by Anna Zogg
“About the pie.” She nodded at the pastry. “I know it looks terrible, but I’m hoping it tastes better than it appears.”
He shoved away his recollections. “So far, I haven’t been disappointed by anything you’ve made. See no reason to start now.”
Smiling, she turned to study her son’s spelling.
“That one is right.” She pointed to Toby’s slate. “What about that one?”
Her son growled before erasing his work and trying again. “Can this be the last word, Ma? Please?”
“Of course.” She kissed the top of his head before approaching the sideboard.
As she pulled the pie closer to cut it, Cole scooted out of the way.
“No, I meant can this be my last spelling word forever?” Toby glanced at Cole, then his mother. “I don’t need any more spelling or arithmetic. I’m almost eleven.”
“Age has nothing to do with learning,” she answered in a serene voice as she dished up generous portions.
When Toby still didn’t appear convinced, Cole added his two bits. “Almost eleven? When does this happen?”
“Next month.”
“I mean how many days?”
“It’ll be in...” The youngster’s forehead wrinkled, and his lips moved as he calculated.
Cole again took his seat as Lenora set a hunk of pie in front of him. Glancing up, he caught her grin before she smoothed it out of existence. Because she knew why he was asking Toby the date?
Her son finally resorted to counting on his fingers. “Seventeen—no, eighteen days.”
“See there.” Cole grabbed his fork. “Your arithmetic skills just came in handy.”
The youngster glanced their way with narrowed eyes. Like he knew his mother and Cole were ganging up on him?
“Okay, put your homework away and let’s have pie.” She set his piece down.
It didn’t take long for Toby to do as he was told. They both dived into the tart dessert. After the first bite, Cole gave Lenora a thumbs-up as it simultaneously melted in his mouth and made it pucker. She smiled and took a delicate forkful. Mindful of his manners, he forced himself to eat slowly. Somehow, he got the feeling that she preferred good deportment.
Again, just like his ma. Once upon a time, he recalled her threatening the three men in her family with no dinner if they acted like pigs diving into their slop.
He considered. Why so many memories of Andrew lately? For sixteen years Cole had been successful in suppressing them. With the remembrances came the uncomfortable feeling that he was shirking his duty—the whole reason he had come to Wyoming Territory. Because he hadn’t been more aggressive about pursuing the Jeb Hackett gang?
Truth was, Cole liked it there. It would be easy to set down the burden of his life’s mission for a spell.
“Hey, Cole.” In the warm glow of the lantern light, Toby’s mouth was stained red from the pie’s berries. “I was thinking about Sheba.”
“Oh?” He smacked his lips.
“If she has a filly, you should name her Queen.” The youngster grinned at him. “You know, the Queen of Sheba?”
Lenora and Cole both chuckled.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The youngster certainly had a knack for naming critters.
In no time, Toby finished his pie. More than once, he rubbed his eyes, his dark, tousled hair falling over his forehead. Cole noticed that the boy had failed to get all the grime from behind his ears.
Had Andrew once been like that? In Toby, Cole felt like he was seeing a portion of his little brother’s life that he had missed. An odd longing to see the boy grow up echoed through him.
But Lenora...
The comely brunette reminded him of a path that he had chosen not to pursue so that he could become a lawman. When she laid a gentle hand on her son’s shoulder, Cole couldn’t help his thoughts. What would it feel like to have her caress his shoulder? Or impulsively hug him? When she looked at Cole, her soft smile did something funny to his heart.
He abruptly rose. “Thanks for the pie.”
Two sets of round eyes gazed at him.
Before Lenora asked, he volunteered, “Been a long day. I want to get an early start tomorrow.”
She blinked as though she’d not heard him correctly.
I need to leave.
Forget the ten days he’d promised himself to stay. He should pack up and move on. Regardless of his reasoning though, that would be wrong. Especially since Lenora needed help. But what about the investigation? The accusation pounded him. He should find another spot—less entangling—from which to investigate the Hackett gang.
How could staying and going both be the right thing to do?
“We usually finish the evening off with Bible reading and prayer.” Lenora’s lovely voice soothed his rising tension. “You’re welcome to stay. If you like.”
“Some other time perhaps.” He edged to the door.
“Oh. Cole?”
He was already halfway out when her words stopped him.
“Thank you again for saving Porky.” She smiled as she added, “And Coal.”
He gripped the door so hard his fingers stung. “You’re welcome.” He dragged his gaze away from the endearing scene.
“Good night, Cole,” Toby called. “See ya in the morning.”
With more force than he intended, he shut the door.
As he strode toward the barn, his mission kept pounding in his head. He was there to solve the mystery of the Cheyenne bank robbery, prove Jeb Hackett’s guilt and arrest not only him, but his gang. They had absconded with nearly twenty-one thousand dollars. Not one bill had been recovered.
What would Lenora’s reaction be when she found out who he was and why he was there? Cole slumped down on his bedroll and pulled off his boots. No doubt she would be pleased to see Hackett behind bars. But how would she feel about Cole not telling her he was a US marshal?
