Daughter of Joy by Kathleen Morgan Page A

he had to admit it. Abigail Stanton was a most attractive woman.
    She reminded him, in some ways, of Sally.
    Conor’s gut twisted. That was all he needed, he thought sourly. Another woman the likes of his wife.
    Yet, on closer inspection, he realized his startling revelation had nothing to do with outward characteristics. The likeness ran far deeper, and it had something to do with the reason he’d first fallen in love with Sally.
    Angrily, Conor shifted in the rocking chair and forced his thoughts back to the present. “What else is there to talk about?” he growled, shattering at last the brittle silence. “Beth, of course.”
    Abby’s stomach sank with a thud. So, she thought, the little girl had wasted no time complaining to her father about today. “Exactly what about Beth did you wish to discuss?” she forced herself to ask. “I don’t suppose it’s a complaint that we didn’t make much progress on her lessons today, is it?”
    Conor scowled. “No. She wouldn’t have any complaints about that.” He stroked his beard-shadowed jaw, and eyed her speculatively. “It’s about you and your preaching.”
    “Preaching?” For a long moment, Abby stared in puzzlement. “I don’t recall any …” Gradually, the memory of her words to Beth about God’s love filtered into her mind. Dear Lord, she thought in frustration. Can’t I even speak of You in their house as justification for my own actions and beliefs?
    “Are you referring to my comments to Beth about God loving her?” Abby tried to keep her tone neutral, her voice calm.
    “Yes. Was there more said than that?”
    “No.” Abby leaned toward him, resting her forearms on her thighs. “And did Beth also tell you in what context I said those words?”
    Conor graced her with a glacial stare, and Abby was struck with the realization of how mercurial this man could be. A few minutes ago, he had been smiling, nearly joking with her. And now … now he had withdrawn behind a stony countenance, a wall that she knew she’d no hope of breaching.
    He lives this way to protect himself, she thought with sudden insight. He keeps people off balance and defensive, unsure of themselves around him. It gives him the upper hand.
    Yet, in the doing, though he might maintain control, he paid a heavy price. He paid for it in isolation and loneliness. He paid for it by running in terror from life and living. He paid for it in the false sense of power he imagined it gave him—a power that no one save God could ever truly possess.
    A soft, sad, knowing smile touched Abby’s lips. It was a truth, at the very least, she’d learned when she’d lost Thomas and Joshua. There was no control in life—at least not over what really mattered. She hadn’t been able to prevent Thomas’s death, or to keep Joshua alive, no matter how hard she’d tried. Her sense of control, of fairness, order, and purpose, had always been nothing more than an illusion.
    An illusion … yet truth nonetheless. It was a truth in the facing, however, that had shattered her former way of looking at life. She was, in reality, the master of nothing. And that was a truth that still, at times, terrified her.
    In their desperate quest for an elusive, false sense of control, Abby realized she and Conor MacKay were probably more alike than she cared to admit.
    “Well, Mr. MacKay,” Abby prodded. “Did she tell you the whole story?”
    He didn’t move, just rocked slowly, methodically, watching her all the while. Finally, though, he spoke. “I really don’t care in what context you said the words, Mrs. Stanton. You are not to speak about God in my house.”
    “And why is that, Mr. MacKay?” she demanded, refusing to back down. “What harm could it possibly do? You told me you don’t believe in God. Yet, in refusing ever to have God’s name mentioned, you act like you fear Him.”
    Abby cocked her head. “How can you fear someone you think doesn’t exist?”
    Anger flashed in his eyes. He stopped