Page 28 of A Dangerous Heart (Wind River Mail-Order Brides #4)

T he familiar rush of the river greeted Clare as the wagon pulled into the clearing in front of Isaac’s cabin.

The warm autumn sun filtered through the now bare branches, reminding her that winter was not far off.

She’d once found the modest log cabin and lean-to comforting, but knowing Victor was in the area had destroyed her sense of peace and contentment even here.

An unsettled feeling churned in her stomach.

Eli rode in the back of the wagon. When Isaac reined in, her nephew frowned at the cabin and the lean-to.

“Why’d you have to bring me here?” he complained.

“You know why we’re here. To pick up some clothes and the supplies we have stored here and take them back to the main homestead.” Isaac also wanted to make sure no one had been sniffing around his property.

And Clare needed to have a serious talk with Eli before they returned to the homestead and Ben.

A part of Clare feared Eli had unintentionally been privy to too many conversations among the adults.

He was thriving working with the men on the homestead, but occasionally, like now, his old attitude resurfaced.

“I should have stayed back,” Eli muttered. “David will have to wrangle that stubborn calf by himself and muck the stalls and feed the horses without me to help.”

He scrambled down from the wagon and headed to the stoop.

Isaac called to him. “Fetch some water from the river, and give the horse a drink, son.”

Clare was stepping off the wagon when she saw Eli go still and whirl round. Red bloomed on his cheeks, and his dark eyes narrowed.

“You can’t tell me what to do. You ain’t my pa.” He stomped to the step and sat down.

Tension strung tight through her shoulders as she looked over the wagon to Isaac, whose gaze was shuttered.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Isaac frowned but nodded. Exhaustion lined his handsome face. He had worked part of the day helping his brothers catch up on more preparations for the winter. The work had to be done. While they’d waited for Nick and the marshal to return to the homestead, he’d offered to take the late-night watch.

Clare met him at the threshold. “Thank you,” she said. He nodded, grabbed a bucket, and headed down to the river.

The air was stale inside the cabin, but everything else was neat and tidy. She left the door cracked open to let some fresh air in, then motioned for Eli to sit on the stoop while she lit a fire inside. Once finished, she steeled herself and returned to sit beside Eli.

He dropped his gaze down, stubbornly avoiding her eyes.

“Isaac is not your father. I’m not your mother either. But this is the plan your mother made for you. She believed it was God’s providence.”

How could she reach the stubborn boy?

How did one explain a thought like that to a young boy? A boy who’d lost his mother and had been taken from the only life he’d known.

His frown twisted into a more hopeful expression. “Is Pa really here?” The hunger in his question made Clare’s heart skip a beat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Isaac and I saw Lyle Mueller in town earlier. But not your pa.”

His eyes lit. “Do ya think Pa came for me?”

Clare stared at him. Her heart hurt for the boy who so desperately wanted his father’s love.

“I want to go back to Pa,” Eli pushed.

She wanted to scream. How could he want to go back to that?

She breathed in deeply, clenched her jaw, wrestled to keep her tone even. “Eli, have you forgotten what it was like back in Missouri? Remember how many times we didn’t have enough food?”

She and Anne had tried to shield the boys from the worst of it, but she would never forget the terror of those bare cupboards. Or the panic of knowing there were only a handful of bullets left. She couldn’t afford to miss her target when she hunted game.

“He was cruel to your mother when she burned some of the fish you spent all morning catching. We didn’t eat that day, remember, because your pa brought his gang to the farm.”

Clare moved her shoulder into his and looked down into his face. She could see her words had hit their mark, the way his thoughts raced behind his eyes.

His ma had also burned herself that day. The long red welt on Anne’s arm had taken weeks to heal. She’d hidden her pain and kept cooking while Victor called her unspeakable names. Clare had never heard any of the McGraw men use such language.

“Pa wants me,” Eli said stubbornly.

“What about Ben? It wasn’t that long ago he beat him, left bruises on him, because he forgot to feed the chickens first thing one morning.”

Eli’s face crumpled at that. He was so protective of his little brother.

“Ben likes it here,” she pressed.

“Ben’s a baby,” he scoffed, but she could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Eli, you have to trust me on this. We need the McGraws.”

