Prairie Cowboy. Linda Ford

she could appeal to him on that basis, somehow make him see the harm he inadvertently inflicted on his child. She could explain—but pain twisted through her at the mere thought of telling someone how it felt.

      The look in his blue, bottomless eyes shifted, seeking a response that had nothing to do with Rachael.

      A noise outside made him jerk toward the door, freeing her from his stare and allowing her to think clearly. She didn’t intend to get involved with this man. Yes, he might care in a flawed way about his daughter but Virnie did not have any desire to relive her own experience in order to help him. She would pray for some other way to help Rachael.

      “I’ve been expecting him,” Conor said.

      “Your brother?” Virnie asked.

      “No, just a good friend.”

      “I’ll be on my way.” But before Virnie could make her way through the door, Rachael returned, pulling a man by his hand.

      His eyes widened when he saw her and he whipped off his hat. “Didn’t know Conor had a lady friend visiting.” He grinned widely at Conor then shifted his attention back to Virnie. He didn’t say anything but the way his grin deepened, Virnie knew he thought she was worth a second look.

      She took the liberty of giving him a good look, too. A man with fine features, blond hair, blue eyes and unrepentant amusement.

      “’Bout time old Conor acknowledged there’s more to life than work.”

      Conor grunted. “Miss White is the new schoolteacher.” He nodded toward Virnie. “You probably figured out this is my friend, Gabe. Gabe Winston.”

      “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. And might you have a Christian name?”

      “Virnie.” She looked at Conor as she spoke, wondering if he would ever take the liberty of using her name. But he scowled like he had a pain somewhere. She pulled herself straighter. She knew that look. Had seen it often from her pa. And she understood she was the source of the pain. For Conor as well as her pa. “I’ll be on my way. Good day.”

      Gabe made a protesting noise but stepped aside as she steamed out.

      She hurried away with long, furious strides. Why did she let Conor’s attitude pull unwanted memories to her mind?

      She stomped hard on the dusty surface of the road, raising dust to her knees. She’d have to polish her shoes and brush her skirt when she got home. The extra emphasis to each step did nothing to stop her from remembering.

      Too bad you’re a girl.

      After all this time, the words still twisted her heart into an agonized knot.

      Lord God, the past is past. You provided Miss Price to give me a different life. Help me forget those days of pain and uncertainty.

      Her thoughts slipped to Rachael. How similar their situations. If Miss Price were here she’d surely find a way to help. What would she do?

      Virnie stopped at the school to get some papers and texts so she could prepare lessons then returned to Maxwell house where she boarded. She liked living with them. Their formal parlor and old-fashioned furniture reminded her of living with Miss Price. She found comfort in their routine and stiff mannerisms that also reminded her of Miss Price. She paused to greet Mrs. Maxwell then retired to her bedroom to pen a letter to Miss Price. In great detail she told about her first week, asking advice on how to teach the Schmidt boys English and how to challenge young George to apply as much interest to literature and penmanship as he did to arithmetic.

      She closed with, “There is a child who reminds me of myself. She is motherless. Her father dresses her like a boy. He expects her to be tough. I would like to help her but find myself dealing with memories of my own past that I prefer to ignore. I must in all honesty say this child’s father doesn’t seem to be unkind toward her.”

      Thinking of Conor filled her with confusion. Her first glimpse of him convinced her he cared about Rachael. Today she knew she’d seen worry in his eyes over Rachael’s tardiness in returning from school. She’d seen something in him that made her lonesome inside. But when had she become so maudlin? She had only to consider Rachael’s fear about the Faulks’ dog to know there was something wrong.

      She turned back to her letter. “Please pray that I might have wisdom in this situation.” What if God wanted her to do more like Miss Price had done? “And the courage to do what needs to be done.”

      Chapter Three

      Gabe stared after Miss White and as soon as she was out of earshot, let out a low whistle. “You sure know how to pick ’em.”

      Conor snorted. “She’s Rae’s teacher. I had nothing to do with her being hired.” His insides had gradually grown tenser as he watched for Rae to return from school and when he’d seen Miss White escorting her, all he could think was Rae had been hurt. He’d crossed the field in great leaps. To discover Miss White only wanted to check on him had only twisted his insides further because of the strange mix of unwanted emotions—embarrassment at the state of his house, defensiveness at her silent accusation and—he didn’t want to acknowledge it but he couldn’t deny it—loneliness. He’d had a sudden flash of what life could be like with a woman to share the load.

      Even now he kicked himself mentally at his nonsense. He’d learned the pain of expecting a beautiful, gentle woman to accept frontier life. He dreamed that dream and reaped the disappointment and grief. A lesson he didn’t intend to repeat. He’d ask for and expect help from neither God nor man—or perhaps he meant it was only from women he couldn’t expect help.

      Not that he’d lost his belief in God. Just his trust.

      “Being a teacher don’t make her less pretty.” Gabe poked him in the ribs to emphasize his point.

      Rae hung from Gabe’s arm. “I told Pa she was pretty, too.”

      Conor shot them both a look burning with fury. “Tell me what good pretty is.” He strode out the door. Of course it was too much to expect Gabe would take the hint and shut up on the matter.

      “Pretty is mighty nice to see when a man returns home tired and hungry.”

      Conor put up mental barriers at Gabe’s reminder of what he missed. “I suppose you count yourself an expert? Don’t see you inviting young Diana to join you.” Gabe had left his intended back in Philadelphia when he came West promising to send for her when he was settled. That was two years ago.

      “Figure it’s about time. Soon as I get the barn up and the harvest in.”

      Conor scoffed. “Heard that last year.”

      “My barn’s still not up.”

      “We’ll do that this fall.” He figured mentioning that fact would give Gabe something to think about. Seems he came up with more excuses than necessary for not sending for Diana. Conor kind of figured Gabe wasn’t quite ready to commit to marriage. He guessed the delay wasn’t a bad idea and wanted to warn Gabe that Diana might have unreal expectations about what pioneering meant but didn’t want to turn the conversation back to the one topic he wished to avoid—the risk of expecting a woman to labor at his side. Gabe’s side, he corrected.

      “So what was Virnie doing out here? Seems a long way from the schoolhouse.”

      “Miss White—” he emphasized the proper title “—seems to think she should visit each of her students’ homes.”

      He felt Gabe’s amused grin directed at him but ignored it and tromped toward the field where the last of the sheaves waited to be stoked. “Rae, you look after your chores.”

      “Yes, Pa.” She dropped back, disappointed at missing out on the conversation.

      Gabe waved to her. “See you later, little gal.” He closed the distance between himself and Conor. “So how many other homes has Virnie visited, do you suppose?”

      “I’d