Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3)

by Penny Richards

  “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. Let’s call it a peace offering.”

  “How did things go before I got here?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  A frown drew his eyebrows together. “When I saw you headed this direction, I got here as fast as I could. I was almost afraid of what I might walk in on.”

  “That was pretty obvious,” she said, recalling his face when he stood in the doorway.

  He wrinkled his straight nose in embarrassment and rubbed at it in an awkward gesture, shooting an amused glance her way. “Downright shameful, isn’t it?” he said. “The town’s lawman scared of two little kids.”

  For an instant, there was no awkwardness between them, just two people sharing a little joke.

  “Nothing I’d want getting around town,” she agreed. The seriousness of her tone belied the smile on her lips. She sketched an X over her heart. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  “Thanks,” he said, growing serious. “And thanks for what you said to Brady. Taking part of the blame yourself was brilliant.”

  “I didn’t just say it to appease him,” she clarified, surprised that he would think she’d do something like that. “I do disappoint myself when I feel I’ve failed a student in some way. I meant it when I told Brady that I would work hard this summer. I got the letters off earlier, so maybe I’ll soon have some fresh insight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “As for Cilla, Hattie says she’ll take her as a student if she doesn’t give her any trouble and works hard.”

  “So you offered to let her practice at your house.”

  “Well, I do have a piano that’s sitting there gathering dust.”

  “Do you play?” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops in a familiar gesture.

  “In my family, all young ladies learned to play the pianoforte, but not necessarily well,” she said, looking at a spot somewhere beyond his shoulder.

  “I’ll wager you did it well. In fact, it’s almost impossible to imagine that there’s anything you don’t do well.”

  Was it a compliment? Just a statement of how he perceived her? What? She flashed a quick, uncomfortable smile. “Let’s just say that I play the piano better than I embroider, and that I do a lot of things adequately, if not well.”

  “Like what?”

  The question caught her off guard. What was going on? Why was he talking about her and not the children? “Why do you ask?”

  He lifted one shoulder and a sandy eyebrow. “You intrigue me, Miss Grainger. After watching you one-on-one with my kids, I’m curious about the woman beneath that prim-and-proper exterior you show the world.”

  “Why?” she asked again, even more perplexed.

  He shook his head, looking as confounded as she felt. “Just trying to get to know the woman who teaches my children a little better, I guess. The woman who buys a young girl a gift after that girl ruined her glasses and hat.”

  Allison longed to ask one more “Why?” but figured she should stop while she was ahead. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was behind his questioning. In fact, she wasn’t sure why the sheriff was engaging her in personal conversation.

  “I’d better be going,” she said, turning toward the steps.

  “What’s in the sack?”

  She whirled back around. “What?”

  He gestured toward the small brown bag crushed in her right hand. “What’s in the sack?”

  “Oh. Maple candy I brought to Brady. He didn’t like it.”

  Colt’s eyes brightened. “Maple? That’s my favorite.”

  “Mine, too,” she confessed, a bit surprised. Then before she realized what she was doing, she thrust the brown paper bag at him. “Here. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks.”

  He reached out and took the candy from her, his fingers, warm and strong and rough to the touch, closing around hers for the briefest of seconds before she snatched her hand back.

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper over the children,” she said in a rush. “It isn’t like me to be so...poorly behaved. I really was brought up to know better.”

  “I didn’t exactly put my best foot forward, either,” he admitted. “So now that we’re working together and have mended fences, don’t you think we should call each other by our first names? I mean, we’ll be spending a lot of time together, and it seems silly to be so formal under the circumstances.”

  “I...I suppose it would be all right. I’m Allison.”

  “Not Allie?”

  “Only to my family,” she told him. “I don’t know what my mother was thinking. With Ellie and Allie in the same room it can become confusing, so I usually go by my full name.”

  He smiled and her heart leaped. “Colt.”

  “Colton?”

  “Nope. Just Colt.” He smiled again. “I’m glad we got that settled. I’ll see you soon.”

  For some reason, the innocuous words threw her into a tizzy. She nodded and turned, hurrying toward the street. She’d taken no more than half a dozen steps when she whirled back around to face him. “I was thinking about a couple of things. Cilla has told us about things she’d like to do, but I was wondering about Brady. What does he like to do with his spare time?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, clearly embarrassed that he didn’t.

  Allison was both surprised and not surprised. She was careful not to let her disappointment show. “Well, I was thinking that it might be a good idea to find out and encourage him to pursue something he likes. It seems to me that since he struggles so with his schoolwork, it would do him a lot of good to find something he can excel at. I think it would give him a lot of confidence.”

  Colt mulled over the idea a minute and nodded. “That makes sense.”

  She flashed him a quick, nervous smile. “And when you read with him, try not to let him see how frustrated you get. It seems to me that sometimes he puts the wrong sound with a letter. You might try to reinforce the sounds each letter makes. If he’s slow, that’s okay.

  “Oh, and he loves hearing stories in class, so I was wondering if you could take a little time each day to read to him since it’s such a chore for him. He’s missing a whole wonderful world of books.”

