Prairie Cowboy. Linda Ford

her father and Miles, too, except for brief, unwelcome flashes. Of course, Miss Price’s counsel to put her past life behind her had caused Virnie to do her best to forget it. But she wished she had a picture of her mother like Rachael did. Somehow it would be comforting to have some reminder.

      “There. You’re done. Have a look.”

      Rachael went to the small mirror over the washstand and turned back and forth examining her reflection.

      “What do you think?”

      “It looks nice.”

      Virnie hugged her. “You look very pretty.” Rachael stiffened a bit and Virnie guessed she thought of her father’s words about pretty being useless for a pioneer. But he was wrong. A person—a woman—could be pretty, or at least pleasant-looking, and still face the challenges of this new land.

      Monday after classes ended, Rachael hopped about as she waited for Virnie to close up the school. “Pa should be back tomorrow.”

      “How can you know?”

      “’Cause the weather’s been good. He said it would take seven days of good weather. He’ll be back. He never stays away longer than he has to.”

      Rachael had such confidence in her father’s affection. “Shall we make it a special occasion?”

      “How can we do that?”

      “Well, you could help me make a special meal.” She’d been able to fashion simple meals from the eggs, milk and a decent supply of canned goods. On Saturday, as she draped the wet clothes on the fence surrounding the garden patch, she’d found evidence of potatoes and carrots.

      Rachael had explained, “Pa plants a garden every spring.”

      Virnie shook her head. Weeding the garden might actually allow them to reap some produce. But upon closer examination she unearthed useable potatoes and carrots. “Where does your pa get meat?”

      “Goes to the store. I can go and Mr. Brown will sell me something and put it on Pa’s bill. I’ve done that before. Are we going to make a real meal?”

      A real meal. For a real family. In a real home. The words danced through Virnie’s mind like the taunt of teasing children. Or the echo of her own heart. “We’ll get some meat on our way home tomorrow.” She squeezed Rachael. “We’ll cook a real meal.” And then her sojourn into pretend would end and she’d return to her lifetime goal.

      There was no reason she should dread the idea. None whatsoever.

      Conor rode into the yard. Through the window, he glimpsed Rae and Virnie. He wanted to see Rae and assure himself she was fine, put to rest his loneliness, but he hesitated. Virnie was there, too. He didn’t know if he liked the idea or not. Or perhaps he knew the answer and shied away from it.

      He rode Noble to the corrals, unsaddled him and took his time about rubbing him down all the while telling himself his only reason for not rushing to the house as he normally would after being away was because of his concern for his horse.

      But soon he had no more excuses.

      He must face what lay beyond the door across the yard. And what lay within his heart. Things he’d been trying to escape all week. Of course, Gabe’s constant yatter about the pretty schoolmarm made it impossible. But even on the ride home, alone with his thoughts, he hadn’t been able to escape thinking of Virnie.

      Stupid. Stupid. He knew she would be anxious for him to return but only so she could go back to her safe little room at the Maxwells’. No doubt she’d had more than enough of pioneer life by now. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care nor expect anything different.

      But still he found reason to pause at the corral gate and adjust the bar. He discovered a great need to check the corner post to make sure it was sound. He found an undeniable urge to give a good look around to make sure his fields were still there. He snorted. Like someone could walk away with ten acres. Finally he forced himself to the house, stopping outside the door to gather up his strength to face—what? Disappointment? He had only invited her to stay with Rae. Nothing more. Of course she’d leave as soon as he returned. So what did he need to face then? He sighed and reluctantly acknowledged this house signified a dream that had died with Irene. A dream of home and security and belonging and warmth and—

      The dream was dead. Long live reality.

      He shoved the door open and staggered back as Rae launched herself into his arms.

      “Welcome home, Pa. It’s a special occasion. I love you.”

      He squeezed her tight, and recognizing the game they had played for years, he said, “I guess if it’s a special occasion, I love you, too.”

      She giggled. “You love me anytime.”

      He buried his face in her hair. It smelled sweet and clean. Slowly he raised his gaze and his heart punched a hole clear through his reason as Virnie stood before him smiling a welcome. He glanced about the room. It positively shone. The hole in his reason widened. This was how he imagined the house looking when he had lovingly built it. He jerked his gaze to the stove where pots stood waiting. The scent of roast beef and potatoes caused a flood of hunger. He missed good meals. He tried to stop himself from looking back at Virnie but couldn’t. His willpower had turned all mushy.

      She continued to smile. “Welcome home. We’ve made supper for you.”

      He let Rae slip to the floor. She continued to press to his side. He squeezed her shoulder, needing something solid to anchor himself to.

      He wanted someone to share his life, his home, his daughter. He wanted someone to welcome him home. Someone who would share responsibility in every way, from preparing tasty meals to cleaning the house to—reality kicked in with a vengeance that froze every other emotion.

      What he wanted and needed included a woman able to tackle whatever challenges this fledgling country sent. And Miss Virnie White was not that sort of woman. Too soft and pretty to be truly practical.

      He pushed his dreams back into the grave and turned to hang his hat and coat on a hook. Right next to a pretty cape and wide-brimmed hat that surely belonged to Virnie. He inadvertently brushed the cape, lifting the scent of sunshine and flowers to his nostrils. For a moment he couldn’t move as his insides responded to the scent. For a heartbeat he let it lift his thoughts from reality. His dreams weren’t about to rest in peace nor to allow him peace.

      Rae grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the table. “We made a nice meal. A real meal.”

      “We?” He cocked an eyebrow at Rae but his eyes found their way to Virnie who stood demurely to one side, her hands clasped ladylike at her waist and her smile gentle and cautious, almost impatient. Had she been keeping the meal warm for some time?

      “Rachael is a wonderful help,” Virnie said.

      He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Rae can do most anything she sets her mind to.”

      Rae rewarded him with a blinding smile. “I’m tough.”

      “That you are,” he agreed.

      “The meal is ready.” Virnie’s voice remained low with no hint of disapproval but Conor would not look her way to see how she’d reacted to Rae’s pride in being tough. He didn’t want to deal with it. Not tonight. Not with the house clean and a meal on the table. For today, he would accept the gifts without worrying about what the giver thought of him.

      He washed up and sat at one end of the table. Virnie sat at the other end and Rae on the side between them. He trailed a finger over the wood, remembering how he had planed and polished it to smooth perfection. Then, realizing what he was doing, he pulled his hands to his lap. The table didn’t matter any longer. Any more than the rest of his dreams. Dead. Gone.

      “Would you like to say grace?”

      Virnie’s question pulled him from his mental meanderings. He nodded. Been a long time since he’d