The Cowboy Comes Home

by Linda Ford

  She swallowed hard. “I think…” Her heart opened up and dumped out a tangle of emotions—things she couldn’t identify and didn’t want to own. One thought followed another before she could see the first clearly. Others came on the tail of each until they seemed to pull her in a hundred different directions. She lifted her words from that tangle and focused on the only solid thing she could grasp at the moment—Abe. She knew who he was, what he stood for and who and what he would be into the future. “I think Abe is right. You deserve a chance.”

  His expression faltered. He shifted on his feet. For a moment she thought he meant to walk away. Then he nodded. “Does that mean we can be friends?”

  She smiled softly. “It looks like we already are.”

  “Good to know.” His words were brisk and he left the house without a backward look, his shoulders squared as if defying the world.

  Had she disappointed him? She watched until he disappeared from sight. Friends was good, wasn’t it? She could offer nothing more. Likely he didn’t want more, either. It was enough.

  Strange how it felt totally unsatisfactory. As if she’d fallen short of gaining a prize.

  Now she was getting downright fanciful, and she had no patience with such sentimental nonsense. She turned her attention to the groceries and put them away, leaving out the can of peaches to use for dessert.

  All she needed to do in order to soothe her thoughts was keep her mind on her work, and she turned her attention to lunch, preparing pretty sandwiches and arranging cookies on a special plate.

  Lunch came and went. Carol returned to school. Abe thanked her for a well-done job and left for work. Robbie went out to join Linc.

  Sally looked around the empty house. It practically echoed with her thoughts…which she tried to avoid. Friendship was all she could offer.

  The dishes needed washing. The floor needed scrubbing. The windows could do with a polishing. She immersed herself in a flurry of activity, yet the afternoon trudged by on slow-moving legs.

  She glanced at the clock. Still an hour before Carol would be home from school. Enough time to bake fresh cookies for the afternoon break. Linc had liked the ginger cookies. What would he think of snickerdoodles? Perhaps she could soothe her own disappointment by showing Linc—and ultimately herself—how nice friendship could be.

  Carol slipped in almost unnoticed.

  “As soon as you’re changed, would you go tell Linc and Robbie that tea is ready?”

  “Okay.” Carol clattered up the stairs.

  Chuckling at her uncharacteristic eagerness, Sally stared after her.

  Carol raced back down and out the door.

  The coffee boiled, and Sally grabbed it before it sputtered over on the stove. She would not admit an eagerness matching Carol’s. It was only an after-school snack.

  But when she heard him approaching, the children chattering at his side, she had to admit this was no ordinary snack time. She didn’t mean just the way the children acted. Her heart did unusual things, too. As if controlled by a spirited puppet master who laughed and sang with joy.

  He stepped into the room. She felt his presence, from the soles of her feet to the roots of her hair. And although she tried to ignore him, her gaze was drawn unerringly to his face. His eyes were dark and guarded. She gave a tentative smile. “I hope you like snickerdoodles.”

  His lips curled slowly, and as they did the ice in her veins she’d been unaware of melted. When his eyes flashed warmth, she started to breathe normally.

  They could surely enjoy friendship.

  “I love snickerdoodles. And fresh coffee. And—” He didn’t finish, and she wouldn’t allow herself to fill in the blank he’d left. “I’ll wash up.”

  As he ducked into the back room with Robbie at his heels, Sally smiled in satisfaction. They were friends, and it felt good.

  As they sat around the table eating warm cookies, she felt at peace. Abe would expect her to treat Linc well.

  “How was school today, little Miss Carol?” he asked.

  Sally expected the usual murmured one-word answer, but Carol put her cookie down and glanced at Sally and then Linc.

  “The big girls told me a bad story.”

  Linc shot Sally a look full of regret. She realized with a start he expected it to be about him. She prayed it wouldn’t be. Didn’t the man deserve to be treated fairly and without prejudice? Was Abe the only one willing to do so? It proved what a good man Abe was. “Do you want to tell us about it?” Linc’s voice was soft, inviting.

