Chapter One

Crystal Creek, Kansas

December 1875

A storm was brewin'.

Linc Wyse looked to the north, then across the pasture where his herd of dairy cows ambled toward the barn. Storms that blew in from that direction usually were fierce, often resulting in a blizzard. His daughters would be home from school soon and together he and his eldest daughter, Rachel, would get to work milking the cows. But Rachel was the only one of his three girls who was old enough to understand what needed to be done without hurting herself. At eight years old, she couldn't offer much in the way of help, but at the moment she was all he had.

"Papa!" He turned away from looking at the sky as his youngest daughter raced toward him. She ran from the road into the yard as if he would disappear at any minute. No matter how often he'd reassured her that he wasn't going anywhere, she still wasn't convinced. She had gone to her Nana's house one afternoon last fall when everything was right in her world only to return to find her mother gone and her father tormented with grief.

He dismissed the thought. Re-hashing the past never did any good. All he could do was move forward and hope for the best. He had no other choice.

"Papa! Papa!" Daisy flung herself at his legs, giving him no choice but to hug her to his knees before swinging her into his arms. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, but her blue eyes, so much like his were wary. "I'm glad you're here, Papa."

"Of course, I am, Daisy." Kissing her temple, he wanted to hold her close to his heart until all the clouds left her eyes. But that wouldn't have solved anything. If anything, he feared it would only make her more anxious.

As usual, Rachel and Violet had long since forgotten their promise to keep Daisy close by them. They plodded the same route Daisy had taken but at a decidedly much slower pace, their lunch pails swinging from their hands.

"Inside, girls," Linc instructed. "We'll have a glass of milk and some cheese before we start our chores." Raising dairy cows at least assured them of fresh milk, cream for his coffee, and cheese for their lunches—when he got around to making it.

The girls didn't complain; they knew better, but it didn't stop them from dragging their feet as they trekked to the house. As they removed their coats and set their lunch pails on the drain board, Linc rinsed out four glasses before getting a pitcher of milk and a hunk of cheese wrapped in a cloth from the cold box on the porch. He tried not to think about how the dishes needed to be washed, dried, and stored after every meal.

He cut the cheese into chunks and placed them on a dish along with some stale crackers from the mercantile. Though he was anxious to get the chores done, he idly chewed his cracker, its flavor tasting more like sawdust in his mouth. He looked around the table, watching the girls pick at the cheese and crackers. They had no more interest in eating them than he did. What wouldn't he give for one of his mother's molasses jumbles?

"When is Nana and Auntie Betts coming back?" Rachel asked. Her cracker, broken in two, surely tasted as unappetizing as it looked.

Three weeks ago, they'd gotten word that Linc's sister-in-law had given birth to twin boys up in Fort Riley. Immediately, his mother and his only sister, Betsy, made plans for the twelve-hour train ride East, leaving Linc and the girls to fend for themselves. His brothers had their own families and problems. If nothing else, their absence made it clear that it was time for Linc to move on and figure out what to do about stale crackers and the everyday care of his daughters.

"Papa?" Rachel turned her blue eyes to him. "Is Nana and Auntie Betts ever coming home? They've been gone for such a long time."

Linc swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Of course, sweetpea." He supposed ten days seemed like forever to an eight-year-old. "She'll be home for Christmas." He couldn't imagine Doreen Wyse not celebrating the Lord's birth. His mother loved the holidays, fussing over the baking, and decorating the house inside and out with fragrant cedar boughs, ribbons, and of course, a Christmas tree.

Despite his own doubts, the girls seemed to accept his answer.

But now more than ever, he could see how hard his family was struggling without the care of a woman in the house. The girls needed a woman to help them with their hair, to care for them, and to show them all the things a mother shows her daughters.

But their mother had only been gone a year, and the thought of marrying again didn't sit well with him. He shook his head to dismiss the idea.

"Let's go, ladies," he announced, shooing his daughters toward the pegs where their outerwear hung. "Those cows get ornery when we don't milk them on time."

Claire McAllister guided the buggy down the lane that led to the Wyse home and told herself she was doing this for the girls. Rachel, Violet, and Daisy needed her help. But never in all her twelve years of teaching did she have to visit a parent for something like this. She had gone to check on sick children or those who were truant.

But never for negligence.

The word stuck in her throat as she set the brake, wrapped the reins securely, and took a deep breath. It had to be done and there was no way around it. As the teacher in Crystal Creek, it was her duty.

Just go in there, Claire , a little voice urged. If it's as bad as you think, leave, and get Pastor Cullins's wife. She'll know what to do.

