The Cowboy Tutor

Lesson one: Listen to your heart

With the mortgage due and funds scarce, Madge Morgan can’t afford distractions. Especially not from Judd Kirk, her sister Louisa’s meek tutor and—according to their mother’s plans—suitor. Madge’s focus is on her housekeeping job…little knowing Judd’s connection to her employer, or his real reason for coming to Golden Prairie.

At last, Judd has found the man who swindled his mother. Yet if he seeks revenge, he risks losing the one thing he wants even more: a woman with faith enough to rekindle his own. A woman with strong values and a gentle heart. A woman like Madge.

Madge moved close, rested her warm hand on Judd’s forearm.

The touch seared his nerves, stung his thoughts and made him waver. But God’s justice took too long. His mother shouldn’t have to wait.

“Judd. I like that name. Suits you so much better than Justin.”

He covered her hand with his. “I like it better, too.” Especially the way she said it.

“Judd, I don’t want to see you hurt by taking on the role of avenger.”

Caught in her steady gaze, he couldn’t argue.

But he couldn’t agree either.

“I’ll not do anything wrong.”

She lowered her eyes, leaving him floundering for determination about his course of action.

“I pray you will learn God’s way is best.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I appreciate that.”

Neither of them moved. She kept her head down. He let himself explore the feel of her hand beneath his—strong from hard work and yet soft. Just like Madge herself.

LINDA FORD

shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They’ve had their share of adventures, as well. Taking twelve kids in a motor home on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her website, www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.

The Cowboy Tutor

Linda Ford

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Love Inspired!

2012 is a very special year for us. It marks the fifteenth anniversary of Love Inspired Books. Hard to believe that fifteen years ago, we first began publishing our warm and wonderful inspirational romances.

Back in 1997, we offered readers three books a month. Since then we’ve expanded quite a bit! In addition to the heartwarming contemporary romances of Love Inspired, we have the exciting romantic suspenses of Love Inspired Suspense, and the adventurous historical romances of Love Inspired Historical. Whatever your reading preference, we’ve got fourteen books a month for you to choose from now!

Throughout the year we’ll be celebrating in several different ways. Look for books by bestselling authors who’ve been writing for us since the beginning, stories by brand-new authors you won’t want to miss, special miniseries in all three lines, reissues of top authors, and much, much more.

This is our way of thanking you for reading Love Inspired books. We know our uplifting stories of hope, faith and love touch your hearts as much as they touch ours.

Join us in celebrating fifteen amazing years of inspirational romance!

Blessings,

Melissa Endlich and Tina James

Senior Editors of Love Inspired Books

This book is in special memory of my mother who faced many challenges, including the Great Depression, tuberculosis and being mother to a blended family. As I read her journals and the articles she wrote, I see a woman who was hurt time and again by events and by the people she loved, and yet she determined to show nothing but kindness. Seeing her life through her eyes has given me a deep appreciation for her spirit. May her children arise and call her blessed.

* * *

What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?

—Micah 6:8

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Golden Prairie, Alberta, Canada

Summer, 1932

Madge Morgan groaned as steam billowed from the hood of the old clunker that served as car, truck and general chore vehicle. “Why couldn’t you save your cantankerous behavior for two more blocks?” So close to her destination, yet so far. And she was late. Mrs. Crebs, her best and most demanding customer, had already warned Madge she wouldn’t pay to have her laundry done unless it was delivered spotless and on time.

Madge glanced about. She could either trudge back to the center of town and the public pump for water for the radiator and get to the Crebses’ late, or trundle down the street with the bundle of laundry. And still be late.

Her heavy sigh lifted her unruly bangs and provided a welcome breeze to her brow.

Better late than never. She only hoped Mrs. Crebs would agree. At least she couldn’t complain about the condition of her clothing and household articles. They were crisp and spotless.

She grabbed the bundle, staggering under the weight of six sets of sheets, all nicely pressed and folded, and an amazing collection of table linens, trousers and starched shirts, all done exactly as Mrs. Crebs desired. She draped the girls’ fresh dresses over her arm and plowed toward the imposing Crebs house. The stack blocked her view, but the path was straight and level right up to the front steps. Of course, she would dutifully take her armload around to the back door.

The wind pushed her dress about her legs and fought for ownership of the pile of laundry. A pair of sheets slithered sideways. Madge struggled to keep everything together. She should have tied the bundle with twine, but she hadn’t expected to trundle it down the street. She hurried on her way.

And hit a wall, staggered back and lost control of her load. “No!” Her wail was far from ladylike, but she was past caring as the laundry landed in the dirt, little clouds of dust greeting its arrival.

“No. No.” She swallowed back the scream tearing at her throat. No sense in announcing her problems to the neighborhood.

