Prairie Cowboy

The dream was dead. Long live reality.

He shoved the door open and staggered back as Rae launched herself into his arms.

“Welcome home, Pa. It’s a special occasion. I love you.”

He squeezed her tight, and recognizing the game they had played for years, he said, “I guess if it’s a special occasion, I love you, too.”

She giggled. “You love me anytime.”

He buried his face in her hair. It smelled sweet and clean. Slowly he raised his gaze and his heart punched a hole clear through his reason as Virnie stood before him smiling a welcome. He glanced about the room. It positively shone. The hole in his reason widened. This was how he imagined the house looking when he had lovingly built it. He jerked his gaze to the stove where pots stood waiting. The scent of roast beef and potatoes caused a flood of hunger. He missed good meals. He tried to stop himself from looking back at Virnie but couldn’t. His willpower had turned all mushy.

She continued to smile. “Welcome home. We’ve made supper for you.”

He let Rae slip to the floor. She continued to press to his side. He squeezed her shoulder, needing something solid to anchor himself to.

He wanted someone to share his life, his home, his daughter. He wanted someone to welcome him home. Someone who would share responsibility in every way, from preparing tasty meals to cleaning the house to—reality kicked in with a vengeance that froze every other emotion.

What he wanted and needed included a woman able to tackle whatever challenges this fledgling country sent. And Miss Virnie White was not that sort of woman. Too soft and pretty to be truly practical.

He pushed his dreams back into the grave and turned to hang his hat and coat on a hook. Right next to a pretty cape and wide-brimmed hat that surely belonged to Virnie. He inadvertently brushed the cape, lifting the scent of sunshine and flowers to his nostrils. For a moment he couldn’t move as his insides responded to the scent. For a heartbeat he let it lift his thoughts from reality. His dreams weren’t about to rest in peace nor to allow him peace.

Rae grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the table. “We made a nice meal. A real meal.”

“We?” He cocked an eyebrow at Rae but his eyes found their way to Virnie who stood demurely to one side, her hands clasped ladylike at her waist and her smile gentle and cautious, almost impatient. Had she been keeping the meal warm for some time?

“Rachael is a wonderful help,” Virnie said.

He turned his attention back to his daughter. “Rae can do most anything she sets her mind to.”

Rae rewarded him with a blinding smile. “I’m tough.”

“That you are,” he agreed.

“The meal is ready.” Virnie’s voice remained low with no hint of disapproval but Conor would not look her way to see how she’d reacted to Rae’s pride in being tough. He didn’t want to deal with it. Not tonight. Not with the house clean and a meal on the table. For today, he would accept the gifts without worrying about what the giver thought of him.

He washed up and sat at one end of the table. Virnie sat at the other end and Rae on the side between them. He trailed a finger over the wood, remembering how he had planed and polished it to smooth perfection. Then, realizing what he was doing, he pulled his hands to his lap. The table didn’t matter any longer. Any more than the rest of his dreams. Dead. Gone.

“Would you like to say grace?”

Virnie’s question pulled him from his mental meanderings. He nodded. Been a long time since he’d felt the need to thank God for anything. He wasn’t sure he should be grateful now. No, he was wrong. For the food ready to eat, he was thankful. As to the other stuff—his resurrected dreams, the gentle woman at the end of the table who was responsible for their revival—perhaps that was his own fault. He should have never asked her to stay with Rae.

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