Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (12 page)

“Did they behave?” Colt asked Allison, who, it seemed, had picked up on his intentional coolness.

She offered him a taut smile of her own. “They couldn't have behaved any better. I think their friends were happy to see them there, too.”

“Yeah, Danny and Ben were there, and some of Cilla's friends,” Brady offered, warming to the subject. “There's gonna be an ice-cream social at Jackson's Grove next Saturday,” Brady said. “Can we go?”

“Don't we always?”

“Yeah, but I thought maybe you'd forgotten since you hadn't mentioned it.”

“If you recall, we've had an unusual few days,” Colt said.

Brady suddenly found the toes of his shoes extremely interesting.

“Are you going, Miss Grainger?” Cilla asked.

“I wouldn't miss it. In fact, I plan to bring peach ice cream.”

Peach just happened to be Colt's favorite. Wasn't that a coincidence?

Cilla's eyes brightened. “Why don't we stop by and pick you up? We could do that, couldn't we, Pa?” she said, turning to her father.

Allison looked as dismayed as Colt felt by the innocent request. He pinned his daughter with a look that wiped the happiness from her eyes, but he paused only the slightest bit before saying, “Of course we can.”

“That isn't necessary,” Allison said. “I'll just see you all there.” She smiled at Cilla. “You and Brady feel free to come over tomorrow. Brady can help me weed the front flower bed while you practice on the piano. Mrs. Carson says you're picking it up very quickly.”

“Really?” Cilla breathed in awe. “How can she tell? I've only had one lesson.”

“Well, she says you're paying close attention to everything she says, and your memory is excellent.” Allison offered her a gentle smile. “Sometimes, it isn't reaching the goal that matters, Cilla. It's what we observe and learn along the way, things we can take and use in other areas of our lives. Like paying attention and obeying instructions. Your piano playing may never be exceptional, just as my embroidery skills will never be as good as either of my sisters', but if we learn and get pleasure from doing it, that's all that matters.”

Colt was amazed at the wisdom of her comment. Cilla seemed to mull it over before she gave a cheeky smile and said, “Well, along the way to playing the piano really well, I'd like to learn to make sugar cookies.”

Allison laughed, the unrestrained delight of the sound filling the room. A bittersweet longing for something he couldn't put a name to pricked Colt's heart.

“All right, then. If you come a little early, I'll show you how to make cookies.” With a jaunty little wave toward the children, Allison turned and left the office.

Colt couldn't believe how sad they looked when she left, but was more amazed at how empty the room felt. It seemed she'd taken all the joy along with her.

* * *

To her surprise, Allison received replies from both of her professors in Thursday's mail. Both letters mentioned a learning problem that had been recognized just that year. Dyslexia. She devoured the contents of both dispatches, trying to grasp the nuances of the condition and pulling suggestions from both missives about the methods being used to treat those suffering from it.

She made notes as she read, and hoped she could explain things in a way that would not upset Colt. They had come a long way since their initial bout of head-butting, but she hadn't seen him since Sunday, even though the children came by for an hour or two daily. Something had happened to their easy camaraderie between the time she and the kids had left for church on Sunday and the time she dropped them off at the jail afterward.

Allison had searched her mind for some clue as to what she might have done, but even after four days, she had no idea what that might be. She did know that she didn't want to say or do anything that might add fuel to the fire.

She missed seeing him. It was pure foolishness on her part, but there it was. Like an inexperienced schoolgirl, she'd allowed his solicitousness, gentleness and the intense way he'd looked at her plant the seed that he might be starting to like her a little. Unable to help herself, she'd nurtured that absurd hope, allowing herself a few daydreams, forgetting for a time that the most eligible man in Wolf Creek would have no interest in her other than her ability to help his children.

She heaved a deep sigh of dismay. Colt blowing hot and then cold had triggered her old insecurities and reminded her that it would be the height of foolishness to care about someone again—especially someone like Colt Garrett. Caring too much would only cause the kind of pain she never again wanted to experience. Maybe Colt's standoffishness was a good thing. It had opened her eyes to the futility of wishing for something she knew in her heart could never be.

