Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3)

by Penny Richards

  “And they say miracles don’t happen anymore,” Ellie teased. “Everyone’s noticed the changes in Brady and Cilla. You’ve been good for the whole family. Did Colt say how he feels about you?”

  “He claims he’s fallen in love with me.”

  “Why is that so hard for you to believe?” Ellie asked in exasperation.

  “Jesse.”

  “Well, that’s just plain silly,” Ellie scoffed. “I thought you’d gotten beyond judging all men by the way Jesse Castle treated you. He was young and easily taken in. Colt is a grown man with grown-up feelings, not some untried boy easily swayed by flirty girls with no more sense than God gave a goose. He’s not looking for a girl. He’s looking for a woman, and I daresay he knows what he wants.”

  “But he’s s-so good-looking,” she stuttered. “What can he possibly see in me?” She mopped at her tearstained face with Win’s monogrammed handkerchief.

  “Maybe a smart, caring, charming woman who is as cute as a bug.”

  The statement came from Win, who both women had forgotten was listening to every word they said. He met their stunned looks with a slight shrug. “Sorry. I know no one asked my opinion, but there it is.”

  “Cute as a bug?” Ellie said.

  “Mmm,” Win said. “There’s something about Allison that makes you want to just pick her up and cuddle her close, keep her safe.”

  Wouldn’t that be nice? Allison thought.

  He gave his attention back to the road, but a cocky grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “I might be tempted to give the sheriff a run for his money if my feelings were not otherwise engaged.”

  “You don’t have to say things like that to make me feel better,” Allison said.

  “Oh, I’m plenty serious, Miss Allison Grainger,” he said, his devilish grin growing wider. “I don’t say things as a balm for hurt feelings or jest about important matters. Life’s too short. It’s best to just say what you mean.”

  “Even if he did love me, I wouldn’t marry him.”

  “And why not?” Ellie demanded.

  Certain that Win was not the kind of person to spread what he heard all over town, Allison recounted her conversation with Colt about the importance of God to her ideal of marriage and how he’d chosen to walk away.

  Win pulled to a stop in front of Allison’s little house before Ellie could comment. He handed Ellie the reins, climbed down, rounded the buggy and lifted Allison down after she’d hugged her sister. Then he escorted her to the door, ever the perfect gentleman.

  Smiling down into her eyes, he said, “If it’s any consolation, I think any man who walks away from you has taken leave of his senses.”

  “Thank you, Win,” Allison said with a watery smile.

  He gave her hand a brotherly pat and strode to the edge of the porch before turning. “I also believe he will come around sooner or later. If not, I may take it upon myself to knock some into him. I was boxing champ at Yale, you know.”

  * * *

  “You’ve ruined everything!”

  “So I’ve been told,” Colt said, resigned to his children’s scorn. He had ruined everything, it seemed.

  They’d just returned from the ice-cream social, and Cilla had demanded to know what Colt had done to make Miss Grainger so miserable. He was miserable, and try though he might, there’d been no hiding it. After several people told him he must be coming down with something, he’d gathered the kids and left. Figuring he owed his offspring some sort of explanation, especially since he had no idea what their future with Allie might be, given that he’d “ruined everything,” he’d offered them a condensed version of his conversation with her, including a little of their talk about his relationship with God.

  By the time they reached the house, the anger he’d whipped up to hide his wounded pride had died a pitiful death. The ache he carried inside was as hurtful as what he’d felt when he lost Patrice. Wasn’t that interesting?

  Now, thinking back to what Allison had said, a sharp pain shot through his heart. It had been naive and unrealistic of him to not at least consider the possibility that she would have her own list of what she wanted in a husband.

  “She told me the same thing,” Cilla said, breaking into his thoughts. “She said that handsomeness and kindness were nice, but that she could never marry a man who didn’t love God. We told you—that’s why we wanted you to go to church with us.”

  “She said she doesn’t want me to just go to church.”

  “Well, of course not!” Cilla’s acerbic tone suggested that she had reservations about her father’s intelligence.

  “She says it has to come from your heart,” Brady chimed in.

  Cilla glared at her brother. “That’s right, but I think going to Sunday morning services is a good place to start.”

  “Go to bed,” Colt said in a weary voice. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He wanted to go outside, sit on the back porch and listen to the lonesome howl of the coyotes and the mournful whoo-whoo of the barn owl. At least they had something in common with him.

  “It’s not too late to fix things,” Cilla told him. Her hands were planted on her hips and she was looking at him as if she’d like to put him in the corner.

  “I don’t need advice from a twelve-year-old about how to handle my love life.”

  “Well, you need some help from someone.”

  Colt glared at them. “Go. To. Bed,” he growled. “Both of you.”

  Without another word, they stomped out of the room. Cilla sent him a look over her shoulder that he’d occasionally seen on Patty’s face when he’d done something she thought was beyond foolish. It was a look he was convinced God distributed to the fairer sex at the instant of conception. Even coming from his young daughter, it packed quite a punch. Despite his bad humor, Colt found a cynical smile. His little girl was growing up.

