Mark’s eyes fell on Mrs. Calkins’ Bible. It was open on a small table sitting near the window. Mark grunted dispassionately. “That’s no help at all.”
At one time, he believed in the glory of God and the miracles that Jesus had worked in His name, but it had been some time since Mark turned to God for help with his problems. Ever since his wife had abandoned him and their son, Mark couldn’t bring himself to see the big picture God had planned for him.
Heath let out a cry that was worse than any before. Mark tried to adjust his grip on the baby but felt clumsy. He wasn’t sure what he was doing and if he was even helping the boy in any way. He and his son were alone in this world. “Abandoned by Trudie and abandoned by God,” Mark said through gritted teeth, the strong muscles in his jaw jumping with tension.
There was a knock at the front door, and Mark jumped a little, not expecting company. Positioning the baby so that his arm wrapped around the child’s torso, he moved to the front door, taking careful steps to not agitate Heath any further.
“Yes?” Mark snapped as he flung open the front door.
The woman standing on his front porch startled him. He had never seen this lady before and certainly didn’t recognize her. Her black hair was pulled back, but errant dark hairs escaped the complicated twist at the back of her head, framing her face. Her blue eyes were soft, and on the apples of her cheeks, pops of the brightest red color were visible.
She was beautiful, so Mark was slow to ask, “May I help you?”
Chapter Three
The smile plastered onto her face faltered as soon as Mark Flint opened the door. He was a tall man, much taller than her father or herself, and he loomed in the open doorway. In the shade of the house, his dark eyes flashed, and when he spoke, his words came out like a growl.
Layla figured that Mark Flint would be an intimidating man, but his scowl was so deeply etched into his face that it frightened her. Thoughts of turning and racing away from the looming adobe brick house floated across Layla’s mind, but strength only God could have given her coursed through her body, and she found the resolve to remain firmly rooted to her spot. She fidgeted with the waistline of her brown skirt and pulled herself up to her full height. While she knew she was nowhere near as imposing as Mark Flint, it made her feel braver.
“My name is Layla Fitzpatrick,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. Mark scrutinized her up and down but said nothing. Feeling embarrassed, Layla decided to keep speaking, “I believe you are Mr. Flint.”
Mark nodded once, and his dark eyes searched her face. The baby, who Layla guessed was close to a year old, struggled in Mark’s arms, and he stopped looking at Layla long enough to adjust his grip on the babe. The child whimpered softly as his father moved him about roughly.
“And who is this?” Layla said softly, looking at the child.
“My son, Heath,” Mark spoke abruptly, showing little warmth, even when he mentioned the name of the child.
“Well, hello there, Heath,” Layla said, keeping her voice soft and reassuring. Instinctively, she reached out to touch the baby’s tiny little hand, but Mark backed away from her, retreating further into the house.
Layla peered up at Mark, a little hurt by his reaction. She did her best to focus her mind on the situation at hand, squaring her shoulders. “Mr. Flint, I have come here this evening to discuss my father’s debts with you.”
Mark’s heavy dark eyebrows rose fractionally, but he said nothing. Layla expected him to invite her into his home, but he made no move to budge.
She clenched her tiny fists and prayed for courage. “I believe my father owes you a great deal of money—”
Heath making a strangled noise.
Mark bounced the baby irritably. “Come on, Heath.”
“Mr. Flint, I have come to propose an exchange. If you forgive my father’s loan, I will agree to marry you.”
Mark stopped bouncing Heath and looked at Layla quizzically. “What was that?”
Layla squared her shoulders, trying to muster her confidence, and said clearly, “I will marry you, Mr. Flint, and in return, you will forgive my father’s debts.”
Mark snorted derisively. “And why would I want to do something like that?” He looked Layla over coldly, and a shiver crept up her spine.
“I will be a capable helpmeet for you—” Heath let out a whimper again, and Layla narrowed her eyes, focusing on the baby. “And I am very good with children. I could help you with your son.”
“I don’tneedyour help with my son. My neighbor comes by daily to assist me with the care of my child.”
Heath cried and struggled in Mark’s arms. Layla could see the frustration mounting on the man’s face. The baby cried again, and Layla’s heart melted in response. She felt sorry for Mark Flint, despite his harshly spoken words, but she felt compassion for the baby most of all.
“Mr. Flint, I only meant that we could—”
“I do not accept your offer,” Mark said, interrupting her once more. “Your father owes me more money than he will ever be able to repay, and I intend to seize control of his store and his home as soon as I can. I do not wish to marry ever again, and I would thank you to leave my property at once. I suggest that you hurry home so you can keep an eye on your father.”
Layla stood there, quite stunned. His rejection of her offer stung. She looked down at her feet but could not motivate them to move.
