Dakota Father (13 page)

“Yeah?”

“Think you might like to check.”

Burke knew that tone of voice. Lucky meant Burke should check
now
so he put down his tools and headed out. As soon as he stepped from the barn, he heard the noise and knew why Lucky was concerned. “It's Meggie.” She screamed with terror. He vaulted the fence and galloped for the house, the skin over his spine crawling at the way she cried. If someone had hurt that little girl—

He thudded across the veranda and through the open door. Meggie sat on the floor, crying her heart out. Jenny wrapped Paquette in her arms, murmuring
calmly. Miss Smythe huddled in a corner. She couldn't seem to take her eyes from a mop on the floor in front of her. He took it all in with a glance. What was going on? Had Paquette attacked the woman? Had she totally lost her mind? It happened too often. Sorrow laced with acceptance tore through his insides like a flood tearing up roots of hope and flickers of dreams, dragging them away in a rush of dirty raging water.

Yes, he'd allowed himself to hope—he couldn't even say what he'd hoped for. But seeing Paquette like this made it impossible to hope—or dream—or even wish.

This country was no place for Jenny.

He scooped Meggie from the floor and wrapped her to his chest. She sobbed against his shoulder, clinging to him fiercely. He would protect this sweet child from any danger.

Would she be able to survive this harsh land?

He would teach her how. She'd grow with it.

Like Paquette had?

If he had to, he would send Meggie away. If that's what it took to keep her whole and well. A silent groan gripped his throat. His knees melted beneath him and he sank to the bench.

Jenny turned as if checking on Meggie. She noticed him, her eyes widening as they met his.

In that moment of truth something shifted inside
him. His fear collided with his dreams and exploded into a thousand flashing fragments nipping at his thoughts. It took several seconds to gather up all the pieces and stuff them back behind the log wall he'd so carefully constructed. “What's going on here?”

Miss Smythe shook her skirts and smoothed her hair. “That woman is out of her mind. She should be locked up.”

His gut tightened. His thoughts skittered a protest. Not in the asylum. Not like Flora. Paquette would wither and die in such a place.

Paquette pulled from Jenny's arms and sank to a chair. “Not crazy. My beads. Not touch 'em, her.”

“She attacked me. She's dangerous.”

Burke had seen it before, how the land, the loneliness, the sound of the wind drove normally calm people into demented rages. Sometimes locking them up was the only way to keep them and others safe—but must everyone in his life end up there?

“Paquette would never hurt anyone. She was only warning you not to touch her beads. They're her most prized possession. We all understand that.”

Miss Smythe sniffed loudly and disdainfully. “She's out of her mind. No normal person acts like that.”

Paquette peered up at Miss Smythe. “Paquette not crazy.” She jabbed a finger at Miss Smythe. “You not
stay 'ere. Not belong, you.” She turned to Jenny and jabbed her bony finger at her. “You stay. Not her.”

Miss Smythe nodded. “I agree. I absolutely will not stay here. It's not safe. The rest of you will be murdered in your beds.” She steamed down the hall to the bedroom.

Jenny's eyes were pleading when she looked at Burke. “She isn't crazy. I know it. She wouldn't hurt anyone. You must not send her away.”

Burke understood she meant Paquette. “I don't want to but—” He couldn't put Jenny and Meggie at risk.

Another problem bucked into his mind. “Miss Smythe is leaving. Paquette's…ill. Who will care for Meggie?”

“I can stay until you make other arrangements.”

“I can't expect you to do that.” Any more than he could continually fight the way his wants warred against the knowledge Jenny must leave. Not only was she set on going, he was now even more set on seeing her leave before she suffered the same fate as Paquette and Flora and so many others.

Yes, it seems some women could survive the prairies. But they were few and far between. And he would not stand by and wait to see who would be next to find the country intolerable.

He stared at Paquette, still unable to believe one
bred and born on the prairie had fallen victim to its subtle dangers.

She met his gaze unblinkingly. She was trying to tell him something. But what? Slowly it became clear she showed no sign of confusion, no terror, no anger. Only certainty, as if he would understand her silent message.

He shook his head. “Paquette—?”

She ducked away.

Miss Smythe returned, dragging her bag and looking a bit ruffled, as if she'd hurried to pack everything. “I insist on a ride to town immediately. I can't abide this endless wind.”

Burke's gaze rested on Paquette's head. There was more going on here than he understood. “I'll get Lucky to take you.” He wouldn't leave Meggie and Jenny with Paquette until he figured out what it was.

