temerity in broaching such a sensitive subject.
âThen why doesnât he work harder at his exercises so he can get better and take back the reins of this place?â Cade demanded in a tight, hard tone.
âWhat if he does that and nothing changes?â Abby asked softly. âWhat if he invests every ounce of courage and strength he has in trying to recover and it doesnât happen?â
Cade studied her with a frown.
âDonât you see, canât you understand?â she asked, irritated by his blindness. âYour father is desperately afraid that even if he does everything he can to recover, he might still fail. I believe he fears that if that does happen heâll lose you, the ranch, everything that matters most to him.â
Cade lifted his head and stared at her, locking his gaze with hers. Abby shivered at the intensity reflected there but her heart bumped at the flicker of hope that danced to life for a few brief moments.
Until Cade said, âNot possible. I never mattered. And my father was never afraid of anything.â He added with conviction, âNever.â
âMaybe once, he wasnât. But the strokes stole his confidence, Cade. Now he canât do the simplest thing he never gave a thought to doing before.â Abby let a smile curve her lips when he shot her an indignant glare, as if to ask who she was to believe she knew his father better than he did.
âIâm not sureââ
âItâs a kind of role reversal,â she said. âYouâre the strong one now and he needs you. I think Edâs afraid that heâll never be the dad you remember, the strong, capable man who was always in control. And that terrifies him.â
âReally?â Surprise made Cadeâs eyes widen for a moment. Then he frowned and shook his head. âI doubt that.â
âThink about it,â she coaxed. âHeâs gone from being strong, independent and running the ranch on his own, to having to write his needs on a pad of paper. He must chafe at the dependency that now rules his life.â
âSo weâre back to my original question. Why doesnât God do something to make him better?â Cadeâs frustration was obvious.
âI donât know. Maybe He is doing something. Have you talked to Him about it?â Abby inclined her head, waiting.
âI donât speak to God,â Cade muttered.
âThen how can you fault Him for not helping you?â Abby walked to Libertyâs stall and petted the horse. She chuckled at the snickered response. âYes, I brought an apple.â She let the horse snatch it out of her hand before looking straight at Cade. âYour response is irrational. Not talking to God is like expecting Ed to do something without ever talking to him. Thatâs not a relationship.â
âI used to talk to God,â Cade said in an edgy tone. âWhen I was a kid and my dad had just reamed me out for something, Mrs. Swanson said I should pray. So I did. A lot. But nothing ever changed. And it still hasnât.â
âYou donât know what God is doing,â Abby insisted. âYou canât see inside your father to know his thoughts and feelings and since you donât talk to him about that, how will you find out?â
She would have said more but the clanging of a bell caught Cadeâs attention.
âThatâs Mrs. Swansonâs signal for me to get back to the house fast,â he explained, her eyes narrowing with concern. âIt could be Dad.â
âLetâs go.â Abby waited till Cade tugged open the big door. As soon as heâd closed it behind them, she slid her arm through his. âI can go faster if I hang onto you,â she explained, wondering if he got the same jolt of awareness that she did when their bare hands touched.
If so, Cade didnât show it, or maybe he was too preoccupied. All he did was lead her back to the
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