The Cowboy's Baby (2 page)

But how could God love him when he constantly found himself in one sort of trouble after another. Sure, anyone would say it was of his own making. For the most part, it was. But this time he intended to prove he was something more than a Bloxham living from a bottle. A better Bloxham than his father was or that he’d been in the past.

He waited a suitable amount of time then sauntered out the door as if it mattered not to him if he stayed or left.

He led his horse down the street, his feet aching to wander south toward the church and Anna. He didn’t believe she truly meant it when she said she never wanted to see him again, but it might be wisest to give her a chance to get used to him being back in town and adjust to the idea he had changed.

He forced his steps to some of his familiar haunts, thinking he might find Hugh. But after an hour of looking he’d not seen the man. Likely he’d show up after he finished whatever job he currently held. Colby would make a swing by the Lucky Lady again later in the evening.

In the meantime…

Well, he’d give anything to see Anna hurrying
between the house and the church like he had that very first time. Maybe he’d just ride on down the street, casual-like, no hurry, no destination in mind. Might be she’d have cause to cross the yard, perhaps carrying his little daughter with her. He wondered if Dorrie favored him or Nora. Or did she reveal a likeness to both her parents?

Anna carried Dorrie to her high chair. For a moment she held her close and buried her face against Dorrie’s warm neck, breathing in the familiar scent. “My sweet, sweet baby.” This child filled her with such joy. What if Colby had come back to claim her? Anger and determination drilled through her limbs and up her spine.

She would stand between Dorrie and her father, fight him like a wildcat, protect Dorrie from anything that would hurt her. No matter what. She loved this child as her own.

Dorrie squirmed. “Down, Mama.”

Anna reluctantly ended her hug and put the baby in her chair. She’d brushed Dorrie’s blond hair back and tied it with a white ribbon, letting little curls escape to frame the heart-shaped face. For the past year, she had allowed herself to pretend Dorrie was hers, allowed herself to believe Colby would never return, a thought that filled her with a strange mixture of relief and
regret. She’d never been certain which was the stronger emotion.

Dorrie drank half her milk then threw back her head and wailed.

“Poor baby. You didn’t get enough sleep, did you?”

And Colby was to blame. His loud intrusion had woke the baby. What did he want? Why had he returned? Her insides tightened until she wondered if something she’d eaten had been a little off. “Let’s go find Poppa.” She plucked the child from her chair, wiped her face and settled her on her hip.

“See Poppa?”

“Yes, pet. We’ll see your poppa.” She hated to disturb Father at the church where he went to meditate but she badly needed his counsel.

She ducked out the back door. The wall of the church was blackened. The sight still gave her heart a jerk. The fire had taken out several homes and damaged the church before it was quenched. Thank God the fire had stopped when it did. Thank God no lives had been lost, though a few families had lost homes.

Guilt weaved throughout her thoughts. She really didn’t have time to wander around nursing her worries. Alex would soon be home from school, needing supervision. Supper needed making and she must finish sewing together the quilt
top the women were making for the Anderson family who were among those who’d lost their homes. Tomorrow afternoon the sewing circle would gather at the manse to put together the quilt.

But first she would find some peace at the church and at Father’s side.

As she crossed the yard she noted a saddled horse on the other side of the road, in the shelter of some trees where the road branched off to a pathway leading to the narrow river cutting past the town. Strange that a horse should be left thus. Then she saw Colby lounging in the shadow of the trees. Did he intend to spy on them, perhaps wait for a chance to snatch his daughter?

She clutched Dorrie tighter and raced into the shelter of the church. “Father,” she called, her voice tight with unformed terror, “he’s come back. What are we going to do?”

C
olby saw Anna look in his direction, noted how she jerked in surprise and likely a whole lot of anger, then raced into the church. She obviously didn’t like the fact he was there. He doubted she wanted to know he intended to stay around. She’d hurried into the church so fast he’d gotten no more than a glimpse—just enough to make him want more. He recalled a time when they had spent many an hour wandering down the nearby path discussing anything and everything and sometimes nothing. It was the only time in his life he’d felt real and honest.

