Robin by Julane Hiebert Page B

eyes. But I will say the storm keeping us in Cedar Bluff for the night probably saved Jacob’s life. Who would have heard his cry if we hadn’t stopped for that short time?” He ran a hand over his face. “You might not think God is listening, or that He cares, but He does.”
                  Robin pulled her hands from his. “Then you pray, Mr. Morgan. And when God answers, you let me know.” She stood and allowed the door to slam behind her. He sounded more and more like a preacher, and she’d learned at ten that preachers couldn’t be trusted.
                  Come, little children. Come meet Jesus. He will forgive your sins and heal all your infirmities . The visiting evangelist seemed so confident—so promising. She ignored the frown on her mother’s face and the tittering of other children as she limped down the aisle that night. They could laugh all they wanted. Jesus was going to heal her. They’d see.
                  Only He didn’t. The preacher was wrong.
    And it took fifteen bumpy steps to return to her parents.

 
     
    FIVE             
                   Ty stepped off the porch and took a deep breath of summer air. Could there be a sweeter scent than dew-drenched, sun-warmed prairie? With luck, he’d be able to leave before anyone could question him. But a clatter of feed buckets, followed by his foreman’s long-legged stride toward him, signaled he’d waited too long.
                   “You headed for the Feather again today, boss?” Rusty raised one eyebrow.
                  Ty scowled. “What do you mean, again?” He loved this guy like a brother, but the hitch in his eyebrow was more than a question—it was an insinuation. And he didn’t like it.
                  Rusty shrugged. “Every day last week, third day this week, and it bein’ Wednesday. Can’t say I blame ya none. Right cute little boy. Probably more than John can handle by hisself. But that fishin’ pole ya got in your hand should help.”
                  Ty grinned in spite of himself. “All little boys deserve to know the thrill of pulling a three-pound catfish out of a creek. Didn’t your pa ever take you fishing?”
                  “Ever chance we got to sneak away from Ma and my sisters. But sure don’t remember Pa ever smelling so sweet or wearing his white shirt on a weekday. You got special orders today?”
                  Ty removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “None we’ve not already talked over—keep an eye out for anything or anyone strange. Still can’t believe a man would up and leave his wife and child alone with a storm approaching. Would’ve thought the woman was traveling alone if I hadn’t found men’s clothing among the debris.”
                  “The boy still won’t talk about it?” Rusty set his buckets on the ground and propped one foot on the bottom rung of the corral fence.
                  “I haven’t questioned him. Robin . . . er, Miss Wenghold thinks we should let him take his time about what he wants us to know. He doesn’t trust men, that’s for sure, except for John.”
                  “Not even you?”
                  “He’s slowly coming around. That’s why I’ve been going so often. Miss Wenghold says if he can see that she trusts me, it might help. And you can wipe that smile off your whiskery face.”
                  Rusty smoothed his long mustache. “Oh, trust is important, boss. Almost as important as woman-cooked meals, walks down the lane, and poundin’ posts in the ground to string wire across so’s there’d be a place to hang a man’s britches.”
                  “You been spying on me, have you? How much longer do you want to work on this ranch?”
                  Rusty moved away from the fence. “Look, Ty. I ain’t