She saved her fury and frustration for the source of her problem—the wall shuddering her to a halt—a living, breathing wall that grunted at her impact. “Look what you’ve done.”

Black eyes snapped. She was certain he saw more than an ordinary man, and she almost quivered. Almost. She knew she’d never forget their intensity…nor the surprise in his voice giving it such deep tones.

“Me? You personally own this sidewalk or something?” He picked up his battered cowboy hat and slapped it against his leg before cramming it on his head, restricting his dark, overlong hair to a thick fringe around the brim. He had a square forehead and a firm mouth.

She suddenly remembered his question. “I own my share. What are you doing in the middle of the way?”

“Standing here. Minding my own business. Is that a criminal offense? First I heard of it.”

“Not criminal. Just…dumb.” The accident wasn’t his fault, and this whole conversation bordered on the absurd. “These things are as dirty as mud.” Mrs. Crebs was going to have a kitten. Probably a whole batch of them, squalling and demanding attention. Nothing to do but pick up the items and try to explain what happened. She reached for the scattered articles, now tossed into disarray by the relentless wind.

Seems the man had a similar notion and bent at exactly the same moment. They cracked heads.

“Ow.” She straightened and rubbed her brow.

“Ouch.” He grabbed after his hat, getting away in the incessant breeze.

The wind increased, picked up gritty dirt and pelted them. They turned their backs into the attack and waited for it to pass.

She scooped up flapping laundry. The starched-and-ironed tablecloth was no longer gleaming white. Mrs. Crebs would be offended, especially when she heard the whole thing had been witnessed in amusement by a couple of men on the sidewalk and several ladies peeking from their windows.

The man responsible for her predicament reached for a starched and now crumpled shirt. She snatched it from him.

“Only trying to help,” he murmured, sounding faintly amused.

“You’ve already done enough.” How was she going to explain this?

Despite her protests, he helped gather up garments and piled them in her arms. Fabric draped and flapped over her shoulders. She hesitated, annoyance and worry warring with good manners.

“You’re welcome,” the man said, grinning widely.

It wasn’t his fault. Yet whom else could she blame?

The foolishness of trying to place responsibility for this whole situation on anyone or anything was as silly as trying to attribute the drought, the depressed prices and life in general to someone. Her life, her future, was in God’s hands. Not man’s. Amusement smoothed her annoyance and relaxed her eyes.

He must have seen the change in her. His grin deepened.

She assessed this stranger. Handsome. Holding himself with strength and confidence. She’d already noted his dark eyes and how they probed. Realizing she stared, she looked away. “Sorry,” she gulped and slowly brought her gaze back to his. His wide grin erased the last flickers of annoyance, and she chuckled. “I don’t always run full force into strangers. Nor do I usually take out my frustrations on unsuspecting visitors. It’s just been that kind of day. I apologize.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Not a problem. We all have our share of troubles these days.”

“Far too true.” If she didn’t take care of Mrs. Crebs, her difficulties would multiply several times. She tore her gaze away from the stranger and paused. “Are you staying in town?” Heat stung her eyes at the boldness of her question. Quickly, she added, “If so, welcome.” She fled with her embarrassment. Now the man would think her both cranky and a dolt.

Her feet slowed as the Crebses’ house came into view. Lord, help me be gracious. Help Mrs. Crebs be charitable and give me another chance. She sucked in a deep breath that did little to calm her nerves, and knocked on the back door.

Mrs. Crebs yanked it open as if she’d been waiting for Madge. Madge knew she would have been staring at the big clock hanging on the wall and clacking her fingernails against the table as she waited. “You’re late again. It’s inexcusable.” Then she saw her laundry and shrieked.

Madge grimaced at the shrill sound, then hurried to explain. “I had an accident. I’m sorry. I’ll take everything home and do it over. I promise it will be spotless.”

Mrs. Crebs snatched articles from Madge. “You’ve ruined my best tablecloth.”

“I’ll fix it.” She would fall on her knees and beg for another chance if it would do any good.

“Don’t bother. I’ve given you more than enough chances. I’ll find someone else. Someone I can trust. I’ve never heard of the Chinaman dumping laundry in the dirt.”

The door slammed in Madge’s face. Mrs. Crebs, with her five children, had been Madge’s best customer. Without the few dollars she made doing the Crebses’ washing, Madge would never scrape together enough for the upcoming mortgage payment.

The future looked bleak.

However, she would not entertain defeat. Somehow, with hard work and perseverance, she would earn the money. Lord, open up another opportunity for me. Please.

With no reason to hurry, she didn’t dash back to the car. Instead, she went out the back gate and headed for the church to pray. She desperately needed God’s help.

