Good thing? How? She wanted to ask, but they crested a rise, and she sucked in a deep breath at the lovely sight before her. Atop the next hill, a broad two-story log home rose up. Smoke curled up from one of the two chimneys, as if welcoming them home. A ways behind the house and down the hill was a barn and several out-buildings nestled in a wide valley, surrounded by treeless mountains. Several had taller peaks with snow covering them. Jolie’s heart soared like the hawk she watched circling the valley. Had she finally come home?

  Clay pulled the wagon to a stop near the house and handed her down. He climbed to the ground, wincing and holding his shoulder. He must be exhausted. Since his shooting, he hadn’t gotten any decent rest. He grabbed Jolie’s satchel, and she nearly tugged it from him, but she didn’t want him loosing face with his father any more than he already had.

  A wide porch with a view of the valley beckoned to her as she climbed the stairs. She could see herself sitting in one of the rockers in warmer weather mending clothes or shelling peas.

  They stepped inside, and she gazed around. The great room was two stories tall, and off to one side, a stairway led to the second floor. You could walk down the open hallway to what she assumed were the bedrooms and still look down over the railing and see the people downstairs. Never had she seen the likes of it before.

  A warm blaze danced in the fireplace, drawing her. She held up her hands, warming them and studying the room. “You have a lovely home.”

  Clay watched her, his head cocked. “It’s your home, too—for as long as Pa lets us stay.”

  Jolie smiled. Please, Lord, mend the rift between Clay and his father, and let us stay here.

  A shuffling sound upstairs drew her attention. Clay’s father strode out of one door at the end of the open hallway, carrying a load of clothes, and into another. They watched as he returned to the first room and exited again with an even bigger pile of things in his arms.

  “Great.”

  She spun around and looked at her husband, wondering about the snide tone of that single word. “What’s wrong?”

  “Looks like Pa is moving out of the big bedroom. I suspect he’s going to give it to us.”

  Jolie swallowed hard. She hadn’t considered where they’d sleep. For some reason she half expected to have her own room.

  Clay leaned down near her ear. “It would hardly look right if we didn’t share a bedroom. I promise not to bother you—for now.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes. What did that mean?

  She wrung her hands together and took her satchel from him. If only she had some clue what went on between a man and a woman, but she’d had no one in her life to teach her such things. Her hands trembled, and she hoped her husband would honor his vow.

  Chapter 6

  Jolie poured her father-in-law another cup of coffee then set the pot back on the stove. She walked over to the window and stared out. Overnight, a light snowfall had blanketed the land, making everything fresh, just like her new life.

  Had Miss Tuttle been enraged when she’d discovered her missing? She grinned, thinking how she’d outsmarted the woman. One thing was for certain, nobody would find her up here. As soon as she could borrow some paper, she would start sending letters to the Council Bluffs mayor, telling him what was going on at the children’s home. She may be free, but there were plenty of other children she dearly loved who weren’t.

  “It’s warmer over here by the stove.”

  She smiled over her shoulder at Clay’s father then took a seat at the table. The older man hadn’t said much at breakfast, just scooped in the ham, eggs, and biscuits she’d made like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. It blessed her to do such a small thing to make him happy.

  He scowled and stared at her. “How long that no-good son of mine and you been married?”

  Uh oh. “Um … not too long. In fact, we just got married. Would you like some more eggs? There’s more left in the pan.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know what a pretty little thing like you sees in him.”

  Jolie longed to restore peace and laid her hand on the man’s arm. “Please give Clay a chance. I think you’ll see he’s changed.”

  “Humpf! He can’t even get up at a decent hour.”

  She’d promised not to tell his pa that he’d been shot or how their marriage had come about. “The past few days have been difficult for him.”

  “And what about you?”

  She shrugged, knowing she’d skirted out of one trap and into another. “How long have you lived here?”

  He stared into his coffee. “We moved here when the boys were young.”

  She wondered if he knew that he’d referred to both brothers.

  “Those were good times, when my Ella and Clint were still alive.”

  “I lost my mother when I was just four. She died in childbirth.” Jolie couldn’t tell him that her father had left her at the orphanage because he couldn’t work and take care of her. Was he even still alive?

  “Losing Ella was hard, but I had my boys—and then Clint had that accident. I lost two sons that day. Some days I wonder why I even stay here. But where else could I go?”

  Jolie’s heart ached for the man who had lost so much. But maybe she could help him heal. Maybe Clay could. She offered a smile and noticed her husband coming down the stairs. “At least now you’ve got Clay back.”

  Mr. Jackson shook his head. “That boy’s been nothing but trouble ever since his brother died.”

  Clay’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned and strode toward the door. He yanked his coat off a hook and slapped his hat on his head, not even giving her a second glance. He stomped outside and slammed the door.

  Mr. Jackson jumped and looked over his shoulder. “Guess he heard me. Well, good. He needs to know where I stand. I’m not housing and feeding no moocher.”

  Jolie jumped up and hurried to the window, but Clay must have gone around back, toward the barn. She longed to go to him, to comfort him, but would he even welcome her presence?

