A Daddy For Christmas. Linda Ford

headed back to Fort Macleod with four important British investors of one of the nearby ranches.

      “Is your papa coming for you?” Likely he was one of the many new settlers in the area.

      “Got no papa,” Libby said. “He died.” Her words carried a weighty sorrow that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

      “Libby, remember what Mama said.”

      At Eleanor’s warning, Libby clamped her hand over her mouth.

      Blue nodded. “Were you planning to meet someone?”

      Silence from both of them.

      “Where are you going?”

      His question was met with more stubborn silence, though Libby dropped her hand and looked about to speak. Then she glanced at Eleanor and thought better of it.

      “Do you girls have a secret?”

      Eleanor scowled. “Mama said not to tell strangers our secrets.”

      He gave them a faint smile. “That’s something to remember most days, but right now your mama needs to get someplace warm and safe, so I think it’s okay if you tell me where you’re going.”

      Eleanor’s face crumpled in what he could only think was confusion. “We can’t.”

      They were making this difficult. “I already explained about secrets.”

      “It’s not a secret.” Eleanor sighed expansively. “We don’t know where we’re going.”

      Perhaps their mother hadn’t given them the information. “Who is meeting you?”

      The girls shook their heads.

      “You don’t know?”

      More head shaking.

      This was getting him nowhere. He turned back to Clara. She still lay motionless, her skin tinged a faint blue. He touched her cheek. Still icy cold.

      “Mrs. Weston, wake up. Open your eyes.”

      The girls knelt beside him. “Mama, wake up.”

      Libby’s voice broke, and Eleanor wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Libby, ’member what Mama said. God will take care of us.”

      Blue kept his opinion to himself. But he didn’t see God taking care of these people. Blue was doing it, and he sure didn’t consider himself God. Or even godly. If he had a fraction of the power God had, he would have quenched the fire that had consumed his house and killed his family. At the very least, he would have gotten there in time to pull them from the inferno. He’d never forget the leaden weight of his legs when he saw the smoke, saw it was his house and ran until his lungs nearly exploded as he tried to get there to rescue them.

      Tried and failed.

      “I—I know.” The words stuttered from Libby. “But I asked God to send us food, and He didn’t and I’m so hungry.”

      “Me, too,” Eleanor whispered and shot Blue a look that seemed to warn him she didn’t mean for him to hear.

      He sat back on his heels. “When did you last eat?”

      Eleanor’s expression grew stubborn, but Libby hung her head and sighed dramatically. “We had supper yesterday. Some biscuits Mama found. And some cold bacon.”

      Eleanor grew thoughtful. “But Mama didn’t have any. She said she wasn’t hungry. Lots of times she said she wasn’t hungry, but I think she was.”

      He considered this latest information. They obviously had no funds. The girls didn’t know where they were going or who was meeting them. He was beginning to think no one was.

      So Clara might be suffering from hunger as well as cold. He wrapped the furs more tightly around her and added another piece of wood to the fire. The heat was enough to make a man sweat buckets, but she was still like a block of ice.

      “Clara. Open your eyes.”

      The girls patted her cheeks. “Mama.” Eleanor’s voice caught.

      Libby laid her head on the furs and sobbed. “What if she never wakes up?”

      Clara’s eyes fluttered.

      “Lib. Lib.” Eleanor nudged her sister. “Look.”

      Libby lifted her head. Both girls grinned when they saw their mother had opened her eyes.

      “Where am I?” Clara’s voice was so faint he almost wondered if he imagined it.

      He scooted closer so her eyes found him. “You’re at the church. You’ll be safe now.”

      Clara sighed deeply and closed her eyes again. Her color had improved. The warmth of the fire had done that. She needed one more thing before she’d be on her feet again—food—and he knew where to get some.

      “Wait here,” he instructed the girls. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Watch your mama and make sure she stays warm.” He dashed out the back door and trotted over to Bonnie and Claude Morton’s. The couple ran the business of feeding travelers and providing baked goods for Macpherson’s store. He burst through the door.

      Bonnie glanced up, a startled look on her face. “You’re early for dinner.” He planned to take his meals here while he was working on the church.

      He snatched off his hat and turned it around and around in his fingers. He realized he was nodding while she waited for his answer.

      He pushed the words from his brain. “Would you have anything ready at the moment?”

      “I suppose the soup could be served anytime. The bread isn’t ready yet, but there are biscuits. There’s always biscuits. Macpherson says he can’t keep enough of them in the store. Would that suit you?”

      “Yes, fine.”

      She reached for a bowl and put it on the table. She thought he meant to eat here.

      “Ma’am, could you put the soup in a container so I could take it back to the church?”

      “You’re welcome to eat here.”

      “I know, but I need to take it to the church.” He would tell her why but not until he had a chance to talk to Clara. For some reason, he felt he had to protect her until she said otherwise.

      “Very well.” She reached for a pint jar.

      “You got something bigger?”

      Her hand went to a quart jar.

      “How about that one?” He indicated a half-gallon jar.

      With a little chuckle, she filled it. “You are hungry today, aren’t you?”

      He nodded. “And I’ll take a bowl.” He scooped four from the shelf and tucked them in his pocket, hoping she wouldn’t notice. From the way she watched him, her eyes narrowed, he guessed she had.

      “I suppose you want half a dozen biscuits?”

      “Yes, please. I’ll pay you extra for this.” Bonnie and Claude meant to feed him as part of their contribution to the church project, but this was more than one man would eat.

      He hurried out before she could demand to know what was going on. It wasn’t like he could answer her. What were Clara and her daughters doing here? Where were they going? Most of all, how had he managed to get himself involved?

      * * *

      Warm furs ensconced Clara. She’d glimpsed the girls hovering over her, then closed her eyes to stop the dizziness that made her queasy. She should say something to ease their minds, but she couldn’t dredge up enough energy to do so. She forced her eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Why did it shimmer and shift as if driven by a wind? Perhaps she was dreaming. If so, she didn’t want the dream to end. She wanted to keep floating on the warm bed.

      “Mama?”