Judd Kirk watched the woman rush down the street. That had been an interesting encounter. The first thing he’d noticed about her—aside from the alarm on her face as the stack of linens had tumbled to the ground—had been the mass of wavy brown hair tugged by the wind. Her brown eyes had flashed as if driven by an inner urgency. He recognized the feeling…he’d personally dealt with his own inner force for the past year. She hurried down the street as if chasing after something beyond her reach.

He shifted his stance to study the reason he stood here. The silent house. Obviously still empty. For how long? He’d searched for the man since he’d returned home, as soon as his brother had informed him of the details. This was the closest he’d come to locating him—a house he understood had been rented by the one he sought.

He glanced around. Someone stood at a front gate and called across to a fellow sauntering down the sidewalk. Called him by name. They both watched Judd—noting the stranger in their midst. Golden Prairie was small enough that a fellow hanging about for no apparent reason would attract attention. And speculation. Notice would make him conspicuous and likely alert his prey to his presence.

Not something he needed or wanted. But he intended to stay until he completed his business. Best, however, if he blended into the surroundings.

What he needed was a job allowing him to hang around without raising questions.

Turning, he headed back toward the main street. The storekeeper would know what work was available, preferably out of town yet close enough to allow him to watch this place.

He clumped along the wooden sidewalk and stepped into the store. Dust hung in the air. The scent of leather and coal stung his nostrils. The shelves carried a good array of canned and dry goods. But the whole place held an air of defeat—much like the land around him. And its occupants. “Afternoon.”

“Uh-huh.” The bespectacled man nodded and gave him a long, unblinking study. “You another of Mrs. Morgan’s prospects?”

Judd had no idea what the man meant, but it seemed a trail that might lead somewhere. He would follow it and see. “Could be.”

“Well, you ain’t the first. In fact—” He tipped his head and seemed to count something on the inside of his eyelids. “Lesse, a young fella went out just a bit ago. He was number four. I guess that makes you number five.”

“Seems a lot.” But he didn’t know what they were talking about, so he had no idea if it was or not. Perhaps, with a little leading, the storekeeper would spare the information.

“Mrs. Morgan is a mite particular, especially concerning her eldest daughter, Miss Louisa. Frail she is. Not like Miss Madge. There she goes now.” He nodded toward the window at a vehicle chugging along, coughing and complaining.

In the car sat the young woman who, a short while ago, had steamed into Judd. Madge, the man said. Madge Morgan. Somehow the name suited her. Determined despite disagreeable odds.

The storekeeper languidly continued. “Now, there’s a hard worker. Ain’t nothing goin’ to stop her. No, siree. That gal has been fighting for a decent livelihood since Mr. Morgan died. Doin’ mighty fine, too.”

Judd followed the car’s erratic passage past the store. A fighter. And pretty, too. He brought his attention back to the information the storekeeper had hinted at. “What’s Mrs. Morgan looking for in particular?”

“Just what it says in the advertisement. Here it is if you need to refresh your memory.” He pointed to a newspaper clipping tacked by the cash register. “Don’t think she wanted us to know what she was up to but my brother found the ad in the city paper and sent me a copy.”

Judd leaned over to read:

WANTED: A GOOD MAN TO TEACH INVALID LADY FINER ASPECTS OF LANGUAGES AND ARTS. ROOM AND BOARD IN EXCHANGE FOR LESSONS. MUST BE A TRUE GENTLEMAN.

“A tutor?” Never expected that.

“Miss Louisa’s interested in learning.”

“How old is Miss Louisa?”

“Well, lessee. I think Miss Madge must be eighteen now, though she has more smarts than many twice her age. I guess that would make Miss Louisa nineteen. The three girls are pretty close in age.”

“Three?”

“Yup. There’s Sally, too. Guessin’ she’s seventeen. Miss Louisa’s the prettiest, but in my opinion, Miss Madge, now she’s the one a man should consider. Why, if I was twenty years younger…”

Judd stared as the man’s voice trailed off and red crept up his neck before he cleared his throat and shifted away.

“You say there’s been plenty of interest in the job.”

“Mrs. Morgan is particular. Hey, lookee, there’s number four now. Maybe ask him how it went.”

“I guess I might.” In private. He left the store, strode toward the approaching car and signaled the man to stop. “Hear you were out to the Morgan place.”

“Indeed I was. A most promising situation. I didn’t meet Miss Morgan, but I understand she is frail but eager with a goodly desire to learn. I believe her interests lean toward art history and literature, though I’m certain with a little guidance she will develop an equal keenness for science and Latin.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “The mother is overprotective, which might pose a handicap, but I believe I could have success in overcoming that.” He sat up straighter, though he was small, so his effort to look important lacked impact.

“Well, good luck to you.” Judd stepped back and assessed the information as the man drove away. His years in university might prove productive after all, even if he hadn’t pursued being a teacher.

Yes, indeed, this job would serve his purposes very well.

