“I told you last night, but I don’t suppose you remember.” A blush stained her cheeks. She must be remembering the position he’d discovered her in this morning. He was sure he’d never forget it.
“You’re in Lucinda, Texas, Mr. McCain, south and west of Fort Davis, a couple of days’ ride into the hills. We’re a small gold mining town, named for the founder’s wife, Lucinda Miller.”
“Old biddy,” Nathan piped up.
“Nathan Hudson! Shame on you,” Rachel scolded.
“Well, she is,” he argued. “You told me never to lie.”
Jake’s snicker earned him a glare from Rachel, but he couldn’t wait to hear how she handled the boy’s logic.
“You shouldn’t lie, but it isn’t always necessary to speak the truth out loud. And it’s never polite to call anyone a name.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered as he ducked behind Griffin and started brushing his ebony flank.
“Leave that for now, and wash up. Breakfast is ready.”
The currycomb hit the floor with a clatter as Nathan vaulted over the makeshift corral and raced for the washbowl. Water flew as he scrubbed off the grime of his chores. He dropped the towel on the floor in his haste, but a look from Rachel had him folding it beside the bowl before he slid into his chair.
Jake moved a lot slower, but managed to limp to the washbowl and on to the table. He lowered himself onto a bench, barely stifling a groan of pain.
“Should I make you another cup of tonic?” Rachel watched him with concern.
Jake shook his head. “I’ll manage.”
He expected Nathan to be wolfing down the food, but the boy waited for his sister to come to the table. When she sat, they joined hands and each held out the free one in Jake’s direction. Self-conscious, he took hold of their fingers, keeping the contact to a minimum. Nathan’s hand was cool from the recent scrubbing. Rachel’s was warm and soft. The fragrance of lavender mixed with fresh biscuits tangled his senses.
When Rachel gave thanks for Jake’s safety, he glanced sideways at her, surprised. No one but the woman who’d adopted and raised him had ever given a damn about his safety. They chorused an “amen,” with Jake’s coming a split second late. Nathan snagged two biscuits in one hand, his glass of milk with the other, and began making breakfast disappear.
“Hang on a minute.” Jake stopped the boy’s hand mid shovel. “Where are my saddlebags?”
“Over there,” Nathan mumbled through a mouthful. “I’ll get ’em.” With the energy of youth, he bolted from his chair and dashed across the room to drag the heavy leather cases close.
Jake rummaged around for a moment, then pulled out a small glass jar filled with amber liquid and offered it to Rachel.
“My addition to the feast, ma’am.”
“Honey.” Her eyes lit with delight.
He considered teasing her about being so familiar, but didn’t have the strength. “It’s a treat my mother slipped into my gear when I wasn’t looking.”
She inhaled the spicy sweet scent with obvious pleasure. “I haven’t had any in years.”
“What’s that?”
Rachel looked up at her brother’s question. “Something you’re going to love.”
“You’ve never had honey?” Jake couldn’t believe a boy Nathan’s age had never tasted honey.
“The people who raised us didn’t believe in partaking of anything so sweet,” Rachel explained. “It was a temptation to sin, in their mind.”
“But you’ve had it,” he prodded.
Her smiled dimmed. “Once or twice, a long time ago.” She opened the jar. “Hand me your plate, Nathan.”
She drizzled honey onto Nathan’s biscuits and gave the plate back. The boy eyed the gooey golden liquid and sniffed at it like a wary hound before biting into it. Jake laughed at the look of wonder on the boy’s face as the spicy sweetness hit his tongue. Rachel put a little on her own biscuits and handed the jar to Jake.
Jake stared as she licked a bit of honey from her fingertips, her tongue sweeping up every drop. Her long lashes lowered as she savored the sweetness. He was grateful the table hid his body below the belt. He studied her face, but she gave no indication that she’d done it on purpose or knew how she affected him. Shifting a little in his seat, he replaced the cover on the jar.
“Aren’t you having any?” Rachel bit into her biscuit.
“I’ll leave it for the two of you. I can hunt up some more once the weather warms.” He slid the jar toward her and concentrated on his plate. The fare was simple, but there was enough, and he made short work of the meal. Jake refused the milk she offered and drank water instead. He’d have to dig out the coffee he carried before the next meal. It would taste good on such a cold day.
He pushed his empty plate away and looked around. “What are the animals doing inside?”
