“How … much … longer, Mac?” She shivered.
“Almost there. See that curl of smoke?”
“No, but I trust you.”
Mac grinned. They were becoming more comfortable with each other as the trip wore on.
He pulled onto one of the many side trails he’d seen along the road. It amazed him how fast this area was growing each year. There were more trails to other farmers’ homes. The Campbells had been in this area longer than most. They’d open their home, Mac knew, especially for a woman.
Their farmhouse came into view on the left. It was framed by a long, front pasture with fields on the left and right. A smaller plain filled the space between the back of the house and the side of the mountain.
“Whoa.” He pulled the wagon to a stop. “I’ll be right back.”
He raised his hand to knock on the front door, but an older man in his fifties opened it first. Mac extended his hand. “Art Campbell, Nash MacKenneth. Folks call me Mac. I heard you put folks up from time to time.”
“Ain’t got no more room. Storm’s threatening to be a bad one. There’s room in the barn, if you don’t mind sleeping there. It even has an old woodstove. But you be careful, now. Make sure there’s nothing that can catch fire.”
“Thank you.” Mac pumped his hand.
“You and your missus take care, now.” Art slipped back into the house and shut the door.
A few quick strides and Mac was back by the side of the wagon. “There’s no room in the house, but there’s room in the barn. Do you mind?”
“Do I mind? Anything is better than this.” Pamela held a woolen blanket close to her chest.
“All right then, let’s go make that barn our home for the night or until this storm passes.” He snapped the reins. “Yah.”
They entered the protection of the barn within a couple minutes. “Stay there and warm up,” he directed. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
“No.” Her teeth chattered. “I think I need to move to get my blood flowing.”
“All right. Mr. Campbell said there was an old woodstove in here somewhere.” Mac scanned the barn for a chimney. “Over there. Make sure there’s nothing around to catch fire, and I’ll get us a fire started in a minute.”
She nodded, and he went to work unbuckling the horses. The stalls were filled with other peoples’ horses and mules. A milk cow lowed in a rear corner. He eyed a hayloft where he’d be able to fashion a bed for them. Mac shook his head. Correction, two beds for them. He’d done well to keep his growing desires to himself. Father, give me strength. She’s a widow, and You know I’m lousy with women.
“Mac!” Pamela screamed.
Chapter 8
Pamela dropped to her hands and knees. The end of a shotgun was not what she’d planned on seeing.
“What?” Mac came running.
The barrel slipped back out through a hole in the wall. “A barrel from a gun was pointing in at us.”
“Where?” Mac frantically searched the barn.
“Through that hole.” She pointed to the large knothole in the barn board.
He knelt down.
“Careful.”
He waved for her to stay down, as if she were going to stand up and give someone an easy target. He looked through the crack between the wooden planks before peering out the hole. “You scared ’em off, whoever it was.”
“Or they moved to another side of the barn.”
“I’ll go check. Do you know how to shoot?”
She shook her head no.
“Great,” he mumbled. “Why didn’t I try and teach you before now?”
He went to the wagon, pulled out his Kentucky long rifle, loaded, and cocked it. “Here, keep it pointed at the door. All you have to do is pull the trigger. I’ll holler before I open it. Please, try not to shoot me.”
She was tempted to say something coy but thought it better to hold her tongue. Mac’s sense of humor wasn’t the same as her own. He lined the gun up and set the barrel resting on the wagon, aimed toward the doors.
He slipped through the doors, not making a sound. How’s he do that? she wondered. Several times over the past couple days she’d seen him walk as if he were a feather, barely leaving an impression on the ground and never making a sound.
A huge thud against the side of the barn startled Pamela. Her focus shifted away from the barn door to the wall where she heard the noise. Realizing her error, she went back to her sentry post.
“I’m coming in, Pamela,” Mac hollered. She lifted her head from the line of sight on the rifle barrel. Beside Mac stood a skinny, redheaded youngster with tattered clothing. “This here is Urias. He apparently has been sleeping in Art Campbell’s barn for a while.”
