Dakota Cowboy. Linda Ford

ate the cake like it was a matter of life and death. She licked her fingers. Barely resisted licking the plate. He was so fascinated with her enthusiasm he forgot to test his own piece of cake.

      She must have seen the wonder in his expression. “You have no idea how delicious it is.”

      “Was.”

      She eyed her plate.

      “You ate the whole thing.”

      “I offered it to you.”

      “Yup.” He took a bite of his own selection. “This ain’t half bad either.”

      “Like comparing beans and peaches. Both good but—” She shrugged, letting him know he got the beans but she wasn’t a bit regretful.

      He mused about how best to bring up the topic of the ranch without mentioning her father. “I heard that poem before. My ma used to work in a house where they had literary gatherings. She loved that poem. Guess that’s why I like it.”

      “You mean the poem I recited?” She grinned. “Or the one about chasing the horse?”

      Far as he was concerned, only one poem stood out as being worthy of mention. “Yours. It made me miss her.”

      “Where is she?”

      “Died some years ago.”

      “I’m sorry. My ma is dead, too.”

      Another thing Scout neglected to tell him. “I guess you never stop missing your ma.” Though he’d started missing his ma long before she died. Once she started working for the Collins family after Pa’s untimely death, she’d never had time for him.

      Lucy nodded. “I don’t expect I’ll ever forget my ma or the lessons I learned from her.”

      He wanted to talk to her, ask her about her mother, tell her about the ranch but a continual string of people came by to say howdy-do to Lucy. She laughed and joked with them all. She had an easy way about her, as if life fit her well.

      Someone came by and picked up the empty cups and plates.

      Lucy sprang to her feet. “I could of done that. I’ll help with the dishes.”

      The lady, the same black-garbed woman who had announced the refreshments, tittered and batted her eyes at Wade. “No, no, dear. You enjoy your beau.”

      “My beau?” Lucy sputtered so hard Wade whacked her between the shoulder blades. True, he did so a little harder than necessary but the way she had said beau, as if he had as much appeal as a seven-day rash, kind of rubbed him the wrong way. He could be her beau if he wanted.

      She stopped sputtering and shifted away from his patting, giving him a look fit to fry his brain.

      “Wouldn’t want you to choke to death,” he said.

      “I was in more danger of having a rib broke than choking.” She moved with the determination of a filly eager for freedom. “I’m leaving now.”

      She didn’t need to go away in a huff. He hadn’t patted her that hard. He glanced around and realized the yard was emptying out. Lucy was already headed for the gate. Did she think to leave him standing in the middle of a vacant pen? He charged after her. “I’ll see you home.”

      “I know the way. Probably better than you.”

      “I might be nothing but a rough, tough cowboy, but I’m gentleman enough to see a lady home.”

      “Perhaps you ought to go find yourself a lady, then.”

      He laughed. “You’ll do.”

      She stopped so sharp he ploughed into her, staggered to keep his balance and steady her, too.

      She spun about.

      He winced back at the fiery light in her eyes. Had he said something offensive?

      “I’ll do? I’ll do?” Her voice rose with every word.

      “You don’t think so?” How could she object to that? He’d meant it as admiration.

      She clamped her lips together and continued down the street. Wade lifted his hands in confusion. Give him cows or horses any day over womenfolk. Who could understand them?

      She stopped in front of the Dry Creek dining room. “This is where we part ways.”

      “You’re going back to work?”

      “No. I’m going to bed.”

      “In the dining room?”

      She rolled her eyes. “I have a room in the back.” She squinted at him as if suspecting shenanigans from him. “Right next to the room where Harry and Hettie sleep.”

      He grinned. “I had no plan to search out your sleeping quarters.”

      Her cheeks reddened. “I didn’t suggest you did.”

      He kind of liked seeing her flustered. He shepherded his thoughts back to the reason he had looked her up. “I only want one thing from you.”

      She opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night.” The door closed.

      He raised his voice. “Don’t you want to know why it’s so important?”

      Her muffled voice came through the wood. “There aren’t enough words in the world to make me change my mind.”

      He stared at the closed door for some time before he whistled for the patient Two Bit and rode to his camp. A man with an ounce of sense would admit defeat and ride away, but he had made himself a promise to pay back Scout’s kindness by bringing his daughter to visit. He wasn’t about to give up. Lucy needed some persuading was all. And he was a patient man. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to be too patient. He’d like to get back in time to see Scout before his friend departed this life.

      He wondered how Scout was doing. Wade had arranged for an old cowboy friend to stay with Scout when he’d left to find Lucy. But Wade didn’t figure Scout had many days left in him. He needed to hurry along Lucy’s change of mind. He again prayed—a still unfamiliar activity. God, help me accomplish the task I’ve chosen.

      Lucy shut her bedroom door and began to prepare for bed.

      She didn’t want to know anything more about her father. She’d spent too many pointless years waiting and hoping for him to do more than flit in and out of her life. She’d seen far too clearly how her mother had pined after a man who had made promises he never kept. After her mother died, still hoping for her father to make good on his promises, Lucy had sworn never to need or want anything more from her father. Nothing Wade could say or do would change that.

      She sat cross-legged on her bed and opened her Bible. It had been her mother’s. In the front were the family history pages. Lucy stared at them. Her name and birth date entered by her mother. Her mother’s death in Lucy’s handwriting. The births and dates of death of her mother’s parents and her mother’s brother who had died when he was only three months old. She turned to the conspicuously empty page for registering marriages. No marriage between her parents had ever been entered because her father failed to marry her mother and make an honest woman out of her, despite his many promises to do so.

      Lucy sighed. It was old news. She no longer cared. Turning the pages carefully, she paused at the bookmark and read a chapter before gently replacing the Bible in its place of honor on her bedside table. She said her prayers as she’d done from her earliest remembrance. She knew—because her mother told her often—there had been a time when their lives didn’t include churchgoing, Bible reading and prayer. A time when her mother had been a rebel and a run away. But she thankfully did not recall that period. Her father was part of her mother’s BC time—Before Christ—and Lucy did not want any share of it.

      She lay staring at the narrow window high in the wall opposite her bed. Often she wished she could see outside without standing on her tiptoes, but