The Bride of Willow Creek(80)

“But the fire could have burned down the parsonage.” The moonlight was bright enough that she saw him nod.

“If it had happened that way, I suspect Govenor might have made an anonymous donation to Reverend Dryfus so the reverend could rebuild. The point is, it’s too risky to take on another client. Not until things are settled between Govenor and me.” Sam turned his face toward town. “Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there won’t be any more fires because time’s running out. Maybe Herb believes he’s already won.”

Usually this was Angie’s favorite part of the day. When the chores were finished and the girls tucked into bed, then she and Sam came outside to sit on the steps together and talk.

Sometimes they recalled growing up in Chicago and spoke of how the city had grown and changed. Occasionally they filled in bits and pieces of the years they had spent apart. Often they talked about the day just passed, the girls, their neighbors, and the latest town gossip.

She felt so close to Sam sitting together listening to his voice in the darkness, sensing the solid warmth of him on the step above her. It was hard not to remember passionate kisses and the touch of his hands stroking her body. And his mouth. Oh heavens, his mouth teasing her breasts and exploring the inside of her thighs. Heat flooded her body at the memory.

But tonight the conversation had turned in a direction that chased away passionate thoughts. Her chest tightened and her mouth suddenly went dry.

“If you don’t work, how will we pay the bills?” Panic swirled beneath the question. There was enough money in the jars over the stove to carry them for a week or two, but after that . . .

“I’m following a vein of sylvanite that looks like high grade. I’ll know more in a couple of days, after I get the assayer’s report. Selling small quantities of high grade won’t put us ahead, but it’ll pay the bills. If we’re careful.”

“I thought you’d already had the ore assayed.” It seemed to Angie that she was continually shifting money around the jars to find enough funds for another assay.

“I wish one assay were enough, but the gold content can increase or diminish within a few yards. The assays are an ongoing necessity.”

“Sam? What if the high grade runs out?”

He was silent for several minutes. “I won’t let us starve, Angie. You don’t know about ore and minerals and mining, so I won’t ask you to believe in my diggings. But I’m asking you to believe in me. This is the claim I’ve been waiting for ever since I came west. The gold is there.”

Ten years ago she’d had a choice, and she hadn’t believed in him enough to follow him west. Now there was no choice. Whether she believed or not, their fate was tied to his claim. He wasn’t going to seek another building job.

For a moment she watched the moonlight slide on her wedding ring, then she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her raised knees. “Sam? Why didn’t you tell me about the girls?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you adopted them. I thought you were their real father.”

“I am their real father.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m the man who tucks them in at night, and I’m the man who cooks their breakfast and walks them to school. I’m the man who puts a roof over their heads and shoes on their feet. It’s me who worries about their grades and what they eat and who they play with. It’s me who’s proud of Lucy and who hurts inside when I watch Daisy run. Me who’s teaching them not to lie and not to steal and not to be rude and to use their napkins. Someday I’m going to be the man who chases off boys who aren’t worthy of them. And someday I’ll walk them down the aisle and give their hands to men who are worthy of them.”

It was the longest speech Angie had heard him make.

“If that isn’t a father, I don’t know what the hell is.”

“You don’t need to get angry. I’m on your side.”

“Really?” She felt his stare through the darkness. “I ran into the postmaster on the way home tonight. Do you want to explain why we’re paying for two postal boxes?”

Angie’s heart sank. “I’m paying for my box with my own money.” His silence told her that was not the root of his objection. “I’m corresponding with several friends in Chicago,” she said finally.

“Including Peter De Groot?”

“Yes.” She wouldn’t lie to him. “I won’t apologize, Sam. You took the last ten years, but I won’t let you take my future away.”

“You still blame me for those ten years?”