Lawless jh-3
Page 7
She went out like a light.
When Sarah woke, her head felt as though it had been split open and filled with a drum-and-bugle corps. Moaning, she sat on the edge of the cot and cradled her aching head in her hands. She wished she could believe it had all been a nightmare, but the pounding at the base of her skull, and the rust-colored water in the bowl, said differently.
Gingerly she began to dress. The best she could do for herself at the moment was to see how bad the damage was and pray the horses came back. She doubted she could afford two more on her meager budget. In deference to her throbbing head, she tied her hair back loosely with a ribbon. Even the thought of hairpins made her grimace.
The power of the sun had her gasping. Small red dots danced in front of her eyes and her vision wavered and dimmed. She leaned against the door, gathering her strength, before she stepped out.
The shed was gone. In its place was rubble, a mass of black, charred wood. Determined, Sarah crossed over to it. She could still smell the smoke. If she closed her eyes she could hear the terrifying sound of fire crackling over dry wood. And the heat. She’d never forget the heat-the intensity of it, the meanness of it.
It hadn’t been much of a structure, but it had been hers. In a civilized society a vandal was made to pay for the destruction of property. Arizona Territory or Philadelphia, she meant to see that justice was done here. But for now she was alone.
Alone. She stood in the yard and listened. Never before had she heard such quiet. There was a trace of wind, hot and silent. It lacked the strength to rustle the scrub that pushed its way through the rocks. The only sound she heard was the quick breathing of the puppy, who was sitting on the ground at her feet. The horses had run off. So, Sarah thought as she turned in a circle, had Jake Redman. It was better that way, she decided-because she remembered, all too clearly, the way she had felt when he had sat on the cot in the shadowy lamplight and touched her hair. Foolish. It was hateful to admit it, but she’d felt foolish and weak and, worst of all, willing.
There was no use being ashamed of it, but she considered herself too smart to allow it to happen again.
A man like Jake Redman wasn’t the type a woman could flirt harmlessly with. Perhaps she didn’t have a wide and worldly experience with men, but she recognized a dangerous one when she saw him.
There were some, she had no doubt, who would be drawn to his kind. A man who killed without remorse or regret, who came and went as he pleased. But not her. When she decided to give her heart to a man, it would be to one she understood and respected.
With a sigh, she bent down to soothe the puppy, who was whimpering at her feet. There was a comfort in the way he nuzzled his face against hers. When she fell in love and married, Sarah thought, it would be to a man of dignity and breeding, a man who would cherish her, who would protect her, not with guns and fists but with honor. They would be devoted to each other, and to the family they made between them. He would be educated and strong, respected in the community. Those were the qualities she’d been taught a woman looked for in a husband. Sarah stroked the puppy’s head and wished she could conquer this strange feeling that what she’d been taught wasn’t necessarily true. What did it matter now? As things stood, she had too much to do to think about romance. She had to find a way to rebuild the shed. Then she’d have to bargain for a new wagon and team. She stirred some of the charred wood with the toe of her shoe. She was about to give in to the urge to kick it when she heard horses approaching.
Panic came first and had her spinning around, a cry for help on her lips. The sunbaked dirt and empty rocks mocked her. The Lord helped those who help themselves, she remembered, and raced into the house with the puppy scrambling behind her.
When she came out again her knees were trembling, but she was carrying her father’s rifle in both hands. Jake took one look at her, framed in the doorway, her eyes mirroring fear and fury. It came to him with a kind of dull, painful surprise that she was the kind of woman a man would die for. He slid from his horse. “I’d be obliged, ma’am, if you’d point that someplace else.”
“Oh.” She nearly sagged with relief. “Mr. Redman. I thought you’d gone.” He merely inclined his head and took another meaningful look at the rifle.
“Oh,” she said again, and lowered it. She felt foolish, not because of the gun but because when she’d looked out and seen him all her thoughts about what she wanted and didn’t want had shifted ground. There he was, looking dark and reckless, with guns gleaming at his hip. And there she was, fighting back a driving instinct to run into his arms.
“You…found the horses.”
He took his time tying the team to a post before he approached her. “They hadn’t gone far.” He took the rifle from her and leaned it against the house. The stock was damp from her nervous hands. But he’d seen more than nerves in her eyes. And he wondered. “I’m very grateful.” Because she felt awkward, she leaned down to gather the yapping puppy in her arms. Jake still hadn’t shaved, and she remembered how his face had felt against the palm of her hand. Fighting a blush, she curled her fingers. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with them until I have shelter again.” What was going on in that mind of hers? Jake wondered.
“A lean-to would do well enough for the time being. Just need to rig one over a corner of the paddock.” “A lean-to, yes.” It was a relief to deal with something practical. Her mind,went to work quickly. “Mr. Redman, have you had breakfast?”
He tipped his hat back on his head. “Not to speak of.”
“If you could fashion a temporary shelter for the horses, I’d be more than glad to fix you a meal.” He’d meant to do it anyway, but if she wanted to bargain, he’d bargain. “Can you cook?”
“Naturally. Preparing meals was a very important part of my education.”
