Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (4 page)

"He don't like eggs," his sister said in his defense.

"I didn't ask you," Rocky said, matching Rachel's obstinate
stare from across the table. "I'd appreciate it if in the future
you would let me discipline your brother in the manner in
which I see fit-without your help."

"He don't need discipline," she stated, her tone cold and
firm.

"Every kid needs discipline," he argued, swallowing a
forkful of eggs before going for a bite of bread and then a swig
of hot coffee. His nerves had worn to the point of shredding.
Arguing was the last thing he desired right now, but it seemed
to be Rachel's favorite pastime on any given morning.

"Is Grandma coming over today?" Seth asked, his nose
just inches from his plateful of eggs.

"Not this morning."

Worry filled up Seth's face. "Who's gonna watch us?"

"You two will have to make do on your own while I tend to
the chores in the barn. I should be done in a few hours."

"Why can't Grandma come?" Seth asked in his usual, highpitched whine.

"Your grandpap's not doing well today, so she's stayin'
home." Rocky pushed back from the table and winced at the
sound of dirt grinding beneath the chair legs. It'd been a while since his house had had a good cleaning. "Eat your eggs," he
repeated, standing. But the gloomy-faced boy refused even to
lift his fork.

"Ar mama never made him eat what he don't like," Rachel
mumbled into her plate.

"Then she spoiled him."

"No she din't," she cried, blue eyes brimming with wetness.

Rocky looked from the blond waif to her brown-haired,
brown-eyed brother. If he started giving in to them, there'd
be no end to what they'd get away with. His own parents had
made him clean his plate after every meal. Why should it
be any different with these two? True, he wasn't their actual
parent, but he was their uncle, and now their legal guardian.
He was doing the best he could.

Sighing heavily, he looked at the boy. "You're not to leave
the table until your plate is cleaned. Is that clear?" The boy
gave a silent nod.

Somewhat satisfied, Rocky turned on his heel and reached
for his coat hanging next to the door.

"You're mean," Rachel said, her pert little chin sticking
straight out, her narrow shoulders poking upward.

"I've been called worse," he said, sticking his arms through
the sleeves, buttoning up, then going for his hat and work
gloves.

He gave Rachel an assessing look. "If I should discover that
you have eaten his food for him, I will tan your hide, young
lady."

Jumping to her feet, she bellowed at the top of her lungs,
"You're not my papa!" Clear resentment shone in her eyes.

"No, I'm not," he replied. Your papa is dead, but if he were
alive, Id gladly give you back to him right about now. Several more
words sat on the tip of his tongue, words he chose not to use. At
the door, he inhaled sharply. "After you clean up the kitchen,
see that you find both sets of mittens. I want them on your
hands before we ride into town today."

Even Nell's spirits had deteriorated. As soon as Rocky pulled
the stool up beside the milk cow and stuck a pail beneath her
teats, the cranky beast planted her front hoof into his kneecap.
"Typical woman," he snorted, rubbing his knee and readjusting himself on the stool. "Polite one minute, crabby the next."

Nell shifted her footing and mooed, her tail swishing to
match her mood. Rocky gave her time to settle her nerves, glad
when she finally allowed him to take up the routine morning
task of emptying her milk bags. While he milked, he thought
about his pathetic situation.

He wasn't fit to foster two kids he barely knew, let alone
understood. Sometimes he wondered if he even liked the pair,
particularly after mornings like this when all they'd done was
have a shouting match. Of course, Seth didn't shout. No, he
counted on his sister to do that for him. So far, the kid hadn't
even picked out his own clothes in the morning without his sister's approval. Rocky wondered about handing off this whole
business of parenting to Rachel. She seemed to want the job.

He thought about the uneaten eggs. Was he wrong to insist
that Seth empty his plate? Or was he asking too much of a
five-year-old? The pair had landed in his home under dire circumstances-orphaned, no less-but that didn't lessen their
need for discipline and certainly didn't give them license to
run all over him. He was their guardian now, and as such, he expected them to follow the rules, even though they didn't
seem accustomed to obeying.

