thought of Patrick’s last letter. Storms are common, Dani. Life here is hard. Are you sure you want to marry me?
She’d written back. I love storms!
Noah had built an ark. Christ had calmed a stormy sea. She’d seen blizzards in January, tasted the cold and watched tornadoes drop from summer clouds. She’d felt the fear and clung to her faith. Not once had God let her down. She refused to doubt Him now, yet how could she not wonder, just a little, if God had blinked and left Patrick to die?
Weak in the knees, she led Emma to the divan. “When did it happen?”
Mr. Morgan shot her a look of warning, then spoke to Emma. “Go upstairs. I’ll tell her.”
“No!” the child cried.
Did this man really think silence would spare Emma the memories? Dani had been the same age when her mother died. She’d brought home a cold from school. Leda Baxter had nursed her daughter and died of pneumonia. Silence had turned Dani’s childhood home into an open grave, leaving her alone with the same twisted guilt plaguing Emma. No way would she leave the child to suffer as she had.
Dani took Emma’s hand. “What happened, sweetie?”
“The storm turned the sky black.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “I sent Ellie and Esther to the cellar, then I came up here to watch for Pa. I stood right there.”
She pointed to a spot in front of the side-by-side windows looking into the yard. Beau Morgan’s back blocked the view, so Emma leaned to the side to see around him. Dani craned her neck, as well, but he put his hands on his hips, blocking the view with his bent elbows. When Emma walked to the edge of the window so she could see the yard, Dani joined her. Standing behind the child, she placed her hands on Emma’s thin shoulders and followed her gaze down the road to a distant pine.
“Do you see that tree?” Emma asked.
“I do.” Dani looked at the charred branches and blackened trunk of a ponderosa. She’d passed it on the way to the farm.
“I saw the lightning strike. The air buzzed, then everything went white and thunder shook the house. A minute later, Pa’s horse galloped into the yard.”
Riderless.
Against her will, Dani saw the pelting rain, the mud, the empty saddle.
Emma’s voice cracked. “Lightning hit again. Everything turned as bright as day. That’s when I saw that Buck had no tail. His rump had a burn on it. I could smell the hair.”
Beau Morgan reached across the span of the window and touched the child’s back. His sleeve rode up his forearm, revealing tense muscles and a jagged scar above his wrist. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
As the child stared into the yard, Dani stroked her arms. The images in Emma’s mind were sacred, hers to share or bury as her heart demanded. The clock ticked. Chickens pecked the dirt by the barn as Dani stared at the gouges left in the mud by Patrick’s horse. Next time it rained, she’d stomp them flat.
Emma saw the marks, too. “I knew Pa was hurt, so I ran outside. Buck died right in front of me.”
Dani held in a groan that would do no good. As a child she’d embroidered samplers with her favorite Bible verses. For God so loved the world…Peace I give to you…Staring into the empty yard, she felt the thinness of the thread shaping those words. She’d snapped it with her teeth or snipped it with scissors. Listening to Emma, Dani felt a new tension stretching her faith.
Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I found Pa by that pine tree. His clothes were burned and he was lying in the mud, but he was still alive.”
Why, Lord?
It wasn’t like Dani to doubt God’s ways, but she couldn’t stop the anger welling in her middle. These children had already lost their mother. Why had God taken Patrick, too? She stared at the window where a pale reflection of Emma’s face stared back. Tears trickled down the girl’s cheeks, glistening like silver ribbons.
Emma squared her shoulders. “He looked me right in the eye, then he touched my nose like he did when I was little. He said he loved us, then he saw Mama. I know, because he called her name.”
Dani refused to be jealous. Patrick had loved his first wife with a dedication she admired and wanted for herself. He’d called her Beth, short for Elizabeth. They’d been childhood friends. Two years ago, Beth had died of a ruptured appendix.
Dani gripped Emma’s shoulders. “He’s with your ma now. I know for a fact he’s looking out for you right this minute.”
“He loved you, too.” Emma wiped her eyes, then faced Dani. “You said in your letters that you’d be our new mother. Pa’s gone, but—”
“I’m keeping that promise.”
Dani hugged the girl hard. They sobbed together until the river of tears turned to a trickle. Grief would rain on them again, filling the wells, but for now they were spent.
Beau Morgan cleared his throat. “You may not be aware, Miss Baxter. I’m the girls’ legal guardian.”
Dani straightened, then met his gaze. “I’m very aware, Mr. Morgan. Patrick named you as executor several years ago.” Her next words would settle the issue for good or start a battle she couldn’t lose. “I have a letter in my trunk. It clearly states his more recent intentions.”
“And what were those?”
“He asked me to adopt the girls.”
“Contingent on marriage?”
“Of course.”
Mr. Morgan raised one thick brow. “And the farm? Would he want you to have that, too?”
Dani hadn’t thought that far. “I suppose.” She needed a way to support the children.
Beau Morgan rocked back on his heels. “Miss Baxter, you’re either naive or a con artist.”
Dani’s mouth gaped. “How dare you!”
“No, how dare you.” His voice stayed as flat as a coin. “I’m a blood relative with legal authority. You waltz in here and announce you want my nieces and a farm that’s worth a good amount of money.”
“I don’t care about the money!”
“Of course, you don’t.” His lips curled with contempt.
“Frankly, it doesn’t matter what you want. I have an obligation to see to my nieces and I intend to meet it.”
Staring into the man’s eyes, a green that reminded her of dying grass, Dani saw good reason to trust Patrick’s assessment of him as crazy. She judged him to be in his midthirties, a few years older than his brother, but far less settled. Judging by the ragged ends of his hair, he’d cut it himself with a knife. The dark blond strands brushed his collarless shirt like a worn-out broom. Dani’s eyes skimmed across the denim that had once been green or blue. She couldn’t tell which. The sun had bleached it to turquoise, a soft color that blended with the dust on his brown trousers and the unraveling yarn of his gray sock.