A week later Madge sang as she hung another batch of laundry. Father had had no idea how the big room upstairs would be used, strung now with row after row of lines, providing a place to dry things away from the invading dust carried by the relentless winds buffeting the house and all God’s creatures.

It was her number one selling point in her offer to do laundry for others—the promise of sparkling white linens. The only way she could guarantee that was by hanging them indoors, out of the dust-laden wind.

She finished pegging the sheet on the line, removed the earlier items, now dry, and started ironing. Her pet cat, Macat, who kept her company as she worked, settled on the nearby stool and began a grooming ritual.

Doing laundry day after day was hard, relentless work, but it was satisfying to produce stacks of fresh sheets and crisp shirts she delivered in town to those people who still had money to pay for her services. Thank God for the few who seemed unaffected by the Depression. The coins she earned slowly collected in the old coffee can downstairs.

Through the open window she watched Sally dump the bucket of kitchen scraps to the chickens, then pause to look around. Her younger sister was quiet and content. Louisa, her older sister, seemed satisfied with her life, as well. Madge was the one with a restless drive to get things done. Without Madge’s constant prodding and working, the others might be lulled into complacency until the house was taken from them, never letting the specter of being homeless cross their minds. Even Mother’s concern didn’t match Madge’s determination that the family not end up in such a state.

Madge had managed to persuade one more lady to let her do part of her laundry—only the sheets and table linens, which she hesitated to hang out in the dust. Madge appreciated the job but it didn’t make up for the loss of wages her work for Mrs. Crebs had brought in.

As she folded items, she muttered to Macat, who watched her every move. “It’s going to be close.” In fact, too close for comfort after having been forced to buy a new tire for the car. She clattered down the stairs, Macat meowing at her heels. She ignored the cat’s demands, paused on her way through the kitchen to say hello to Sally, who sat surrounded by the mending, and Louisa in her lounge chair reading, with her little dog, Mouse, curled on her lap.

Madge hurried to the front room and Father’s desk. She opened the drop lid, scooped up the coffee can, sat down and slowly counted the change and few bills. Her cheeks grew taut, and she felt the heat seep from them. “It’s not all here.” She couldn’t believe it. Who would steal from their savings?

She scooped up Macat and held her close, comforting herself in the silky fur.

Mother paused at the doorway. “Madge?”

Madge struggled to form a thought. A word. “The money. Missing. Stolen.”

Mother slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. She patted Madge’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I took it. I meant to tell you but I—”

“Took it? Why?”

Mother glanced around to make sure they were alone, then whispered. “For Louisa.”

“More medicine?” Madge wouldn’t resent the expense. Louisa had had pneumonia a number of times. The disease left her lungs weak and required all of them to guard her health. Sometimes it seemed, no matter how hard Madge worked, Louisa’s illness ate up way too much of the money. Or the car bit into their savings—though she had figured out how to fix tires on her own, how to adjust the throttle and choke and how to wire things together in hopes they would limp through a few more days. She wished they still had a horse so she could resort to using a wagon. Mentally, she put it on the list. Perhaps someone would trade a horse for her labors. Then she’d need to figure out a way to get enough hay for another animal. She kept her attention on scratching Macat behind the ears, afraid Mother would see her worry and frustration if she lifted her head.

“Not medicine, dear.”

“Then what?” Medicine she understood. What else could there be? Though Mother had a habit of underestimating the expenses and the limited resources for earning money. Father had always protected Mother from the harsh realities of life, so even in these hard times, Mother remained optimistic, always believing things would somehow, as if by magic, fix themselves.

“I want to help Louisa find a husband.”

“You bought a man?” Madge couldn’t decide if she was more intrigued or shocked. How did one go about purchasing a man? How much did it cost? Did you get to select size, color, style? Her thoughts flitted unexpectedly to the man she had bumped into in town. She blinked away the memory of black eyes and dark hair and returned to considering Mother’s announcement.

If one bought a man, was there a money-back guarantee?

Mother pulled a clipping from her pocket and hesitated. “You must promise not to say anything.”

“Certainly.” Her curiosity grew to overwhelming proportions.

Mother unfolded the scrap of paper and handed it to her. “I placed this ad in a paper.”

Madge read the notice. Then she read it again. Mother had advertised for a teacher for Louisa. “It says nothing about marriage.”

Mother sat in Father’s chair—a sure sign of her mental state. Madge watched her closely. Was she hiding something?

“You know there are no eligible young men around. Most of them are in relief camps.”

Madge nodded. The government had created camps for the unemployed young men where they built roads, cut trees and did a number of labor jobs. The idea of work camps was fine. Give young men a place to sleep, food to eat and a job. Get them off the streets. But to her thinking, it only hid the problem. She bit her tongue to keep from saying what she thought of many of the prime minister’s political moves. Surely a smart man, a man from their own province even, could do something to stop this horrible decline.