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being carried, Clay complied. “I’ll take you to the cabin.” Though he could have walked around the perimeter of the main house to reach the cabin that would have been Austin and Sarah’s home, the shortest distance was through the house.
    Sarah gave him a rueful smile. “I’m afraid Thea won’t sleep for a while now.” She held the child’s hand in an obvious attempt to restrain her enthusiasm. “If he’s still awake, I’d like to meet your father.”
    Clay tried not to frown. He had hoped to postpone the inevitable, at least until morning. Now even that slight reprieve was impossible. A difficult day had just grown worse.
    “My father’s room is this way.” Clay ushered Sarah into his home. Though constructed of rough timber like the neighbors’, the house his parents had built was smaller than either neighbor’s, containing only one large central room that served as a gathering space as well as a place to eat. That room was flanked by a modest cooking area and two bedrooms, one on each side.
    Hoping he was successful in concealing his worries, Clay led Sarah to the bedchamber on the right. This was where Pa had spent most of his life for the past year, the walls imprisoning him as surely as a Mexican jail once had. And now this woman—this stranger—would see him and pass judgment on him.
    As they stood in the doorway of his father’s room, Clay tried to view it from Sarah’s perspective. Though the massive bed and bureau dominated the chamber, Clay was certain Sarah’s attention was drawn to the man in the chair. A year ago he had been a tall, sturdy man with gun-metal gray hair and blue eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm when he spoke of his beloved ranch. Today, only the hair was unchanged. The blue eyes were dull with pain, and the rancher who once strode confidently across a room or a paddock now sat slumped in the chair, the right side of his face twisted in a horrible caricature of a once vibrant smile.
    Though he wished with every fiber of his being that he could spare his father the indignity of the next few minutes, Clay could delay no longer. He gestured toward the woman who stood on his right, her hand clasping Thea’s. “Pa, this is Miss Sarah Dobbs, the woman who was going to marry Austin.” Not wanting to see pity or revulsion on her face, Clay refused to turn toward Sarah as he continued the introduction. “Sarah, may I introduce you to my father, Robert Canfield?”
    There was a moment of silence before Pa spoke, his words so badly slurred that Clay was certain only he understood that Robert Canfield was welcoming Sarah to the ranch. Stiffly, Clay waited for Sarah’s reaction. Would she turn and run, as Patience had that first day? Would she mutter words of sympathy to Clay, as if Pa had lost his hearing along with his ability to speak? The neighboring ranchers had done that. Would she simply stand immobile, frozen with horror? That had been the response of the churchwomen.
    Sarah did none of those things. Instead, she murmured something to Thea, something that made the little girl smile. Together they walked across the room, Sarah’s limp more pronounced than ever. Clay stared, astonished, as Sarah knelt next to the wheeled chair and took Pa’s left hand in hers. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Canfield, although I wish the circumstances had been different.” Her voice, low and melodic, sounded sincere. “You see, I lost both of my parents less than a year ago, and I’ve been looking forward to having you as my new father.”
    For the first time since Austin’s death, Clay saw a spark of hope in his father’s eyes. But Pa wasn’t looking at Sarah. His attention was focused on the little girl at her side.
    “Grandpa!” Thea punctuated the word with a giggle.
    Sarah probably thought it was a grimace, but Clay knew the truth. By some miracle, his father was smiling.

    Clay wasn’t smiling the next morning, but, then again, he couldn’t recall smiling very often in the