He didn’t answer, just got up and went inside the cabin. She heard him clamber up the ladder to the loft. The floor moaned when he threw himself on the mattress. Clare heard his stifled sniffles and a shuddering breath. She wanted to hug him like she had when he was little.

She took a shaky breath, then got to work packing. In no time, her baskets and crates were stacked near the door. Maybe Isaac could use some help gathering some things from the lean-to. She’d give Eli a little time alone in the cabin.

The door was propped open. She leaned a shoulder against the door frame. Isaac looked up from the chest on the wall and cast her a grim look.

“I suppose you heard all that?” She sighed and stepped into the small space.

It smelled of hay and horse and earth. A rope hung by the door on a peg, and she fingered the tightly twisted strands of twine.

Her heart was still tender from seeing Eli’s hurt.

“I wish my childhood had been more like yours must have been.”

He turned questioning eyes on her, his wide stance blocking the chest and the gun belt lying on the quilt like some deadly snake poised to strike.

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “My pa and Victor…and my oldest brother Billy, were gone for months at a time, leaving us at home without money or food. Have you ever been so hungry that the gnawing in your stomach never goes away?”

He shook his head. His eyes filled with compassion.

“I was a little older than Eli when Anne’s grandpa began to teach me how to hunt, fish, and grow vegetables.

He stayed on the farm with us after Victor and Anne were married.

I think he knew his time on this earth was running out.

He and Anne showed me there was another way to live.

” Clare coiled the rope in a circular motion, looping it snug against the peg.

“Grandpa Ferguson knew I would need those skills for survival after he passed. But it was hard for a young girl at first, you know, killing and dressing rabbits and such.” Revulsion churned her stomach thinking about the other things she’d been forced to do.

Isaac’s expression turned from compassion to anger. His fingers curled into a fist.

“I didn’t actually like Anne at first.” She lowered her voice, glancing at the wall that she knew was too thin for secrets.

Isaac looked surprised enough that she went on.

“She seemed like such a Goody Two-Shoes.” The confession stung a little now, and she moved to the end of the cot, where an extra quilt was unfolded and had been thrown half off the bed. It was easier to remember if she had something to keep her hands busy. “All these rules. No lying. No stealing.”

When Anne had caught Clare with a chicken she’d butchered after stealing it from a neighbor, there’d been no punishment or shouts. Only a disappointment that had somehow stung worse.

“Once I started to see her in a new light, I didn’t think she’d want to know me if she knew the things I’d done for my pa and for Victor.”

It had taken weeks of chores together, of Anne’s gentle nature and patience, to break through the walls that Clare had built to protect herself.

“She taught me about true forgiveness. About real love.”

Anne had had such a pure heart. Clare still couldn’t understand how she’d fallen for Victor—cruel, heartless Victor. But after Eli had come, Anne was trapped in the marriage, and they’d all known it.

“I think I would’ve liked her,” he said quietly.

Clare was surprised to find a tear tracking down her cheek and quickly brushed it away.

“You would have,” she murmured. “Victor wasn’t always like this, you know.

There was a time when he tried to be better.

He loved Anne. For a while, I thought maybe she could save him.

” Her voice faltered for a moment before she continued.

“But my father wouldn’t let him go. He called him weak.

Kept dragging him into their schemes. And when Anne got pregnant, Victor got desperate.

He tried…but honest work wasn’t enough. That’s when he gave in and decided to do a few jobs with the gang.

A few jobs turned into a way of life, turned Victor into someone not even Anne could reach. ”

She took a breath and continued, hugging the folded quilt to her chest. “After Grandpa Ferguson died, Victor and my father began using the farm as their hideout. As the years passed, Anne and I…we were happier when they were gone—we were trying to do our best by the boys. We never meant?—”

“I can see how much you love those boys, Clare,” Isaac said. “They’re fortunate to have you.”

Clare loosened her grip on the quilt and let out a slow, trembling breath. “I wish I could believe that. But sometimes I think being a Barlow means I can’t ever be…anything else. Anne married into the name, but I was born to it. It’s in my blood.”

Isaac’s gaze was steady, the heat of his presence filling the small space between them.

“Anne took Victor’s name, sure, but she didn’t take his legacy.

You said yourself she was a child of God first and last. And that’s what made her special—not the name, not the past. Don’t you think the same could be true for you? ”