Page 20 of Montana Groom of Convenience (Montana Cowboys #5)

His eyes changed first, growing less dark. And then the skin around them lifted. Then, his mouth curved into a smile. And the weight of a thousand regrets slipped from her shoulders.

A few minutes later, she served the meal. At first, Jill ate slowly, but as the food warmed her stomach, she perked up. “I almost got throwed,” she told Father. “Daisy ran away.”

“Daisy, you say. Nothing fazes her.” Understanding came. “Except a snake.”

“You should have seen her. She stood on her back legs like this.” Jill illustrated. “Then she ran so fast I didn’t think anyone could catch her.”

“And Jill hung on and didn’t panic.” Carly smiled her approval. Jill ignored Carly and beamed at Father.

“Aye, child. You did good.”

Jill practically glowed from the praise.

Carly looked at Sawyer. He met her look and raised his brows, nodding so slightly no one would notice if they hadn’t been watching carefully.

Carly understood he, too, saw Jill’s reaction to Father.

Carly felt that they shared something private and special in that moment, though the feeling fled as quickly as it had come.

There were no sweets in the house for dessert. Even the last of the fruit she’d canned last fall was gone. She promised herself she’d find time in the next day or two to make something special. After all, she had her reputation as a good cook to uphold.

Sawyer insisted he and Jill would help do the dishes. Father said he’d like to help, too, but it was difficult with his bum leg.

“I’ll bring you dishes to dry,” Jill offered, seeming to think she did Father a favor.

Carly kept her back to the table so her father wouldn’t see her amusement. He was firm about men’s and women’s roles. Women ran the house. Men did the real work. Her hands grew still, and she stared out the window over the cupboard. Why did she fight him on this ?

Sawyer seemed to think it was because she tried to be the son Father never had.

But that wasn’t it. She simply did what she enjoyed. And what needed to be done. Good thing she’d taken over the ranch work already, or where would they be with Father now crippled up?

She ignored the answer that blared through her head. There was Sawyer, ready and able to do the work. But if Sawyer hadn’t been in the diner, looking for someone to care for Jill, there was the threat of selling the ranch.

At least her marriage had stopped that plan.

She finished the dishes, picked up the bowl of crocuses, and left the house without a backward look.

Up on the hill, she stepped through the gate and carefully closed it behind her.

She stopped momentarily before each of the tiny graves.

Father had carved the names on the simple wooden crosses.

Callum was the name on the oldest cross.

Errol on the next one. After that, they hadn’t named the babies.

Simply put Baby Boy Morrison on two crosses.

She knelt at her mother’s grave. Father had ordered a real headstone with an angel carved into it. Carly set the bowl of crocuses in front of the headstone and sat back on her heels.

“Mother,” she whispered. “I need you.” Why had God left her without a mother?

Her heart went out to young Jill. Carly had agreed to provide a home for the pair, but a home needed family.

Sawyer and Jill needed a family. She and Father provided that, but they needed even more.

“There’s a little girl here who needs a mother.

” There was no mother. There was only Carly.

She sat upright on her knees and stared at the angel on the headstone.

There was only Carly. Could she be a mother to Jill even though the child made it clear she didn’t want it?

“Mother, I wish you were here. You’re not.

That means things have to be different.” She sat quietly, listening to her thoughts—something Mother often said surfaced.

“Things are not always what we want. Disappointments leave us staggering, but in all things we can trust God to guide us through. Never forget what He says in His word. ‘Thou art my hiding place. Thou shalt preserve me from trouble. Thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go. I will guide thee with Mine eye.’”

Mother had suffered so many disappointments, and yet, she never stopped trusting God’s goodness and guidance nor His sufficiency for her every need.

“Thank you for guiding me and teaching me.” She would do her best to honor God in the life she had chosen—wife to Sawyer, mother to Jill.

The creak of the gate drew her attention. “Jill.”

The child’s mouth set into a stubborn line. “You said you would show me where your baby brothers were.”

“I did. Come in.” She rose and went to Jill, offered her hand.

Jill shook her head.