He’d run from that, driven by his own internal demons. But wherever he’d run, whatever he’d done—and he hoped no one would ever know what that was—a vast hollowness sucked at his heart.
Only one thing had ever satisfied that emptiness— Anna’s presence.

He’d seen the child perched on Anna’s hip. Dorrie. Grown considerably. In the seconds he’d had to study her he could say she looked a sturdy child with hair somewhat fairer than his own with a big white bow in the back. He wanted to see and know this tiny bit of humanity he’d made with Nora. He’d come back to be a proper father but he knew so little about being one except to know he didn’t want to be like his pa.

He guessed Anna wouldn’t be leaving the sanctuary of the church while he stood there. “I’ll be back,” he muttered as he swung to Pal’s back.

Several hours later he strode into the Lucky Lady and checked the occupants. No sign of Hugh. Was he still around the area or had he left for something better—or at least different?
Could save your energy, Hugh. Different ain’t better.

Arty sat at the same table, his eyes now glassy, his hat askew. Another familiar figure sat across from him—Tobias—neat and tidy as always, and rough shaven just as Colby remembered. He wondered if the man used a dull table knife for a razor.

He saw it all in a glance even as he watched the dark-eyed troublemaker nod to the men on either side of him who then slid away as the man slowly
uncoiled himself from the bar to slither toward Colby.

“This the one who caused you a problem?” The question came from Colby’s right.

He tensed, feeling as much as seeing, the two crowding close. He kept his attention on the man crossing the room.
Keep coming. Bring your trouble to me. Leave poor old Arty alone.

But the man stopped and slapped the table in front of Arty. He jumped and half tumbled from his chair.

Colby eased forward prepared to help though he perceived it wasn’t Arty the dark-eyed man wanted to tangle with. “Leave him be.”

“Who? This old drunk?” He grabbed the bottle from the table and tipped it over. Only a few drops spilled out as Arty had already drained it, but the old man cried out and lurched to rescue it as if it held several generous drinks.

The man pushed Arty aside. “Sit down, old man. Before you end up facedown in the sawdust.”

Arty stumbled backward, swayed and clutched at the stranger’s arm to steady himself.

“Get away from me, you old bum.” The troublemaker tossed Arty aside.

Colby saw Arty was going to land heavily and he strode forward to catch him.

He didn’t make two steps before his arms were
caught on each side. Helplessly he watched Arty skid to the floor and flounder for a grasp on something solid. He found the rung of the chair and started to pull himself back to its seat only to have the chair kicked away from him.

Colby growled. “Leave him alone.”

The third man left Arty and marched over to glower into Colby’s eyes. “You think you scare me?”

“Enough that you enlist two more the same as you to even the odds.” He grunted as the man on his right shoved his arm up his back hard enough to tear at his shoulder. “Just you and me. Let’s see how scared you are then.”

The man nodded to his friends. But he didn’t wait for them to release Colby’s arms to sucker punch him in the stomach and, before Colby could get his fists bunched, landed a blow to his nose.

Ignoring the pain and the blood pouring forth, Colby exploded into a fury of fists. He had the man on the floor before the other two grabbed him. They succeeded in dragging him to the door and tossing him out on the street but Colby made them work for their victory.

As he wiped away the blood and scrambled to his feet, several decent folk passed by on the other side bound, no doubt, for some noble event.

“Why, it’s Colby Bloxham.”

“As rowdy as ever, I see.”

A loud sniff and then a pious “Let’s pray he leaves again real soon,” followed.

Colby grabbed his hat and smacked it hard on his head. He’d give it until morning for Anna to hear that Colby had been brawling. He could explain if she’d give him a chance. ’Course she’d given him many chances in the past and he’d mangled each of them. Not much wonder she wasn’t about to throw open the door to welcome him this time.