  Mr. Jackson cleared his throat and stood. “There’s a trunk in your room that holds some of Ella’s things. It don’t seem like you have warm enough clothes for being up this high. Help yourself, if you’ve a mind to. Though you may have to take them up some since Ella was taller than you.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Are you certain it won’t bother you if I wear her clothes?”

  “No bother. I reckon me and Clay will be in for lunch. Might be nice to have some soup or stew, if you’re of a mind to fix some.” He snagged another biscuit off the plate. “And these are delicious.”

  He strode for the door and put on his heavy coat. “I may have problems with my son, but I want you to know that you’re welcome here. I hope you’ll make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jackson. That’s very kind of you.”

  He grunted, just like she’d heard Clay do on several occasions. “Call me Will or Pops, not that Mr. Jackson stuff.” He shoved his hat on and went out the back door, letting in a frigid blast of air.

  Standing close to the stove, she crossed her arms and stared outside. Was it possible for them all to start anew? “Please, Father, show me how to help Clay and his father. Heal their relationship.”

  Clay strode toward the barn, his anger raging like a prairie fire. Why had he thought returning home was such a great idea? He should have known his father hadn’t changed. That the old man still blamed him for Clint’s death.

  No, he hadn’t said that, but Clay could feel his censure all evening last night. He knew his pa wished that he’d died instead of Clint, and he’d gladly give his life if it would bring his brother back. Clint had been his best friend, his confidant, and partner in crime. It had been Clint who’d comforted him when their ma died, not their father.

  He yanked open the barn door, relishing in the familiar scents. Hay, horses, and leather. This had been his refuge when life in the house became unbearable. Give me patience, Lord. And forgive me for my anger toward Pa.

  “Well, well. So the prodigal returns home. Hoping for a fatted calf, were you?” Drake Gruber leaned on a manure fork and narrowed his eyes at Clay.

  He’d hoped his pa had gotten rid of the troublesome foreman. The man was pure trouble and had done everything he could to set brother against brother, but Clay’s bond with Clint had been too strong for this man to destroy. Clay pushed aside his anger and nodded. Sometimes being a Christian was downright hard to do.

  “You’re looking good, Clay.” Farley, his pa’s second-in-command, nodded and returned to spreading fresh straw in a stall.

  Drake scowled at the man then set aside the manure fork and walked up to Clay. “Things been goin’ good here. I hope you don’t plan on causing problems.”

  Clay stood almost nose to nose with the man. “Just remember whose land this is, Drake.”

  “Last I checked it was your daddy’s.”

  Clay winced, wanting to punch the cocky smile off the man’s face, but he was a better man now. He stepped back. “Be that as it may, you’re still the hired help—and that can always change.”

  The barn door opened, and Clay jumped back. His father strode in and looked around. His pa glanced from man to man then focused on Drake. “You got some work to do?”

  Drake nodded but glared at Clay. Turning his back, Clay crossed the barn to the stall where his mother’s horse, Spice, still stood. The bay mare stuck her head over the gate and nuzzled him. Did she remember him? He smoothed her black forelock, halfway surprised his father still had the horse. “You care if I take her out for a ride, Pa?”

  “We work around here. If you can ride, you can check the herd.”

  Clay nodded and reached for a curry comb, eager to be on horseback again. He’d lost his horse in a card game shortly after leaving home and still missed the gelding. He’d been a good horse, and Clay hoped his new owner treated him decently.

  “I heard Clay has his own mare up at the house,” Drake said to Farley.

  Clay clenched his fist and marched toward the man.

  His father stepped in his way, holding up his hand. “There’ll be no more talk like that, Drake. That woman is decent and kind. She’s my daughter-in-law, and you’d best remember that if you don’t want to draw your walkin’ papers.”

  Drake nodded, but Clay could tell he didn’t like being put in his place. He returned to the stall and finished brushing down Spice. Saddling the horse one-handed wasn’t easy, but he managed. He sure wasn’t asking anyone in the barn for help. He walked the mare outside then stared at the house. His wife was up there.

  He smiled, remembering last night. Jolie had been in her nightgown and under the covers before he’d gone to bed. She’d slept so close to the edge of the big bed that she’d fallen off twice. At least that’s how many times he heard her before he fell asleep. Resting in a good bed in his own home had felt wonderful, and he’d overslept. He sighed. Seemed like he couldn’t do anything right.

  Jolie came out the front door, carrying a bucket. Her coat flapped in the light breeze, and she looked around. He led the horse in her direction, still unable to believe he was married and she belonged to him. He couldn’t explain the powerful desire to keep her safe that had welled up in him. They’d need a plan, in case staying here didn’t work out. But he had no idea what that could be. He’d done ranch work all his life, but it was hard for a man with a wife to find a ranching job.

  She smiled as he drew near. “I was going to wash the dishes, but I need more water. Do you have a well or a creek nearby?”

  “A creek—or if there’s enough snow, we just melt it.”

  She looked around the ground. “Guess I’d better check the creek. Which way is it?”

