LITMIR.BIZ

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be lucky if you can drag him out of here with a tractor. Looks like he and ol’ Taco are buds now.”

      “It does, doesn’t it?” She took a strengthening breath and he intuitively knew where her thoughts had headed—to what she’d tell Davy about his stepmother’s situation.

      He lightly touched her arm and, as she turned uncertainly toward him, he clearly read concern for her family in her eyes.

      “Don’t worry, ma’am. You’ll be given the words to explain his mom’s absence. To reassure him. He’ll be fine.”

      She blinked rapidly, hugging her arms to herself in an almost protective gesture.

      “But he hardly knows me. What if—” She compressed her lips together, her dark eyes challenging him for answers to questions she dared not utter. What if something was wrong with the baby? What if his mommy... What if she was all alone with Davy should she get such a call?

      Stepping closer, he reached for her hand, holding it securely when she tried to draw it back. Warm, soft, fine-boned. “God will tell you what to say, what to do. But don’t dwell on the negative. I don’t know if there’s any truth to it, but I’ve heard babies sometimes come early at higher elevations. Everything’s going to be fine. You wait and see.”

      She stared into his eyes, absorbing his words, and his heart rate ramped up a notch. Calm her, Lord. Let her feel Your presence. And while You’re at it, You may need to give me the strength to let go of her hand.

      After a long moment, she gave a slight nod, the worst of the worry in her eyes subsiding. He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

      “Aunt Abby! Look at me.”

      Abby immediately pulled her hand from his and the two again turned as Trey and the boy neared, a toothy grin spread across the youngster’s face.

      When they’d come to a halt in front of her, Abby gave a firm pat to the chestnut’s neck, not timid about it as he would have expected.

      She smiled. “You looked good out there, Davy.”

      “He did,” Brett confirmed as the boy reluctantly handed over the reins to Trey, then removed his riding helmet and reached up to set it atop the saddle horn.

      Brett whipped off his own hat and stepped up to place it on the dark-haired head. “Now you look like a real cowboy.”

      Davy beamed up at him.

      “Get your daddy to buy you a hat.”

      “And some real boots, too?” With a roll of his eyes, Davy looked down at the indignity of his makeshift attire. The class required footwear with a heel so little feet couldn’t slip through stirrups, but today Joe’s son was making do with a pair of laced, heeled work boots. Yep, the boy needed himself a hat and a pair of genuine cowboy boots.

      Brett clapped him on the shoulder. “Mention that to your daddy, too.”

      “Good job, Davy.” Trey lifted a hand in farewell. “See you at church tomorrow.”

      Bubbling over with barely contained happiness, the boy returned Brett’s hat, then turned to half walk, half skip his way across the arena floor. Abby watched him in thoughtful silence, then turned again to Brett.

      “Thank you,” she murmured almost shyly, and he again detected an underlying sadness in her eyes. She nodded to Trey and had barely turned away when a laughing Davy dashed back to grab her hand. Together they jogged toward the arena’s exit.

      Brett twirled his hat on his finger, unable to suppress a grin.

      “I’ve seen a lot of things in my day,” Trey said, shaking his head as he scratched Taco behind the ear. “But now I’ve seen it all. Nobody tops you, buddy. Ninety minutes into an introduction and you’re already holding hands with Davy’s aunt. What was that all about?”

      Avoiding Trey’s incredulous stare, Brett gripped the brim of his hat as he recalled the delicate softness of Abby’s fingers cupped in his work-roughened hands. The sweet, clean smell of her up close and her raven hair shimmering, waiting to be loosed from its ribbon clasp.

      A not-unexpected weight pressed in on his heart and he scuffed a boot in the dirt, shaking off the too-vivid memory. While they were nice to look at and fun to flirt with, he wasn’t in the market for another lady in his life. A wife. It wasn’t likely God would give him the go-ahead for such as that again, anyway. Besides, he needed to stay focused on helping Janet Logan revive that weeklong summer camp for disease-disabled kids. She was the sole person in Canyon Springs who knew why the project was close to his heart. He liked it that way, between the two of them and God.

      “It was all about nothin’, that’s what,” he said with a chuckle as he belatedly remembered Trey was waiting for an answer. “At least nothing like what you’re thinking.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      Sobering, Brett cut a look at his friend and employer. “She got a call that Joe’s wife’s being rushed to the hospital in Show Low. She needed reassurance, that’s all.”

      Trey smiled as the truth dawned. “The baby’s coming?”

      Brett squinted against the light coming in from the open doorway at the end of the building, watching a silhouetted Abby and her nephew heading out to their vehicle. She’d be telling him now. Telling him his mommy wouldn’t be home when they got there because she and his daddy had gone to see about the baby. She’d be assuring him Aunt Abby was excited to spend more time with him and they’d have fun together.

      “Sure sounds like the baby won’t be long in coming.” He settled his hat on his head. “But things are getting off to a rough start. They’d appreciate prayers.”

      He glanced again at the now-vacant, yawning doorway, his spirit whispering a prayer for father, mother, brother, unborn baby sister.

      And for the sad-eyed Abby, too.

      * * *

      “Davy!” Abby called up the stairs of Meg and Joe’s place the following morning. “It’s time to go.”

      She planned to drop Davy off for Sunday school, then he could join her father—his grandpa—for the church service afterward. Dad could take him out for lunch and bring him back home. That way she wouldn’t have to deal with vaguely familiar faces asking if she remembered them or inviting her to take a trip down memory lane.

      Besides, her father admitted he was serious about his girlfriend, Sharon Dixon, owner of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse, so Sharon would likely join them for lunch. Girlfriend. What a dumb label for a woman in her mid-fifties, conjuring up images of starry-eyed teenagers. But companion sounded equally silly and romantic interest stilted. Even though eighteen years had passed since her parents’ divorce and Mom had remarried when Abby was twenty, she hadn’t been prepared to see Dad with another woman. It had been more than awkward that first day when she’d arrived unexpectedly on his doorstep and found Sharon there, fixing lunch for the two of them.

      No, this spur-of-the-moment visit hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped at all. She’d never been an impulsive sort and this was one more confirmation that racing ahead without thinking wasn’t in her best interests.

      “Davy!” she called again.

      “Camy won’t give me my shoe,” the boy’s voice echoed from the second story.

      She cringed. That was her fault. With Davy anxious while his parents were gone, she’d given in and allowed him to bring the year-and-a-half-old Labrador retriever inside to sleep on the floor by his bed. Mistake. At least feeding Skooter, Meg’s blue betta fish, had been uneventful.

      She made it halfway up the stairs to assist him when the cell phone she’d left in the kitchen chimed. Gene again? She’d come to terms with their parting, determined to trust God that it was the right thing for both of them. But with each attempted contact, the dreamer inside her irrationally hoped he was experiencing regrets about their breakup.

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