A mild curse slipped past his tongue. Shoot, he knew nothing about raising girls, particularly this one, and to make matters worse, his mother's earlier promise to help him seemed
too much for her to fulfill.

"Your father hasn't been well since Elizabeth's passing,"
she'd said just yesterday, her shoulders wilting in worry. "The
children make him nervous."

Rocky had fought down his own concerns. "Ma, you promised if I agreed to take these kids, you'd lend a hand as needed.
Well, I need help."

Gray, watery eyes held him in their grip, their underlying
circles darker than usual revealing untold weariness. "I'm doing
the best I can, son. These times are not easy for any of us."

Ashamed, he'd put an arm around her slender shoulders
and tugged her to him. "Okay, don't worry about it. I'll work
somethin' out."

To that, she'd given a fragile smile. "God will work it out,
Rocky. It's time you took your hands off and let Him work."

But how could he take his hands off when the only person
he truly trusted to handle his problems was himself?

As if to scold him for his thoughts, Nell slapped Rocky
in the face with her tail, dampening his disposition even further.

"Walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us."

The words from some ancient passage in Scripture hit
him like a wagonload of bricks. It'd been a long while since
he'd thought about the Bible. Hester had been adamant about
reading from it every night at the supper table.

Of course, the habit had died with her.

Without warning, the image of that feisty redhead he'd met
just yesterday materialized from nowhere. Tall and slender, she'd
resembled a porcelain doll: thick curls the color of burnished
copper, eyes like sapphire marbles, her fine attire making her a
shining example of wealth and fastidious fashion.

What had driven her to require the help of a bridal service? The question tickled his brain. Moreover, why would she
choose to stay in a town where she obviously didn't blend inparticularly after discovering the man she'd traveled several
hundred miles to meet was betrothed to another?

He thought about his good friend, Ben Broughton. The
man must have been desperate-two children needing a
mother; Ben, an overworked farmer with little time on his hands
to meet their physical and emotional needs. Understandably,
he'd felt driven to send for a mail-order bride. But what would
drive a woman to agree to marry a man sight unseen?

The cynic in him might have found the situation almost
laughable if he had not recognized himself in the scenario,
equally in need of an immediate solution to his growing problem. What did he have to offer Rachel and Seth? With each
passing day, it became more apparent just how lacking he was

when it came to his parenting skills.
A woman would contribute a whole new dimension.

Shoot. If he got up his nerve, he might propose to Sarah
Woodward himself.

Sarah checked the clock on the wall in the parlor of
Emma's boardinghouse, where she'd set up her sewing project with Emma's permission. Mr. Callahan and the children could
be arriving anytime, she determined, taking up the dress and
inspecting it once more. It had turned out better than expected
with its lacy collar and fancy buttons, which she'd torn off one
of her own dresses. What did Sarah need with shiny gold buttons? A little girl who'd recently lost her mother would appreciate them far more. It may have been impractical on her part,
but no matter; she felt compelled to make the dress as pretty
as possible.

In the event the dress didn't fit perfectly, she'd kept plenty
of excess material in the seams and hem; but if she'd measured correctly, any adjustments should be minimal.

"Let's have a look," said an apron-clad Emma as she
entered the room, pretty as a picture despite her tousled look.
If Sarah had learned anything about the young proprietor, it
was that she never wasted a second of her day. If she wasn't
busy scrubbing or dusting, she was in the kitchen preparing a
meal or baking some delectable dessert.

Sarah held the rose-colored dress up for Emma's examination.

"Now that's a mighty fine little dress," she said, her Kentucky twang drawing out each word. "What little girl wouldn't
give her right pinky finger for a dress like that?"

Sarah laughed. "You do have a way with words, Miss
Emma."