She’d think I was a liar. Just like her lying, thieving husband.
Cole pressed his forearm to his eyes as though to blot out his thoughts. Later, he could explain why he didn’t come right out and tell her. The hurt on her face materialized in his imagination.
But why should he care how Lenora felt?
As he flopped to his side, he yanked a blanket over his body. He shouldn’t be worried about her emotions.
Even so, he admitted that he did care. Perhaps a little too much.
* * *
He came back.
After Lenora had risen early, she saw from the open barn door that Cole had left. Yet a couple hours later, he rode back into the yard, a duck carcass in hand. He’d gone hunting? Or had that merely been an excuse for his return?
As she sat on the porch doing some mending, she watched him smack barbed wire with the side of the pliers. Cole moved to the next spot in the fence that needed repairing and repeated the procedure with quick ease.
Like he’d been doing it his whole life. Well, perhaps he had.
Many times she was tempted to ask him if he had been skulking around the barn several days back. He couldn’t have been the one who broke the chicken coop. But what did she really know about him? He could be an outlaw, hiding out on her ranch.
But better him than Jeb Hackett.
Since Cole had ensconced himself there, Jeb hadn’t returned. And she wanted to keep it that way. Every day, she expected the outlaw to show up and do some unspeakable evil. Or force her to marry him or one of his buddies.
She recalled the last time Amos had invited Jeb for dinner, her protests unheeded. The way he had addressed her with that despicable nickname in a sneering, condescending way made her stomach clench even now. When she had caught him openly staring, he had not bothered to avert his gaze. Like he owned her. She shivered as her imagination summoned
a man-sized reptile, paralyzing her with a chilling stare.
Pushing unpleasant memories away, she concentrated on the man across the yard while she rocked and sewed. Cole had repaired several wobbly fence posts, fixed the chicken coop’s mesh, replaced several boards in the stalls, and who knew what else. Earlier he’d told her that he planned to repair the house’s roof before it sprung a leak during the next heavy rainfall. He pointed out several shingles that appeared loose.
But first, he wanted to finish the barbed-wire fencing around part of the yard to keep roaming cattle from trampling her garden. He asked her if she planned to fence off all her land. Last year, Amos had mentioned that as well, but had never gotten around to it. A lot of ranchers and farmers were doing that since the open ranges were becoming more and more overgrazed.
Perhaps she should buy more fencing materials.
Then she drew herself up short yet again. In a month or two, she hoped that fencing wouldn’t be her problem, but Frank Hopper’s, her neighbor. He said he would give her an answer by May about whether or not he would buy her ranch. Well, it was pert near May, and she had heard nothing. Had he decided against it, but neglected to tell her?
Her gaze strayed again to Cole. What if he stayed? The three of them could handle the ranch’s workload at least until the fall when she could sell off cattle. With the money, she could hire some reliable help. Did she dare ask?
I want him to stay. Lord help me, I don’t want him to go.
When he approached the porch, she bent over her darning, pretending that she hadn’t spent near an hour staring at his strong back and broad shoulders. When he cleared his throat to get her attention, heat climbed into her cheeks.
“How’re you doing?” She looked everywhere but into his deep blue eyes. Or at the dimple that creased one cheek when he smiled.
“Good.” He tossed his hat onto the straight-back chair on the other end of the porch. “I got a good start on repairing the fences.”
“Sweet of you to help out. Are you nearly finished?”
“Yep. Only about ten thousand miles or so to go.”
“That—that sounds great.” She stared past his head and rubbed her ear, nearly jabbing herself with her darning needle.
His grin deepened, as though aware of the reason for her consternation.
Ducking her head, she drew her mending more closely to her face. This repair would require a longer needle than the one she’d been using. She wove the shorter one through her shirt’s collar to keep it handy.
“I was wondering,” Cole began.
“Hmm?” She squinted at the hole in Toby’s sock. Land sakes, that boy could wear them out faster than she could fix them.
“My glove. Got a bit of a tear. Mind sewing it? Would make the fence fixing a little gentler on my hand.”
Tempted to chide him, the teasing died in her throat when she saw blood by the jagged hole. “Oh.” She bolted up, dropping the sock and dumping her sewing basket. Her spool of thread bounded away, unraveling at the speed of lightning. Scissors clattered and other items scattered. Cole bent about the same time, barely avoiding hitting her head with his.
When Lenora overcompensated, she staggered and ended up falling against him. “I beg your—”
“My fault. Sorry.” He grabbed her arms until she stood upright.
For a moment, their faces were mere inches apart.
Cole straightened and stepped back. After scratching his chin, he pointed. “You sit. I’ll get this.”
“But your hand...”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you don’t like the sight of blood.”
“It’s not so much that, it’s just that you’re bleeding.” As soon as she spoke, she clenched her hands and pressed them against her skirt. “What I meant to say—” she spoke with care “—is that you were injured doing me a favor.”
He grinned and held up his palm. “This is hardly an injury.”
Her disquiet grew. No matter what she said, it was wrong.
