A Daddy For Christmas. Linda Ford

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?” Eleanor’s voice came from a long way off.

      Clara pushed at the edges of her mind, blinked as she tried to find her children. “Eleanor? Libby?”

      Two sweet, smiling faces floated in front of her, so close she felt their warm breath.

      “Where am I?”

      “We’re at the church,” Eleanor said. “The one we saw on our way to the river.”

      “Mama, we was so scared. You fell down and wouldn’t get back up.”

      Clara pushed harder to escape her dream. Then she remembered. She’d been by a river. Had wanted to get a drink. That was the last she could recall. “How did I get here?”

      “Mr. Blue carried you.”

      “Mr. Blue?” Were they imagining such a person? Clara thought the strong arms and comforting voice had been part of her dream.

      “We talked to a stranger,” Libby said.

      “You aren’t mad at us, are you?” Eleanor’s voice quivered.

      “No. Not this time.” If she was to be angry at anyone, it would be herself. She should have made more of an effort to find food. Begged if necessary. Please, God, provide a way.

      Clara collected her thoughts.

      She had managed to get to Edendale only to learn the stagecoach wouldn’t be going north for at least a week. Maybe two. The stagecoach driver had been rather nonspecific in his answers to her questions. He had no set schedule for the hundred-mile trip to Fort Calgary and only went when it was necessary. Right now, he said, he had to make another run back to Fort Macleod. It was a pressing matter. After that, he’d take her north.

      It had never crossed her mind that transportation would be so uncertain.

      She needed to get to Fort Calgary. A newspaper story had said there was a shortage of women in the area. There’d even been an ad from a man wanting to hire a housekeeper to care for his three young children. She’d sent a letter saying she was willing to do so. Now she wondered if the letter still sat somewhere, waiting to be delivered. Just as she waited to get there.

      Fort Calgary was in the middle of nowhere. Which suited her perfectly. No one would expect her to go to such a remote place, especially her father. He thought twenty-eight-year-old Clara was unable to take care of herself in a city full of conveniences, let alone look after herself and two little girls in the primitive west.

      Edendale was equally as remote, but she had seen no opportunities for work in the little town. And she had to prove she could manage herself and her girls.

      The girls sprang up. “He’s back.”

      Clara closed her eyes. How was she to face a man who had carried her in his arms? Something else came to her thoughts. He’d called her by her Christian name. Highly improper, but she could hardly protest. Her name on his lips had pulled her back from the valley of darkness.

      She heard the sound of boots clattering on the wooden floor. The smell of winter and leather grew closer. A movement of air signaled his nearness.

      “Mrs. Weston?”

      Oh, yes, she was Mrs. Weston now. She’d combined her married name of Westbury and her maiden name of Creighton in the hopes her father wouldn’t be able to find her. She reasoned that way she wasn’t really being deceitful by combing her maiden and married names. Hopefully, it was enough to put her father off her trail for a time, at least.

      “Are you awake?” the man at her side asked.

      Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked straight into gray ones that held her gaze so firmly she couldn’t blink. It was like looking into deep, still waters and finding herself reflected back from the depths. What a strange thought, she realized.

      “You’re awake. Good.” He turned aside. “I brought food for us all.”

      He twisted a lid from a jar, and the aroma of something savory—tomato and beef, if she didn’t miss her guess—made her empty stomach tighten like a fist.

      Metal rang against glass. Was he serving soup into bowls?

      “Thank you,” the girls chorused.

      She imagined them eating eagerly, their complete attention on the food. She knew nothing but gratitude that their empty tummies would be warmed and filled, but she didn’t want to owe this man.

      Although she already did.

      The need to accept help and the desire to take care of herself warred for but a minute. She was not in a position to refuse this man’s kindness. As soon as she felt stronger, she would return to her plan.

      Plan? For a moment, she couldn’t remember what the plan was. Oh, yes, take care of the girls. Keep them from Father and wait until the stagecoach driver saw fit to make the trip north, where I expect to find employment.

      She tried to sort out the details of the past few hours. “You know my name.”

      “Your girls told me. Allow me to introduce myself. Blue Lyons.”

      “I believe you rescued me. Thank you.”

      “Your girls are very persuasive.”

      She didn’t know if those words should please her or alarm her. Before she could decide, Blue’s hand slipped around her shoulders, and he raised her head. She thought to protest the familiarity but couldn’t dredge up words.

      “Eat this.” He held a spoon to her lips. Not even stubborn pride stopped her from opening up like a little bird. He tipped the spoonful of soup into her mouth. Her taste buds exploded at the succulent flavor. She couldn’t begin to describe the pure pleasure of hot food; she simply enjoyed the first decent meal she’d had in days. He held another spoonful to her lips and then another. She consumed it greedily.

      The warmth filled her stomach and spread throughout her body.

      She shifted so that she sat upright without his supporting arm. The fur around her shoulders slipped to her lap as she reached for the spoon. “I can feed myself.”

      He yielded the spoon to her but continued to hold the bowl. She scooped out a bit of the mixture. When she tried to raise the spoon to her mouth, her hand shook so much she lost the contents.

      He took the spoon back. “Think it might take a little longer for your strength to return.”

      She didn’t want to feel helpless, but he was right. “I feel like a baby,” she murmured.

      “’Cause Mr. Blue is feeding you?” Libby asked.

      “Yes.”

      “She’s not a baby, is she?” Libby demanded of Blue.

      Clara darted a glance at him under the curtain of her eyelashes.

      “Nope, she’s a mama.” Blue continued to feed her as if