“Making you ready to love again?” She lowered her head as if she’d said more than she’d meant to.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for what she asked. The notion of starting over had only become an option he could entertain. Loving again seemed too new to contemplate. He realized Clara waited for him to say something. “At least making me ready to move on.” He shifted his gaze to the girls and shook his head. Love? Not yet.
He straightened. “Best get to work.”
They both rushed back to the sawhorse. Seemed she was as anxious to get back to normal as he was. It didn’t take long for him to realize he no longer knew what normal was. His thoughts drifted repeatedly to the pleasure he’d once known of coming home to a wife and two children eager for his return.
He’d told himself he’d never have such joy again. Didn’t even want it.
Seemed his heart had not listened.
By supper time, the last of the pew pieces had been cut. He could perhaps prolong the assembly and clean up for two days. Then there was the shellacking. He smiled to himself. That could reasonably take several days.
His thoughts slammed to a halt. He was dreaming up ways to delay her leaving, but all it would take for the dream to crumble was the arrival of the stagecoach. Instead of building a home, he’d be following her to Fort Calgary.
Well, Fort Calgary was as good a place to build a home as any. For how long?
He answered his own question. Until Clara’s father found them, or Clara thought he might, she’d always be looking over her shoulder, fearful of her father’s threat.
All Blue could hope to do was go where she went, do his best to keep them safe.
He should have warned Eddie he might be leaving. Instead, he’d have to send a message.
He and Clara finished for the day and went to the Mortons’ for supper.
He made the meal last as long as possible, even throwing out a conversation starter now and then.
“Linette must be going to have that baby soon.” The comment was good enough for twenty minutes of talk.
Clara had finished and was helping Libby clean her plate.
He racked his brain for another topic. “There’s getting to be quite a crowd at the cookhouse on Sundays.”
That grabbed Bonnie’s attention. “Any news on a preacher?”
The girls sat up taller.
Suspecting the reason for their sudden interest, he silently groaned.
“Mr. Blue could be the preacher,” Libby said.
“Just ask him not to talk for three or four hours,” Eleanor added.
Bonnie and Claude looked at each other, their eyes wide, and then Claude chuckled despite the warning look from his wife.
“Have you discussed this with him?” Claude asked the children.
They hunched forward, their heads down. “He said no,” Libby said.
Bonnie squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “I guess that’s your answer. We’ll simply have to keep looking for someone.”
Blue didn’t know whether to hide his face or chuckle along with Claude. He glanced at Clara. When she rolled her eyes, he laughed. “I doubt I could talk for an hour, let alone three or four.”
Eleanor’s head came up. “You’re going to change your mind?”
“Nope. ’Fraid not.”
The ladies rose to do dishes. Mealtime was over. But he didn’t want to spend the evening alone. Didn’t want to say good-night. He could hardly visit Clara in the shack. It wasn’t appropriate, and Prudence Foot would probably take note.
Bonnie turned to speak to Claude. “This afternoon I saw a small herd of deer go by toward the river.”
“Can we go see if they’re down there?” Libby asked. Eleanor’s expression was equally eager.
“I don’t think so,” Clara said. “Remember what happened last time we were at the river.”
“But, Mama, I won’t go near the water this time.” Libby clasped her hands together and silently begged.
Blue managed to keep a wide grin from claiming his mouth. Thank you, Bonnie, for giving me an excuse. “I’ll take you down if you like and if your mama gives permission.” He knew if she did, she would accompany them.
Clara kept her gaze on the girls as she nodded. “That would be nice.”