The blond, blue-eyed landlady gave a cheerful smile, showing bright, straight teeth and a dimple in her left cheek. She
was the kind of woman men fell over, but it hadn't taken Sarah
long to discover Emma wasn't about drawing attention to herself, particularly attention of the male variety. If anything, she wore aloofness like a coat of armor, and any man fool enough
to attempt to remove it might very well pay for the act with a
wounded ego. "I got no use for men," Emma had told Sarah
one night while the two sat at her kitchen table sipping hot tea.
"They're more trouble 'n a wagonload of snakes."

Of course, Sarah couldn't argue the point, since she was of
the same mind. Hadn't she left Winchester to escape Stephen
Alden's clutches? The man had been obsessed with her since
childhood, and neither her mother nor Stephen's had helped
matters any by encouraging the relationship. "He's such a fine
young man, dear," Carmen Woodward had said from her sickbed. "And bred with solid Christian principles. Successful men
like him don't come along just every day. He'll make you a
wonderful husband."

"But I don't love him, Mother," she'd argued. His kisses
do nothing for me, Christian or not. Besides, I'd always play second
fiddle to his career. "I believe God has a better plan for me."

"Better? Nonsense. What could possibly be better than
Stephen?"

Thankfully, the conversation had ended when Carmen's
doctor arrived. Her mother had been weak. Discussing Stephen's negative points wouldn't have solved a thing. Besides,
Carmen had blinded herself to all but Stephen's finest attributes. Years of family solidarity didn't die easily, the two families having traveled from Europe to America together when
Stephen and Sarah were still in their cradles.

"How did you learn to sew like that?" Emma asked, bringing Sarah back to the present.

"My nanny taught me," Sarah said, the admission slipping
out before she'd had the chance to consider Emma's reaction.

"You had a nanny? My, my, so it is true what folks are
saying.

Curious, Sarah's gaze shot up. "Just what are folks
saying?"

"That you come from good stock." Emma giggled. "Money,
in other words."

Of its own accord, her face pulled into a frown. "Why
would they think that?"

Emma laughed again, but not disparagingly. "Honey,
either you are just plain naive, or you truly haven't noticed
that most folks in these parts don't wear cashmere and silk.
You wear it like second skin, as if you were born in it."

"It's all I have," she replied almost sorrowfully.

"Don't apologize. I find your garments quite breathtaking. You shouldn't mind the folks of Little Hickman. They're
mostly friendly, just not used to fine things-unless you count
the very astute and proper Mrs. Iris Winthrop," she said with
a wink.

Sarah planted a hand across her mouth to smother a
chuckle. It didn't take a genius to see the woman placed a great
deal of importance on fancy attire. The difference between
her and Sarah was that while Sarah didn't require expensive
things, Mrs. Winthrop appeared to thrive on them.

Emma's gaze traced a path to the window. "I see Mr. Callahan has arrived in town. Looks like he's stopping off at
Johansson's before coming here. Those two little ones sure are
a pathetic pair. Too bad about their mama."

Sarah's chest rose unexpectedly and she fought the urge
to look for herself. Whether she anticipated Rachel's reaction
to the dress or seeing Mr. Callahan again, she couldn't be sure. The notion of the latter rankled. Yes, the man was irrefutably
handsome, but his brutish personality required an overhaul.
There was absolutely no reason she should be attracted to him,
unless it was the fact that he was Stephen Alden's complete
opposite.

"He is a difficult man to like," Sarah said, trying to make
her tone appear neutral. Taking up the little dress, she folded
it carefully and placed it in her lap.

Emma walked to the window and pulled back the lace
curtain. "He's been through some rough times," she muttered
while rubbing her index finger across the sill to check for dust.
Sarah had strong doubts she would find as much as a speck of
it the way she was forever cleaning the place. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to rise every morning with a bent
for scrubbing everything in sight. Living the life of luxury had
kept her from worrying over such matters.