  He nudged his chin at the large log home. “Other side of the house, down the hill.”

  “Oh, well thanks.”

  “Did you sleep well last night?”

  His wife’s eyes widened, and her cheeks grew red—and not from the chilly air, he suspected. She shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. I’ll just be fetching the water now.”

  “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

  “What? Um … no.”

  “You shouldn’t go anywhere around here without protection. I’ll walk with you to the creek.” He took the bucket and hung it over the saddle horn.

  She glanced around, as if she expected a mountain lion to jump out at any moment.

  He bit back a smile. “Most of the times it’s no problem, but it’s best to be on the safe side, especially in the winter.”

  She scooted over beside him, looking all around. “You have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to be back, even though Pa is less than enthused to have me home.”

  “Give him some time. He’ll see how you’ve changed.”

  Clay shook his head. “How do you know if I’m any different?”

  Jolie looked up at him. “I know you’re a good man, Clay. If you weren’t, you’d never have allowed yourself to be coerced into marrying me.”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t very well leave you to that mob. Besides, I was in a weakened state.”

  “I don’t think that made any difference.”

  Clay had to admit he liked his wife. She seemed sweet and caring, and she wasn’t bad to look at with that mass of brown hair and those penetrating eyes the color of coffee, with just a speck of milk added.

  “You didn’t get any breakfast. Could you come in and eat before you go wherever you’re going?”

  “I thought I’d take a short ride and see how things have changed. You wouldn’t want to go, would you?”

  Jolie eyed the horse and shook her head. “I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a young child.”

  “This is Spice. She was my mother’s horse, and she’s as gentle as they come. We can ride together.”

  Jolie pulled her cloak together, half looking like she’d run back to the house. He reached out and fingered the worn piece of fabric. “You need something warmer than this.”

  “It’s all I have.”

  “One of these days we’ll go back to town, and you can order some new things.”

  She shook her head. “This is fine. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  He started to say she wasn’t trouble until he remembered the state of his bank account. Who was he to be making promises?

  “I suppose I could go on a short ride while the water heats.”

  Clay grinned, his heart warming. “Great. Let’s get the water then.”

  Chapter 7

  Clay eyed his wife, riding beside him on Spice, while he rode a black horse from his father’s stable. In just one short week, Jolie had gone from riding double with him and clinging to the saddle horn with both hands to riding alone, although she did still maintain a tight grip on the horn with one hand most of the time. She gently rocked in time with the mare’s slow gait, and her eyes roved the landscape.

  He sighed. Already she was tugging at his heartstrings, making him wish she’d married him because she wanted to and not because she was forced to. The light breeze picked up a strand of saddle brown hair that had come loose from her braid and blew it across her face. Using two fingers, she tucked it behind her ear. Clay longed to run his hand down her hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked, and he enjoyed watching her eyes light up when she saw something new.

  Days spent with Jolie were a joy, but the nights were driving him crazy with her sleeping right beside him and him unable to touch her. He rubbed his hand across his jaw, forcing himself to think of something else.

  Cold water. That’s what he needed.

  “Let’s go this way. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Jolie followed his lead, as they wound up a trail that would take them to the crest of the nearest mountain if they went all the way up. But that wasn’t their destination.

  “How are things going with you and Pa?” he asked.

  Jolie shot a glance his way and then refocused on the trail. “All right, I suppose. He still asks lots of questions, but I try to divert his attention onto something else if it’s a question I don’t want to answer.”

  “Pa is tenacious, that’s for sure.”

  She grinned and nodded. “And stubborn. How long will it take him to see that you’ve changed?”

  He clamped down on his back teeth. “Stubborn is an understatement. Once you get on my father’s bad side, it’s almost impossible to redeem yourself.”

  “Well, I think you should keep showing respect to your father and honoring him, even when he belittles you. Allow God to redeem you.”

  There was wisdom in his wife’s words, but doing what she said wasn’t easy. A man could only take so much of his father putting him down.

  Guilt heaped onto Clay’s shoulders. He needed to remember how much God had forgiven him. After his brother’s death, he’d become a drunk, a gambler, and even spent time with the wrong kind of women, but none of those things dulled the ache of his brother’s death. Only giving his heart to God had silenced the roar of the pain. He didn’t deserve Jolie or reconciliation with his father, but his heart craved both. God forgave him and sent His own Son to die for him, so how could he not forgive his own father? The truth was—his pa didn’t know him now and was still judging him by how he used to be.

  Give me patience with him, Lord.

  “I think your father wants things to be better between you two, but he’s afraid to show it. He lost his whole family, and now that you’re back, he’s afraid to open his heart again for fear he’ll get it stomped on.”

  Clay grunted. It sounded as if he and his pa had the same fears.

  Jolie looked at him. “I know this is hard, Clay, but you need to repair your relationship with your father, or you’ll never have peace in your heart.”

  “How did you get to be so wise?”

  She shrugged one shoulder, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. “Guess it comes from mediating disagreements between children at the orphanage.”

 

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