“And I take it Mr. Campbell is unaware.”
A sly grin slid up the boy’s face. He placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders.
“Hungry?” Pamela asked. She wasn’t about to tattle on the boy during the storm. After the storm might be another matter.
“I’ll light the fire.” Mac encouraged the boy into the room with a slight nudge forward. He uncocked his rifle and placed it back in the wagon. Lifting the canvas over the rear of the wagon, he grabbed some wood.
Pamela removed a Dutch oven, a knife, cutting board, some vegetables, water, and the biscuits she’d made earlier in the morning. “Mac, what meat would you like me to use? There’s some ham, bacon, or your pemmican. I’m thinking a hearty stew would be in order tonight.”
“Ham or pemmican is fine with me. Let’s have the bacon and eggs in the morning. You’re up for bacon and eggs, aren’t you, Urias? Come and give me a hand with the horses.”
Urias did as he was told but didn’t speak a word. How Mac had gotten any information out of the boy before they came back to the barn was beyond her comprehension.
Pam went to work making a stew for the three of them. She also pulled a thick cotton blanket out of the wagon to use as a tablecloth to cover the dust and straw of the barn. She’d have to go into the crates to find another plate, silverware, and cup for Urias. The boy probably hadn’t eaten well in a long time.
The casket of water was full. She could sponge bathe later. If she could find a private spot, she mused. Looking around the barn, she felt grateful it provided shelter, but they’d have to be well covered for the entire night. The stove was small, too small for the size of the barn. It wouldn’t heat all night. But it would help some, and at least it gave them a place to cook a warm meal.
“Pam, Urias and I need to clean up. Did you warm some water on the stove?” Mac grinned. He’d never asked for warm water to clean up with before. He’d always just gone to the river. The boy was walking comfortably around Mac now.
“Yes. Dinner’s ready whenever you two are,” Pamela called out to them.
“Be right there.”
Pamela heard some whispering. Urias was talking?
She served up the three plates of the thick stew, along with one biscuit each.
Mac paused to say a prayer. “Father, we thank Thee for this barn. We thank Thee for this warm food for our bellies, and we ask Thee for protection from the storm. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen.” Pamela raised her bowed head.
“Amen,” Urias mumbled.
Pamela jumped up. “I almost forgot. I purchased a treat at the Cumberland Ford settlement. Mrs. Renfro was so sweet,” she continued as she hiked back to the wagon. Fumbling through the small area in the rear where she kept her kitchen, she found the small jar of peach preserves. She had planned to save it for a special time, but now seemed as good a time as any.
“Peach preserves on biscuits.” Mac licked his lips. “Woman, you know how to please a hungry man.” Their eyes locked. Pamela shivered from the connection she felt. How can this be?
“Wonderful meal, Pamela, really hit the spot,” Mac complimented. “What did you think, Urias?”
“It’s good, thanks.”
The boy had gobbled the food down like he hadn�
�t eaten in a week, which he probably hasn’t, Mac guessed.
“Is there more?” Urias held out his empty plate.
Pamela took it. “Of course there is.” She went to the stove and promptly filled his plate to the brim again. “I’m afraid there aren’t any more biscuits, but I’ll be making some later.”
“Thanks, they’re wonderful. You cook good.” He smacked his lips and dove his fork into the mound of food. Mac glanced over at Pamela and winked. What had happened between them earlier still warmed his heart—and terrified him.
“Urias, after you’re done, you can help me set up the loft for sleeping.”
“Sure,” he said with his mouth full. “I usually sleep over there.” He pointed to a stall now holding one of the house occupant’s mules. “There’s a loose board that moves enough so I can wiggle into the barn.”
Mac wanted to know more of why the boy was on the run, but he needed to win his trust first. He appeared to be around fourteen, maybe a young fifteen.