  Carol studied her half eaten cookie. “They said you were a bad man. That you stole from Mrs. Ogilvy.” Her bottom lip quivered.

  Linc allowed Sally a glimpse of his sorrow and regret then turned his attention to Carol. He caught her chin and pulled her face toward him. “Carol, I assure you I am not a bad man. But you must choose what to believe. Everyone must.” He let his glance rest on Robbie a moment, and then on Sally.

  She felt his silent pleading. Oh, if only she could tell him all she felt—that he was good and noble and very brave to return to a town ready to judge him so harshly. But fearing speaking from her heart would unleash things she didn’t understand and knowing they would interfere with her plans, she hoped her smile said enough. Then she turned to Carol. “Honey, do you think your father would hire Linc to work here if he thought he was a bad man?”

  Carol shook her head.

  “So who do you think is right? Your father or some girls at school?”

  “Father, of course. He is always right.”

  “There you go.”

  Carol let out a hefty sigh. “I knew it anyway.”

  Sally shifted her gaze to Linc and looked deep into his eyes. “So did I.”

  Linc’s grin threatened to split his face. “Ladies, I can’t thank you enough for your confidence in me.”

  Sally had smiled at him long enough, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away. The air between them shimmered with something far beyond friendship, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—name it.

  Robbie pushed his chair back. “Time to go back to work.”

  The moment ended, and Sally scrambled to her feet and hurriedly started to gather up the dishes.

  Linc rose more slowly, as if aware of her confused feelings. “You’re right, Robbie. Let’s go paint the fence.”

  Carol trailed after them.

  It wasn’t until the door closed behind them that Sally sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands. What was there about Linc that left her so fractured inside? Unable to remember who she was and what she wanted?

  Or perhaps Linc wasn’t to blame.

  She could hold no one else accountable for her behavior, and she stuffed all her errant, confused thoughts behind a solid door.

  She knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. Not for even a moment would she forget. At least not again.

  Her mind full of determination, she turned her attention to the task of cleaning up the snack and preparing the evening meal.

  Chapter Seven

  Linc finished painting the fence, cleaned the paint supplies, scrubbed his hands and turned toward his grandmother’s.

  Friends, Sally said. Her eyes flashing with golden light as she said the word and smiled at him. A friend in this town was good news. But it felt like so much more than friends. The way her gaze captured his, probing, yearning. The way she defended him. She said she believed he was a good man. It seemed as if Heaven opened and showered her words down on him. A blessing beyond imagination.

  He paused at the back fence of the Finley yard and waved at Robbie. “See you later.”

  Robbie glanced up. “You’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you?”

  Linc nodded. “Got that barn to fix up. You want to help?”

  Robbie grinned. “Can I?”

  “Ask your father tonight, and if he agrees, I’d be glad of your help.” The boy needed to feel useful. And Linc needed to believe he had something to offer besides—

  Friendship? />
  He could no longer deny himself a glance toward the house. Yes, she stood at the window, watching. When she saw him looking at her, she tipped her head down as if whatever she did was vastly more interesting than him.

  And why should he care? Friends didn’t look for signs of interest, did they?

  He almost convinced himself he wasn’t the least bit disappointed when she looked up again and gave a little wave.

  Maybe it didn’t signify anything, but his heart felt years lighter as he sketched back a salute. He sang as he crossed to the other yard and marched up the steps into the house.

  As always, when he crossed the threshold, the reason for being at Grandmama’s hit him like being bucked off a horse, face-first into the dirt. His happiness at Sally’s wave warred with the pain of his father’s lingering death. Seemed neither of the emotions was about to win or lose. He simply had to contend with the inner turmoil. “How’s Pa?”

  Grandmama stirred a pot. The air filled with the delicious smell of butterscotch pudding. “I checked on him a few minutes ago and he appeared to be sound asleep, but see for yourself.”

