Free Gingham Mountain by Mary Connealy

no-nonsense wool bonnet on her head. “Let me know if you need anything.”
    Megan, his daughter, now gave him advice. It was pretty good advice, too. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”
    Ian rested a hand on Megan’s waist, and she smiled a private smile at him.
    That look made Grant’s stomach a little twitchy, but he wasn’t sure why.
    “How’d you get them off the sledding hill this morning?” Megan asked.
    “It wasn’t easy, especially since I didn’t want to quit either. And now we’ve got to run. They’re scared to death that the snow’ll melt out from under ’em.”
    “It probably will.” Ian settled his Stetson on his head.
    Gordy started jumping up and down, yanking on Megan’s hand. “Let’s go!”
    Ian interceded. “You’re wearing your ma out. Dangle yourself from my hand for a while.”
    Gordy giggled and dived at his father’s hand.
    Megan rested one hand on her midsection and gave Ian a grateful smile.
    “Pa, we’ve got to go!” Benny barreled into Grant’s leg, knocking him sideways.
    Grant rested one gloved hand on Benny’s shoulder and grinned down at his son.
    “Gordy was sledding before first light himself.” Megan laughed. “And he’s itching to go back. We’d better get a move on.”
    Grant nodded good-bye as Benny grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the wagon. He plunked his hat onto his head and jogged along with his son. Benny let him loose, obviously convinced his pa was going to do the right thing.
    Someone caught Grant’s sleeve. He recognized that insistent tug. His heart sank into his scruffy boots. He rolled his eyes but got them under control before he turned around to face Hannah.
    “Mr. . . .Grant, I’m coming to visit you this afternoon.” She released his coat as if he might infect her with some disease born in filth. “I want to meet all the children I’m going to have in school.”
    “We’ve got a busy afternoon, Hannah.” He used her first name just for the pleasure of annoying her. “We’ve got chores, and the children want to spend any spare time sledding. We won’t have time for company.”
    “Mr. . . .Grant, I’m not asking permission,” she snapped. “I’m telling you I’m coming out. I want to see exactly the conditions these children are living in on your ranch. Why, you have them dressed in the next thing to rags. Their hair hasn’t seen a comb in days and—”
    “We didn’t take time to change for church is all. They were sledding, and I let them go until we didn’t have a second for breakfast or cleaningup.” Grant was annoyed with himself for explaining. He didn’t have to justify his actions.
    “You haven’t fed them yet?” Hannah’s eyes flashed, and Grant wondered if she’d snatch the whip off his buckboard and thrash him with it. He was sure he could take her, but she had a lot of rage so he didn’t want to put it to the test.
    “I feed my children, Hannah. And they have decent clothes.”
    Benny came dashing back to Grant’s side, the brim of his woolen hat ripped halfway off the crown. His coat, a hand-me-down through a dozen boys, hanging in rags off his back.
    “Can’t we go, Pa?” Benny danced around frantic. “I’m cold and hungry.”
    Heat climbed up Grant’s neck. He looked down at his own coat, which was no better. He noticed the tip of his bare toe showing out of his right boot, a hole in the leather opening up to a hole in his sock. Of course they hadn’t worn their Sunday best to go sledding, and Benny’s coat might be ugly, but it was warmer than his good one, the one handed down through only about four sons.
    Grant had to force himself to stand still and listen when his wildly impatient children dashed back and forth begging for him to come. He thought of all the cutting comments he’d rehearsed when he should have been worshipping, and the fact that he’d spent his church time wallowing in the sin of anger was all her fault.
    He drew himself up to his full six feet. She wasn’t a