Wolf Creek Father. Penny Richards

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      Cilla opened her mouth to say something, but Colt reached out and tipped her head back, silencing her with a hard, unyielding gaze. “I mean it, Cilla. It ends right now, and I warn you not to try me on this. Now go wash up and comb your hair.”

      “Why?” they asked in unison.

      “We’re going to go to Miss Grainger’s house, and you’re both going to apologize for what you did.”

      “Aw, Pa!” Brady cried. Cilla looked as if she’d like to argue, but for once, held her tongue.

      “This isn’t negotiable. Now go.”

      Cilla and Brady exchanged another stunned look and nodded. What on earth had gotten into their pa?

      * * *

      The first thing Allison did when she stepped through the door of her little house after leaving Ellie’s was to change into a faded navy skirt and a simple blue-patterned blouse that had seen better days. She left the top couple of buttons undone and rolled the sleeves up past her elbows. The pins holding her hair were digging into her scalp, so she took it down, ran a brush through it and covered the curly mass with a triangle of fabric to protect it from dust while she cleaned.

      Cleaning was her cure-all for working through problems, sorrow or anger. She was out back, beating rugs that didn’t need it, when she saw the trio headed in her direction. Even without her glasses she knew who it was. Dismay skittered through her. Knowing it was too late to escape inside and pretend she wasn’t at home, she stood there, shoulders back, the rug beater clenched in her hand.

      Was it her imagination or did the sheriff’s gaze linger on her exposed throat just a bit too long to be proper? Though she was dressed modestly, Allie felt the urge to hide from his piercing look.

      “Miss Grainger,” he said, as he and the children stopped in front of her back porch.

      “Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

      Colt shifted his weight to one booted foot and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I can see that you’re busy, so we won’t take much of your time. Cilla and Brady have something to say to you.” He gave the children a pointed look.

      “I’m sorry, Miss Grainger,” Brady said. “It was wrong for me to push you. I didn’t think that you might get hurt.”

      Allison saw genuine remorse in his eyes. Brady was not really a bad child, just a troubled one. “I accept your apology, Brady. We all act without thinking sometimes.”

      “Even you?” he asked, looking up at her with a frown.

      Allison thought of the way she’d stormed into Colt’s office with no thought but to give him a piece of her mind. “Even me,” she told him with a slight smile.

      Cilla had yet to raise her gaze from the ground in front of her. Colt gave his daughter’s shoulder a nudge, and her chin came up to a haughty angle. “Sorry, Miss Grainger,” she quipped with one of her phony smiles.

      “Priscilla...” The warning from her father was a low growl.

      The girl gave a deep sigh, and the light of battle left her eyes. “I really am sorry, Miss Grainger. It was wrong of me to step on your glasses...and your...hat.” She gave a slight shrug. “I guess I was just taking up for Brady.”

      The simple statement explained so much that Allison hadn’t understood before. In that split second, she realized that Cilla’s terrible conduct always came on the heels of an incident with Brady. It all made perfect sense. Cilla created a new calamity to take the attention from her little brother. While Allison couldn’t condone the girl’s actions, she applauded her devotion to Brady.

      “I understand,” she said with a nod. “My sisters often fought my battles, too.”

      With apologies made and accepted, she looked at Colt, whose face wore a bewildered expression.

      “Well, we’ll let you get back to work now,” he said, placing a big hand on each child’s shoulder. “We’ll talk...later.”

      Allison nodded. She would need to tell him this new insight into the situation. Surely it was something she could use to her advantage with changing Cilla’s attitude.

      * * *

      Colt was hardly aware of walking back home. His mind was still trying to come to terms with the picture of Allison Grainger without her prim-and-proper teacher persona in place.

      He hoped he hadn’t made her uncomfortable with his staring, but wearing a simple skirt with a minimum of petticoats and an unadorned shirt, she looked nothing like her usual self.

      He hadn’t been prepared for the pale perfection of her throat and shoulders or the soft contours of her bare arms, all spattered with freckles, as if someone had taken a paintbrush laden with gold dust and splashed it with carefree abandon over her creamy skin.

      And her hair! Freed from the tight confines of her habitual knot and tied back with a scarf, the curly mass cascaded halfway down her back. Sunshine had given it a fiery, breathtaking radiance. He doubted she was aware how tempting the unassuming disarray was. And then there were the little spiral curls around her face that clung to her damp cheeks and forehead, just begging a man to brush them back....

      Whoa! He caught his thoughts up short. What on earth was he doing, looking at the prudish teacher as a woman? Well, of course she was a woman, but she wasn’t the kind of woman he was interested in. He’d never been overly fond of redheads, except maybe for Ellie, and her hair was more auburn than red, and she was off bounds, so she didn’t count. Miss Grainger was his enemy, his nemesis. Well, maybe nothing so strong as that, but at the very least she’d been a constant irritant since he’d moved to Wolf Creek.

      “What are you muttering about, Pa?” Brady asked, as Colt stomped up onto the porch.

      “Nothing,” he snapped.

      Cilla looked at her brother with raised eyebrows and preceded the men into the house. Colt gave them milk and sandwiches for supper. He helped them clean up the kitchen and told them to go to the store before it closed to see what Gabe might have for them to do to pay off their debt.

      “What’s wrong with him?” Brady asked as they made their way down Antioch Street.

      “I don’t know,” Cilla said, “but he sure is crabby.”

      Colt was still crabby when he went to bed. He fell asleep along toward morning and dreamed of pressing his lips to each and every one of the freckles adorning Allison Grainger’s straight little nose.

      When he woke the next morning, he was crankier than ever.

Chapter Three

      Allison didn’t fall asleep until late for worrying about her future. She prided herself on being a good person and a good teacher, and in general felt she was. Since she’d reached her teen years and realized she would never be the beauty her sisters were, she had tied her self-esteem to her teaching skills. Now even that was in jeopardy.

      Perhaps it was time to give up teaching and find another career. She’d fallen asleep СКАЧАТЬ