The Cowboy Father. Linda Ford

Louisa Morgan paused before the battered door of the Hamilton house. She’d prayed for an opportunity to earn money to help pay the medical bills—bills accumulated on her behalf. Influenza had struck many over the winter, but Louisa had been particularly ill with infection raging throughout her body. The doctor, meaning to be encouraging, said it was amazing she was alive and she should be glad. She was. Truly. But the illness had cost her something very precious…the ability to have children.

She vowed daily she would not let her disappointment turn into bitterness. She would enjoy what God still had in store for her. There was much to be grateful for…the ability to walk about and breathe in the spring air, the chance to continue her studies. She might have been content to keep on with her self-studies at home and not consider looking for a job, except she’d seen Mother slip cardboard into her shoes to cover the worn soles. She’d been about to confront Mother and insist she buy a new pair, but she noticed the pile of bills on the desk and knew Mother wouldn’t buy anything until they were paid.

From that day, Louisa had prayed for a way to earn some money. Unfortunately a depression held the country in its grip. Able-bodied men were out of work. Many of them rode the rails or worked in government-run relief camps. Why would anyone hire a woman with no experience and a history of ill health when there were strong, family men eager to do any available job?

Then the teacher at the local school had asked her to tutor a bedridden little girl.

This job was truly an unexpected blessing and opportunity.

Still she did not knock.

A blessing it might be—and she had no doubt it was—but she had not expected to be thrust into a position that mocked her dreams. Dreams of a child of her own, a family and home of her own. Things she could never have now.

If she stood here long enough, she’d change her mind about the opportunity and answered prayer, decide it was only cruel mockery and walk away. Lord, I believe You are in control and have opened a door for me in answer to prayer. Pushing determination into her limbs, she knocked. Her heart battered against her ribs in determined anticipation.

The door opened. Louisa stilled her face to reveal none of the surprise she felt at the sight of the man in the doorway. He was stocky yet gave the impression of strength and authority. He had a thick mop of dark blond hair. His eyes looked as if they smiled, even though his expression revealed only wariness.

She’d expected an older man. A widower, she’d been told, and for some reason she’d imagined someone like old Mr. Knowles, who had married late and lost his wife to some unnamed illness a couple of years back. Mr. Knowles was bent, his hair almost gone except for a comb-over that caught in the wind, should he remove his hat. Mr. Knowles’s face resembled a pale orange.

The man before her looked like someone used to being outdoors. The clothes he wore bore no resemblance to the broadcloth suit jacket and shiny trousers Mr. Knowles wore. No town clothes on this man, but a yoke-fronted shirt and soft denim jeans. Louisa knew he’d left his ranching life to bring his little girl home to recover from her broken leg.

The little girl was why Louisa was here. “Miss Ross, the teacher, said you need a tutor for your daughter.” Adele Ross had said Mr. Hamilton insisted he approve the tutor she recommended. “I’m here to see if I’m—” Suitable. The word stuck in her throat. She wasn’t suitable. She knew that. She had no formal education, unless one counted the few months Judd Kirk had tutored her last summer, before he married Louisa’s sister, Madge, and moved to a nearby farm.

No formal education. No experience. A history of poor health. And barren. The word thundered through her head.

However, she was not here as a marriage candidate. She simply needed the job. She had no intention of letting her emotions become involved in any way. That would only lead to deeper sorrow.

“My name is Louisa Morgan, and I think I can provide your child with adequate tutoring.”

“Miss Morgan.” His voice was deep and gravelly. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Emmet Hamilton, as I’m sure you know. Please come in and we’ll discuss the position.” He stepped aside and indicated she should enter the house.

She tucked courage under her heart, strength into her legs and crossed the threshold. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Something brushed her ankle and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, stifling a squeal of alarm. It was only a cat, and she sighed.

“Auntie May is very fond of her cats. If you have an aversion or dislike of them, best you say so right away.”

“I’m quite fond of them.” She bent and stroked the big gray cat that meowed at her feet. Suddenly cats sprang from every corner until six crowded around, demanding attention. Louisa chortled at their antics. “Well, look at you guys. Aren’t you pretty little things?”

“They’re a nuisance.”

She straightened and met his eyes, wondering if he objected to his aunt’s pets, but she could read nothing in his expression. Seems the man had learned to hide his opinions rather well. Or perhaps he found it inappropriate she should spare the animals attention. Despite the continued demands of the cats, she determinedly ignored them, hoping it would prove her seriousness.

“Have a chair.” He pointed toward a wingback chair in maroon upholstery.

She sat and glanced about. The room was crowded with furniture—three armchairs, a sagging brown sofa, at least eight little tables, their tops cluttered with knickknacks. And not only the sort of pretty decorations one would expect. Among ornaments of birds of various colors and in various poses there were

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