Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (17 page)

“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

A
llison 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.”

As usual, the heartfelt words brought a measure of peace and put Allison's own problems into perspective. Midway through the final song before the sermon, she became aware that there was a lot of head-turning and whispering going on. Brady, Cilla, Bethany and even Ellie turned to look toward the commotion in the back. Their triumphant smiles could mean only one thing. Colt had come to the worship service.

Her heart seemed to stumble before settling into a faster rhythm. Her gloved fingers tightened on the edges of her hymnal, and she fought the urge to turn and see for herself if he was really here.

What did it mean, after he'd turned and walked away from her the evening before? Had he had a change of heart? The song ended, and the minister stepped to the pulpit. Whatever the reason, she would have to wait until after services to find out.

Brother McAdams was perhaps fifteen minutes into his sermon when Allison heard the door at the rear of the building open. Heavy boots thudded on the wooden floor. Once again, she resisted the impulse to turn and see what was going on. Once again, the children had no such reluctance.

She heard Cilla and Brady murmuring to one another and then Cilla leaned across Ellie and whispered, “Dan's come for Pa.”

Allison's heart plummeted. She had no earthly idea why Big Dan Mercer would interrupt a church service, but common sense told her that whatever it was must be important. She heard two pairs of boots headed toward the door. Moving faster than she'd ever seen him, easygoing Earl Pickens, who owned the newspaper, passed down the aisle toward the pulpit. The preacher paused midsentence, knowing he'd lost his audience, and leaned over to hear whatever it was Earl whispered into his ear.

Allison saw the alarm on his face and the way his body stiffened. Not good news.

The minister stepped aside and Earl took his place at the podium. “Sheriff Garrett wants to apologize for the interruption,” he told them, “but Dan just came to tell him that Ace Allen got word that Elton Thomerson and his buddy escaped from prison sometime last night.”

Loud murmuring swept through the crowd, and the only thing Allison could hear with any clarity was “Ace.”

“What's Ace Allen doing delivering messages? I thought he was serving time with Elton,” someone called from the other side of the room.

The preacher stepped forward. “Though it isn't common knowledge, Mr. Allen was only in prison a short time after Elton claimed Mr. Allen was his partner in the robberies that had plagued the county the last several months. That wasn't true. Sheriff Garrett arrested the guilty party, who confessed, and Mr. Allen was freed.”

Conversation exploded. There were disgruntled murmurs, exclamations of disbelief, curiosity and downright anger. As usual, there were a few voices more demanding than others.

“When did this happen?”

“Why weren't we told?”

“Where's he been all these months?”

“If Allen wasn't Elton's partner, who was?”

Earl held up a hand. “Everyone please listen.”

The room became silent. “The man who'd been helping Elton rob people who were coming and going from town was a guy—an Indian—from over around Murfreesboro by the name of Joseph Jones. We all know what kind of misery Elton has dealt to the people of this town, and Gabe and Sarah know firsthand.”

All eyes turned to Gabe Gentry and Sarah VanSickle, both of whom had suffered Elton's brutality back in the spring. Sarah's face had taken on an ashy tint and she clung to Randolph's arm.

“Everyone knows what Meg has gone through at his hands. I see she isn't here today. The sheriff and Ace are worried that Elton will go to the farm, so that's where they're headed. That's all I can tell you right now.”

The babble of voices filled the room, questions for which there were no immediate answers. “Quiet, please,” the minister said. “Under the circumstances, I think we'll dismiss early. But first I think it would be appropriate to offer a prayer for the sheriff and his efforts. Earl?”

Earl began to pray. Allison closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her mind whirled with what she'd just heard, as well as the implications. This was something she'd never considered as she'd woven daydreams about life with Colt. Wolf Creek had little crime—mostly an occasional round of fisticuffs or someone indulging in a drunken binge. But there were times like today, when he was called on to deal with something or someone that was truly dangerous. Elton was one of those people, and this was one of those times.

The prayer ended and true to his word, the minister wrapped up in record time. The members were soon spilling out the door, chattering about what had happened.

“It's scary to think that Elton's on the loose, isn't it?” Ellie asked, as she and Bethany strolled along beside Allison.

“Very.”

“Who's going to take care of Cilla and Brady?”

Allison glanced around. Though no one had been appointed to care for them in Colt's absence, he knew there were plenty of folks who would be happy to do so until he returned. “Me, I guess.”

“Why don't you come home with us? I'm having bacon, tomato and lettuce sandwiches. There's plenty.”

