Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3)(15)

Even without the need to assure his sons he wouldn’t be so unkind as to say no to the woman, he would have called her back. “Freyda, wait. I don’t mind showing you what I’m doing.”

She turned slowly and returned. “Thank you.”

So he explained every aspect of caring for the harnesses and the horses. The boys listened raptly. They would benefit from his teaching too.

“You are a good teacher,” she said, as they headed for the house.

He opened the door. The smells of cooked meat and apple pie greeted him. “You’re a good cook,” he said.

They grinned at each other and something tenuous came to life inside him. He couldn’t say what it was and would have dismissed it immediately if not for the way his stomach rumbled.

She laughed. “We already ate. I would have put the boys to bed, but they insisted they would wait for you.” She pulled a plate loaded with food from the warming oven. “Go ahead and eat. Would you like coffee?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

The boys crowded to either side of him as he ate. They both talked, often at the same time. They had spent the afternoon escaping bad guys and braiding grass ropes. They showed him.

He laughed often at their excitement. Each time, he met Freyda’s eyes, saw what he thought was real enjoyment at their tales. Each time, something happened to his insides—and it had nothing to do with the warm satisfying food that pleasured his stomach.

He cleaned his plate and she put a generous slice of apple pie before him. “Where did you get the apples?”

“Someone—perhaps Mrs. Wright—left several jars of pie filling.”

“How nice of her.” He laughed because the woman who had been so unkind to his boys had left something good behind. And because it simply felt good and right to enjoy it with his sons and his neighbor.

She washed up his dishes and hung the tea towel to dry. “It’s time for me to leave. I’ll take Boots and Boss.”

He pushed his chair back. “We’ll walk you home.”

She waved aside his offer. “That’s not necessary. It’s not far. You stay and put the boys to bed. I’ll be back in the morning.”

He followed her, the boys in his wake. “I’ll feel better knowing you are home safe and sound and, like you said, it isn’t far. Right, boys?”

“Yes, Papa,” they said together.

She put the lead ropes on the horses’ halters and they set off down the trail. He led Boss. She led Boots. Milo and Kit ran ahead.

He thought of what she’d said about not being allowed to learn things and wanted to make her feel better. “Baruk would be pleased that you are keeping the homestead.”

“He should have let me come with him. It really hurt that he wouldn’t let me, but the worst thing was I thought he saw me differently than my family did. We’d talked about our dream to move to America. He said he was pleased that I was willing to embark on such an adventure. But in the end, he treated me like a baby, just like everyone else.”

Ward knew what it was like to believe one thing about a person and learn it wasn’t true. “You were disappointed in Baruk much as I was disappointed in Dorothy. I guess we’ve both learned that you can’t trust what your eyes and heart tell you about a person.”

They reached her place and he helped her put the horses in the pasture and made sure the gate was secure.

“Goodnight,” he said, and he and the boys returned home.

As he helped them prepare for bed, Kit showed him one of his treasures—a gnarly piece of wood sitting on the windowsill.

“It’s a wild cat.” He gave a roar that sounded more like a little boy than a fierce cat. “It keeps away people who want to hurt us.”

Ward’s heart sank. His boys were afraid, and all because of the way housekeepers had treated them. He must make sure it never happened again. “You are safe with me,” he assured the boys.

“And Mrs. Haevre,” Kit said. “She beat off the bad guys.”

Milo watched Ward for his reaction. Milo nodded.

Ward was at a loss to explain that the bad guys they meant were imaginary, and Mrs. Haevre had yet to prove if she would show any ability to confront real danger. Both boys waited. He knew he must give them some kind of reassurance. “I’m glad you like her.”

“Don’t you?” Milo asked.

He should have known Milo would demand more but what could he say? That he wasn’t about to trust any woman? “She sure is a good cook.”

“Papa,” Milo persisted. “Why don’t you like her?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

“But do you?”

Ward nodded slowly. “I suppose I do.” And it frightened him so much his breath stuck halfway to his lungs.

He heard the boys’ prayers and tucked them into bed then went to his room where he lay staring up at the dark ceiling trying to sort out his confusion. He’d get the crop seeded as fast as he could—his and Freyda’s—and then they would go back to being neighbors.

He would not worry about what he was going to do with the boys nor would he concern himself with whether or not she could manage the farm on her own. After all, wasn’t that the whole point of her coming to America—to prove she could?

Telling himself was one thing. Making himself believe it was quite another.