Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3)(52)

“I think so.” He ground out the words. She helped him to the grassy bank where he collapsed.

“Papa,” Milo called, his voice thin with worry.

Tears streamed down Kit’s cheeks.

“I’m okay.”

Freyda knew it took a great deal of effort for him to speak calmly. Knew, too, that he needed to get home and warmed up as soon as possible. “I’ll bring the horse.” She freed the chain and led Buster to Ward’s side. “Get on his back.”

He looked about to argue then thought better of it. She helped him up.

“What about the boys?” he asked.

“I’ll push them back in the cart. You go ahead.”

He nodded and rode away.

She followed, shivering from cold, shaking from concern for Ward. Was he injured? Would he take sick from being so cold? Had he sucked in some of that filthy water?

When they reached the yard, Buster stood at the barn. She took the boys to the house. Much of the mud had shaken off in the walk, but she was far too dirty to go inside. She went only as far as the door.

The boys rushed in, saw Ward at the table, washed and in clean clothes. They hesitated at his side, regarding him anxiously.

He pulled them close then looked at her. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Your legs?”

“Just bruised. Thanks for rescuing me. Come in.”

“Can’t. I’m too muddy. I’ll take care of the horses then go home and clean up.”

Not until she reached home, had washed the mud off, and hung the wet items of clothing to dry and sat at the table, a cup of hot coffee before her, did she allow herself to think.

She knew what mattered to her. Not the farm. Not proving anything. Not even her independence. What mattered was Ward and his two precious little boys.

But when it came down to the nitty gritty, he didn’t trust her. Didn’t see her as capable. He wouldn’t ever consider marrying a woman whom he didn’t consider able to do all the things a homesteader’s wife needed to do.

She buried her head in her arms and sobbed.



The next day was Sunday. She could not go to church because of the muddy roads. She didn’t see any sign of Ward and the boys going either. Were his legs more seriously injured than he realized?

It was all she could do not to walk over and check on him.

But he didn’t need her. Likely didn’t even want her.

Being Sunday, it was a good day to sit and read her Bible. Lord, show me the way I should go. She’d thought it would be on a shared walk with Ward, but he’d made it clear how little he thought of her. Go get a neighbor’s help. Indeed, had he forgotten she was a neighbor? His closest one? But he didn’t see her as capable enough. Her heart ached with disappointment and she turned her attention to the Scriptures, seeking guidance and comfort.

After reading several chapters, she went to the Twenty-Third Psalm. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

She didn’t face physical death, but something inside felt dead. She would trust God to take care of her.

The thud of an approaching horse brought her to her feet in a flash and she rushed to the window.

Nels rode up on horseback. A bedroll was tied to the saddle and his saddlebags bulged.

Her heart sank. She opened the door to him. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yup.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What about Inga?” Freyda asked.

“I heard from her. She married someone else.” The pain in his eyes hurt Freyda.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. I’ll be fine. I just need to get away for a while. I’ll be back though I don’t know when. I need to decide what I want and where I want to be.” He hugged Freyda. “Take care.”

He wouldn’t be persuaded to linger and share a meal or even a cup of coffee.

She watched him ride away. They were in a similar situation. She had to decide what she wanted and where she belonged. It was a question she thought she had resolved.

Somehow she would continue on. She had her farm.

It no longer held a great deal of significance for her.

But what she wanted was out of reach.





13





Ward rubbed his legs. They hurt, and the skin was scraped off his shins, but he was incredibly fortunate not to be seriously injured.

He’d slept little and in the night hours had lit the lamp and opened his Bible. After some time of reading, hoping, and praying for an answer, he read. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.

There was no such thing as perfect love. Except God’s love.

The thought filled his head. He could trust God’s love. Did that enable him to trust human love? People made mistakes and often failed. Himself included. Yesterday was proof of that. But if he loved Freyda, and she loved him, he didn’t need to fear opening his heart.

Of course, he didn’t know her feelings, but with a contented sigh, he confessed he loved her. Despite every warning he’d ever given himself. He knew he could trust her to be kind to both him and his sons.

Now what was he to do with that knowledge?