Chapter Three

Claire studied the bolts of fabric, determining what color would look best on the Wyse girls. Except for Rachel, Violet, and Daisy had blue eyes, and all of them had light brown to blond hair in varying shades. And once their faces were scrubbed clean, their rosy complexions shone through.

Since Thanksgiving, many mothers throughout the town had been busy sewing dresses for their daughters and new shirts for their sons. Mamie Winston made it a point of informing her that the outfits were an early Christmas present of sorts to be worn for the pageant and dance on Christmas Eve.

But the Wyse girls didn't have a mother to fashion a new dress for the occasion, just a father.

And just like that, Lincoln Wyse's glowering, handsome face was at the forefront of her thoughts.

"You'd think he'd remarry. If for no other reason than the children."

The other woman sighed. "It's been more than a year since the accident."

Claire didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the women's voices drifted over the bolts of fabrics on the other side of the aisle, and unless she was stone-deaf, it wasn't possible to miss their conversation.

"Those children need a mother."

"Jennie Tupper said that his mother and sister have been helping when they can. But they've been up at Fort Riley taking care of a new grandchild. To tell you the truth, I think they are forcing him to see sense."

"And by that you mean he should act responsibly and find a wife, Lydia?"

"Precisely. Even the bible says a man should not be alone." The woman named Lydia harrumphed. "I just hope Lincoln Wyse finds a wife sooner than later. My grandson says those girls are late every day for school, and when they finally arrive they look as dirty as dishwater."

Claire's cheeks grew hot. Indignant on behalf of the girls and Linc, anger rippled along her spine. There was a reason she disliked gossipy old hens, and this just reinforced her beliefs. It was just as well the women moved away as every unkind word Claire knew tangled with its fellow and caught in her throat.

Hurriedly, she chose a dark green fabric with sprigs of white and red flowers for the dresses then headed for the counter. On the way, she snatched a roll of red ribbon. The dresses would be perfect for the holiday season.

She handed over the money, ignoring the tiny voice whispering that she should ask Linc's permission before she sewed the dresses for his girls, but she didn't want to risk another uncomfortable meeting with him. She would make the dresses and keep them at school until the night of the pageant.

Linc Wyse might not care what people in Crystal Creek were saying about his children, but Claire McAllister surely did.

Linc pulled the wagon to a stop at the front porch and lifted the girls into the bed. He'd left them to get ready on their own while he hitched up the team, issuing firm instructions that there be no foolishness. Apparently, his lecture worked. They were dressed, complete with coats, hats, and mittens, and waiting for him.

He was tired as all get out. He'd rather sit by the fire, read a chapter or two of Great Expectations, and fall into bed. But he had a Christmas pageant to attend. He snapped the reins with more force than necessary, his irritability these past few weeks twofold.

He was missing his wife. He was missing Katie. Yet, time had a way of easing the grief. He was moving on. He had a farm and stock to see to and three lively girls to raise. I'm doing the best I can, Katie. But if you and the Lord get a minute, I could use a bit of help.

When the schoolhouse came into view, his silent prayer ended when he found a spot as far out as he could. He wanted to be near the road when everyone started to leave. He needed sleep. Milking the cows started early. He pulled the sleigh to a stop and the girls fairly bounced with unbridled energy. He knew they were excited about performing for the community.

He hustled the girls into the building. An older girl met them at the door and guided them toward the makeshift curtain to get ready for the performance. As they disappeared behind the curtain, he moved to find a seat on one of the benches set up in the classroom. Husbands and wives sat together with their younger children. Whole families consisting of aunts, uncles, and cousins filled the benches waiting for the pageant to begin.

Suddenly, Linc felt alone. More alone than when he arrived at church without Katie by his side, and more alone than he felt in his bed at night. He wasn't immune to the behind-the-glove whispers as he tried to concentrate on the paper program in his hand.

Then it happened. The second piece of his two-fold irritability.

Claire McAllister.

The teacher smiled and moved to the center of the stage. "Welcome and good evening, everyone." Though she didn't turn toward him specifically, Linc's heart beat in double time as if she pinned him in place with her extraordinary green eyes, flecked with shades of amber and gold.