  Linc paused as he passed the stove and took a deep breath. “Sure smells good.” He hugged his grandmother around the waist. “You always did make the best puddings.”

  She smiled at him. “I guess I figure you only deserve the best.”

  He grinned. “Maybe don’t deserve it, but sure do enjoy it.”

  “You’re a good boy.” She patted his cheek. “Don’t ever forget it.”

  “I’ll try not to.” His grandmother’s approval did a lot toward making him believe his worth, but didn’t hold a candle to Sally’s friendship. Though the word friend somehow grated across his thoughts, leaving them tender.

  Friendship was good, he firmly informed his brain.

  But was it enough?

  Grandmama studied him. Afraid she would read his mind—knowing if she did, she would point out yet again how Abe Finley could offer Sally all the things she needed and deserved, things he, Linc McCoy, could not—he stepped back.

  Grandmama had one of those looks that said she read him like a book. Then she sighed. “Go see your father. I’m afraid supper will be a while yet. Some of the ladies got together to piece a quilt, and I just got home.”

  Grateful she refrained from saying all the things she thought, Linc nodded and went to the bedroom. So Grandmama had been out all afternoon. He didn’t like to think of Pa being alone, but really, there was little anyone could do apart from giving him a little water if he’d take it and handing out the pain medication.

  Pa lay spread eagle under the covers, his breathing catching every so often, which indicated the level of his pain, the doctor said. “Pa,” he called softly. But Pa didn’t stir, and Linc didn’t try to disturb him. Let him sleep while he could. He studied the man a few minutes as pain and regret raced through him like raging flood waters. Oh, Pa, I hate to see you laid so low. Even more, he despised the way Pa had been treated in this town. At least his present circumstances spared him from hearing the comments of the townsfolk.

  He returned to the kitchen where his grandmother labored over a pile of vegetables. “I think I’ll go for a ride.”

  “Fine. Fine. Don’t worry about rushing back. Everything will keep.”

  He went outside and threw a bridle over Big Red’s neck. “I need to get some fresh air. How about you?”

  Big Red was far more interested in a bit of green grass he’d discovered in the far corner of the yard.

  “It’ll be here when we get back,” Linc assured him as he led the animal to the barn and saddled him. “A little exercise will do you good.” He patted the horse’s side. “Wouldn’t want you to get fat and lazy.”

  He headed out of town, purposely in the same direction as last time, for no particular reason other than to avoid going the opposite way which, unless he chose an indirect route, would lead him past Mrs. Ogilvy’s house. He was innocent. His father and brother were innocent, yet he felt branded. The idea of riding past her house made his skin tighten.

  He rode into plenty of open space this way. In the distance he saw the boxlike orphanage atop a hill, as if whoever built it wanted it to always be visible. Perhaps so the people of the surrounding area wouldn’t forget those in need of help and kindness. Letting his pain edge his thoughts, he wondered how often the orphans received those things. If the way Pa was treated indicated anything, likely not often.

  Ahead of him on the trail he saw a woman walking.

  Sally.

  He’d know the way she walked—quickly and purposefully—anywhere. Just as he’d recognize the way her curls bounced with every step, catching sunshine in each curve of hair.

  His frustration and anger dissolved.

  She turned as she heard his approach and waited at the side of the road for him to pass.

  He reined in and jumped to the ground. “You’re on your way home?”

  “All done for the day.”

  “I’d think Abe would give you a ride.” If he was Abe, he’d never allow her to walk home unescorted.

  “He’s offered many times, but the children are happy at home. I don’t like to drag them out for no reason. Besides, I love the quiet.”

  He drew to a halt. Did he detect a hint of regret in her voice? “Would you prefer to be alone?”

  She stopped walking, too, and her eyes widened in shock. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Good.” The smile curving her mouth crowded into the corners of his heart. She plainly didn’t mind his company. “Then I’ll walk you home.”

  They fell into step, Red plodding along after them. At first neither of them spoke, then they both tried to say something at the same time.

  Linc chuckled. “You go ahead.”

