Falling for the Rancher Father

“After breakfast, you will clean up the kitchen and do the dishes by yourself, and while you’re doing it I want you to consider why I forbid you to go out on your own. You could have been hurt or lost.”

“God sent a man to help me.”

Mercy and Abel exchanged a look. His was full of concern and worry. For her part, she wondered how he’d deal with this.

“Son, like I said, I’m glad you’re safe and sound. Let’s leave it at that.” He patted Ladd on the back and returned to the stove.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asked Mercy, then realized she still stood. “Please, have a seat.”

She sat on one of the chairs. Allie hung over the back, her face so close to Mercy’s she breathed in the sweet scent of her skin. “I like coffee fine,” she answered.

He filled a new-looking coffeepot with water, ground some beans and tossed the ground coffee into the pot. In a few minutes he poured her a cupful.

She cradled her hands about the cup.

He sipped his coffee as he turned his attention back to the pot of porridge he cooked. He handed bowls to Ladd. “Set the table, please.”

Mercy kept her attention on her cup as she tried to ignore his presence. It was impossible. He was so big in such a small space. And so vital. He touched Allie’s head, brushed Ladd’s shoulder, smiled at them.

Her mouth went dry. She gulped coffee but the dryness remained.

The children were fortunate to know such affection and approval from their father. What had happened to their mother, she wondered?

He filled bowls, set them on the table and sat down. “Let’s thank God for the food.” The children bowed their heads and Abel said a prayer of thanksgiving, not only for the food but for the safety of his son.

Allie and Ladd sent silent signals to each other across the table. They ducked their heads to eat their breakfast, then looked steadfastly at their father.

Abel cleaned his bowl and drained his coffee cup. “Mercy—you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

“I answer best to it. After all, it’s my name.” She knew he meant to ask her permission to use her Christian name, but some perverse imp prompted her to answer indirectly.

His smile was fleeting. “Fine. Mercy, I find myself in a quandary.”

She offered him no assistance. He had gotten himself into this quandary without her help. He’d have to get out the same way.

“I need to get wood and cut logs. I can’t leave the children to do it. And they are quite insistent that they want you to stay with them. Will you?”

Although she understood what he wanted, he’d been much more direct about telling her to leave. He could be equally direct about asking her to come back. “Will I what?”

His eyes narrowed. He’d correctly read her resistance.

Just as she understood that he swallowed his pride to ask her straight out. “Will you please stay with the children so I can get at my work?”

She laughed, with relief at being welcomed back and also with a touch of victory that he’d had to lessen his rigid stand. “Why, I’d be pleased to.”

The children grinned. Ladd immediately set to work cleaning the table and washing dishes.

Abel pushed back from the table. “Thank you.” He wrapped slices of bread and syrup in brown paper, snagged a can of beans and then grabbed his coat and hat. “I’ll be on my way.” He hugged the children and hurried out.

She stared at the door for a heartbeat after he left. Two and then a third. His thanks had been perfunctory. His leaving hasty. And why not? He had to prepare for winter. Had to provide the children’s needs.

No reason in the world to wish he could linger a bit and talk to her. No reason at all.

In fact, it was a relief to have him gone. He was too big. He crowded the tiny room and made her uncomfortable. Whew. She released the air from her tight lungs. Now she could breathe easy without concerning herself about his reaction to what she said and did.

She rubbed her arms, remembering his solid chest and warm hands.

Why had his hug felt so good? Like it filled up an empty spot in her heart. She shook her head. Where had such foolishness come from?

Chapter Five

Abel led Sam in the general direction he planned to go but, before he ventured farther, he left the horse waiting as he scouted around the cabin. If some crazy man hung about in the vicinity he wanted to know about it. Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky. Dampness filled the air. At least the twins would be safe and dry in Mercy’s care.

Mercy! The woman seemed destined to fill his mind with confusion.

Shoot! He was crazier than any wild man. He’d hugged Mercy. Only because he was so all-fired relieved to see Ladd safe and sound. Or at least that’s the excuse he gave himself and initially it had driven his actions. But he’d felt a whole lot more than relief as soon as his arms closed around her. He’d noted a number of things—how she fit just below his chin, how small yet strong she felt, how her hair filled with the scent of summer flowers and fresh-mowed hay.

Momentarily, without forethought, his arms had tightened around her and then she’d stepped back, no doubt as shocked by his actions as he’d been.

A thorough search around the cabin yielded no evidence of anyone lingering in the area. So Abel returned to Sam and left to find firewood and good logs, though building a bigger cabin before winter seemed a distant possibility.

He worked steadily all day, grateful the rain held off. Shadows filled the hollows and hung around the trees as he returned to the cabin with logs. Rather than unload immediately, he headed for the cabin, driven by far more than concern for the children. All day his thoughts had tortured him with memories of Mercy in his arms. Yet only the day before he’d considered her a menace to his children’s safety.

Likely she still was, and he needed to keep that in mind. A woman interested in pursuing a wild life in a show, a woman who ignored his warnings about involving the children in her activities, a woman who rode like a man and...

He reached the cabin door and paused to listen. Laughter came from inside and he forgot to list the other things against Mercy.

Ducking his head, he stepped inside and ground to a halt. Flour covered half the surfaces in the cabin and if he wasn’t mistaken, dough spatters decorated the surfaces that had been spared the flour dusting. The children wore generous amounts of both and Mercy’s hair had turned gray. When had he ever seen such a mess? Was this her idea of looking after the twins? “What exploded?”

The three looked up, saw his expression and glanced around. Their gaze returned to him, guardedness replacing the laughter.

“We made cookies,” Ladd said, his words solid.

“Mercy helped us.” Allie sounded a little more conciliatory.

Mercy didn’t say anything and her gaze dared him to object.

He swallowed hard, the aroma of cookies from the oven overwhelming his annoyance. “Cookies, huh?”

“Want some?” Allie asked.

“They smell good.” He’d overlook the mess in order to enjoy the cookies. And the company of those who had baked them. Tonight he’d clean the mess. At least he’d be too busy to be bored and lonely.

He sat at the table and tried not to look too surprised at the cookies set before him. One was small and slightly black around the edges, another was the size of a saucer, several were balls and one had been shaped into— He peered more closely at it.

“It’s a horse,” Ladd said. “Allie made it.”

Allie stood at Abel’s side waiting for his approval. Who’d have thought to make a horse out of cookie dough? Probably Mercy. “It’s looks very nice.”