No point in expecting a chance to explain himself.

He strode away, heading for the camp he’d set up on the edge of town, close enough to the river for ease of water, close enough to the church he could slip over and watch the goings-on, yet not so close as to give anyone cause for concern.

Anna covered the little cakes with clean towels and arranged the fancy teacups on the table. The members of the Ladies Sewing Circle would be arriving any minute. Everything was ready, in precise perfection. She should be calm and serene.

She was not.

Her emotions raged as she filled the kettle. Father had said it was only natural for Colby to want to see how Dorrie was faring. And perhaps he
had truly changed. They needed to encourage him in that direction. After all, hadn’t they often prayed he would turn to God to meet the needs of his heart?

Anna couldn’t meet Father’s eyes as he spoke. Some time ago her prayers had shifted from asking for Colby’s redemption to asking that he never return. How would she survive having her heart ripped out and left to whimper and bleed again? And now the threat was twofold. She could also lose Dorrie. She’d said so to Father.

“Did he say he wanted to take her?”

“He asked to see her.”

“Natural enough, as I said. Let’s leave it in God’s loving care.” He’d taken her hand in his and prayed.

But Anna didn’t find the peace and release she’d hoped for. She couldn’t stop wondering what Colby really wanted. She couldn’t stop worrying how his plans could upset her life.

Her teeth ached from continually fighting this inner battle and she forced her jaw to relax.
Please, God, put Your mighty hand on his back and send him down the road again.

Such an ache consumed her that she bent over and moaned.
Anna, forget the boy you once knew. Colby is no longer that person. Let him go.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the task at
hand, she filled the cream and sugar then paused to run a hand over her hair, making sure every strand was in place. She’d changed earlier and the white shirtwaist was immaculate as was the black skirt she’d brushed thoroughly. No one could find fault with her appearance.

But if they could see the turmoil of her heart they might have cause to wonder about her suitability to run the pastor’s home.

She pulled herself taller. She needed to trust God. She said the words. She meant them. But she still felt no peace. Would God allow her to experience loss once again? Pain shafted through her, consuming her. Then she pulled her self-control tight as a corset. Whatever lessons God wanted to teach her through her sorrows, she had tried to learn them. She didn’t want the lesson repeated.

Lord, I try to be obedient and do what You would want.

That’s what she needed to concentrate on— trusting and being obedient.

She hurried into the other room where she had pushed back the wooden armchair and moved the little side table to make room to set up the quilting frame. The top was finished and waiting. The ladies had each contributed to the squares for the quilt. Today they would assemble it with batting and backing and tie it. Anna would finish the edging
and then present it to the Anderson family, who had lost everything in the fire.

“It’s a mercy no one was killed,” Mrs. Klein said later as the ladies worked on the quilt. The fire still filled their thoughts and conversation.

“God be praised,” Mrs. Berglund said.

“Now we must do our part to help those who lost their home. Thank God we can make this quilt.”

“God be praised,” Mrs. Berglund said.

Anna bent over the quilt, hiding a smile. Mrs. Berglund was a dear soul but so predictable, her comments invariably limited to one or two of her favorite phrases.

“I thought Mrs. Anderson might enjoy helping us with the quilt. Did you ask her to attend?” Mrs. Percy directed her question at Anna.

“I did invite her but she is struggling to cope in the little shack they’re living in. I don’t think she feels up to visiting just yet.” Mrs. Anderson had fluttered her hands and looked about wildly when Anna had gone to visit. Anna couldn’t imagine losing everything and trying to live in a building that hadn’t been intended for human habitation.

“Some of us gathered for tea last night.” Mrs. Percy sat up and looked around at her announcement. She waited until she had everyone’s attention before she continued. “Now that everyone is safely
sheltered and resuming their lives, it’s high time, I say, to get the church fixed up so we can meet there.” She sniffed. “I’ve never cared for taking my children to that room above the saloon.”