There was much in her life for which she should be thankful. She was healthy and able to support herself in a comfortable lifestyle if she spent her money wisely. She was a good teacher despite her inability—so far—to help Brady. She was liked and respected in the community. She had dear friends, attended a wonderful church and had a sister and precious niece living nearby whom she loved and who loved her.

She was blessed far beyond many, and yet she wanted more. She wanted a husband and children of her own. She felt the trickle of tears down her cheeks and buried her face in her hands, crying for lost love and shattered dreams. And then she prayed for the strength and common sense she'd need to withstand Colt's charm the next few weeks and for wisdom to know how best to help his children.

She prayed for contentment with her lot.

And peace.

* * *

Dreading the conversation she knew she needed to have with Colt, Allison waited until the sun began its descent and she'd run out of excuses before making her way to the Garrett house. Her steps dragged and her stomach churned at the thought of seeing him again and what his reaction would be to her news.

She found them all in the backyard. Cilla sat on the porch next to her father, an embroidery hoop in her lap, while Ace instructed Brady in the skill of shooting a bow. She paused, wondering if she was catching them at a bad time, looking for any reason to postpone the face-to-face meeting.

The masculine picture Colt made in his dungarees and blue chambray shirt caused her stomach to flutter. His shirtsleeves were rolled above his elbows, revealing tanned, muscular forearms dusted with golden-brown hair. Recalling the strength of those arms when he'd carried her, and forgetting that she was determined to keep their relationship on a strictly business level, she suppressed a little sigh of longing.

Brady noticed her and shouted, “Hi, Miss Grainger! I'm practicing.”

“So I see,” she called, returning Cilla's wave. “Don't let me stop you.”

To her dismay, Colt leaped to his feet and headed toward her.

* * *

Sticking with his plan, Colt had avoided Allison since Sunday, which had landed him in the doghouse with both Cilla and Brady. Yet the moment Brady called Allie's name and Colt looked up to see her coming around the corner of the house, he'd experienced an incredible surge of pleasure that swept aside his vows to keep things formal.

He'd missed her.

The realization caught him off guard, depriving him of breath for a split second. Taken aback by the unexpected feeling, he called her name.

From that moment until she found his gaze, his mind registered one impression after another. Her hair, in a variation of her customary topknot, was parted in the center, pulled severely back and coiled at the nape of her neck. Somehow the slight change in the style looked more appealing than it did twisted atop her head.

The second thing to register was that something was wrong. Her eyes looked haunted behind the lenses of the new glasses perched on the freckled bridge of her straight little nose. Not since the early days of their dubious association had she looked so aloof. Not since the morning they'd breakfasted at Ellie's and she'd mentioned her weight had she looked so miserable.

“I hope I'm not disturbing your evening.”

The sound of her voice, soft and low-pitched, dragged his thoughts back to the moment. “Not at all. Cilla and I were just watching Brady and giving the kitchen a chance to cool off before we tackle the dishes. Have you had supper?”

“I did, thank you.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured toward the spot between where he'd been sitting with Cilla.

He saw her lips press together as she realized she would be sandwiched between the two of them. An uncomfortable spot...for her and him. Literally squaring her shoulders, she mustered her courage and sat.

“Do you mind if I look at your work, Cilla?”

“No, ma'am,” she said, passing the hoop to Allison, who scrutinized it with care, even turning it over to look at the back. She had no idea that her eyes gleamed with pride and pleasure. “Oh, Cilla, you're doing a wonderful job. And the underneath is just as well done as the top.”

She smoothed a gentle hand over the table scarf and smiled. “According to my mama, that was one of the things that makes handwork exceptional. The back should be as pretty as the front.”

Colt wasn't sure he'd ever seen his daughter smile so widely. She looked proud enough to pop. For just a second he thought she might fling her arms around Allison's neck and give her a hug. In that moment his own pride swelled within him, along with it a rush of gratitude for the woman who'd made it all possible.