Finally she gathered her wits. “Well, you should have made a bigger deal of it. When Toby gets hurt, he hollers until I promise him an extra piece of pie.”
Cole threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“In the meantime...” She hastened into the house. “I have some salve that’ll help.”
He pulled on a sandy-colored curl above his forehead as though he were using that instead of his missing hat to salute her. “Much obliged.”
Where was that salve? She grabbed a jar off a shelf in the kitchen area. “It’d heal faster if you wash your hands before I put this on.”
He did as she bade, using a rough rectangle of soap and wiping his hands on a small towel.
After scooping out the creamy ointment with one finger, she cradled his hand and pulled it to her chest. Barbed wire had caught and torn the flesh in the meaty part of his thumb. It had to hurt. She got a better grip, preparing to apply the salve.
Suddenly realizing this wasn’t Toby, she jerked back. Cole didn’t comment about her abrupt movement. With his strong hand resting on hers, she rubbed the healing concoction deep into his skin.
They stood so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her heart began to hammer. Did she imagine it or did his breath quicken too?
“There.” She coughed to clear her throat. Somehow she managed to turn and tighten the lid on the jar without meeting his gaze. Or breaking anything.
“Ow!” His sudden yell made her jump.
She spun. “What’s wrong?”
Grinning, he held up his hand. “You said I might get an extra piece of pie if I hollered. Better late than never?”
Lenora grabbed the towel he’d used and flung the balled-up material at him.
Catching it, he merely laughed, the sound somehow making his blue eyes deepen in color. She lost the war to keep from grinning back at him.
It felt like forever to say something. Finally she found her tongue. “Break time’s over. Get back to work, mister.”
“Anything you say, Lenora.”
She sucked in a slow breath, pleased to hear him call her by name. The way he drawled out the second syllable, like he was caressing the word...
She was the first to look away.
“Thanks for fixing me up.”
After he stepped onto the porch, she called, “Leave your glove, and I’ll tend to it directly.”
By the time she put the salve away, he’d repacked all the contents of her sewing basket. It sat by her rocking chair. Cole’s glove rested on the arm.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Fanning herself, she perched on the seat’s edge. Land sakes, the day seemed too warm for April.
After examining the tear, she determined regular thread wouldn’t do a proper repair. She needed sinew, along with a thimble and her strongest needle to jab through the thick leather. In no time, she bent over her task, promising herself she’d do the best possible job. By the time she finished, her neck felt stiff. Ignoring the discomfort, Lenora examined her work with a critical eye. The repair seemed bulky. Next time he wore this, it’d likely be uncomfortable.
Wasn’t a pair of Amos’s gloves lying around somewhere? No use their wasting in a trunk, waiting for Toby to grow into them. As she thought about giving the gloves away, a sense of relief washed over her. Like letting go of Amos’s things was releasing bad memories about him.
She would hunt for the item once dinner was finished. Which reminded her...
After checking on the duck stew, she adjusted the flues so that it wouldn’t overcook.
Footsteps sounded above. Two sets?
“Tobias Joseph, be careful,” she called out the open door. As an afterthought she added, “You too, Cole. My salve won’t mend a broken neck.”
Overpowering Toby’s giggle, Cole’s laugh sounded deep and rich. It was the sweetest music she’d heard in a long while.
Chapter Seven
“Here, hold this.” Cole gave the hammer to Toby. “Watch your step.”
Some of the wooden shingles were loose. Despite the rope he’d tied about the boy’s waist and thighs, he didn’t want to scare Lenora half to death if she saw her son dangling by her kitchen window.
The grim thought followed that perhaps she might like to see Jeb Hackett with the rope around his neck.
They’d not seen the outlaw in many days. Perhaps he wouldn’t be back. Leastways, not while Cole was there. Even with two men guarding his flank, Hackett had galloped off like a frightened schoolgirl. Because his veiled threats didn’t scare off Cole? Perhaps a man who didn’t cower before the almighty Hackett name intimidated him.
Cole tucked the speculation away in his mind.
“Appreciate your help,” he said to Toby as he secured the shingles. Like the boy, he was barefoot even though they’d probably end up with a passel of slivers. Boots up there increased the chances of injury. Or an early death. Cole was no fool. A sturdy rope secured him as well. The roof had quite a pitch and, according to Lenora, Amos intended it that way so that snow wouldn’t have a chance to build up on it.
Another unusual thing Cole noticed was how far off the ground her husband had constructed the house. At least five steps led from the ground to the porch. Lenora claimed it was because of possible flooding, but that seemed unlikely. The nearby stream, downslope from the ranch, glistened in the sunlight. Seemed no threat.
Did that mean Amos built a hidey-hole in the flooring?
As he and Toby moved across the roof, securing shingles, he stepped on a soft spot.
“What in the world?” Cole squatted to feel the wood, puzzling over the unevenness. After studying it, he lifted an odd shingle that didn’t quite lie smoothly. However, it appeared attached to a row of them. Digging his fingers under the wood, he raised a whole section—nearly three feet square. Something caught after he lifted the panel an inch.
“That’s just the trapdoor,” Toby explained.
