Making no sudden movements, he dropped the firewood at his feet and held up his hands. “What brought this on?”
“What brought this on?” she cried, her voice high-pitched and tremulous. “What do you think brought it on, Mr. Coulter, if that’s even your real name? Do you mistakenly believe I’m both blind and stupid?”
Matthew considered her questions, but even after making two passes, he was no clearer on what had upset her. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she cried. “You’ve ridden in a circle all day, bringing me straight back to where we stopped this morning. We just crossed our own back trail!” Her voice cracked on the last word. She tightened her finger over the trigger. “Bastard. What’s your game? Did you have a falling-out with your horrible friends? Is it your plan to use me as barter to get something from them, possibly your share from the train holdup? Well, whatever your game, I’m not playing! If they show up, they’ll be dead men, and so will you.”
The tension eased from Matthew’s shoulders. “You’re reading this all wrong, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart, you lying, worthless miscreant! You have no intention of taking me to a town where I’ll be safe.”
Matthew had no idea what a miscreant was, but judging by the way she spit the word at him, he figured it must be pretty bad. Earlier that day, he’d noted how beautiful Eden’s eyes were and had comforted himself with the thought that his appreciation of her loveliness was no slight to Livvy, because the two women’s eyes were so different. Now he realized that Eden was Livvy’s exact opposite in other ways as well. His wife had been a timid little thing, more likely to curl her fingers over his belt and peer out at trouble around his arm than to face it on her own. Eden Paxton would stand beside a man but never behind him. Even with the .44 caliber Winchester trained on his chest, Matthew marveled at her pluck. If he made a wrong move, she’d shoot him. He saw it in her eyes. And she would place the slug precisely where she meant to as well.
“Like I said, you’ve got it all wrong,” he tried again. “I’m not playing a game, and I have no intention of returning you to the Sebastians. I’m just not much of a talker.”
She jabbed the barrel of the weapon at him. “Well, if you value your life, you’d better start talking now!”
A sudden itch took up residence in Matthew’s right nostril, and he wanted to scratch so badly that his fingers twitched. The hell of it was, he truly wasn’t much of a talker. After spending three years alone with only his animals for company, he’d lost his knack for stringing words together.
“I had my reasons for riding in a circle all day,” he admitted. Damn, but it was hard for him to communicate when he couldn’t gesture with his hands. Until that moment, he’d never realized how strong that trait of his father’s ran in him. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain those reasons to you. The truth is, I figured you’d never notice which direction we were going, so I didn’t bother.”
“Well, I did, so explain now, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
Matthew almost reached to rub his damned nose. “The best way to lose someone who’s following you is to circle around and get behind him.” As explanations went, Matthew knew that one was sorely lacking. “That way, if anyone’s going to get a nasty surprise, it won’t be you.”
Her hands relaxed a little on the rifle, but she still kept it trained on his heart. “Go on.”
“That’s it. God strike me dead if I’m lying.”
“God won’t have to strike you dead. I’ll do it for Him. Keep talking.”
What more could he say? To his dismay, he’d run out of explanations. Since the thought of dying didn’t appeal, he decided to restate his case with a change of wording and a little more embellishment. “If I had headed straight for a town, they would have figured out where I was going and split up, some heading for the town, others staying on our back trail. They would have either caught up with us before we reached our destination or cut us off along the way. Circling around behind them and trying to cover our tracks seemed like the best plan.” A mosquito landed on the fleshy heel of his hand and dipped its stinger for blood. The burn made Matthew’s fingers curl. “That’s why I took to the water and covered our tracks as we left the stream—because I hoped I could lose them if I suddenly changed directions.” He inclined his head at the terrain behind her. “When we crossed our back trail a few minutes ago, did you happen to notice their tracks mixed in with ours? They’re following our trail from this morning. If you don’t believe me, at least have a look before you go off half-cocked and pull that trigger.”
She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Matthew could see that she was wavering.