Lucky bemoaned having to interrupt his work to make this trip. “Not that I'm sorry to see her go. She ain't our kind of lady. Not like Jenny.”

Burke sighed. “Jenny ain't staying.”

“You tried asking her?”

“She's got a fellow back home.”

“Huh. Don't see no wedding ring. Seems to me that leaves lots of possibilities.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Boss, nothing is, but did that keep you from
starting a ranch in the middle of nothing but grass and sky?”

“That's different.”

“How?”

“Cause grass and sky didn't have anything to say about me being here.”

Lucky snorted a laugh. “Seems they have something to say every minute of the day. Some people listen—like Flora. Others—like you and Miss Jenny—just sing along.”

He stared at the man. “I perceive you're a dreamer.”

Lucky shifted and refused to meet Burke's gaze. “Nope. Just saying it the way I see it. And the way I see it is you're running from the chance every woman might be like Flora. Running from what's right in front of your nose. Boss, maybe it's time you stopped running.”

“It's you who don't see what's right in front of all of us.”

“Yeah?”

“Jenny intends to go back east. I intend to let her. Just as soon as Paquette is well enough to watch Meggie.”

“Yeah, boss.” Lucky hitched up the wagon and drove to the house.

A few minutes later, Miss Smythe departed, sitting regally at Lucky's side.

Burke stared after them a long time. He had no
regrets at seeing the back of Miss Smythe with a y, but the reprieve provided only more torment. Because nothing had changed.

Jenny intended to leave.

He intended to see she did.

 

Jenny knew it was wrong. This gladness that she must stay a bit longer. Ma and Pa would surely warn her to put an end to her foolish behavior. But they weren't here. And she could hardly leave Meggie with only some busy men and Paquette to watch her. Even Pa would understand that argument.

Burke still stood on the veranda watching Miss Smythe disappear down the trail. What was he thinking? Likely that he might never get rid of Jenny.

How ironic that Miss Smythe, who had nothing to return to, couldn't wait to leave while Jenny, who had iron-solid reasons to return, found her heart shriveling like a drought-stricken plant at the knowledge she couldn't stay. Not only did she love the land but—forbidden as it was—she had grown exceptionally fond of the ranch owner.

Burke turned suddenly, catching her staring at him, her heart in her eyes. A gamut of emotions crossed his eyes—sadness perhaps at losing the nanny, though he hadn't ever shown anything but long-suffering tolerance for her so perhaps it was sadness over Paquette's behavior. Then his eyes widened
as he took in her naked caring and regret. At that moment, they were more honest with each other than at any time since she'd landed on his doorstep. Silently they acknowledged a common want—she wanted to stay, he wanted her to.

Guilt burned up her neck and pooled in her eyes, causing them to sting. She ducked away. Would she never learn to temper her desires with reason and submission?

Burke's breath huffed out.

She understood her inappropriateness left him surprised and likely a little puzzled. After all, she'd made it plain from the beginning she wouldn't stay.

Paquette pushed past her. “Make supper, me.”

Her words effectively ended Jenny's mental wrangling. She blinked at Paquette. The woman sounded strong and focused. Not at all like she'd been since her night on the prairie. “Paquette?”

“I fine, me.” She pulled out pots and handed a pan to Jenny. “Get potatoes, you.”

Jenny shot a questioning look at Burke. Was she imagining this sudden change in Paquette? She knew from the way Burke looked at the older woman he was as startled by her behavior as she.

Slowly he met her eyes and gave a slight lift of his shoulders. For a moment they considered each other, silently assessing this new development.

Paquette saw Jenny with the still empty basin and grunted. “Need potatoes.”

Jenny hurried to get them from the bin.

Burke shifted Meggie to his other arm as he crossed the room to face Paquette. “Are you all right?”

Paquette giggled. “I fine.”

“Did something happen out on the prairie? Were you hurt?”

She giggled again. “Not hurt.”

Jenny stared at the woman, a suspicion creeping through her mind. “Paquette, were you pretending?”

Another giggle before Paquette turned to rearrange the pots as if they required all her attention.

“Why would you do that?”

Paquette turned, her black eyes flashing. “Show everybody you need to stay. You belong here, you.”

Jenny gasped. Heat stung her cheeks. No doubt Paquette had seen the way Jenny watched Burke and read—misread—what it meant. It meant nothing but normal curiosity and interest. Oh, if only she believed it. But she could ignore it…or try. “Paquette, I can't stay. You know that.” She told the woman about Ted.

Paquette snorted. “Die like grass in winter back there.”