  She needed a mother to help her navigate the upcoming troubling years. She needed Allison.

  They all did.

  * * *

  A subdued Colt ambled into the kitchen the following morning after a night of tossing and turning and trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong so fast, and how one curvy, pint-size woman could tie a man in knots with nothing but words.

  He found Cilla and Brady sitting at the pine table, dressed in their Sunday best and eating scrambled eggs and buttered bread. Cilla regarded him with all the disdain of royalty regarding a lowly peasant. Brady started to smile a good-morning, but after taking an elbow in the ribs, he caught himself and glowered instead. Colt ignored their rebellious looks and went to the stove to pour a cup of coffee.

  The blue-speckled graniteware coffeepot sitting at the back of the stove was cold. Cilla hadn’t made the coffee, something she’d been doing every morning since she was big enough to climb up on a stool and pump the water herself.

  He sighed. Ah, mutiny in the ranks. Without a word, he filled the pot with water, and ground and added the required amount of coffee. Then, moving like an old man, he went to the table and sat, resting his chin in his hands and looking from one of his offspring to the other, careful to let no emotions show.

  Brady spoke first. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Do I look like I slept okay?”

  “Not really. You look like you been rowed up Salt River,” Brady said, never one to be overly concerned with hurting someone’s feelings.

  “Hmm. I feel that way.”

  “Cilla didn’t make enough eggs,” Brady said, and shoveled in another mouthful.

  Cilla shifted a little in her chair but refused to meet his eyes.

  “I see that.”

  Though he knew the egg shortage was Cilla’s way of inflicting her own brand of punishment on him, Colt was careful to keep his tone bland and non-accusatory. The last thing he wanted was to
start the day with another row. “And please take smaller bites.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Brady and I are going to church.” The defiant announcement was Cilla’s first words to him.

  “What time should I expect you for lunch?”

  “Noon.” She waited a minute and asked, “You’re not working today?”

  Colt covered a massive yawn and scrubbed a hand back and forth through his hair. “It’s Dan’s Sunday.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hope Miss Grainger will let us sit with her.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Colt asked.

  “Because you...you...upset her.”

  Colt offered Brady an apologetic smile. “She isn’t upset with you, Brady. She told me that things between her and you and your sister wouldn’t change. She really cares for you.”

  “She cares for you, too!” Cilla cried, slamming her fork onto the tabletop. Tears shimmered in her blue eyes. “I know she does.”

  “We covered this last night, pretty girl,” Colt said. “She made it clear that I’m not what she wants in a husband.”

  Saying the words aloud brought another sharp stab of pain. “The best thing a man can do in a case like this is step aside for someone who can be what she wants.”

  “If you love her enough, couldn’t you try to change for her?” Cilla pleaded. “Like Big Dan has done for Miss Gracie?”

  “Let it be, Cilla,” Colt told her, thinking that this was just one more way he’d failed the three most important people in his life. “Just let it be.”

  Just then he heard the angry spit and sputter as the coffee boiled over. He bolted to his feet, grabbed the handle and dropped it just as fast, splashing even more over the stovetop. Looking worried about his reaction, Cilla and Brady excused themselves and left the kitchen while Colt looked from the mess to the angry red welt on his palm.

  He figured his day would only go downhill from there.

  He was hardly aware when the kids left the house. He fried himself some eggs and stared at them until the soft yellow yolks congealed on the plate, then drank some coffee and allowed himself to wallow in his sorrow and the chain of events that had led him to this place in his life. He wouldn’t try to sweet-talk Allison into compromising her convictions and accept him as he was. He doubted he could. You didn’t change people’s minds about love. It happened or it didn’t.

  It was a time like this, when he felt so alone, that he missed Patrice the most.

  Patrice. What would she think of where he and the kids were now? Which, if any, of the women in town would she feel would make the best wife for him and mother for their children? He knew she wanted him to marry again; she’d told him as much as she lay so still and pale, her life’s blood seeping from her, and he’d been unable to do anything to stop it. Even then, she’d assured him that she was fine. Just before she’d drawn her last breath, she’d sat up as if nothing were wrong and smiled, a smile that nearly blinded him with its radiance.

  And in that memory lay part of his answer. Whomever he chose, Patrice would just want him to be happy with that choice. She would say that if he were happy, the children would be happy. And then she would add the caveat that he would never be truly content until he let go of his anger and made his peace with the Lord. He knew she was right, that Allison was right, but so far, he hadn’t been able to do that.

  So where did that leave him?

  Deep down, he’d always known that God wasn’t really to blame for what had happened to Patty. The world was what it was. Things happened to everyone, good and bad. Some people found gold; others were killed for it. Crops thrived; drought killed. It was no one’s fault; it was life.

  When Patty died, he’d sunk into a deep depression that lasted for a long time. He’d always been the kind of man who solved problems, and he’d run into a situation he couldn’t fix. He wasn’t used to letting down the people he loved. In an effort to alleviate his pain, he had transferred his feelings of failure onto God, blaming Him for the grief consuming him and deliberately walking away from His comfort and care. In doing so, he had let down his kids.