He wanted to touch her hair again. And more. Instead, he hooked his thumb in his pocket. “I ain’t worried about you preparing a meal. Can you cook?” She tried not to sigh. “Yes.”
“All right, then.”
When he walked away and didn’t remount his horse, Sarah supposed a deal had been struck. “Mr. Redman?” He stopped to look over his shoulder.
“How do you prefer your eggs?”
“Hot,” he told her, then continued on his way.
She’d give him hot, Sarah decided, rattling pans. She’d give him the best damn breakfast he’d ever eaten. She took a long breath and forced herself to be calm. His way of talking was beginning to rub off on her. That would never do.
Biscuits. Delighted that she’d been given a brand-new recipe only the day before, she went to work.
Thirty minutes later, Jake came in to stand in the doorway. The scents amazed him. He’d expected to find the frying pan smoking with burnt eggs. Instead, he saw a bowl of fresh, golden-topped biscuits wrapped in a clean bandanna. Sarah was busy at the stove, humming to herself. The pup was nosing into corners, looking for trouble.
Jake had never thought much about a home for himself, but if he had it would have been like this. A woman in a pretty dress humming by the stove, the smells of good cooking rising in the air. A man could do almost anything if the right woman was waiting for him.
Then she turned. One look at her face, the elegance of it, was a reminder that a man like him didn’t have a woman like her waiting for him.
“Just in time.” She smiled, pleased with herself. Conquering the cookstove was her biggest accomplishment to date. “There’s fresh water in the bowl, so you can wash up.” She began to scoop eggs onto an ironstone plate. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great deal to offer. I’m thinking of getting some chickens of my own. We had them at school, so I know a bit about them. Fresh eggs are such a comfort, don’t you think?”
He lifted his head from the bowl, and water dripped down from his face. Her cheeks were flushed from cooking, and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, revealing slender, milk-white arms. Comfort was the last thing on his mind. Without speaking, he took his seat.
“Mrs. Cobb gave me the recipe for these biscuits yesterday.
I hope they’re as good as she claimed.”
Jake broke one, and the steam and fragrance poured out. Watching her, he bit into it. “They’re fine.” “Please, Mr. Redman, all this flattery will turn my head.” She scooped up a forkful of eggs. “I was introduced to several ladies yesterday while I was buying supplies. They seem very hospitable.”
“I don’t know much about the ladies in town.” At least not the kind Sarah was speaking of.
“I see.” She took a bite of biscuit herself. It was more than fine, she thought with a pout. It was delicious. “Liza Cody-her family runs the dry goods store. I found her very amiable. She was kind enough to let me have one of their puppies.”
Jake looked down at the dog, who was sniffing at his boot and thumping his tail. “That where you got this thing?”
“Yes. I wanted the company.”
Jake broke off a bite of biscuit and dropped it to the dog, ignoring Sarah’s muttered admonition about feeding animals from the table. “Scrawny now, but he’s going to be a big one.”
“Really?” Intrigued, she leaned over to look.
“How can you tell?”
“His paws. He’s clumsy now because they’re too big for him. He’ll grow into them.”
“I fancy it’s to my advantage to own a large dog.” “Didn’t do you much good last night,” he pointed out, but pleased both the pup and Sarah by scratching between the dog’s floppy ears. “You give him a name yet?”
“Lafitte.”
Jake paused with his fork halfway to his lips.
“What the hell kind of name is that for a dog?” “After the pirate. He had that black marking around his eye, like a patch.”
“Pretty fancy name for a mutt,” Jake said over a mouthful of eggs. “Bandit’s better.”
Sarah lifted a brow. “I’d certainly never give him a name like that.”
“A pirate’s a bandit, isn’t he?” Jake dived into another biscuit.
“Be that as it may, the name stands.”
Chewing, Jake looked down at the puppy, who was groveling a bit, obviously hoping for another handout. “Bet it makes you feel pretty stupid, doesn’t it, fella?”
“Would you care for more coffee, Mr. Redman?”
Frustrated, Sarah rose and, wrapping a cloth around the handle, took the pot from the stove. Without waiting for an answer, she stood beside Jake and poured. She smelled good, he thought. Soft. Kind of subtle, like a field of wildflowers in early spring. At the ends of her stiff white sleeves, her hands were delicate. He remembered the feel of them on his cheek.
“They taught you good,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” She looked down at him.
There was something in his eyes, a hint of what she’d seen in them the night before. It didn’t make her nervous, as she’d been certain it would. It made her yearn.
“The cooking.” Jake put a hand over hers to straighten the pot and-keep the coffee from overflowing the cup. Then he kept it there, feeling the smooth texture of her skin and the surprisingly rapid beating of her pulse. She didn’t back away, or blush, or snatch her hand from his. Instead, she simply looked back at him. The question in her eyes was one he wanted badly to answer.
She moistened her lips but kept her eyes steady.
“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You take too many chances, Sarah.” Slowly, when he was certain she understood his meaning, he removed his hand.
With her chin up, she returned the pot to the stove. How dare he make her feel like that, then toss it back in her face? “You don’t frighten me, Mr. Redman. If you were going to hurt me, you would have done so by now.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Your kind wears a man down.”
