The Outlaw's Angel (Daughters of the Prairie 1)

“Yes, Miss Blackburn.”

“Well, then, I don’t see how you can be doing so poorly. Perhaps copying the words onto the blackboard will help and will also serve as your punishment.” Ruth cleared her throat, stood, and straightened into her firm teacher stance. “I want you to write each word you missed twenty-five times.” She strode to the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote separate, desperate, appreciate, exhilarate, and educate at the top of the board and then turned to face Mary Alice. “Just copy the words in columns underneath where I’ve written them.”

The child chewed her lip. Such a timid little creature. Ruth’s heart sank a little. She hated to punish her, but letting her continue to get away with mediocre work when she was capable of so much more would be a disservice to her student.

Ruth smiled. “Here’s something that helped me when I was your age. Remember that there is ‘a rat’ in separate and exhilarate, but not in desperate.” She held out the chalk.

Mary Alice didn’t move.

“Come on, now. It won’t take long.”

Still no movement. “M-Miss Blackburn?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

“May I, Mary Alice.”

The child’s cheeks reddened. “May I do this tonight? On my tablet? I really need to get home, you see.”

“I understand, but you must serve your punishment first.”

“But ma’am, I have chores.”

“You’ll be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Ruth said. “Your chores will still be there when you get home, and you’ll know how to spell these words.” She placed the chalk in Mary Alice’s hand. “Go on.”

The little girl sighed and trudged to the blackboard. Ruth sat back down behind her desk and shuffled the pile of compositions her upper class had written. She glanced at the first one. Neat penmanship, perfect grammar. But no vibrancy to the words. Ruth removed her spectacles and sighed. She considered the written word sacred and adored sharing her love of writing with her students. Clearly she wasn’t reaching this one.

She blew on the lenses, polished them, and replaced the spectacles on her nose. She looked to the child at the board. Such a pretty little thing. Mary Alice Mackenzie’s eyes were bronze and long-lashed. Her face was a perfect oval with high cheekbones, and her lustrous honey-blond hair hung in two long braids that fell nearly to her waist. A little skinny, though lots of pre-adolescent girls were thin. Mary Alice didn’t talk about life at home much. Her father was widowed but seemed to be doing well enough on his small farm. Still, Ruth sometimes brought an extra cookie or a homemade turnover and slipped it to Mary Alice during lunchtime. The child’s big brown eyes always glowed with thanks for the treat. She most likely didn’t get such

sweets often with no mother at home to bake them.

Mary Alice started on the third word. She wrote slowly, diligently, neatly. The girl was intelligent. And so pretty. The whole package, as far as Ruth was concerned.

She’d been intelligent. Always at the head of her class. But how she’d longed to be pretty. Her older sister, Naomi, was pretty. Beautiful even. Where Naomi’s hair was a glossy sable, Ruth’s was mousy brown. Naomi’s eyes gleamed a piercing violet. Ruth’s were dark blue. Boring dark blue. Naomi’s figure was perfectly proportioned, and though she was tall for a woman, her height wasn’t a detriment, as most men still stood taller. Ruth, on the other hand, stood nearly six feet, dwarfing her tall sister and many of the men in town. She’d always felt she resembled an adolescent boy more than a woman. Though her breasts had finally made an appearance at sixteen, thank goodness.

Naomi was an A. A for excellent. Ruth was a C. C was average.

Men had started courting Naomi when she was merely fourteen, and she married the love of her life at nineteen. No man had courted Ruth. She was an old maid at twenty-two, still living with her parents on the homestead her preacher father now owned.

Ruth blew out a breath, turned back to the banal essay, and began marking. Boring verbs, inferior descriptions, no sensory detail at all. Grade: C. Average.

She shuffled to the next paper. Midway through her marks, heavy footsteps interrupted her. She looked up to see a big bear of a man walk into the schoolhouse.

“Mary Alice.” His deep voice was stern.

The child at the blackboard turned. “Pa?”

“Where have you been, girl? You have chores.”

“I-I…” the child stammered.

Ruth removed her spectacles and stood, her dander rising at the man. He hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. She was the teacher in this school, for goodness’ sake.

“Mr. Mackenzie, I presume?”

He turned, and his dark gaze raked up and down her body. She warmed. This man was big as a mountain and more handsome than any in town. Thick blond hair the same hue as his daughter’s brushed his broad shoulders in silky waves. Golden stubble covered his firm jawline and surrounded full dark red lips. His eyes were big and bronze like Mary Alice’s, and his nose slightly crooked, as though it had been broken, maybe more than once. The small imperfection only added to his appeal.