“Once you confirm that they’re following us,” he continued, “ask yourself this: If they’re up the trail somewhere, trying their damnedest to catch up with us, how can they possibly be anywhere around here? And if they aren’t around here, how could I be plotting to return you to them?” Matthew searched her beautiful eyes, trying to determine whether he was getting through to her. “I’m not in cahoots with the Sebastians, and I had nothing to do with that train robbery, I swear. All I’m guilty of is being close-lipped when I should have been explaining my plans to you.”
To his vast relief, she finally lowered the rifle. Then her shoulders slumped and her arms went limp, as if the Winchester had suddenly become too heavy for her to hold. Matthew expected her to say something—that she believed his story, for starters—but instead her legs folded as if an invisible force had struck her across the backs of the knees. As she collapsed, the barrel of his Winchester rooted through the dirt, taking a snort of dust up the bore. As much as Matthew prized the weapon, the ragged sob that tore up Eden’s throat concerned him far more. Like a prayerful penitent, she knelt on the ground, rested her rump on her heels, and hugged her waist as if she’d just swallowed a bucket of rusty nails. Her face contorted with pain.
For hours, Matthew had wondered at her stoic strength, but now, like a watercolor sketch left in the rain, she seemed to dissolve before his eyes. Still hugging her waist, she began to rock back and forth. Shit. He never knew what to do or say when a female took to crying. When Livvy had gotten upset, he’d just held her close and stroked her hair, murmuring nonsensical words until she felt better, but Eden Paxton recoiled at his touch. So what the hell was he supposed to do? Talking sure as hell wasn’t one of his strong points.
He thought about letting her have at it while he built the fire and started supper. Coward. But that was the truth of it. He could face all five Sebastians without a qualm, but a crying female made his skin go clammy with nervous sweat. He walked two circles around her, hoping she’d snort, gasp for breath, and stop sobbing. No chance. She was crying as if her heart might break.
Matthew had seen what those devils had done to her, and he didn’t blame her a bit for falling apart. He just wished he knew how to make her feel better. He settled for hunkering down in front of her.
She cupped a quivering hand over her eyes, which were spilling tears like leaky water spigots to make trails in the caked mud on her cheeks. “I’m s-sorry,” she squeaked.
“You’ve got no call to be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Her shoulders jerked on another sob. The awful tearing sound that followed came from so deep within her that Matthew feared she might do some damage to herself.
“It’s just—” She gulped and mewled like a kitten. “I’m so ex-exhausted.”
Matthew didn’t doubt she was worn-out, but he had a hunch it ran deeper than that. She’d clearly believed he was trying to trick her, that he was somehow in cahoots with the Sebastians, and now she was coming to believe that might not be the case. Still clutching her waist, she swayed back and forth, making him worry that she might topple. Hoping to steady her, he settled a hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t surprised when she flinched and jerked away.
“Don’t,” she pushed out. “Please, don’t.”
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He lowered his arm but not quickly enough to suit her. She scrambled unsteadily to her feet and reeled away from him, her steps as unpredictable as a drunk’s. He gazed after her, wishing with all his heart he could think of something to say that might comfort her. But he wasn’t even sure where to start. He groped for words, discarded those that came to him, groped again, and finally settled for barking, “Don’t hare off too far!”
The warning no sooner left his lips than he wanted to give himself a swift kick in the ass. Damn. Couldn’t he have come up with something better than that? His mother, a devout Irish Catholic, often prayed to the Holy Mother for divine intervention. Matthew had fallen out of the habit of praying over the last three years, hadn’t stepped foot in a church. But he was sorely tempted to send up an appeal now, something along the lines of, Please, God, help me to stop being such a dumb son of a bitch.
Eden staggered toward the horses, making his heart leap with every step she took because he feared she might fall. When she reached the animals, she homed in on Pete Sebastian’s gelding, leaned against the beast as if her knees were about to buckle again, and looped her arms around its neck to hold herself erect. Even at a distance, Matthew could hear her broken sobs. Every hitch of her breath made him feel guilty as hell. She’d been with him now for almost twenty-four hours, and she’d spent every minute of that time uncertain of his intentions and not knowing if she could trust him.