“Pamela, I’ll fix you a bed with sheets and blankets if you have some linens for me.”
“Let me get them. How cold do you think it will get tonight?”
“It’s freezing now, and the sun just set. I’d say it’ll drop another ten to fifteen degrees.”
“I don’t have three wool blankets,” she stammered. “I have another thick cotton one like the one I put down on the floor over there,” she offered. “We could set the tent up and that might give us some additional warmth.”
“The various blankets should do nicely. I’ll even show you a trick later. You’ll be warmer than you’ve ever been by the time I get through with you.”
Pamela flushed.
“I—I mean by preparing a special bed for you.” Mac’s throat thickened. How could I have implied something so forward? He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. He knew his motives were pure. Mac groaned and headed toward the loft. He’d only planned to lay a healthy layer of hay over her once she was down for the night. How could planning to do something nice for the woman have gotten so garbled in the offering?
Urias joined him a few minutes later with bundles of blankets. “How much stuff do you have packed in that wagon?”
“You don’t want to know.” Mac closed his eyes at the thought. She’d pulled out something new just about once a day. She had more items stuffed in places he couldn’t imagine. He’d wondered that first day why the wagon sat so low. Now he knew. She utilized every bit of space to the fullest.
“What do you need me to do?” Urias offered.
“I’m trying to make a comfortable place for Pamela. I don’t want a draft to come up from under her, but I don’t want the hay too hard. I’m fashioning some walls here to help hold her body heat in a closer area.”
“Where’d you learn all this?”
“I grew up on a farm.”
“You don’t look like a farmer.” Urias started molding the hay.
Mac continued working the hay, trying to catch glimpses of the boy every now and again, hoping to gain a better understanding of him. “During the winters I’m a fur trapper. What about you? What are you doing?”
“Can’t find a job. Wrong time of the year.”
“Where’d you get the rifle?”
“It’s mine.” He instantly stood, his body rigid.
“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m just asking. Where’d you come by it?” It was more than likely the one item Urias had taken from his home when he decided to run.
The boy’s shoulders relaxed and he went back to work. “My pa gave it to me when I was ten.”
“Not a bad rifle. Needs a good oiling. Did your pa teach you how to do that?”
“He never got the chance.” Urias’s eyes watered.
“I’ll be happy to show you. I’ve got to take care of mine.”
A smile as wide as the gap spread across the boy’s freckled face. “Really? Thanks.”
“You’re more than welcome. Come on, let’s go shape our bed.”
“Our bed? Aren’t you sleeping with your wife?”
“No. Pamela will sleep better without me.” If Urias only knew. “I’m going to be up and down all night adding wood to the fire. Plus, once I put her in that hay cocoon, she won’t want to get out.”
“I’ll have to remember that cocoon.”
“Works really well, even in the wild when you only have pine needles around. You take a tarp of canvas, fold it in half, put a bed of needles under you, then pile the needles as high as you can find them around you and on top. I’ve often built a temporary shelter out of pine needles and branches.”
“When did you start living in the wilderness?”
The boy’s getting more comfortable with me. Thank You, Lord. “A few years older than you. I was eighteen.”
“I’ll be eighteen next year.”
Mac scrutinized him, giving him the eye that said, “I know you’re not being honest with me.”
Urias looked down at his feet. “Maybe in four years.”
Mac smiled. Urias did the same. “Can you teach me how to make leather clothes like you have?”
“Not in one night but maybe in the future.”
Urias placed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know how to survive out here.”
Mac sat down in the hay and patted it for Urias to join him. “Why are you out here, son?”
Pam made a batch of biscuits, prepared a loaf of bread to cook up in the morning, cleaned up, and still Mac and Urias hadn’t come down. She even set some beans soaking, reasoning it might be late in the day tomorrow before they could travel on. Once, she’d gone over to listen and heard them talking about Urias living alone in the wilderness.