  Without warning, a passage of scripture flitted through his mind, something about fathers bringing up their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Immediately, a rush of guilt and sorrow washed over him.

  Patrice had left him with their most precious possessions—the children created from their love. He had not brought them up the way the Lord wanted. He hadn’t even brought them up the way she would have wanted. Shame joined the aching regret filling his heart. All he’d thought about after she died was himself. His grief. His needs. His selfishness and stubbornness had deprived his kids of the thing that was most important to their growing up—a life grounded in God. And look what had happened. He didn’t want Cilla growing up to be a quarrelsome nag or Brady becoming an angry young man with a chip on his shoulder.

  Colt felt tears trickling down his cheeks. Coming face-to-face with his failure wasn’t pleasant. Inevitably, conversations with the kids and Allie drifted through his mind. He recalled Cilla’s comment about Dan changing his life so that he would have a chance with Grace Morrison. Dan didn’t seem to regret giving up his wild ways at all. In fact, Colt couldn’t remember his deputy ever being happier. He’d even confessed that he was paying out an engagement ring at the mercantile, and hoped to propose to Gracie soon.

  Cilla maintained that attending church services was a good place to start his journey back to God, and he knew she was right. How had she become so wise at the ripe old age of twelve? If he wanted to win Allie’s love and her hand in marriage, if he wanted to feel the love for God he knew was essential to his soul, he had to start afresh. Attending church was a good starting place, but after thinking about it, Colt decided that a prayer wouldn’t come amiss.

  Hesitantly, he asked for forgiveness for his many transgressions since Brady’s birth, thanked Him for the time with Patrice and that Brady had survived the arduous birth. He expressed his gratitude for both of his children, for bringing him and Allison together. Then, with tears wetting his hands, he prayed for another chance with Allie. When he whispered “Amen” he felt a lightness of spirit that he hadn’t known in years.

  He wouldn’t push. He would take a page from Dan’s successful book on courting, and do his best to live the life both Allison and God wanted. With a heart as light as a dandelion puff he headed to the bedroom to get ready for church.

  Chapter Twelve

  Allison cried most of the night. Knowing that she’d made the right decision did not make living with it any easier. Had it not been for Jesse, she might have chanced accepting Colt as he was, but after Jesse had betrayed her with a flashy girl he’d met while carousing in the city with some of his rough friends, she was too afraid to risk her heart a second time.

  She wasn’t so unsophisticated as to believe that Christians never made mistakes and never sinned or let others down, but she did feel that having that common bond could go a long way toward fixing many of the problems that cropped up in a marriage.

  Deep in her heart, she knew her decision was for the best, but oh, how it hurt. This time, though, she would accept this as God’s will, and she would not become cynical and distrusting of all males as she had before. She would just keep looking for that right man.

  * * *

  The early August day promised to be another scorcher. The midmorning sun blazed down, sucking the moisture from the earth and the plants, which looked as droopy as Allison felt. As she made her way toward the church building, she wondered if Brady and Cilla would come, or if, under the circumstances, Colt would prefer that they not spend any more time with her. When she saw them standing outside with some of the other children, she murmured a little prayer of thanksgiving. Neither of them looked very happy, but at least they were there, which said a lot.

  �
�Good morning, children,” she said, her smile and greeting intended for them all.

  “’Morning, Miss Grainger,” they said in unison.

  “Cilla, Brady. Would you like to sit with me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said, sounding almost grateful.

  They filed inside, where Allison was inundated with people asking how she was feeling and if she’d rid herself of her headache. She and the children sat on the same row as Ellie and Bethany, Allison next to her sister.

  “You don’t look as if you got any rest,” Ellie murmured under her breath.

  “I didn’t shut an eye until almost dawn,” Allison replied.

  “Any new conclusions?”

  “Nothing really, except that if it were one obstacle or the other, I might make some concessions.”

  “What do you mean? One obstacle or the other?”

  “If I were one-hundred-percent certain that Colt loved me, I might be willing to take a chance that he would someday forge a new relationship to God, or if he were the Christian husband I’d like him to be, I might trust that he would come to love me in time, but two big question marks is more of a chance than I’m comfortable with taking.”

  “Well, he is a good man,” Ellie whispered. “And I do believe he’ll find his way back one day, maybe through the children. Sometimes I think men are just too stubborn to admit they’re wrong.”

  Allison shrugged.

  “What would it take to prove he loved you?”

  The question came out of the blue, giving Allison pause. She turned to meet her sister’s curious look. “I’m not sure. It just...happened so fast that it’s hard to believe it’s real, especially since we were thrown together in such an unusual manner.”

  “Why is it so hard to believe that he fell fast when you’ve done the same thing? Why can’t it work both ways?”

  Allison’s eyes widened. Ellie had a valid point. Why should it be any different? The only answer Allison could come up with was the same as it had always been: What woman in her right mind could help falling in love with Colt? She was saved from having to reply by the song leader’s announcement that the first song would be “The Old Rugged Cross.”