Reluctant to be alone with her troubling thoughts, Allison smiled her gratitude. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”

“Miss Grainger?” Brady asked, tugging on Allison's sleeve. “Is Pa gonna be okay?”

Would he? She couldn't lie to Brady, but neither could she deny him the comfort he was seeking.

“I'm sure your father has told you that his job is sometimes dangerous, Brady.” Though she spoke to the boy, her gaze moved from him to Cilla. “But we also know that he is very good at what he does. So are Dan and Ace. Why, you've seen how fast and accurate Ace is with his target practice.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Brady said, but his eyes glittered with tears.

Allison placed a hand on his shoulder. “Here's what we're going to do. Ellie has invited us to eat with her and Bethany. After that, we'll have Cilla and Bethany play the piano for us. How does that sound?”

“Will you teach me how to pray, Miss Grainger,” Brady asked, “so I can pray for my dad and the others?”

Allison's gaze met her sister's. Ellie offered her a poignant smile. Allison heard the thickness of tears in her voice when she said, “Of course I'll teach you to pray, Brady, but there's nothing to it. We just tell the Lord what's on our hearts. As soon as we get to Ellie's, we'll say another prayer for your pa and Dan and Ace to be safe and ask Him to keep us from worrying.”

“Then what?”

“And then we trust that He'll grant what we ask for,” she said.

Brady flung his arms around her and buried his face against her middle. “I love you, Miss Grainger.”

Allison's hands cupped the back of his head, holding him close and offering him what comfort she could. “I love you, too, Brady,” she whispered.

As she spoke the words, she knew she meant them. How wonderful it would be to be a mother to this ornery, smart, incredible little boy and his sister. She didn't think she could bear to give up the time she spent with them, but how could she continue to do so and not lose her heart completely? Besides, if the truth were known, she feared it was already too late.

She glanced at Cilla. Though her back was ramrod-straight and she didn't say a word, the expression in her blue eyes was one of thanks.

Allison ruffled Brady's hair. “Come on, you two. Let's go eat, and after Cilla and Bethany play for us, I'll trounce you all at checkers.”

* * *

The noontime meal was a fairly solemn affair, but as usual, Ellie's simple lunch was amazing. It escaped no one's notice that Brady stayed extra close to Allison, which only deepened her regret and sorrow.

It was midafternoon when the three of them left Ellie's and made their way home. Not a breath of air stirred anywhere; even the tree branches seemed to sag beneath the weight of the oppressive heat that rose from the parched earth in waves Allison could feel through the thin soles of her Sunday shoes.

As soon as they entered the house, she left the children in the parlor and went into the kitchen to get them all a cold glass of water.

When she got back, she found Brady sprawled on the davenport fast asleep. Poor little guy! Though he'd seemed to enjoy the time at Ellie's, the day's stress had taken its toll. She set down the tray of glasses and went over to lift his feet onto the sofa, reasoning that it wouldn't hurt just this once.

“Shall we sit on the back porch?” Allison whispered to Cilla. “That way we won't wake Brady.”

Cilla nodded, and followed Allison into the kitchen. They carried two bentwood chairs to the back and placed them in the shaded area at the end.

“We need rain,” Allison said, staring out across the meadow at the cloudless cerulean sky.

“Pa says if we don't get some more soon, the farmers will lose their crops.”

“He's right.”

After they sipped their water in silence for a while, Allison said, “I know you're as worried about your father as Brady is, but we have to keep praying and trust that God will protect him and the others.”

“I know.” Cilla took another swallow of water. “I don't remember a lot about my ma, but I do remember that sometimes when Pa left that she would walk the floor and cry.”

“Being married to a lawman must be very hard on his family.”

Cilla looked at her a moment, as if she were trying to decide something, then blurted, “Is that why you won't marry him?”

Allison knew her surprise must be obvious. One thing about the Garrett children—they were not afraid to walk where angels feared to tread. Never in her life had she experienced any children as blunt and outspoken as Brady and Priscilla Garrett.

“Well,” Allison said, careful to choose words that would skirt the main part of the question, “I confess that until he was called away this morning, I'd never given any consideration to the dangers that go with his job. I mean, Wolf Creek is a pretty quiet town, and it's seldom something like the Elton Thomerson jailbreak comes up.”

“But you would...miss him if something happened to him, wouldn't you?” Cilla persisted, a frown wrinkling her smooth brow.

Miss him? The very thought of something happening to him made Allison's blood run cold. She wasn't sure what she might do if he didn't come back. Like it or not, she loved him and could not imagine her world without him. She had the sudden notion that refusing his proposal was the dumbest thing she had ever done. Was it?