Prairie Cowboy. Linda Ford

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      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 guess none.”

      “Mighty interesting that she chooses this place first.”

      Conor stopped and faced his friend. “I know what you’re doing. But I am not interested in Miss White. You saw her. Does she look the type to embrace frontier life?”

      Gabe shrugged. “She came of her own free will, one would assume.”

      “And I expect she will leave of her own free will before Christmas.”

      “Conor, not every woman is like Irene. Some are even stronger than their men. Why, you only have to look down the road to the Faulks. It’s the old lady who does most of the work while the mister supervises and her son wanders about looking for who knows what. Sure, he says he has a farm somewhere but I have my doubts.”

      His example supported Conor’s argument. “When was the last time you had a good look at Mrs. Faulk? She’s built like a small ox. Nothing pretty or soft about her.”

      Gabe laughed loudly. “I bet all that padding’s plenty soft.”

      “You know what I mean.”

      Gabe stopped and faced him, forcing Conor to stop, too, or reveal his dislike of this conversation by ducking around him. He chose to face the man squarely.

      “I know what you mean better than you do.” Gabe seemed intent on speaking his mind.

      “Humph.”

      “Yup, you’re scared you might get hurt again. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Not all women are like Irene.”

      Conor refrained from voicing a warning that Gabe might soon enough discover for himself the true facts of the situation. “Look, are we going to stand around jawing all day or get this crop harvested? Could be you’re delaying so you don’t have to send for Diana.”

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