head so he spoke into his chest. “Sometimes bad things happen.”

She pulled him to her side, wanting to assure him he was safe. But how could she? He’d lost more than she when his mother and baby brother had died. “We have to trust God knows best.” She had fought a hard battle in her heart to get to the place where she could trust God again. Alex lacked her adult perspective to rationalize events and apply faith. His thin shoulder pressed into her ribs but he remained stiff as a stick.

Knowing she had nothing more to offer than words, she released him and turned to wash Dorrie’s face.

Her disobedient thoughts returned to Colby and the way he’d edged his way into Father’s good graces. Father believed in extending forgiveness, which was fine in theory. Not so great when it put so many people at risk. Father would be shocked at the words biting the back of Anna’s tongue. If she voiced her thoughts he would gently chide her for being uncharitable, for not showing the love of God.

Alex’s mouth remained in a tight line. His eyes clouded with troublesome thoughts.

Her heart went out to her younger brother. “Alex, I’m sure there’s no reason to worry.” She wished it were so. “Now help me with the dishes and then you can start your homework.” She lifted Dorrie from her chair. As soon as Dorrie’s feet hit the floor she went to Alex and babbled something, her face wreathed in concern as if sensing his uncertainty.

He scooped her into his arms and tickled her, making her giggle.

“Lexie,” she protested, but they all knew she loved it as much as Alex.

Anna watched the pair. Not only did she have her heart to protect, she must shield these two children from hurt, as well. She constructed a
quick, impenetrable shell around the thoughts that remembered happier times with Colby. She could not let them divert her from her present concerns.

Later, as she helped Alex with his homework, she resolutely kept that shell in place. One effective way to do so was to think of the cross hanging on the fire-scarred wall. So many things raced through her mind—the times she’d knelt before that cross, giving her problems and struggles to the Lord, seeking His help in dealing with the loss of Rose, the challenges of raising her younger brother and running her father’s home. How frightened she’d been when Colby had thrust his newborn baby into Anna’s arms and begged her to take care of it.

At first, her prayer had been for Colby to stay, stop his foolish behavior and become a true partner in the raising of his daughter. Her cheeks burned as she recalled how she’d imagined him confessing his love and asking her to marry him. She now understood he could not be the man she needed. She’d done her best to accept it and focus her thoughts on being a mother to the two children in her care and running her father’s household efficiently.
God, why did You let him come back when I was sure I had put thoughts of him behind me?

She wanted to slip over to the church as she’d done so often and find help, strength and renewal
of her faith at the foot of the cross. It meant more to her than a symbol of Christ’s death. It was a visible reminder of God’s faithfulness in her life.

Despite Mrs. Percy’s edict, Anna couldn’t bear the thought of having the cross burned along with the rest of the debris, especially now when she knew her faith and resolve were about to be tested yet again by Colby’s return.

She’d always found what she needed in prayer and she turned her thoughts toward God in a burst of faith.
God, my first concern is protecting Dorrie. And I need Your wisdom to do that. But I also need to rest in Your strength as I face Colby each day. Help me be faithful to what You’ve called me to do.

Calm returned to her soul for the first time in many hours. God had always been faithful and loving as she struggled with her many doubts and fears. It was as if He patiently held out His arms, welcoming her after each bout of uncertainty.

She wanted to save that cross. It was only a piece of wood but was a monument to her—a sweet reminder of all the times she’d turned to God for help and received more than she asked or dreamed.

Once Dorrie was sleeping she could leave. “Alex, listen for Dorrie while I run over to the church.”

Each Sunday she accompanied Father on the piano as he led the song service so she often ran
over to practice on the church piano. Only this time her interest wasn’t in music.

As she stepped into the dim interior she breathed in the acrid smell of the fire still clinging to the air, but it failed to rob her of the peace and tranquility she felt in this place. She moved slowly up the center aisle pausing to wipe her fingers along the top of one of the wooden pews. She checked her fingertips, saw a trace of dust. She’d tried to keep the place clean after the fire even though it wasn’t used for services. Somehow it seemed sacrilegious to let dust accumulate. Besides not only did she pray and play the piano here, Father still came over to study and pray.

She arrived at the front. The pulpit had been taken to the meeting place so nothing obstructed her view of the cross or the blackened wall. Raw wood had been nailed over the bottom where the fire had broken through. She climbed the three steps to the platform, her heels thudding on the wood, and stood in front of the cross. The foot had been burned off completely and much of what remained was blackened by smoke or charred by the fire.