  She saw color rise in Colt’s lean cheeks. “I don’t have any books except Patrice’s family Bible.”

  Allison was certain her shock was reflected in her eyes. To her, the notion that any home would be devoid of books was inexcusable, if not downright sinful. “I’m not a reader.”

  “But you can read?” she asked, wanting to make certain she was dealing with an even more difficult situation.

  “Of course I can read. I just don’t like to.”

  Allison released a deep sigh of disbelief. Unimaginable. Still, it was not her duty, nor was it proper, for her to criticize Colt Garrett’s habits, unless those habits were detrimental to his children.

  “I have a few books I think he’d enjoy. You, too,” she mused. “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Story of a Bad Boy. I’ll have to look and see what else is on my shelves. It’s a shame Wolf Creek has no library.”

  “I’m not sure we should give him any more ideas about being a bad boy,” Colt said. “Seems like he’s a natural at that.”

  Allison couldn’t stifle a sudden burst of laughter. “Not to worry. He’ll love it. It’s a humorous story about a little boy with bad manners.”

  “Sure. Why not?” he said with a shrug. “Actually, it’s a great idea since Cilla claims I don’t show them enough attention. We’ll all read together.”

  Allison turned again to leave, figuring she’d said enough for the moment.

  “Allison?”

  The sound of him calling her name brought her to a stop. She turned slowly.

  “I really apprecia
te what you did for Cilla and Brady today.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It means a lot to me.”

  The expression in his eyes said he was sincere. Her heart throbbed with a sudden ache.

  “Thank you,” she said, then turned toward town and hurried down the street. She walked home, her heart lighter than at any time the past couple of days. She wasn’t so naive as to believe that just because she and Colt had apologized for their deplorable behavior and were working together for his children’s sake that everything would come up roses, but she was encouraged by their tentative truce.

  For the first time, she felt he understood that the situation and her concerns were real, and to his credit, he had taken her suggestions for helping Brady far better than she’d expected. His concern seemed genuine, but like her, he was at a loss as to what to do. At this point, he seemed willing to try almost anything to better the situation, including reading to the kids.

  The first thing she did when she got home was look through her book collection to see what might be interesting for a boy Brady’s age. Besides the two books she’d mentioned, she found two other Twain books as well as a copy of Moby-Dick and a much-read edition of Little Women that she and her sisters had almost worn out. Cilla was at an age that she should enjoy the tale of the four sisters.

  Then, needing some company, she unhooked her purse from a branch of the hall tree and headed to the café. She thought of taking the books over to the sheriff’s, but after a moment’s hesitation, she decided that she would wait until the following day. She didn’t want him thinking she was too eager, or that she was interested in him. Heaven forbid!

  * * *

  “Here we go again,” Cilla whispered to Brady after Miss Grainger left and she’d scurried from her hiding place near the front door, where she’d been stealing peeks at the two grown-ups on the porch.

  “What do you mean?” Brady asked, putting down a glass next to his plate.

  “Pa wants to call her Allison instead of Miss Grainger, and he wants her to call him Colt instead of Sheriff Garrett.”

  “So?” Brady’s forehead was furrowed in puzzlement.

  “When grown-ups start calling each other by their first names, it means things are getting more serious.”

  “You mean like he might start squiring Miss Grainger around like he did those other women?” Brady asked with wide-eyed shock.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “I think they’re just working together to try to get us to act better.”

  “Maybe,” Cilla said with a sigh.

  “And even if there is more to it, we can’t do anything. You heard Pa. If we try to scare her off, it’ll be bad for us, so if you cook up one of your schemes, you can count me out.”

  * * *

  That evening, after Colt got home from work, whipped up the pancakes Cilla’s disastrous trial had given him a hankering for, he sat the children down and tried to get a feel for what they thought about Allison’s ideas to make things better. Neither child said much, but in the end they both agreed that they would try to think before they acted, and they would do their best to cooperate without behaving like brats.

  Then he spent the miserable, promised time reading with Brady, but felt little was accomplished except that he had done what he’d said he would. He vowed to keep his end of the bargain if it killed him, and while reading with Brady might not actually kill him, it just might drive him nuts.

  Later, stretched out in his lonely bed, his arm across his face, the scenes from the past couple of days played through Colt’s mind as they had throughout the day. When he slept, he dreamed of the prissy teacher who reached out and wiped his mouth with her napkin. In his dream, as he had that morning, he caught her wrist in his fingers, an automatic reaction to her unexpected, disturbing touch. Her skin felt soft and warm against his fingers. This time, he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her closer and pressed his mouth to hers. Her pulse thudded beneath his fingertips, and his heart echoed the crazy rhythm as he sank deeper into the kiss....

  Chapter Five

  Colt had no recollection of his dream when he awakened the next morning. He was shaving when a rogue memory of thoroughly kissed lips flitted unexpectedly into his thoughts, causing the razor to slip. Muttering, he pressed a clean cloth to his chin and glared at his grumpy reflection, searching his mind for any other bits and pieces of the fantasy to give him some hint whom he’d been kissing. Nothing concrete came to mind, but there was a nagging suspicion that kept cropping up.