“I haven't seen you in a few days,” he told her, as if it were all her doing instead of his. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine.”

Her answer was short and to the point.

“What brings you our way, then?”

Idiot! he chided himself. It sounded as if he didn't want her there, and nothing could be further from the truth.

She pulled two envelopes from her skirt pocket. “In today's mail I received replies to the letters I sent to my professors, and I wanted to talk to you as a family so I can try to answer any questions you may have.”

“I'll get him.” Colt started to rise, only to stop when she placed her hand on his arm. The heat of her fingers sent a jolt of awareness through him. His gaze flew to hers. The reciprocal warmth that flamed in her eyes was proof that she shared his reaction. But there was more than awareness. There was vulnerability. Indecision. A question for which he had no answer. He was as confused as she looked. One thing was certain, though. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

“I'm sorry,” she said, snatching her hand away.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her. He heard the huskiness in his voice. Did she? He fought the urge to rub the place that still tingled from her touch.

“Ace said I did real good!” Brady cried as he raced toward them. “He's coming back tomorrow evening.”

The sound of his eager voice shattered the intensity of the moment. Colt stood and shook his friend's hand. Flicking a considering look from Colt to Allison and back, Ace said his goodbyes to them all, and they watched him slip silently into the gathering woodland shadows.

“What are you doing here, Miss Grainger?” Brady asked, never one to dither.

“I wanted to let you know that I've received replies from my professors.”

Brady looked almost fearful, Colt thought. He needed to make sure his reactions to whatever Allie told them were positive. As if sensing the tension binding them, she gave them all an encouraging smile.

“First, they both mention something that has been recognized as—” Colt could almost see the wheels turning as she tried to phrase the problem “—making learning hard for a certain number of people.” She looked at him. “It's called ‘dyslexia,' and while I can't say with any certainty at this point that this is Brady's problem, he seems to fit the standards that define it.”

“Dyslexia?” Colt echoed. It sounded horrible.

Allison nodded.

“What is it?” Brady asked.

“It's a condition detailed by Dr. Pringle Morgan. The simplest way to describe it is that for some unknown reason, letters look switched around to some people. For example, a person with dyslexia might see ‘I am' as ‘aim.'”

She shrugged as if lost for words. “It's like a mix-up between the eye and the brain and vice versa. The way things are...processed, for lack of a better word. It makes reading and comprehension difficult, which in turn makes other subjects that require reading hard, as well. It can also affect spelling and mathematics.”

Brady seemed to be processing what she'd said. Colt wondered if he looked as flabbergasted as he felt. “What causes it?”

“No one knows, but it is certainly no one's fault.” She directed her next comments to Brady. “Some people are just born with it. The important thing, Brady, is to understand that it has nothing to do with how smart a person is.

“There does seem to be some variation in severity of the problem, from mild to acute. Brady has some difficulty with spelling, but I haven't noticed any overly troubling problems with his arithmetic skills, so at this point I'm guessing that he is only mildly affected. However,” she added, “today is the first time I've ever heard of the condition, so I'm far from knowledgeable.”

“Is there anything that can be done for him?” Colt asked.

She smiled. “The good news is that it seems we're on the right track without knowing it. He needs to be read to and should work on his reading. Of course, he'll need more time to accomplish his assignments than some of the children, but I don't foresee that as a major hurdle.

“I'll try to figure out what letter combinations trouble him most, though I don't even know if some arrangements might be more troublesome than others. I'm afraid a lot of what we do will be trial and error, but we'll just keep working on it.”

“And it's okay if you don't ever read as well or as fast as some of the other kids, Brady,” Cilla said. “It's like what Miss Grainger said about me and the piano. Even if I'm never as good as Mrs. Carson. The main thing is that you're learning other lessons, too, like not giving up and pushing yourself further than you think you can go. And you'll be able to read about things that interest you and that's all that matters, isn't that right, Miss Grainger?”