Her vision blurred. She couldn’t explain it in words but she felt the cross surviving the flames was a visible lesson of a spiritual truth—that Jesus’s death had spared them all from the flames of judgment.

She scrubbed at her eyes. This was a lesson she wanted to share even as much as she wanted to preserve the cross that had such significance in her life.

She slid her fingers along the wood, carefully going with the grain to avoid slivers. It fit tightly to the wall. She wouldn’t be able to simply lift it off.

If she could only see how it was secured but the evening light had faded to a gentle dove-gray.

“Figuring to steal it?”

She jerked back and caught her finger against a rough patch as she spun around to see who spoke. A sliver dug into her flesh. “Ouch.” She squeezed her finger to stop the pain.

Colby stood before her, a grin splitting his face.

She scowled. “It’s you. I should have guessed.” It would be too much by far to think he’d wandered down the street and found some place miles away to hang out. She gritted her teeth but not before the barest moan escaped.

He shifted his amused gaze to her hands and sobered. “Are you hurt?” He grabbed her finger and bent over to examine it.

Heat scalded her throat and cheeks at his touch. A thousand dreams and wishes blossomed like flowers after a rain. She knew she should protest and pull away but she stood as immobile as a slab of clay.

He turned her finger gently toward the last bit of light from the west-facing windows. He probed the site with a light touch then yanked out the sliver.

She gasped yet welcomed the sudden pain. The flowers withered and died and saneness returned. There were no dreams, no wishes with this man.

He pressed the site, ending the pain as quickly as it came. Then he squeezed the tip of her finger. “A little blood flow will wash away the dirt.” Two drops of blood plopped to the oiled wood of the floor. She’d have to scrub it off later.

He watched her finger a heartbeat longer. “I think I got it all but you best wash it thoroughly when you get home.” When he released her hand she couldn’t seem to move. She stared at her arm suspended between them, felt the heat from her cheeks spread to her hairline and scald the roots of her hair. She yanked her arm to her waist. Her heart throbbed where the sliver had been.

He leaned back, his head bare.

At least he had the decency to remove his hat in God’s house. She realized her thoughts were uncharitable but found perverse strength in them.

“So what were you doing?” he asked.

“Looking.”

“Don’t get slivers by looking.”

“So I touched it.” She had no intention of telling
this man anything more than that. “What are you doing here?”

He chuckled. “I was enjoying a quiet evening.” He sounded vaguely regretful, as if her presence had spoiled his solitude.

“Maybe you could enjoy it somewhere else. Don’t you have friends you can stay with or something?”

“You suggesting I go to the saloon?” His quiet words challenged her. “I seem to remember a time when you begged me to stay away from that sort of company.”

“That was a long time ago. Things have changed.”

“I’m glad you admit it. Because—” he leaned close “—I’ve changed. Didn’t you promise to pray for me? Did you do it? Or decide I was a lost cause?” His nose was only inches from hers. “Perhaps you prayed I would never return.”

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.

A
nna 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.

As she helped Dorrie with her glass of milk she suddenly paused and lifted her head. “Do you smell something burning?” Since the fire any hint of smoke sent her scurrying to check the nearby buildings, her heart twisting with fear. The flames had come dangerously close to the house. She’d never been so afraid nor prayed so hard. God had answered that prayer.

God had turned the tragedy into blessing in many ways—people had come back to Him like prodigal sons, cause for much rejoicing in many homes.

She raced to the window without waiting for an answer from Father about the smell of smoke. Flames licked skyward from the churchyard. “Fire,” she called.

“It’s probably Colby burning garbage.” Father sounded so calm she knew he expected it.

“He’s at the church already?”

“He was there when I arrived. Already had some boards pulled off the wall. Seems eager to get the work done.”

As she stared out the window, Colby sauntered over and tossed some boards into the flames. He’d filled out over the years. Looked like he could handle any physical challenge. She blinked back a hard stinging in her eyes. He could certainly toss an armload of wood but could he handle problems? How long before something sent him riding out of town? Again.

Then she realized what he was doing.

The cross. She thought she’d have lots of time to rescue it. “Father, watch Dorrie. I have something to look after.” She didn’t wait for him to ask what was so important to take her away in the middle of serving a meal.