  He did know a couple of things. First, he’d accepted the fact that the problem with his children had passed the nuisance stage. Second, he recognized that they needed guidance, love and more attention than he was giving them. He could do that, too, but what they needed was a mother. And as much as it galled him to admit it, he needed someone, too.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that he wasn’t going to find the kind of love he and Patrice had shared this second time around, but that didn’t negate the fact that it was time to find a wife. This time he’d approach it in a different way. He would give serious consideration to every female in Wolf Creek, not just those who struck his fancy, as he’d done in the past. Surely there was someone in town who would be suitable. When he got to work and took care of his morning duties, he’d give it some serious thought.

  PROSPECTIVE BRIDES

  Colt wrote the title at the top of the tablet on his desk, using bold capital letters and underlining it. He wrote numbers down the left-hand side of the page and spent the next ten minutes staring at the front door, racking his mind for the names of eligible young ladies who might make a decent wife.

  Finally he wrote Holly Jefferson and Letitia Farley in positions one and two, even though it was doubtful that these two young women whom he’d wooed before would give him another chance, even if he explained to them that he’d laid down the law to the kids and promised there would be no more trouble. As his mama always said, a person had only one chance to make a first impression.

  Besides, Holly had been seen around town with James Turner the past few weeks, and after some observation, he’d realized that Letitia, who was mighty easy on the eyes, had to be the most helpless female in town, hardly the kind to be much of a helpmeet. He just couldn’t picture her standing up to Brady and Cilla without dissolving into a puddle of helplessness.

  He drew lines through their names and stared some more, softly whistling the evocatively beautiful “Lorena” while he tapped the pencil on the table. Ellie and Doc Rachel were out since Ellie had made it clear she could not marry anyone, and Gabe had won Rachel’s hand. Think, Colt. Think! Young unmarried women.

  Finally, he wrote Jocelyn Cole. Another of Cilla and Brady’s victims. Jocelyn was younger and more likely to be forgiving of the kids’ trespasses than the other two. Beside her name, he added Young. Pretty. Likes kids. Sweet. He thought of the irritating way she often burst into giggles at the most immature things and scratched through her name...twice. Too young. He needed a wife and a mother for his kids; he didn’t need another one to bring up.

  He needed someone older, settled. Ellie’s friend Gracie Morrison came to mind. He sighed and determinedly wrote Gracie Morrison next to the number four, then added Twenty-five or twenty-six. Smart. Very nice. He couldn’t put that she was homely and ungainly, though it was true. Besides, her genuine goodness made up for her lack of beauty and grace, giving her her own brand of prettiness. What else? He knew for a fact that she’d been trained from childhood in all the wifely pursuits. Gracie was also very perceptive and fair-minded. She would be a good wife.

  He leaned back in his chair and tapped the pencil against his lips. The problem was, he felt not the slightest bit of attraction to her, and desperate or not, if he was going to have to settle for less than love, he at least needed to feel some sort of desirability.<
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  4. Gracie Morrison. Twenty-five or twenty-six. Smart. Very nice.

  With a single bold line through her list of attributes, Gracie was out of the running.

  Single women, Garrett! Think.

  Ah! Widows! He needed to consider widows, not just women who’d never been married. Let’s see—there was Lydia North, but she’d made it pretty clear that after losing her husband, Jake, she would never marry again. Besides, she was so shy, he doubted she could even hold up her end of a conversation. He didn’t even bother writing down her name.

  How about sweet-as-apple-pie Sophie Forrester? Sophie’s husband had been killed more than two years ago in a logging accident. She was a sweet woman and pretty enough in a tired way, and she was only a couple of years older than he. On the negative side, she had three ornery boys of her own. Nope. Sophie was definitely out. He didn’t want to add to his misery. Not intentionally, anyway. He drew a heavy line through her name.

  He was staring at the scratched-out names on his list when Dan spoke up from behind him. “What’s wrong with Gracie?”

  Colt flinched in surprise and glared at his second-in-command, who was peering over his shoulder. Big Dan Mercer, his fortysomething, never-been-married deputy, had taken their solitary prisoner’s dirty breakfast dishes back to Ellie’s. Colt hadn’t heard him come in the back door. Blast it all! He hadn’t intended for anyone to know about the list. Now Dan would no doubt blab it all over town.

  “Not a word about this, Dan,” Colt growled.

  “What’s to say?” the burly older man demanded, a cross expression on his craggy face. “It ain’t like everybody in town don’t already know you’re huntin’ for a wife. I’m just curious about why you crossed out Gracie. She’s a fine woman, if you ask me.”

  “I agree,” Colt said. “She’s one of the finest. She’s just not the right one for me.”

  “Oh.” Big Dan cleared his throat and shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, since you marked her off your list, you won’t mind if I ask to call on her, will you?” Dull color crept into his lean cheeks, which bore several scars from his years spent boxing for a living back East.