A Heart's Blessing - Linda Ford Page 0,6

business here. Remember, I told you to stay in our yard.”

Sally nodded, her gaze coming to Ryder’s and staying there. Eyes so blue. So trusting. Just as a child’s should be. Just as Myra’s had been when she stood before Ryder just like this. He wondered what he had scolded her for and could think of nothing important enough to bring tears to her eyes.

His jaw clenched. He’d come here to forget. To start over. He would not let the neighbor’s child divert him from his plan, no matter how sweet she was. How trusting. How innocent.

Raw nerve endings jolted to his spine and he jerked around, glad no one watched or observed his clumsy movements as he went to the worktable and gathered together the knives and punches he had put out, intending to work on a belt. He set them all on a high shelf and stood with the table between himself and Miss Morton and her child. As if the wooden slab could protect him from the memories, wishes, and disappointments their presence brought.

Miss Morton smiled at Sally. “You go on home and find Kent. He’s worried about you.”

Sally smiled, the sunshine gathering in her face. She trotted out the door.

Miss Morton sighed. “I do not care for her to see me limp home.” She got to her feet, grabbed the far edge of the table, and hobbled along. A space of about four feet stood between the table and the door. She tentatively tried to use her injured foot, but the color drained from her face and she swayed. Ryder leapt forward again, fearing she might crash to the floor, incurring another injury.

“Let me help you.” He didn’t want to be involved, but what choice did he have? Irony seemed to be his constant companion this day.

She waved him away. “I’ll be fine.” She hopped to the door and grabbed the frame for support. As he watched, she hobbled the rest of the way to the café. He could well imagine she collapsed on the nearest chair inside and could go no farther.

He planted his palms on the table and leaned forward. His first visitor, and she’d been injured. He felt responsible. But what could he do?

He returned to his quarters where he’d been in the process of opening a can of beans. At least he had some bread left to go with it. He went to the window and looked at the café. From his viewpoint, he could watch the back door that he knew led to the kitchen.

He’d observed the three women hustling in and out, getting wood, taking out slop, bringing in water, feeding the chickens, shutting them in for the night. The three of them seemed to keep busy. Now there were only two of them, and Miss Morton might have a broken ankle. How would they manage?

Not his problem.

He studied the cracked window ledge. Traced the crack with his finger. A person should fill that and paint it.

A person should look after things properly. That principle had been drilled into Ryder by his father, who did everything with care and precision. A trait Ryder had learned well.

Not that taking care of things guaranteed there’d be no disaster but still, a man had to do the best he could.

A movement caught his eyes and he looked up to see Miss Morton step out of the house. She held a pail in one hand and with the other, gripped the doorframe.

Someone must have spoken to her, for she shook her head and moved forward enough she could pull the door closed. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line.

Did she intend to hop across the yard with that bucket? Was she trying to injure herself further?

He pressed his fingers to his forehead. It was his fault. And if things got worse, it would also be his fault.

He flung from the back door and crossed the distance between them in long strides, not caring if he appeared angry. He arrived at her side and reached for the bucket. “I’ll take it.”

She jerked it away from him. “I can manage.”

They stared at each other. No doubt she meant to look fierce, but the pain she tried so valiantly to hide showed in the way her eyes couldn’t hold focus.

“You’re in pain. Your ankle could be broken.”

“It’s not broken.” Each word came through clamped teeth.

“Did you look at it?” He eased the bucket from her grasp. “Is this for the chickens?”

She nodded. “I don’t want