Paper Roses by Amanda Cabot Page A

used to say, take kindly to the idea of being separated for the entire working day. On the other hand, Clay understood the Rousseaus’s position. He had been inside the mercantile and could not imagine as active a child as Thea spending hours there. What would Sarah do?
    When Austin had learned of Thea’s existence, he had told Clay the presence of a child was another part of God’s plan. They had both discussed the fact that, although a bride would normally be in charge of the household, Martina could not be displaced from her position as housekeeper. Not only was their father dependent on her, but he had promised Martina and Miguel positions on the Bar C for the rest of their lives. That was the crux of the problem. Although no one expected Austin’s wife to work on the ranch, both Clay and Austin knew she would require something to occupy her days. Caring for Thea, Austin had declared, would give Sarah something to do while they waited to be blessed with a child of their own. That was God’s plan, he claimed. Unfortunately, the plan was not working out the way Austin had envisioned.
    “Martina’s too busy to watch Thea,” Clay told Sarah.
    She nodded. “I assumed that. I’m hoping to find someone in town who’d be willing to keep Thea during the day. Isabelle mentioned a woman named Frau Reismueller.”
    The Reismuellers had six children of their own. While Clay doubted they’d object to caring for another, he was not certain it was the best place for Thea. She was accustomed to a lot of attention, and that was something Frau Reismueller could not provide.
    Stop it! Clay told himself. This is Sarah’s problem, not yours. If Thea’s unhappy here, maybe they’ll leave. But, despite his admonitions, Clay could not stop thinking about the child.
    As the wagon rolled by the Bramble ranch, he stared at his neighbors’ home. “There may be another answer.” Clay gestured toward the two-story house and adjacent barn. “Mrs. Bramble might be able to help you. She doesn’t do any of the ranch work, so she’d have time. And”—this was the trump card—“her son David was Austin’s closest friend. She might consider caring for Thea an act of friendship.”
    Sarah appeared pleased by the suggestion. “Could we stop there now?”
    Clay had no intention of spending time listening to two women chatter. “Wait until tomorrow. Today’s your first lesson in driving a wagon.” And, if Clay was a good teacher, her last. Once she could control the wagon, they could go their separate ways, and he wouldn’t be bothered by a woman and a little girl who reminded him of dreams that would never come true.

    He didn’t mind the horses, Clay reflected as he smoothed wrinkles from the saddle blanket and reached for Shadow’s saddle. Although he disliked almost everything else associated with the ranch, he didn’t begrudge the time he spent with the horses.
    Clay tightened the cinches and led Shadow out of the stable. The sky was the faultless blue that he associated with the happy days of his childhood. It would be the perfect weather for a ride, if Clay were a child again. But he was not a child. Those carefree days were over, replaced by adult responsibilities, the foremost of which were hundreds of what Pa used to call “gold on the hoof.” Clay had other, far less complimentary, terms for the cattle. To him, the animals Pa thought were so valuable were nothing but a source of endless work. The roundup was bad enough, but there was also the branding, the constant culling out of the sick and injured, the feeding of orphan calves, and the worry that a sudden storm, drought, or rustlers would wreak destruction.
    “No, sirree,” Clay muttered as he mounted Shadow. Raising steers was not the life he would have chosen, no matter how lucrative it could be. He never had understood why Austin and Pa found ranching so rewarding. They spoke of freedom, of the wide-open spaces, of not being at someone’s beck and call. Ha!