She picked up her skirts and ran to the back entrance of the church. She didn’t slow until she faced the wall. The raw boards had been peeled away. Much of the damaged area had been knocked down. The cross was gone. She stood in ashes, disappointment burning through her veins.

Colby sauntered in, whistling through his teeth. “Morning.” He picked up bits of wood.

“Where is it? Did you burn it?”

“Burn what?” He paused on his way to the door.

“The cross.”

He grinned. “Thought you said to.”

“I didn’t mean it. I wanted to save it.” She pressed her lips tight to stop a wail from escaping.

“Hang on a minute while I dump this armload.” He disappeared out the door. She heard a clatter and caught a whiff of smoke.

She hadn’t moved. Didn’t know if she could. Her failure left her stunned and immobile. It was only a piece of wood. She knew it had nothing to do with God’s power, His ability to answer prayer, His love or anything of importance. She didn’t need the cross to communicate with Him. Or hear Him speak through His holy word. She knew all that. The cross had no significance except as a sentimental reminder of all He’d done.

She heard Colby return but didn’t bother looking at him. The shard of annoyance she felt toward him was foolish and out of place. He’d only done what she said. She’d been rash in her words and regretted it from the moment she’d uttered them.

“Come with me. I have something to show you.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t interested in anything he had.

He grasped her elbow, gently turning her about.

His touch fired up her nerves like flames. She jerked back. She didn’t want him touching her.
Didn’t want him reawakening feelings and awareness she’d fought so fiercely to quell.

But he wasn’t about to let her discourage him. He again took her elbow, a little more firmly, and steered her relentlessly toward the back into the cloakroom. Only so he would leave her alone did she let him drag her along. “Look,” he said.

Her eyes widened like Dorrie’s would if given a gift. Her heart resurrected from the pit of her stomach and exploded against her ribs. “The cross.” The words blasted from her. Fractured, it leaned in an empty corner.

She rushed over and touched it to assure herself she wasn’t imagining it. “I thought you burned it.”

He shrugged. “You said to. But I figured there was something special about it. Didn’t find any money behind it. Not even a long lost letter from some beau—” He chuckled at the pained look she sent his way. “So I figured it was the cross itself you wanted.”

She nodded, unable to find words beyond her surprise.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

She knelt to examine it more closely. The fire damage was worse than she thought. “I wanted to save it.” She sat back on her heels and swallowed a lump of disappointment. “I guess I thought there must be some way to repair it, restore it. I didn’t
realize how badly it’s damaged.” She pushed to her feet. “Leave it here. Maybe I’ll figure out something.” She couldn’t bear the thought of burning it even though it seemed the only thing to do.

Turning, she came face-to-face with him, staring into his blue eyes. Found it impossible to sort out her feelings. He’d understood this piece of burned wood meant something to her and saved it. His insight surprised her, shifted her thoughts so she wasn’t able to maintain her anger toward him. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It was kind of you to save it.”

His eyes blazed with amusement. “I’m really a nice guy.”

She couldn’t break away from his gaze, knew a jab of regret that what they once shared no longer existed. There was a time she would have told him her doubts and fears. He would have told her his dreams. Just as he’d told her about the harshness he’d suffered at the hands of his father.

She blinked. Seems he could never run far enough to escape that memory. She tried to protect herself with such knowledge yet something soft as warm butter had eased her anger. “You didn’t come for breakfast,” she murmured.

“I didn’t know if I was welcome.”

Guilty as accused. For the moment she couldn’t remember why she should have made him feel so cautious. “It’s not too late.”

He nodded, a tangle of hope and caution filling his expression. “I’ll be over then.”

She stepped away, sucked in smoke-laden air that seemed lacking in oxygen, and hurried to the yard, the smoke out there even heavier. No wonder she couldn’t breathe normally. In the house, she placed another plate on the table. She heard Father moving about and went to inform him Colby would be over and suggested he keep him company.

Father sorted through some books, no doubt looking for a commentary or something.

She glanced around the room. “Where’s Dorrie?”

He looked up, surprise widening his eyes. “She was just here.”

Anna resisted an urge to roll her eyes. Father could become so focused on something the world could fall down around his feet and he’d barely notice.

“Dorrie,” she called.

“She’s with me.” Alex’s voice came from his bedroom.

The impact of what she’d just done hit her so hard she groaned.

“Something wrong?” Father asked.

“No.” Not in the sense he meant. But she’d extended a welcome to a man who not only could tear out her heart but rip her family apart, as well.
She scrambled to think how she could undo her foolish deed.