He blinked and looked away. Beautiful or not, Claire was a meddling nuisance who had judged him and his family without knowing their circumstances.

A moment later, she completed her short speech and stepped behind the curtain.

The program consisted of the usual skits, recitations, and poems, and at the end, the children invited the audience to join in the singing of A One-Horse Open Sleigh . The audience laughed as the students shook cowbells and sleigh bells pilfered from home. One pint-sized, enterprising student vigorously rang the school bell, its vibrations completely out of sync with the others. Once the song was over, the students bowed and curtsied to foot-stomping and hand-clapping approval.

It was at that moment Linc realized his girls were wearing dark green dresses with red sashes around their narrow waists. Had they been wearing them when they climbed onto the wagon? Why had he not noticed? Had he been so caught up in his own unhappiness that he had forgotten about the new dresses Katie would sew for Rachel and Violet? Were they the same ones from a year ago? The only recollection he had from that time was the undulating grief pulling him under at his wife's unexpected passing.

Surely his mother or sister hadn't fashioned the dresses; they'd been in Fort Riley for nearly a month. Had Ilsa Hagan, owner of the dress shop made them? Or Meg Peterson, the sheriff's wife who sometimes sewed for Ilsa? But with three children and another one on the way, he discounted that idea immediately. That left only one other person.

Claire McAllister.

He stood, nodded to the sheriff, and went in search of his girls. But instead, he saw Claire McAllister. A throng of happy, smiling parents surrounded her, their words of praise reaching him despite the hum of voices in the room.

"Mr. Wyse." She nodded as if she were simply waiting for him. She gave him another one of those smiles that sent such a fierce jolt to his heart that he had to stop himself from rubbing his chest. Yet, the corners of her mouth trembled a bit and Linc had a feeling she was about to say something he didn't want to hear. "May I have a private word with you? Perhaps you can come by the school tomorrow once classes are dismissed for the day?"

Despite the softening of his heart a moment ago, his defenses hardened against the sweet tone of her voice. "Not tomorrow or any other day. I've got a ranch to run." Even to his ears, his words sounded bad-tempered. But he had to stop her meddling in his business before it started.

"It's rather urgent."

With only a foot or so between, Linc shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and sample her temptingly curved lips.

"No." He shook his head to back up his statement, hoping she'd get the message and give up whatever do-good mission she was on.

However, that didn't seem likely.

Sparks flew from her green eyes, and she pressed her lips together…the very same ones he fantasized about kissing only a few moments ago. "It's about the girls, Linc."

As much as he liked hearing his name falling from her lips, he steeled himself against her intrusion into his life. "You've been kind to my daughters, and I appreciate your concern, but me and the girls are fine. Just fine."

"I don't believe that for a minute."

"Believe what you like, Miss McAllister, but it's the truth."

They started talking over one another. "These are my girls. You have no right to tell me how to take care of them. I'll raise them as I see fit."

"But that doesn't appear to be occurring in this case. They need to wash regularly, as do their clothes. And as for coming to school with only a single meal between them, I can't tell you how many times I've packed extra food for them."

"Extra food?" Linc's raised his voice several octaves, then realized the remaining parents and guests were listening intently as if they were the second act of the Christmas pageant. "I'm going to get my girls." He stomped off, then turned suddenly. "I guess I need to thank you for making the girls' dresses," he called out, refusing to look her way for fear her image might stay with him the rest of the night.

Claire refrained from stomping her foot in the presence of the parents and guests.

Lincoln Wyse was, without a doubt, the most stubborn, prideful man she'd ever met.

" And the Lord said to me, ‘I have seen this people, and they are a stiff-necked people indeed!'"

Stiff-necked, indeed! He personified this verse from Deuteronomy each time they exchanged words. Couldn't he understand she only wanted to help the girls? And him? His children needed him, and he was too blinded by his prideful ways to accept help, seeing it only as interference in his life.

For the girls' sake, she was determined not to give up. She was going to help whether he liked it or not.