Montana Cowboy Family. Linda Ford

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      To be honest, she felt something more than guardedness around them. Something more than stiff awkwardness. The Marshalls were the kind of men who held strict standards. She feared that if any of them learned her secret she would be run out of town as a fallen woman. They must never know.

      She closed the Bible, tucked in her chin and waited for Logan Marshall to appear.

      She didn’t have long to wait. He rapped on the door frame and stood, worn gray cowboy hat in hand, waiting for permission to enter.

      Feeling at a disadvantage sitting, she stood and waved him to the nearest chair.

      He drew it forward, parked it in front of her desk and plunked down, piercing her through with his blue eyes.

      Her knees wobbled and she sat. She lowered her eyes, avoiding his unblinking look, but still managed to study him. He was clean shaven, wore a gray shirt that had a smattering of wood dust on the shoulder and blue jeans that showed wear at the creases at the knees. Her gaze settled on his scuffed cowboy boots. A working man comfortable in his clothing and—she knew as surely as she sucked in her next breath—equally comfortable in his own skin.

      She wondered how such confidence felt.

      “Sammy stole my lunch. Two days in a row,” he said without any preamble.

      Only a lunch? She’d feared something much bigger. “I’m not surprised. He’s forgotten his lunch every day. I’ve begun to think no one prepares one for him.” There were more signs that the boy was neglected and worse, but she didn’t mention them. One thing at a time.

      “Whether or not that is so, he can’t go around thieving. It’ll end him in a heap of trouble. He needs to learn a lesson on the evils of dishonesty.” Logan leaned back, one leg propped at an angle over the other.

      She tried not to let his posture of power affect her, but it made her spine prickle and made her think he meant for little Sammy to be punished. Exactly what did he have in mind? She imagined the Marshalls, with their strong personalities, wouldn’t flinch at much of anything, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him treating Sammy harshly. She decided to nip that idea in the bud. “He’s seven years old. Rather than sentence him to jail, perhaps we should find out what is going on with his family.”

      Logan shook his head. “Wasn’t thinking of jail, but correcting him now might keep him out of one in the future.”

      She felt her eyes narrow at the wisdom of his words. Not that she was willing to turn a small boy over to a big man. “You’re right. The boy needs to be punished. Let me take care of it.” She’d spare the rod, but make Sammy realize the dangers of his choices. Perhaps she’d have him write lines. She sat up straighter, putting a fierce look on her face to convince him she meant to handle this well.

      He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward, his gaze so demanding she couldn’t look away. “You think he should be whipped?” His voice was soft, so she couldn’t judge his meaning. He looked about, perhaps searching for a strap.

      She rose to her feet, gripping the edge of the desk to hold herself steady, and gave him her most challenging look. “Mr. Marshall, I will not tolerate physical punishment in my classroom.”

      He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee again, taking his time about answering, as if considering how to handle the noncompliant schoolteacher. “That’s good to hear.”

      She’d misjudged him and she sat down again, relief leaving her weak.

      He continued. “But that isn’t what I had in mind. And it’s Logan, if you don’t mind. Wouldn’t want to be confused with all those Marshalls older than me.”

      “What do you have in mind then?”

      “He stole from me. He can work for me to pay off his debt.”

      She stared at the man. “He’s seven.”

      “Old enough to run and fetch. Besides, what he does isn’t important, but owning up to what he did is.”

      His suggestion was so totally unexpected that she didn’t know what to say. Every time Logan opened his mouth, he surprised her. She’d been expecting harshness. Instead, he’d shown compassion and caring. She slowed her breathing as she realized she’d expected a lack of sympathy and understanding such as she’d experienced from her parents.

      He nodded, taking her silence to mean agreement. “Tomorrow after school then? Or do you think he should come over at noon? Yes.” He answered his own question. “Noon would be better. Wouldn’t want to keep him from his chores at home.”

      She pursed her mouth. “I’d like to know why he comes to school without a lunch.”

      “Like you said, he’s seven. I’m guessing he forgot it.”

      “Four days in a row?” Was now the time to mention the other things she’d noticed?

      Logan chuckled. “Little boys can forget lots of times.” He got to his feet.

      He was about to leave, but she wasn’t through. She wasn’t believing that a hungry boy would forget his lunch four days in a row. She rose to better face him as she spoke. “I believe there’s more to it than that.” She’d seen bruises on his arms and in his eyes.

      He studied her, a challenge and perhaps a warning in his sky-blue eyes. “Send the boy over at noon. If he forgets his lunch again he might like to share mine.” He strode from the room.

      Drained, Sadie sank to her chair. Her head fell to her cradled arms on the desktop.

      How had she been railroaded into agreeing to send Sammy across the street at noon hour? But at least he’d get fed. She’d pray he’d also repent of stealing. But something else bothered her. Logan seemed upset at her suggestion there was more than forgetfulness to Sammy not having a lunch. But she knew there was something not right about Sammy’s situation, and she would do her best to find out what it was. She wouldn’t let the Marshalls’ power stop her, but she would have to tread carefully—because if she angered them, she could lose her job.

       Chapter Two

      The next day Sadie called Sammy to her desk on the pretext of going over his work.

      “Sammy, I’d like to meet your parents. Can you ask them when would be a good time for me to call?”

      Sammy jerked back from leaning his elbows beside her on the desk. “No point you coming to visit.”

      She held his gaze steadily for several seconds, but his eyes revealed nothing. “Why is that?” she asked when it became clear the boy would offer no explanation on his own.

      Sammy shuffled his feet and looked past her right shoulder. “My father—”

      She couldn’t help but notice how he stumbled on the word.

      “He don’t care for company.”

      “I see.” Except she didn’t. What reason could a man have for not wanting visitors? “Perhaps your mother would welcome СКАЧАТЬ