“My kind?” She turned, the light of challenge in her eyes. “Just what kind would that be?”
“The soft kind. The soft, stubborn kind who’s right on the edge of stepping into a man’s arms.”
“You couldn’t be more mistaken.” Her voice was icy now in defense against the blood that had heated at his words. “I haven’t any interest in being in your arms, or any man’s. My only interest at the moment is protecting my property.”
“Could be I’m wrong.” He rocked back in his chair. She was a puzzle, all right, and he’d never known how pleasurable it could be to get a woman’s dander up. “We’ll born find out sooner or later. Meanwhile, just how do you plan to go about protecting this place?”
Not much caring whether he was finished or not she began to stack the plates. “I’m going to alert the sheriff, of course.”
“That’s not going to hurt, but it’s not going to help much, either, if you get more trouble out here. The sheriffs ten miles away.”
“Just what do you suggest?”
He’d already given it some thought, and he had an answer. “If I were you, I’d hire somebody to help out around here. Somebody who can give you a hand with the place, and who knows how to use a gun.”
A thrill sprinted through her. She managed, just barely, to keep her voice disinterested. “Yourself, I suppose.”
He grinned at her. “No, Duchess, I ain’t looking for that kind of job. I was thinking of Lucius.”
Frowning, she began to scrub out the frying pan.
“He drinks.”
“Who doesn’t? Give him a couple of meals and a place to bunk down and he’ll do all right for you. A woman staying out here all alone’s just asking for trouble. Those men who burned your shed last night might’ve done more to you than give you a headache.” His meaning was clear enough, clearer still because she’d thought of that possibility herself. She’d prefer him-though only because she knew he was capable, she assured herself. But she did need someone. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“No perhaps about it. Someone as green as you doesn’t have the sense to do more than die out here.” “I don’t see why you have to insult me.”
“The plain truth’s the plain truth, Duchess.”
Teeth clenched, she banged dishes. “I told you not to-” “I got a question for you,” he said, interrupting her easily. “What would you have done this morning if it hadn’t been me bringing back the horses?”
“I would have defended myself.”
“You ever shot a Henry before?”
She gave him a scandalized look. “Why in the world would I have shot anyone named Henry?”
With a long sigh, he rose. “A Henry rifle, Duchess. That’s what you were pointing at my belt buckle before you fixed my eggs.”
Sarah wiped the pan clean, then set it aside. “No, I haven’t actually fired one, but I can’t imagine it’s that complicated. In any case, I never intended to shoot it.”
“What did you have in mind? Dancing with it?”
She snatched up a plate. “Mr. Redman, I’m growing weary of being an amusement to you. I realize that someone like you thinks nothing of shooting a man dead and walking away. I, however, have been taught-rightfully-that killing is a sin.”
“You’re wrong.” Something in his voice had her turning toward him again. “ Surviving’s never a sin.
It’s all there is.”
“If you believe that, I’m sorry for you.”
He didn’t want her pity. But he did want her to stay alive. Moving over, he took the plates out of her hands. “If you see a snake, are you going to kill it or stand there and let it bite you?”
“That’s entirely different.”
“You might not think it’s so different if you stay out here much longer. Where’s the cartridges for the rifle?”
Wiping her hands on her apron, Sarah glanced at the shelf behind her. Jake took the cartridges down, checked them, then gripped her arm. “Come on. I’ll give you a lesson.”
“I haven’
t finished cleaning the dishes.”
“They’ll keep.”
“I never said I wanted lessons,” she told him as he pulled her outside.
“If you’re going to pick up a gun, you ought to know how to use it.” He hefted the rifle and smiled at her. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t learn.” Sarah untied her apron and laid it over the rail. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Chapter Five
He’d figured a challenge would be the best way to get her cooperation. Sarah marched along beside him, chin up, eyes forward. He didn’t think she knew it, but when she’d held the rifle that morning she’d been prepared to pull the trigger. He wanted to make sure that when she did she hit what she aimed at.
From the rubble of the burned shed, Jake selected a few pieces of charred wood and balanced three of them against a pile of rocks.
“First thing you do is learn how to load it without shooting off your foot.” Jake emptied the rifle’s chamber, then slowly reloaded. “You’ve got to have respect for a weapon, and not go around holding it like you were going to sweep the porch with it.”
To prove his point, he brought the rifle up, sighted in and fired three shots. The three pieces of scrap wood flew backward in unison. “Bullets can do powerful damage to a man,” he told her as he lowered the gun again.
She had to swallow. The sound of gunfire still echoed. “I’m aware of that, Mr. Redman. I have no intention of shooting anyone.”
“Most people don’t wake up in the morning figuring on it.” He went to the rocks again. This time he set up the largest piece of wood. “Unless you’re planning on heading back to Philadelphia real soon, you’d better learn how to use this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
With a nod, Jake emptied the rifle and handed her the ammo. “Load it.”
She didn’t like the feel of the bullets in her hands. They were cold and smooth. Holding them, she wondered how anyone could use them against another.
Metal against flesh. No, it was inconceivable.
“You going to play with them or put them in the gun?”