She wasn’t going to make it easy, but Carly, having made up her mind, wasn’t going to let it deter her. “They’re right there. Four little boys.”

Jill studied the four little crosses. “Did you get to meet them?”

“Two of them I did.” Callum had lived several hours. Errol just two. “Not the other two.” They’d never drawn breath. She’d only seen their tiny bodies wrapped in white cotton before they were laid in the ground.

Her heart twisted at the pain of the loss.

She knew her sorrow was but a drop of what Mother and Father felt.

Mother, especially. But Mother had never let her sorrow quench her faith or her joy.

She tried to find words to explain it to Jill.

“I think the hardest thing for a mother is to lose a child. Mother said loss could turn us bitter or grow our roots deep. We get to choose.”

“Like the crocuses?”

Surprised that Jill had listened to Carly’s comment and then taken it and applied it to this situation, Carly answered, “That’s right. And a very keen observation.”

“My mama would say things like that, too.” She looked into the distance.

“One time, I was angry because a trip to the store was canceled. Papa had promised to buy me a candy. Mama said I’d learn there were lots of things in life I could be upset about.

Or I could learn to be happy anyway.” She sighed deeply.

Her shoulders rose. “Don’t suppose she meant her and Papa dying.

” She turned to the headstone. “Is that where your mama is buried?”

“Yes.” Carly led her to the foot of the grave.

“I like the angel.”

“Me, too.”

“Why do you bring her flowers? She doesn’t know.” When looking at the four little crosses, Jill had shown only curiosity but now her voice grew hard, her expression tightened.

“I do it for me. Because I wish I could really give her flowers and talk to her.”

“That’s stupid.” She kicked at a clump of grass, sending a shower of dirt over Mother’s grave. Then she dashed from the little plot, running full speed away from the house up the rise beyond the cemetery, and stood staring into the distance.

“Oh God, how am I to show her love and care when she runs from it?”

The answer came into her silent heart. Love one another. As I have loved you. God loved her through good times and bad. Through mistakes, rebellion and disobedience. Because of His unfailing love, she could show love to this child whether or not she received it.

Sawyer trotted up to the gate. “Where’s Jill? I thought she was with you?”

“She went that way.” She blinked.

The child had disappeared.

Sawyer took in the little cemetery. Four wooden crosses and a granite marker with the bowl of flowers before it.

Pain ripped through his heart. His mama and Johnny were buried far away.

Pa and Judith lay at rest by the church in Libby, Kansas.

He understood none of them were there. They had been taken into glory.

But seeing these physical reminders of each of Carly’s dead family members made him long to be able to visit the graves of his loved ones.

He reached for something to hold on to. But changed his mind before he took Carly’s hand and grabbed the top rail of the metal gate instead.

He’d been talking to Mr. Morrison after Carly left .

“Son, ye can’t keep calling me Mister. It’s much too formal. Either call me Father or Robert.”

“Okay.” He liked the old man. Wouldn’t mind if he’d been his father but was he ready to put someone else in Pa’s place? Course, no one had suggested Sawyer call him Pa. Father felt different. Comfortable even.

“And the little one can call me Granddad. That okay with you, Jill?”

Jill had nodded but didn’t try out the word.

Sawyer had given his opinion on the calves showing the breeding of the English stock. Then, the conversation had turned to the need to get the crop in the ground. When he next looked in Jill’s direction, she was gone.

He glanced out the door and saw she made her way toward Carly, so he wasn’t concerned. But by the time he’d pulled on his boots and grabbed his hat, she’d disappeared.

“I’ll go find her,” he said.

Carly touched his arm and pointed. “No need. Here she comes.”

Jill’s head appeared over the rise and then her body. Her hands were full of weeds. As she drew closer, he made out crocuses and little bluebells.

She stomped past them and went to the far corner of the yard, where she knelt and arranged the flowers on the ground .

Carly leaned close to whisper in his ear. “I told her I bring flowers to my mother’s grave because it makes me feel close to her.”

“But her mother isn’t buried here.”

Carly shrugged. “Let her pretend. It doesn’t hurt anything.”

