The man rocked back and forth, his expression as hard as the rocks around the fire pit.
Blue held his cup before him. He would outwait this man. He wouldn’t leave until he got a satisfactory answer.
He wasn’t riding away until he could be assured Clara and the girls were safe.
Chapter Eighteen
Clara stood inside the little shack while the girls played outside, promising to stay nearby.
Alone and lonely, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Blue had ridden away without explanation. Not that he owed her one, but still. Couldn’t he have said more than he’d be back? When? And then what? Was he planning to return to the ranch now that his job at the church was done? The ache inside her heart clawed up her throat.
She shook her head. Enough feeling sorry for herself. She’d grown careless about putting the girls’ clothes in their bag and she took a few minutes to fold each item carefully and put it away.
For a moment she let herself miss the pretty dresses they’d once owned. But that was in the past. It wasn’t pretty clothes that mattered. It was staying together.
The boxes had somehow shifted during their stay, and she carefully arranged them into neater piles. One box tumbled over, and she gathered up the contents—a winter coat with one sleeve torn, a worn hat, a dress that was no more than a rag, a worn sweater and some old newspapers. Seems the Mortons didn’t throw things out. They stored them. She put everything back in the box and finished tidying, then swept the floor carefully.
It only took a few minutes and then she stood in the middle of the small space.
Bonnie had told her how Cassie had started the business the Mortons now ran. Though she meant to be independent, Roper wasn’t happy about leaving her in town. When he found the children they had eventually adopted, he struck a deal with Cassie. He’d help her build her house if she helped take care of the children. This tiny shack had been temporary quarters for Cassie and the children while Roper built the house the Mortons now occupied.
Clara smiled. Seemed she and Cassie had much in common. They both lived in this tiny shack and had a man in their lives who objected to their independence.
Her smile disappeared into a choked sob.
Cassie’s story had ended differently than Clara’s would.
Enough of that. She had two children who meant more than the world to her. Their murmured voices came from the sunny side of the shack.
The rattle of a harness, the thud of horse hooves and the creaking of wood signaled the approach of a heavy wagon.
Her heart stilled. Was it the stagecoach? Finally?
“Whoa. Whoa.”
She opened the door and stepped outside so she could see. Perhaps it was only another farm wagon. But no, it was the stagecoach pulling to a stop before Macpherson’s store.
This was what she’d been waiting for. She should feel relief. Not this clogging tightness in her chest. Not the sudden drop of her heart.
She pressed her palm to her chest as if she could still the turmoil within.
She recognized the emotion for what it was. Anxiety. She didn’t want to leave. But—
Her thoughts were cut short when the stagecoach door opened and a man in city wear stepped out.
Her heart lodged in her throat.
She must be mistaken. Oh, God, please let me be mistaken.
The man brushed off his coat, adjusted his hat and turned to consider the tiny, dusty town.
Clara pressed back against the shack. Father. He’d found her. Her knees folded. She forced them to straighten as her thoughts raced. Run. Leave. Get away. She looked around. Where? How?
First things first.
She backed out of sight and turned to face the girls, who played at the side of the shack. “Stay right there. Do not move. Do not make a sound. Do you hear?”
Eleanor’s eyes widened at the intensity of Clara’s instructions.
Libby looked curious. “Why, Mama?” she whispered.
“Don’t ask questions, and do not move. Okay?”
Eleanor nodded and grabbed Libby’s hand. “We’ll stay right here.”
Clara hated seeing the fear in her daughters’ eyes, but she couldn’t risk them bringing Father’s attention in their direction.
She clung to the walls as she edged back into the shack. She slipped inside and leaned over her knees, struggling to catch her breath. After a moment she gained control and looked about. Think. Think. What are you going to do?