Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3)(13)

“Your son asked a simple question. One he needs an answer to. Instead, you leave the house. They’re worried you are angry at them.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Your voice and demeanor say quite the opposite.”

“Well I’m not angry at my sons.” He led the horses from the water trough, his intention that he meant to return to the field without dealing with the issue as clear as the sky overhead.

She wasn’t prepared to let it go. Something had taken place back in the kitchen that left Ward upset and the boys fearful. “Are they not allowed to talk about their mother?” Had the woman beaten the boys? Was she cruel in other ways? “Is there something I should know?”

Ward stopped, the horses at his side. His gaze sought a distant place. “Dorothy was not the woman I thought she was. I’d been raised in a harsh environment and thought her gentleness was just what I needed to counteract that. I didn’t realize it was simply a form of selfishness. She didn’t want to be a mother and did not care for the boys.”

Freyda heard the words, but they didn’t make sense…as if they didn’t translate in her mind. How could a woman not love her children? From the way Ward’s shoulders sagged, Freyda wondered if his wife had also failed to love him.

“Ward, I am sorry.” She touched his arm, wanting only to offer her comfort.

Beneath her fingertips, his muscle twitched. A firm, well-developed muscle of a hardworking man. Warmth from the sun and from his labors traveled up her arm.

She left her hand there a moment longer, not wanting to jerk back and make them both uncomfortably aware of her tension.

“I’m sorry for your pain and sorry for what the boys must have felt. No wonder Milo is so guarded.” She crossed her arms and pressed them into her middle. She had no business touching him in the first place.

Ward stuck his free hand into the pocket of his pants. “So you see, I cannot assure them that their mother loved them.”

The pain in his voice was as real as a cut to one of her limbs. She clenched her fists and breathed deeply until she felt calmer. God had sent her here for more than getting her own homestead and proving she could achieve something worthwhile on her own. He had sent her here to help this hurting family. Gud, guide me and show me how to help them.

She formed her words slowly, wanting to be certain she chose the correct English ones. “But perhaps you can. Are there not any occasions when she showed a bit of affection? Perhaps when they were sick.”

He shook his head.

Freyda could see that tending sick children might not bring out the best in a selfish woman. But there had to be times she was different. “Was she pleased when they learned to walk? When they said their first words?”

His smile was tight. “She liked when Milo learned to walk. He was so proud of himself that she laughed.” His smile reached his eyes. “Milo hated crawling. He walked along the furniture until he could manage on his own two feet. When he got to a doorway and had to get down on his hands and knees, he grumbled the whole way.” Ward laughed. “He was so funny.”

“That’s sweet. And Kit?”

Ward met her gaze, his eyes warm with amusement. “Kit talked before he could walk. Of course we couldn’t understand him, but she said he always had plenty to say.”

She held his gaze. The intensity in his brown eyes made her insides quiver. She forced herself not to look away. Told herself she was foolish to feel like the ground beneath her feet had turned to jelly. “Those are sweet stories. The boys need to hear them. And they need to know you aren’t angry.”

“You are right.” He crossed to the house. “Here, you hold the horses while I talk to the boys.” He handed her the reins.

The boys had come out to the step. Kit looked worried. Milo looked angry.

Ward sat on the step and pulled the boys to his side. “I’m sorry you thought I was angry. I’m not.”

“Good,” Kit said.

Kit lived in the moment. Just as every four year old she knew. However, Milo was old enough to think deeper.

“Papa,” Milo said. “You was angry.”

“But not at you or your brother.”

“Are you sad that Mama is dead?”

Freyda hoped Ward would deal with Milo’s concerns.

Ward looked at Freyda and she nodded. Now, why did she think she needed to encourage the man?

He smiled then turned to Milo. “I’m mostly sad that you don’t have a mama to take care of you.” He turned to Kit. “I remember how your mama was so proud of you because you talked early.” He told Kit the story he’d told Freyda.

The boy beamed. “I still talk lots, don’t I?” It seemed like a good thing to Kit. His shoulders sank. “Mrs. Wright said I talk too much.”

Ward hugged him. “She was wrong. You talk just the right amount.” He shifted his attention to Milo. “Your mama enjoyed watching you learn to walk.” He repeated what he had told Freyda and they all laughed.

The boys leaned into him, their eyes shining with the joy of what he’d told them.

Freyda found joy in watching the three of them.

Ward sighed. “I hate to leave but I must get the horses back to work. They’re wondering why I’m taking so long.”

“Oh, Papa, horses can’t think.” Milo shook his head in protest.