“I guess not.” Carly surprised him. One minute insisting Jill ride the horse even after it had bolted and the next so aware of Jill’s heart.

Jill sat back on her heels. She glanced at the headstone to her left. Then and there, a plan was born in Sawyer’s mind.

Carly took Sawyer’s arms and led him through the gate. “Let’s give her some time alone.” They went as far as the barn where they could keep an eye on Jill without intruding on her moment.

“Your father would like me to get started on the planting.”

She dropped his arm, leaving him cold and alone. “You met Big Harry. The harnessing is in the barn. The plow is over there.” She pointed. “What else do you need to know?”

“Your father said you would show me where the wheat is to be planted and the oats.”

“Come along then.” She strode away.

Jill left the graveyard and trotted down the hill. She sat on the step, and pulled rocks from her pockets and was soon intent on some kind of play.

Sawyer followed Carly to the fenced plots. “Oats here. Wheat there.”

He leaned against the fence post. This was what he’d signed on for, so her brisk attitude didn’t bother him.

The next morning, he hurried out to do chores, meeting Carly as she returned to the house with a pail of milk.

“I’ll feed the animals,” he said.

She ground to a halt. “I do the chores.”

“It will take less time if I help.” While you make breakfast. But he kept the latter to himself. “Jill and your father are up. I made coffee, but Jill is looking for something to eat. I told her to stay out of the cupboards and wait.”

She shot a look toward the house. “I fed Tosser already.”

“Tosser?”

She grinned. “The milk cow.”

Her amusement tickled him, and he smiled. Funny how it was getting easier and easier to see the humor in things. “Let me guess. She likes to kick the milk bucket, tossing it up.”

“Nope.”

He looked at her dancing eyes, her teasing expression, and forgot every uncertainty, every disagreement between them.

Marrying her had been a good idea. He promised himself he would never allow regrets.

And if they crept in, he would remember the feeling of this moment.

The pleasure of watching her humor. How she quickly forgot any discord.

The way she seemed in tune with Jill’s needs.

And his own?

That wasn’t necessary. His needs were practically nonexistent.

He reminded himself they were talking about a cow. “So why did you name her Tosser?” Why did his tongue feel so floppy? It couldn’t have anything to do with the way she made him smile .

She chuckled. “We bought her from a passing family on their way to the gold fields. They were getting short of funds, so they were willing to part with her. After we got her, we realized they were tired of her shenanigans. She seemed as placid as cream until someone sat beside her to milk her, then she turned, dropped her head, and butted that person off the stool. If cows could laugh, I’m sure she did. ”

His grin widened, and laughter rumbled up his throat. “She still toss you off your stool?”

“Nope. Father bribed her with oats. If she tossed him, he took away the oats. Now, so long as she gets her oats, she’s well-behaved.”

His feet grew roots as they shared amusement. His past disappeared in the flash of her smile.

Jill stood in the doorway. “I’m hungry.”

Carly startled. “I better get this milk to the house and think about breakfast. I’ll call when it’s ready.” She hurried away.

He stared after her a moment, then slowly made his way to the barn.

As he gave Big Harry an extra ration of oats, he studied the horse.

“I wonder why they named you Big Harry. I expect when she saw you, she said, ‘Look at those big hairy feet.’” He chuckled.

His second day of marriage, and he was already discovering unexpected joys.

His smile lingered as he took care of the animals, making sure the water trough was full and checking the gates on the pasture where the other horses were corralled.

“Sawyer, breakfast is on.” Carly’s voice sailed across the yard and encircled him like a bit of shining dew.

“She’s a good cook, too,” he said to no one in particular, though Dusty lifted his head to see if Sawyer talked to him.

Sawyer jogged across the yard, something more than hunger urging him to hurry.

A trickle of concern reminded him how often he had let himself settle into a place only to move until he finally stopped letting himself care.

He stepped inside to be greeted with enough pleasant smells to crowd out any thought of warning himself that he should guard his heart.

Like Gladys had said, he was a loner who didn’t know how to be anything but.

This time, he had a marriage contract to ensure he had a permanent home.

Except the marriage wasn’t real. What was to stop either of them from ending it?