Jenny couldn't face either of them, certain her
longing and pain would reveal itself so she gave her complete and undivided attention to preparing the potatoes. “I'll be just fine.”

She told herself the same thing about a thousand times an hour over the next few days. She'd notified Pa Miss Smythe had left. Knew he'd interview other young ladies for the post. But until then she could stay.

Once she got back home, she assured herself constantly, she would remember all the lessons Ma had taught her on proper behavior. She'd remember and she'd apply them and God would surely give her the peace she longed for.

In the meantime, she intended to enjoy her reprieve and hoard up memories to last a lifetime so she took long walks, sometimes alone, often with Meggie and rarely with Burke. She missed his company, sensed he pulled back as if he couldn't wait for her to leave.

She returned to the ranch after a pleasant hour of wandering around, expecting to be there when Meggie wakened. A tail of dust barreled down the trail toward the ranch.

No doubt the new nanny.

She pulled to a halt beside the corrals.

Burke sauntered over and leaned on the top rail. “Let's hope she's better than Miss Smythe. Preferably someone a little more seasoned. Tough yet kind.”

A little thrill bubbled through her at his desire
for an older woman. “You should be looking for a wife.”

“I don't need a wife. Don't want one.” His vehemence tore a bloody strip from her heart and left her gasping. He couldn't be much clearer than that.

There would never be a place for Jenny out here. He only wanted someone to get Meggie big enough to ride with him.

The buggy pulled to the house. The dust wrapped around it, momentarily obscuring it from view. Then the tail of dust drifted on and revealed a man and woman. She didn't recognize the woman whom she assumed would be the new nanny, but the man was familiar.

Jenny blinked. “Pa?”

H
er pa? He'd come? Burke immediately straightened and stepped back from the fence, wondering if the man had seen how he leaned close to Jenny, wanting to breathe the scent of wild grasses and prairie wind she carried with her like she'd found a way to bottle them into a perfume. “What's he doing here?”

“I can't imagine. He must have left Ted in charge of the store.”

Ah, the elusive Ted. Perhaps he'd asked Mr. Archibald to check on Jenny. Only one way to find out. “You going to introduce us?” He headed toward the pair as Mr. Zach lifted down bags. More bags. He hated seeing them land on the veranda. It meant more upset, and even worse, facing the inevitable—a nanny so Jenny could leave.

It's what he wanted. So he told himself time after time but Lucky's words had built a sturdy home in
his heart and would not be ignored. “She sings with the prairie.”

As if she was part of it. So long as a person didn't fight the land, they might survive.

Not that any of this made a difference. They'd both chosen a path diverging from this point.

Jenny fell in at his side.

Her father saw them and jogged over to hug Jenny. “Daughter, you are looking well.” He examined her closely, no doubt to assure himself she was well in every way.

She hugged him back then turned to Burke. “Pa, this is Meggie's guardian, Burke Edwards.”

Mr. Archibald shook his hand and gave him a hard, direct look.

Burke met the man's gaze without flinching. He had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. But he guarded his heart lest the man guess at his true feelings for his daughter. “Welcome. Come in.”

Mr. Archibald waved toward the waiting woman. “Miss Morgan has agreed to come as your nanny. With your approval, of course.”

Burke instantly didn't approve. The woman was older, which was good, but she looked as if life carried a dreadful odor. He couldn't imagine letting someone with such a sour expression care for Meggie. How soon before his little niece developed the same
attitude? “Let's go inside and talk.” He held the door and ushered them in.

Paquette sat on her chair, her arms across her chest, glowering at them. She'd been most cheerful these past few days despite Jenny's insistence she could not stay as Paquette wanted.

“Could we have tea?” he asked Paquette.

She only scowled deeper.

“I'll make it,” Jenny said.

He wanted to refuse but Paquette in such a mood would not be reasoned with. He asked about the trip and listened to the comments while a whirlwind of protests filled his mind. He didn't want another nanny.

“Mr. Edwards—” Jenny's father addressed him.

“Please, call me Burke.”

“I hope you find Miss Morgan satisfactory because I have come to take my daughter home.”

Pain ripped through him. He pushed it away and nodded, his tongue as useless as a hunk of wood. Was this not what he wanted? Had wanted from the first time he set eyes on her? For her to go back to the safety and security of the east?

No. His heart cried. No. No. A thousand times no.

He could not look at Jenny. Could not let her see how he felt.

“I'm sure if you've checked her out, she'll be more
than satisfactory.” He directed his words to Jenny's father.

Paquette began to mumble and sway.

