A Daddy For Christmas. Linda Ford

pan of hot water that Bonnie had prepared. She handed drying towels to the girls, and they carefully wiped every dish as she washed it.

      Blue wanted nothing more than to hustle back to the church and settle down in his own little world, but first he’d make sure Clara and the girls were safely back at the shack and the fire was banked for the night.

      Clara hung the towels and dumped the dishwater in the bucket.

      “Thank you again.” She looked at her hands, then toward Bonnie.

      “Is there something you need?” Bonnie asked. “If so, just ask.”

      “Could I borrow a pot to boil water in so I can wash the girls?”

      “Why, of course.” Bonnie drew one from the bottom cupboard. “I apologize for not thinking of it myself. You’ll need a bucket, too.” She handed one to Clara.

      Clara slowly raised her hand to take it. Pink stole up her cheeks.

      Did she think help came with strings attached? Out here in the west, lending a helping hand to friends, neighbors and strangers alike was the way life was lived.

      She stammered her thanks. “Come along, girls.”

      As she prepared to leave, Blue grabbed his coat and followed.

      Outside the door she turned her back and headed for the shack.

      He knew she meant to dismiss him, but he followed on her heels. “I’ll get some more firewood for you.”

      She spun around. “No need. I can do it.”

      He didn’t stop until he reached the woodpile and began to load his arms. “You remind me of a two-year-old. I can do it myself.” His son, Beau, especially had been so stubbornly independent.

      Blue straightened and stared into the dark trees. He had this woman to blame for making him think of his boy toddling about, refusing help.

      Clara grabbed an armload of wood. “I could cook for us.”

      “What would you cook? It appears you have no food, no supplies, no money. Nothing but a huge amount of pride.” He sighed impatiently. “Don’t let your pride make you stubborn.”

      She was close enough that even in the dusky light he could see how hollowed out her eyes grew. “You keep accusing me of pride, and it’s not that at all.”

      “Then what is it? What are you running from?”

      “Not what.” The words crept from her throat, soft yet full of anguish. “Who.”

      “Who?”

      She flung him a dismissive, angry look. “I’ve said far too much.” She spun around again and stomped to the shack. The girls chased each other through the shadows.

      Blue followed her inside, dumped the wood in a pile by the stove and lifted the lids to check the coals. He strategically added several pieces of wood and adjusted the damper.

      She studied him, her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth set in a fearsome scowl. “I can do that, you know.”

      “I expect you can.” Satisfied the fire wouldn’t burn too hot during the night, he turned to face her. His sudden movement filled her eyes with surprise, but to her credit she did not back away. “But I never take chances with fires.”

      They considered each other unblinkingly. He couldn’t say what she thought she saw in his eyes, but he guessed he saw a couple of things in hers—her constant guardedness underlined by fear, a strong dose of protectiveness. Then she blinked, and he knew she thought she’d learned something about him.

      He edged past her and hurried out the door. He’d revealed far too much of himself this day. Far more than he meant for anyone to know about him. He couldn’t pull back the words that had spilled from his mouth. Couldn’t even say why they had. For two years he’d never mentioned his children or the fire that had taken them, yet in a matter of hours he’d said enough for Clara to begin putting the pieces together.

      From now on he would say no more. He could only hope she would soon be on her way to wherever she was going and leave him to forgetfulness.

      * * *

      Clara stared at the door as it closed behind Blue. My, what a strange man. So cautious about fires. Yes, it paid to be careful, but he acted as if he expected the place to burst into flames.

      She shuddered and glanced at the canvas roof overhead. Was it likely to ignite? She looked at the crates between where she meant to sleep and the door. Blue had her all nervous. Perhaps that was a good thing.

      The girls hadn’t come inside yet. Their voices rang out in the growing dusk. While they were gone, she’d rearrange things. She pulled the boxes from near the door. At least if there was a fire, she could get out. Then she took the bucket Bonnie had lent her and went to the pump to fill it with water. She placed it on the table within handy reach.

      Maybe she should thank Blue for making her so conscious of the danger. She pressed her hand to her chest in a futile attempt to slow the pounding of her heart. Or she should scold him for alarming her.

      Her daughters dashed in and skidded to a stop.

      Eleanor looked around. “You moved stuff. How come?”

      “It’s a little more convenient this way.”

      “Where’s Mr. Blue?” Libby asked.

      “He’s gone.”

      Libby drooped. “But, Mama, I thought he’d stay.”

      “Of course he can’t. Why would you think such a thing?”

      Libby sank to her bedroll. “No one ever stays.” She made it sound as if she were alone in the world.

      “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Our father died.”

      “That’s not the same. He was sick and wasn’t going to get better.”

      “I know. Then we left. I miss Mary.”

      She meant the gardener’s little daughter. At her father’s, Clara had often taken the girls outside to play, and they had become friends with the girl.

      “I know you miss her. I’m sorry. But not everyone leaves. I’m not leaving.”

      Libby gave her a look of disbelief. “Of course not. You’re our mama.”

      Clara laughed. It was good to know Libby trusted her so implicitly. “Soon we’ll find a place where we can stay and settle down.” And be safe.

      Libby nodded. “For Christmas. Right?” She gave Clara a trusting look, then turned toward Eleanor. “God will answer our prayer for a new—”

      A silent message passed from Eleanor to Libby, and the younger child clamped her mouth shut.

      Clara pressed down alarm at Libby’s trusting expectation. God, please don’t let me fail this child.

      Eleanor turned to Clara. “Did God send plagues to Grandfather?”

      “Why on earth would you think that?” Maybe she’d quit reading Exodus. The girls took it so literally and applied it to their situation.

      “’Cause Grandfather said he would never let us go. Just like Pharaoh.”

      Clara tried to think how to respond. How could she explain the situation to them without giving them cause for alarm? Without saying things that Libby would inadvertently blurt out at the most inopportune times? “I’m your mother. I’m the one who decides what’s best for you.”

      Eleanor nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

      “I’d like to see Grandfather’s house full of frogs.” Libby pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

      “Girls,