Anna said nothing as the other women murmured their comments. Certainly it wasn’t ideal, but helping the people who lost their homes and belongings took precedence over fixing the church. She waited, knowing Mrs. Percy had more to say on the subject now that all eyes were on her.

“Pastor Caldwell said he’d look after the repairs but I’ve seen no evidence of it getting done.” She cleared her throat and gave Anna a hard look, driving Anna’s heart to the bottom of her stomach in alarm.

“Remember we agreed to be part of the town’s celebration in honor of Mr. Steves. It’s imperative the repairs are done in time. After all, Mr. Steves donated the money for building the church. We need to remember him for that.”

Anna felt every pair of eyes turn toward her. Though no one spoke she knew what they were all thinking—the same thing as she. Father’s intentions were good but every one jabbing their needles into the quilt knew he tended to get lost in his thoughts and forget such practical things as filling the stove, or closing a window. She couldn’t imagine he would keep his mind on the mundane things
such as carpentry and painting long enough to see the task completed in time for the big seventy-fifth birthday party planned for the town’s founder. Why had he agreed to be in charge?

She sat up straight and met each pair of eyes around the quilt, smiling serenely and reassuringly. “I think you can count on Father to get it done in time.” She’d personally see that he did. She’d remind him to arrange the workers needed. Father was a godly man and his concern for others was genuine but he needed help with practical matters. She would provide that help, gently and discreetly, not only because it was her duty as her father’s unofficial assistant as running his household turned out to be, but also because it was plain if the repairs weren’t done she would be found wanting in the eyes of the women seated in her front room.

The others murmured approval and returned to their sewing.

“Mama, Mama, Mama,” Dorrie called.

“Excuse me. I have to get her up from her nap.” Anna hurried to the little girl. Having Colby show up stole from her bliss in having a child she considered her own without benefit of marriage nor condemnation of a child born out of wedlock.
Please, God. Send that man on his way. I don’t want Dorrie hurt by the things he does.
She knew
people would find it easy to blame every naughty thing Dorrie did as evidence she was living up to her heritage. Or rather, down to it. Anna could well imagine Mrs. Percy sniffing and saying, “An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Although Dorrie wasn’t the only one who could be hurt, she was young and might easily forget Colby wandering into her life and out again.

Anna doubted she would recover as quickly.

She slipped a clean white pinafore over Dorrie’s blue dress and put on her shoes. “There you go. All pretty. Remember the ladies are here so I want you to say hello to them all and then play quietly.” Anna took from the shelf the Noah’s Ark and animals reserved for times when Dorrie had to play quietly at her side.

She returned to the front room and the sewing circle.

Mrs. Percy oohed over Dorrie a minute then turned her sharp gaze toward Anna. “I saw her father last night.”

Anna’s heart dropped to the soles of her feet. Whatever the woman intended to say had the potential to upset Anna’s world.

“In the most shameful state of being tossed from that horrible saloon. I’m not much to pay attention to rumors—”

Anna steeled her expression to remain kind and
calm, displaying none of the disbelief she felt at the woman’s assurances, nor her fear of what more would follow.

Mrs. Percy continued. “But it seems whenever I hear the name Colby Bloxham it comes in the same sentence as robbery, plunder or other illegal activity.” She sniffed and pasted on a pitying expression. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see a wanted poster with his likeness on it.”

Anna wanted to cry out a protest. But why should she want to defend him? The man had gone from bad to worse. Her only concern was to protect Dorrie from the ugliness of such speculation.

Thankfully, Dorrie was too young for the discussion to affect her. But how long before the unkind words would sear her little heart like a hot branding iron. As it did Anna’s. How shocked Mrs. Percy would be to discover the secret, impossible longing of Anna’s heart.

“I expect he’ll be visiting here soon.”

Anna ducked her head rather than face the woman and try and guess what she meant by that statement. Everyone knew she and Colby had been friends at one time. Before he had left her to cope with her sorrow on her own.

Just as everyone knew he was Dorrie’s father.