And he would not allow Miss Mercy to undo the good he aimed to achieve by settling down and giving the twins a home like they’d never known.
The children were quiet on the trip home. He let them off in front of the cabin. “Go inside. I’ll be there as soon as I take care of Sam.” The faithful horse would get a few oats and some hay, which reminded him of another job awaiting him. He must find feed for the horse and the milk cow he hoped to obtain. This late in the year, locating feed would prove a challenge.
He returned to the cabin, ducking his head to enter. The inside was as inadequate as the door—barely big enough for a table, four chairs and a narrow bed. Beyond that, a corner of the roof had been damaged. He’d repaired it, but a good wind or a heavy snowfall would threaten the entire roof. He had to get a bigger, sturdier cabin built before winter set it.
Allie and Ladd stood shoulder to shoulder and watched as he hung his hat on a hook. He faced them. “What’s on your mind?”
“You were rude to Miss Mercy,” Allie said, her face wreathed in distress.
“Oh, honey. I was only concerned about you. Can you imagine how I felt to see you standing on the back of her horse?” His heart had punched his ribs with such force they still hurt.
“She wouldn’t let me fall.”
His daughter’s loyalty was commendable but misplaced.
Ladd nodded. “She let me and Grady make her horse bow. She knows what she’s doing. Someday she’s going to be in a Wild West show and I bet she’ll be the best person in the whole show.”
“Don’t say bet.” He spoke automatically as his thoughts raced. When had the twins ever been so passionate about defending anyone? Never, in his mind, though they often refused to reveal the truth about what Ruby had been doing in his absences. In that case he decided he preferred not to know too much so long as everyone was safe.
There seemed no point in continuing the discussion about Mercy’s reliability. “Who’d like bannock and beans?”
Soberly, they both nodded. “We do.”
Seeing as it was one of their favorite meals he expected slightly more enthusiasm, but he’d settle for changing the subject.
As he mixed up the ingredients for the bannock and put it in a cast-iron fry pan to bake in the oven, he told the children about his trip to the woods. “I need to get the logs in to build a nice cabin for us. Something bigger than this. And I need to chop firewood.” The enormity of what he had to accomplish in the few weeks before the snow came settled heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t need to deal with Mercy on top of it, yet she had become a fly buzzing about his head. He couldn’t go to the woods and leave the twins alone, but obviously taking them to the ranch had been a disaster. He didn’t have a lot of options open to him.
He warmed the beans and checked the bannock. “Almost ready. Anyone hungry?”
“I am.” Ladd’s answer was expected.
“Me, too.”
Abel jerked around to stare at Allie. “You’re hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Well.” That was good. Did it signal she would not have lasting damage from her illness? He swallowed back his reaction. He wished he could hope for her to someday be healthy, but the doctor had offered no such hope and Abel would not be taking any risks with her health.
He placed the food on the table and asked the blessing, then they dug in. Ladd ate heartily as usual but when Allie cleaned her plate and asked for seconds, Abel shook his head. “I can’t believe how much you’re eating. Are you okay?” His spine tightened. Did it mean she was getting better or did it signal something awful?
“I guess helping Mercy gave me an appetite.”
“See, she’s a good person. She made Allie feel better.” Ladd grinned as much as his sister.
Abel shook his head. “She does foolish things and there is always a price for foolish choices. Doing wild things leaves a person with regrets.”
The twins simultaneously put down their forks, placed their hands beside their plates and studied him with serious expressions. They turned to look at each other, then returned their gazes to him.
He felt their unasked questions and waited.
Ladd finally spoke. “Like Mama.”
He wasn’t sure what Ladd meant and didn’t want to guess. “What do you mean?”
Allie answered. “Mama said we were nothing but a nuisance.”
Ladd nodded. “A stone about her neck.”
“We were the payment for your wild life, she said.”
Oh, the pain he’d inflicted on these precious children. And, he admitted yet again, to Ruby. It was true. He’d changed his mind about what sort of life he wanted to live. She hadn’t. But it was the twins that mattered. And always had. How could he make up to them for the choices he’d made, or would they always pay?
He pushed his chair back. “Ladd, Allie, come here.” He patted his knees and the pair scrambled into his lap. Their arms cradled his neck and he wrapped his arms about them both and held them tight.
“I love you two deeper than the ocean, higher than the sky and wider than forever. You are the very best thing that has ever happened to me. I wouldn’t trade either of you for gold nuggets the size of this cabin.” His voice trembled with the enormity of his love for them. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
“We won’t,” they chorused as they burrowed into his shirtfront.
He held them close as long as they would allow, but all too soon they wriggled away. “Get ready for bed while I clean the kitchen. Then I’ll read to you.”
A few minutes later, Ladd lay on the narrow bed he would share with Abel, and Allie crawled under the covers of the trundle bed right beside them.
“First, let’s say our prayers.”
The children closed their eyes and murmured their usual prayers, asking for blessings on the people in their lives. But then Ladd added, “And thank You for Mercy. I like her.”
Before Abel could protest, Allie added, “Bless Miss Mercy and help her be the best Wild West person ever. Amen.”
“Children, I don’t think you should be including Mercy in your prayers.” He hated to say it. Knew it didn’t make for sound theology.
Allie gave a gentle smile. “I think God would approve. He loves her, too, you know.”
What could he say? The child was right. And yet her defense of Mercy worried Abel. The woman signified danger for his children. But he simply said, “I suppose He does at that,” then opened the storybook he’d been reading to them.
This was his favorite time of the entire day. And he didn’t intend to let a certain wild woman ruin it for him.
He read for a few minutes as the children grew drowsy, then closed the book and prepared to tiptoe away, though he could only move a few feet before he ran out of space.