He might have eased her mind a bit if he’d told her a little about himself, but, oh, no. Instead he’d gotten in such a snit when he saw her sniffing the sleeve of his jacket and wrinkling her nose that he’d balked at even telling her his name. Not because he’d had good reason, but because he’d been angry. What in tarnation had he been thinking? Truth was, the jacket stank, and he’d been embarrassed that she noticed.
He bent his head, staring at the backs of his hands curled over his knees. His attention was caught by the coat of grime on his jeans. Was it any wonder she’d taken his measure and judged him to be a no-account trail bum who might do her harm? Whether he wanted to face it or not, that was exactly what he’d become: a filthy, ill-mannered, rough-talking trail bum who’d been deprived of polite company for so long that he no longer even said please, thank you, or excuse me. This morning, instead of handing her the piece of jerky, he’d tossed it at her. Hello? You tossed food to a dog. And when she’d wanted a cup to drink water from the stream, why hadn’t he gotten her one? It wouldn’t have taken him more than a minute.
Matthew felt a little sick to his stomach. Being around Eden was making him see himself through her eyes, and he didn’t like the picture. Since leaving Oregon, he had traveled as far south as Mexico and as far north as Canada to even get in the Sebastians’ general vicinity, and somewhere along the way, he’d lost touch with who he was and where he came from. His father had always done filthy work from dawn until dark, and when he’d come into the house at night, sometimes he’d been too exhausted to want to eat. Yet Matthew had never seen him sit down at his mother’s table without washing up and changing his shirt first, and he’d demanded the same of all his sons.
Matthew turned one hand palm up to examine his fingernails, but seeing that they were clean didn’t make him feel much better. He had some fresh clothes at the bottom of his pack, and it didn’t take all that long to jump in the creek for a bath. Yet he hadn’t done that recently, because he’d stopped caring how he looked.
Matthew tried to remember when that attitude had taken root, and he realized it had happened slowly. Taking a bath in a creek after dark was damned cold business. His laundry didn’t always dry by a fire before morning, either, so he’d had to pack it away damp sometimes, and then it soured. His horse and mule didn’t give a hang whether he was clean or dirty, and he seldom saw people unless he visited a town. Over time, he’d started making excuses. He was too tired and hungry to bathe. One more day wouldn’t matter. Why wash clothes if they wouldn’t dry by morning, and he’d only have to wash them again? Who was going to see him, anyway?
When Matthew finally pushed to his feet and collected his rifle, he felt almost as exhausted as Eden looked. He needed to walk over there and assure her that she was absolutely safe with him, damn it. Only, when he played it out in his mind, he saw himself bungling it. He’d blurt out something stupid, sure as rain was wet. You’re safe. Yeah, like that would be convincing. I’m a decent man. Same result. After Livvy’s death, everything within him had locked up, almost as if a cell door had clanked shut, and he no longer had the key to disengage the bolt. What he felt—which was precious little, because he preferred it that way—was buried deep inside him.
Walking toward the tumble of dropped wood, he decided to be useful in the only ways he could be—by building a fire, caring for the animals, finding her some clean, dry clothes so she wouldn’t catch her death, and then fixing a hot meal. His ma had always said that actions spoke louder than words. He could only hope that was true.
Eden kept her wet cheek pressed against the gelding’s sweat-slicked neck. Her body vibrated with spasmodic shudders from the cold, her legs felt as useless as wet rags, and it was all she could do to remain standing. The starch in her spine had dissolved and leaked out the bottoms of her feet. Exhaustion. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so drained. Part of it, she knew, stemmed from relief. After six days of living in fear, she finally felt halfway safe. Matthew Coulter was unkempt, sorely lacking in social graces, and she still wasn’t sure how far she could trust him, but at least she now felt nearly certain that he wasn’t connected to the Sebastian Gang. His explanation for why he’d ridden in a circle all day made sense, and something in his eyes—she wasn’t sure what—had convinced her he was telling the truth.