  “I was only going to ask where you’ve been the past six years and what you’ve done. What were you going to say?”

  “That maybe the drought will end this year. Maybe this will be the year prices recover.” It was but a drop of all the things running through his thoughts to be said. He wanted to know so much. All about her. How she managed. What she did, liked, wanted.

  She looked about. “If it doesn’t, how will some of these people continue?”

  Her question brought him back from his flight of errant thoughts. “It’s tough to hang on.”

  “All that keeps many of them going, me included, is knowing whatever happens won’t separate us from God’s love.”

  “I believe in God’s love and care, but love doesn’t fill a child’s stomach.”

  She slowed and looked toward the orphanage. “My sister, Madge, would argue. She says God will provide our needs.” She gave a soft chuckle. “And He does.” She told him how her sister prayed for a way to save their home and how she’d been offered a job that unexpectedly provided just the right answer. “In a way none of us could have predicted.”

  “So you are well taken care of now?” If she lacked anything, he’d do his best to supply it. Never mind that his limited resources barely allowed him to buy Pa’s pain medicine.

  “We live frugally, as everyone does, but we never go hungry.”

  His insides shifted from worry to a bubbling sensation of relief. “It sounds like this sister of yours is a real fighter.”

  Sally laughed out loud, drawing a smile to Linc’s mouth. He liked her laugh. “She has a faith that moves mountains.” Sally sobered. “I wish I had that kind of faith.”

  Their steps lagged so much that Big Red nudged Linc between the shoulders. Linc pushed him away. He was in no hurry. “What kind of faith do you have?”

  She looked startled. Then seemed to consider her answer. “I’ve never tried to name it, but I guess I have a needy faith.”

  How intriguing. What did she need? Again, if he could in any way supply what she lacked, he’d do anything he could to do it. “Can you explain?”

  “I need things from God, like security, safety, the assurance my needs will be met.” She shrugged.
“I don’t expect you understand what I mean.”

  “Do you mean your faith believes God will provide all that He’s promised? Or you’ll believe it when you see it?”

  “Ouch.” She stopped and faced him. “That sounds like doubt, not faith. But maybe you’re right. I want things to be in place.” She considered him a moment, her gaze delving deep into his soul, seeking answers, perhaps wondering if he condemned her for her sort of faith.

  “I didn’t mean to sound critical.” He’d only wanted her to realize God was bigger than her needs. He wanted her to feel secure in His love and care. He let her search his thoughts, hoping she would find something to make her feel safe.

  How foolish. Wasn’t it God she needed to depend on? But, he silently argued, it would be nice to help God in this matter.

  “What kind of faith do you have?”

  His grin felt lopsided. “I’ve never thought of it, either.” He contemplated his answer. “I guess I have a surviving faith.”

  They moseyed onward.

  “Explain what you mean.”

  “Okay.” Again he sifted through his thoughts to bring some sense to them. “I’ve survived. My faith has survived through tough times and doubts.”

  “What sort of doubts?”

  She was peeling back the layers of what he truly believed and how he’d arrived at that point. He’d never considered his journey too deeply, but now found he wanted to—and more, he wanted to share it with Sally. Wanted her to glimpse the workings of his inner being. “My mother tried to teach me about God, but I guess it didn’t ring true. I knew she’d run off with my father, who had a terrible reputation. When I think of it now I realize how it must have hurt my grandmother.”

  She touched his elbow. “But she opened her home to them when they asked.”

  Her fingers on his arm carried a thousand unspoken messages. Likely they were only in his head, and she didn’t have any idea of where his thoughts went—along a trail of a deep, intense…well, he’d settle for calling it friendship, seeing it was all that was available to him. “And she’s done it again. Despite whatever she thinks of my father, she welcomed us without reservation. Her charitable attitude impressed me from the start. I wondered how she could be so kind even when she didn’t approve. She offered unconditional love, so I could believe it when she said God loved me unconditionally. I chose to become a Christian because of Grandmama.”