The wind whistled through the barn boards. Pamela stretched her back. She needed to get some sleep. “Mac,” she called up at the base of the ladder to the loft.
“Sorry, Pamela, we were chewing the fat. Come on up. The bed is all ready for you.”
Pamela started to climb up the flimsy ladder. “It’s mighty dark up here.”
“Shh, nothing to be afraid of. We won’t be lighting a candle or a lamp with this much hay lying around.” He winked and wrapped his arm around her waist, whispering in her ear, “Urias thinks we’re married. I think it’s better that way for now.”
“All right.” She trembled from his touch.
In full voice he said, “We have something special planned for you. Urias and I are going to sleep in this section.”
“What are you planning on doing to me?” She let out a nervous laugh.
“Trust me.”
“You’ll like it, Mrs. Mac. I wouldn’t mind if he did it to me.”
Mac turned to him. “I can. Would you really like me to do it for you, Urias?”
“Yeah!” The boy’s voice deepened, sounding more grown-up, less eager. Mac turned his back and held down a chuckle.
“First we get to show Pamela.”
Pamela giggled. It couldn’t be too bad if Urias would like it.
“Lie down here and make yourself comfortable,” Mac instructed.
She lay down. “Oh Mac, this is perfect.”
“Not yet. Cover up.”
She obeyed. The hay was soft and comfortable. The warmth of her body soon heated up the cool air surrounding her.
Mac tossed a pile of hay on top of her.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she protested.
“Trust me. I’m creating another layer of warmth. The hay will help your body stay warmer. You’re not going to feel the drop in temperature at all tonight. Except possibly on your nose.”
Pamela giggled, and Urias dumped another armful of hay upon her. Soon a mound of hay a foot tall covered her. She had freedom of movement, but the weight added the feel of a very thick quilt on top of her blanket.
“Good night, Pamela.”
“Night, Mac.”
Urias peeked over the mound of hay. “Does it feel good, Mrs. Mac?”
“Yes, very. Good night, Urias.”
“Good night. Can you do me now, Mr. Mac?”
Pamela held back another laugh. The child was living in a grown-up world but still needed to be a child. She snuggled deeper in her soft bed. Who didn’t need to be pampered like a child every now and again?
Urias giggled and gave a running commentary of Mac’s actions. They had bonded. Lord, You know what Urias needs. I’m glad Mac was here to befriend the child. Perhaps he can help him find a new home. He has so many friends and acquaintances in the area, Lord. Surely someone would be willing to take him in.
Pam closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. The cares of this world, the storm, Jasper—they all left her. Mac was here. She was safe.
Pamela’s eyelids burst open. Something was wrong. But what? That’s when she heard voices.
“Art Campbell said a man and a woman pulled in just around sunset last night. I figured it might be you.”
“Morning, Jasper. I suspected you might be here. Ain’t that your stallion?”
“Yup. So where’s the wife?”
“Pamela’s still sleeping. What are you doing out in this weather?”
“Got caught in the storm, same as you.”
Pam turned around under the hay and tunneled out of her cocoon. Mac knew Jasper’s horse was here and he hadn’t warned her?
She tried to see the men below.
Jasper walked over toward the stove. “Hmm, hmm, you’re wife sure can cook. She did all this last night?”
“Obviously. I can’t cook like that.”
“What man can? Women are good for one thing, taking care of us men.”
Pamela felt her temper rise.
“She ain’t like Tilly,” Jasper observed.
“Nope.” Mac leaned against the wagon with his arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t want to wake your wife, so I’ll be going now. Too bad we beat ya to the house. Mrs. Campbell keeps a mighty fine place.”
“And I suspect it will stay that way,” Mac countered.
Why was he saying that? Pamela shivered.
“Are you—”
“I wouldn’t cross that line, Jasper. You know my reputation. I’d hate for you to experience it firsthand.”
Jasper stepped back. He seemed paler. Was Jasper afraid of Mac?
Brides of Kentucky Page 7