The tension in the room grew. Burke suspected it was exactly what Paquette hoped would happen. Despite his resolve, he glanced at Jenny. His heart lurched at the hunger he saw. Then she glanced at Paquette, and when her gaze returned to him he saw only concern for Paquette and knew he'd been mistaken in thinking there had been anything more.

The kettle whistled, and she hurried to the stove to pour the water. She cut each of them a piece of cake she'd made earlier and served it on individual plates then poured tea, all the while ignoring Paquette's dark looks.

Meg fussed in the other room.

“I'll get her.”

Burke could practically feel her relief as she slipped away, leaving him to listen to a litany of Miss Morgan's qualifications. He could certainly find no fault with her experience. But she lacked the joy of life Jenny revealed.

How would he ever get used to its absence?

 

Jenny scooped Meggie into her arms and held her close. Meggie, only half awake, didn't mind and snuffled against her chest.

“Oh, Meggie, what am I going to do? I don't want
to leave you with a stranger.” She shuddered back a sob. “I don't want to leave you at all.” Any more than she wanted to leave this place. Or the man who owned it. She wanted to be part of this great adventure of building a home and a future in this raw, new land.

Meggie squirmed.

“You're ready to be up, aren't you? Well, let's go. We have company.” She returned to the kitchen. Meggie saw the strangers and ducked her head against Jenny's shoulder. “This shy young lady is Meggie. Meggie, can you say hello to Miss Morgan and my father?”

Meggie turned her head enough to peak out at them. “'Lo.” She saw Burke and reached for him. She sat proudly on his lap and stole glances at the two strangers. She'd met Pa a few times but had obviously forgotten him.

Jenny hovered in the background, not wanting to sit at the table. Somehow sharing tea with Pa and the new nanny made the woman's presence far too real.

And the reality of Jenny's situation far too final.

 

Pa agreed Meggie should have a few days to get used to Miss Morgan. Some very uncharitable corner of Jenny's mind hoped there would be a serious flaw in Miss Morgan's character or references or even her
presence, like perhaps a bad smell or an impossible accent that would make it unsuitable for her to stay. She laughed at an accent being a problem, seeing as Paquette's speech was often a challenge to understand, especially when she was riled about something and since Miss Morgan's arrival, she'd been plenty riled. Jenny acknowledged another uncharitable thought. It felt good to have Paquette defensive on her behalf.

But Miss Morgan was the epitome of an ideal nanny. She established a routine, spent time playing games with Meggie and taught her better table manners than most of the others at the ranch exhibited. Jenny hid her amusement at the way the men sat up straighter and used their utensils better when Miss Morgan joined them. Often she chose to feed Meggie before the men came in because it better suited her schedule. Once Paquette realized this, she made certain most of the meals were delayed until after Meggie and Miss Morgan had eaten.

But it must end soon. Pa could not be away long. Jenny had shown him some of her favorite places. He spent much time with Burke and the other men, had even gone away on a three-day trip to check on the cattle.

But she still had things she longed to show him. “Pa, would you like to go for a walk?”

“Love to, daughter.” He'd been working on an
unfinished window frame. “Trying to make myself useful while I'm here.” He put his tools aside.

She glanced around. No longer did she notice all the things that needed completing—the rails on the veranda that Miss Morgan had commented on: “T'would be much safer for Meggie if they were put up.” But seeing the place through Pa's eyes, she grew aware of its defects. “Burke lost interest when his marriage fell through.”

She'd told Pa in a letter about poor Flora.

“Where to this sunny afternoon?” He pulled his hat down more firmly against the wind.

“Let's just walk.” She'd caught up on family news and events around Center City. She'd heard all about Ted's wonderful forward-thinking suggestions for the store. Today she just wanted to enjoy the prairie. They walked two or three miles from the ranch. “This is such beautiful country, don't you think?”

He smiled his gentle smile. “Seems a lonely place.”

“Pa, it's teeming with life. Look.” She knelt to part a few blades of grass and revealed tiny white phlox. “You just have to learn to look.”

Pa squatted beside her. “I guess you've learned where to look.”

She heard something in his voice, perhaps a suggestion of admiration, and turned to study his face.
But he lifted his face to glance toward the horizon. “It's a big land.”

The wind caught his hat and tossed it to the ground, bowling it along. Jenny laughed and chased after it. She caught it and handed it back.

“Windy, too,” Pa said.

“I know. Doesn't it make you want to become a kite and sail in the wind?”

Pa chuckled and pulled her against his side. “I have to admit it doesn't.”