With her mind made up, Claire slid from the buggy and headed for the house. She glanced at the clouds rolling in from the north and tugged her woolen coat tighter around her as the wind whipped through a line of gum trees. She scanned the yard and pastures, making note that they looked no better or worse than those of the other students' homes. Inside, however, might be a different story."

"Can I help you?"

Claire spun around at the sound of the gravelly male voice behind her. The man was tall and broad through the chest and shoulders if the buttons straining the fabric of his mackinaw were any indication. She was thankful she was standing on the top step, two feet above him, otherwise, he would tower over her own unusually tall frame. Or perhaps, it was the scowl pulling the corners of his mouth down that made him appear…intimidating.

His brow rose in question. "Can I help you?" he asked again, adding a degree of annoyance to his voice.

"I, um…" She stumbled over her words and tried to calm the fluttery feelings in her stomach. "I'm here to see Lincoln Wyse." She managed to get the words out. Yet the voice sounded nothing like her own.

He propped one foot on the bottom step. "You're looking at him."

Claire pressed her hands against her stomach. Wasn't that just her luck? Not only was the man already seemingly annoyed at the interruption. Now she had to report on the sad state of his daughters.

"Rachel! Violet!" Daisy ran from the barn, her sisters trailing behind her. Her unbuttoned, threadbare coat flapping in the breeze. Just one more thing to speak about with Mr. Wyse , Claire said silently to herself. Children get sick so easily in chilly weather.

Claire quickly descended the steps preparing for one of Daisy's fierce hugs when Mr. Wyse curled an arm around his daughter's waist and hauled her to his shoulder.

"You know her?"

Rachel and Violet bobbed their heads. "She's our teacher," they chorused in unison.

When he turned to look at her, Claire nodded, giving credence to their statement. She'd always made it a practice to meet the parents of all her students at the start of the school year. It was just another checkmark against Lincoln Wyse. He'd sent his sister Betsy in his place.

"Claire McAllister." She reached out a hand to shake. He looked at her hand for so long that she wasn't sure he would touch her. Finally, his hand clasped hers. Claire felt the jolt from her head to her feet. It was as if Zeus had flung a lightning bolt down from the heavens and marked her squarely in the heart. Disconcerted, she snatched her hand away as quickly as possible.

"What can I do for you, Miss McAllister."

"I wish to speak with you alone, Mr. Wyse, if that's possible." Though she spoke with confidence, her voice was shakier than she would have liked.

"Girls, go inside and wait for me in the sitting room."

They did as they were told but couldn't resist giving Claire a quick hug before clambering up the steps and into the house.

The clouds grew darker, delivering the first flakes of snow. "What's so important that you couldn't speak in front of my girls?"

Given that she'd been teaching school for a dozen-plus years, she'd often had to tell a parent that their child wasn't behaving, was bullying the other children, or was falling behind in their work. But telling a parent they were remiss in taking care of their children's needs was charting an unfamiliar territory for her.

Yet, she had to address the issue for the girls' sake.

"It's the girls."

His scowl deepened. "The girls? What's wrong? Are they acting up in class?"

"No."

"Having trouble with their reading or figuring their sums? Violet can be ornery at best when she doesn't catch on right away."

"Oh, no, nothing like that." Claire smiled. "All the girls are very bright. In fact, they've already learned their lines for the Christmas pageant."

He grabbed his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, leaving furrows in his wake. "So, if it isn't their behavior or their schoolwork," he growled, his voice tinged with impatience, "what's got you so fired up that you needed to come out here in the middle of a blizzard?"

"I hardly think a few snowflakes constitute a blizzard, Mr. Wyse." Claire normally kept her temper in check but sometimes… "It's their clothes," she blurted out.

"Their clothes?" Clearly, the man was stupefied by her statement.

"They look a bit…unkempt when they come to school."

"Unkempt?" Thunder rode his expression and for the first time, Claire noticed his unusual eye color. Not blue or green but an arresting combination of both, reminding her of a piece of sea glass tucked away in a rosewood pencil box in her desk. "Are you saying my girls are dirty?"

Claire shook her head, and despite her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she took a steadying breath as a gust of wind swirled around her ankles. "The other children are beginning to notice…some of them are teasing your daughters, especially when they come to school with stains on their clothes and their hair untidy..." her voice trailed off when she noticed the look on Linc Wyse's face. There was no need to go on.

"If you're finished, Miss McAllister, good afternoon to you. I got chores waiting." He brushed past her and went inside.

Claire stared at the door. "I just want to help, Lincoln Wyse," she said aloud to the wind and snow though she had a feeling he didn't want her help now or ever. As the snow fell harder, she pulled her coat tighter and hurried to her buggy. Well, she'd done what she came for…she'd talked with the girls' father.

Unfortunately, their first meeting didn't quite go as she hoped.