Right now, he was little more than a shadow in the darkness. Lifting her head, she watched as he fetched the wood he’d gathered earlier and laid a fire. A moment later, he struck a lucifer, cupped a hand around it, and bent to ignite the handfuls of dry grass that he’d placed under a crisscross of kindling. With a bit of coaxing, flames soon leaped to life.
Like a moth drawn to lantern light, Eden steeled herself against the pain in her ribs and moved haltingly toward the fire, afraid with every step that her legs might fold. Once there, she warmed her hands, but the sodden folds of her skirt repelled the heat. Feeling like a musk-melon that had been hollowed out with a spoon, she was only vaguely aware of Matthew, who was now rifling through his packs. When he emerged from the darkness again, he pushed a roll of denim, a length of rope, and a pair of wool socks into her hands.
“The britches will be too big. I figure you can use the rope to cinch them in at the waist.”
Eden hugged the clothing to her chest. “Thank you.”
He nodded and gestured toward the horses. “I need to rub down the animals, take them to the creek for water, and give them some grain before I start cooking. While I’m doing that, you can change here by the fire. I’ll keep my back to you. You’ve got my word on it.”
Eden watched him disappear into the shadows again. He wanted her to strip naked by the fire where he might see? Not on her life. As reluctant as she was to move her aching body or leave the warmth of the flames, she sought privacy behind some bushes before she peeled off the jacket and shirt Matthew had lent her. With a quick sniff, she determined that the jeans were clean. They smelled of leather and soap, but no body odor clung to them. The socks were fresh, too.
Relieved that he hadn’t given her filthy garments to wear, she set herself to the task of stripping off her torn dress, boots, and underwear. As quickly as possible, she put the shirt back on to shield her modesty, then buttoned the front with shaky hands. Just as Matthew had predicted, the jeans were too large, so she used the rope as a makeshift belt, then sat on the ground to roll up the cuffs. The oversize wool socks felt heavenly on her ice-cold feet.
“You decent yet?” he called from the darkness.
The question was telling. He truly had kept his back turned and obviously thoug
ht she was still by the fire. “Almost!” she called back.
She grabbed the jacket and put it back on, then stared at the vague outline of her discarded clothing. The thought of wearing the garments again filled her with revulsion. She never wanted to see them. They would always remind her of the Sebastians and dredge up horrible memories. The bloomers were badly torn, and the toe of Pete’s boot had broken some of the whalebone in the corset. The skirt was still mostly intact, though, and her practical nature wouldn’t allow her to leave it. Out in the wild, one never knew when extra cloth might come in handy.
She collected her boots and lifted the skirt between her right thumb and forefinger, holding it well away from her body. She turned her back on the other clothing. For all she cared, birds and squirrels could make nests with the cloth, and varmints could consume the whalebone.
As she moved back toward the light, Eden glanced up at the limitless expanse of dark blue sky where the Rockies rose, craggy and coal black, to loom over the landscape. Their vastness made her feel tiny, insignificant, and completely cut off from everything familiar to her.
“I’m dressed now,” she called out as she drew near the fire.
Coulter moved toward her, a dark blur that took on definition as he came closer to the flickering amber glow. He had the well-oiled, loose-hipped stride of a horseman, his broad shoulders shifting with every step of his lean, powerfully muscled legs. She saw that he held a whiskey jug in his hand. After pulling the cork, he extended the bottle to her.
“Bottoms up. It’ll warm you from the inside out.”
Eden accepted the jug, tipped its mouth to her lips, and took two generous swallows. With a tremulous smile, she handed it back to him. “I’m sorry I leaped to conclusions and called you those awful names.”
Early Dawn Page 11