She turned away to pretend interest in something in the distance. Of course Pa didn't understand. He would think her enthusiasm for a place she must leave behind inappropriate. Another sign of her wayward wildness.

“Come, I have something else to show you.” She led him toward the corrals.

“Is it a surprise or can you tell me where you're taking me?”

“I want to show you my special friend.”

“Oh.”

She knew without looking his eyebrows would have almost disappeared under his hat and she laughed. “It's a horse. See.” She pointed toward Ebony's pen. “You stay here until I make sure he'll let you close. Everyone else thinks he's wild.”

“Jenny, are you being foolhardy here?”

“No, Pa. I'm not. Ebony is my friend.” She
stepped closer, murmuring to the horse who eyed Pa a moment, then decided he was harmless and trotted over to greet Jenny. She stroked his muzzle and scratched his ears. “I'm going to miss you, big guy. I hoped I'd be here long enough to persuade you to let the men ride you.”

Ebony snorted and Jenny realized Pa had moved closer.

“He's a beauty, for sure. Is he broke?”

“Not yet. He won't let anyone but me get close to him. Though he isn't too nervous with you this close.” But as she spoke, Ebony snorted and raced away, bucking and acting like he meant to destroy every man-made object he could reach.

“I'm surprised Burke let you near him. He's wild.”

She reluctantly turned from the horse to face Pa. “He didn't know I was coming out here until it was too late to say anything.”

“Jenny, you're bound to get yourself into trouble with your disregard for caution.”

“Pa, I know. I try and guard my thoughts and actions. But Ebony was an honest mistake. I had no idea he was so wild. He isn't around me.”

“Sometimes horses have been mistreated by men and will let a woman handle them.”

“I suppose that might be the reason.” So many
questions and doubts filled her mind. “Pa, why do I find submission so difficult? Sometimes I think God must have made a mistake when He created me. I should have been born a man so I could do something like build a ranch in this new land or…” She couldn't finish. Didn't even know what she wanted to say. Except the life she would return to seemed constricting. Rules were fine. She knew they served a good purpose. But she craved so much more than being a proper lady. She'd found it here on the ranch, in the midst of the raw prairie, but it would be denied her.

Pa gripped her shoulder. “Daughter, God makes no mistakes. He certainly didn't make one when He created you. ‘You are fearfully and wonderfully made,' as it says in Psalm one hundred and thirty-nine, verse fourteen.”

She waggled her head. She couldn't argue with what God's word said, yet so often it felt like she didn't belong in her life.

“Jenny, you must learn to accept God's will in your life. Once you do, you will find peace and contentment.”

“I know.” She would obey her parents, and thus obey God, only she didn't find peace and contentment, she just found emptiness. “I know.” Peace would surely come once she was back home actually doing what she had promised.

 

Burke stood back, unnoticed as Jenny led her father toward Ebony's pen. He'd tried to get near the critter. He'd seen the men at various times venture close. But only Jenny had been able to gentle the gelding.

Lucky sidled up to him. “If she can tame Ebony, is there any doubt she could tame the land or at least become a part of it?”

“Sing with it, you mean?”

“Something like that.”

“I don't know. And it doesn't matter. Her pa has plans for her.”

“The man seems reasonable enough. Might be willing to change those plans if he saw something better for her.” Lucky sauntered away, leaving Burke struggling with his dreams—dreams he'd buried when Flora ended up in the asylum, but dreams that hadn't died. They'd been part of his plans from the beginning—a family to carry on what he carved out of this land, a woman to share the journey.

Would they ever die?

Did they need to?

He turned into the interior of the barn and perched on the edge of the empty manger. Did God care about what he wanted? Did He take any interest in helping a man find his dream? Win the heart of a woman?

He shook his head. Seemed like such a petty thing
to bother God with. After all, He must be busy with more important things like running the universe and helping seriously ill people.

He had no doubt God had a hand in helping him find Paquette. Several times since then he'd made little requests, almost fearfully. God had not sent angels or done anything spectacular, but always Burke had found the answer after he prayed. Was it coincidence? Or the result of asking?

Jenny fully believed God was concerned with the details of a person's life. He half believed it. Wanted to believe it fully.

But if he did, what would stop him from asking God to allow Jenny to decide to stay? His heart tightened as if squeezed by a miserly fist. Mama cat rubbed against him and he stroked her mindlessly.

He couldn't ask because he feared the answer. Acknowledging love carried an inherent risk. Always there was a danger of losing the loved one. Not necessarily the same way Flora had been lost. But he'd lost his parents. He'd lost Lena. Life carried a risk.