She hurried to Alex’s bedroom. Dorrie’s head lay close to his on the pillow and she scrunched up beside him peering at the book he read to her.

“Keep Dorrie here for a bit, would you?”

Alex lowered the book to look at Anna. “How come?”

“Colby is coming for breakfast and—” She sent a warning look in Dorrie’s direction.

“Sure. We’re going to finish reading this book, aren’t we, Dorrie?”

Dorrie babbled something, pointing at one of the pictures and Anna hurried out, grateful for Alex’s understanding.

Knowing Dorrie would be safe from Colby for a bit longer, her heart grew lighter and she sang the words to one of Issac Watt’s hymns, “Alas! and did my Savior bleed?” as she fried more potatoes and eggs and sliced more bread.

She could protect Dorrie.
Thank you, God.

The cross had been saved.
Thank God.

And thank Colby?
a fragile voice whispered.

She’d thanked him. Even invited him to breakfast against her better judgment. And she’d thank him good and proper…

When he waved goodbye as he rode from town, leaving them in peace.

Colby tapped on the door then stepped inside and quietly sat at the table. Father poured them coffee. Colby glanced past her as if searching for Dorrie.

She sent him a look intended to inform him he could eat at her table, rescue the cross she attached sentimental value to, maybe even renew bits and pieces of their old friendship, but he needn’t expect her to let him see Dorrie if she could help it.

She wouldn’t stand by and let him gaze at the child with the longing and sadness she’d seen last night.

“Mama.” Dorrie raced into the room, Alex hot on her heels.

“She wouldn’t stay.” He sent Colby a curious look before he ducked his head, hiding his face.

Anna scooped up Dorrie hoping to whisk her away before she saw Colby. But she was too late.

“Da-da,” Dorrie gurgled, adding a whole lot more that no one understood.

Anger—as unfamiliar as palm trees, as powerful as the fire that destroyed the buildings down the street—raged through Anna. Anger directed as much at herself as at Colby. She’d put Dorrie at risk. But he had no right to come back. Not even if God had changed him, something she wasn’t yet ready to believe.

Oh, Lord, forgive me. I rejoice that one of Your
lambs that was lost has been found. But why, God, did he have to come back here? Couldn’t he just as well start over in California or Alaska?

She handed Dorrie to Alex and he carried her back to his room. Rather than sit at the table with Colby and Father, she remained at the cupboard, staring out the window at the flames consuming the old lumber from the church, a cloud of gray smoke billowing upward, blotting out all but a blue edge of the sky. Colby’s presence had done the same for her, blotting out all but fragments of her normal peace of mind.

It was Saturday, one of her busiest days. The Sunday clothes had to be brushed and ironed; the shoes polished; and as Father insisted on observing a complete day of rest, every bit of food for Sunday prepared ahead of time. Normally she anticipated the coming day of rest with nothing much to do unless she counted caring for Dorrie and reading, neither of which constituted work in Anna’s mind. But today she scurried about almost resenting the extra work Sunday required. She could find no peace in her heart or satisfaction in her chores. She ached for a chance to sit quietly before the cross and take her concerns to God, knowing she would find both comfort and guidance.

Instead, each time she glanced out the window,
she caught glimpses of Colby carrying more wood to the fire or standing back considering the building. She wished he would leave.

The idea cut through her. Not like he’d left before—far away and for many months. Just for the afternoon so she could enjoy a peaceful hour in the church.

Suddenly she realized she hadn’t seen him for some time. She went to the open window and listened but heard no sound of work from inside the church. Nothing.

“Alex, watch Dorrie. Don’t let her out of your sight. I’m going to run over to the church.” She couldn’t sit on a pew and meditate in front of the cross, but Father had given her the list of hymns a few days ago. She knew them all. Could play them with her eyes closed, but she’d go over them again. The music spoke to her soul as much as did prayer and Bible reading.

She tiptoed into the sanctuary and listened but didn’t see or hear Colby. She sat at the piano and was soon lost in the music as she sang the familiar hymns with real joy. She finished and sat with her eyes closed, rejoicing in the beauty of the words, letting the peace they gave her fill her soul.

The sound of one person clapping jolted her eyes open. Colby sat in the nearest pew. “That was excellent.”

“Thank you.” She felt no gratitude, only annoyance as she left the piano bench and stood facing him. “Where have you been?”
How long have you been watching me?