Rachel excused Nathan from the table before responding. “We don’t have a barn, only a small lean-to and the corral. The people who built this house never got around to adding it. I suppose they ran out of energy.” She glanced around the small space. “Wood is difficult to come by in Lucinda, now. What there was has gone into the mines.”
“And the animals?” he prompted, bringing her back to his question.
She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “When the weather turned yesterday morning, I was afraid it would be too cold for them outside. So we fashioned a corral from what we had and brought them in.”
“That makes sense to me.”
She flashed him a bright smile. “Thank you.”
Jake carried his plate and cup to the small sideboard where a pan of hot water waited. He offered to dry the dishes as she washed them, but Rachel declined, urging him to rest.
“Your tonic did the job,” he assured her. “I’m already feeling better.”
“I insist. If you don’t rest, you won’t heal.”
“That sounds like something my mother would say.” Grumbling, he limped to the rocker and settled into it, but inactivity went against the grain. He couldn’t stand watching Rachel and Nathan work while he sat idle.
When he stood, Rachel turned her head. “Where are you going?”
Jake ignored her. Grabbing his two revolvers, he carried them back to the kitchen table, then returned for his rifle. He dug in the other saddlebag for a moment before he realized something was missing. Anger flashed through him. “Where is it?”
Rachel glanced over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“The money. You didn’t need to steal. If you wanted payment for taking care of me, you only had to ask.”
“Steal?” Nathan stopped work to stare at him.
Rachel looked indignant, even with soapy water dripping from her fingers. “We haven’t stolen anything, Mr. McCain. Everything is in there.”
She jerked her head in the direction of the mantelpiece. Scattered over the rough-hewn surface Jake could see a wooden box, a few feminine doodads, and a photograph in a carved wooden frame. The book of poetry he always carried lay nearby.
“In the box,” she hissed, blue fire glinting in her eyes.
He studied the box. The workmanship was beautiful. The joints were dovetailed and the surface gleamed with polish. Lifting the lid, he saw his money, his commission, and the letter he’d carried in his pocket for more than a month. Everything was there.
For the first time in years, shame soured his stomach. “My apologies, ma’am. Nathan.” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned to face them both. “My accusation was uncalled for. You’ve been nothing but kind. I guess I...” He shook his head. “No, there’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”
Rachel stared at him for long silent moments, but he didn’t look away. She had every right to order him out into the storm still raging beyond the walls. He half expected her to.
Nathan didn’t say anything, looking to Rachel for direction.
“You are forgiven, Mr. McCain.”
That was it. With no discussion, no accusat
ions, she returned to her work. Nathan nodded once in agreement and went back to sweeping up straw. Jake was shocked. No one but his adoptive mother had accepted his bursts of temper without trying to get even.
Dumping his things on the mantel, he carefully replaced Rachel’s possessions in the box. He glanced at the photograph, then looked closer. In the woman’s eyes he could see Rachel.
“That was my mother.” She joined him to stare at the image.
“You favor her.”
Glancing quickly at Nathan, she removed the likeness from his hand and put it in the box, closing the lid and cutting off any questions he might have asked.
When she went back to measuring out ingredients for bread, he limped to the table. With every step, he got angrier. Not at her or Nathan, but at the hand fate had dealt him. How far ahead of him were the men he’d been tracking, now that he was laid up in a snowbound cabin? Months of work wasted, because he’d gotten careless.
They should have killed him. He deserved to be dead. But instead, he was safe and warm, and stuck in a tiny cabin with a boy who thought being a Texas Ranger made him a candidate for sainthood and a woman who made him hard just by breathing.
He lowered himself into a chair and grabbed a revolver and a dry cloth. It was going to be a long day.
CHAPTER THREE
Rachel resisted looking over her shoulder, telling herself for the tenth time in as many minutes that she mustn’t stare. She’d never seen a man like Jake McCain, let alone had one sitting at her kitchen table. From the moment she’d awakened last night to find herself staring into his unusual green eyes, she hadn’t been able to think of anything but him.
She reached for the flour she’d measured out and knocked the cup aside with her hand, dusting herself and the floor. Disgusted with her clumsiness, Rachel bent over to clean up the mess. When she straightened, she glanced in Jake’s direction and found him watching her, his brilliant green eyes sparkling with laughter. Embarrassed, she turned away and tried to slow her racing heart. Even with a swollen eye and some colorful bruises, he was a handsome man.
Not like Hiram, of course. Deliberately she thought of the man she hoped to marry. Hiram Miller, the only son of the town’s founders, was tall and handsome, with fair-haired good looks that made even the married women in town stare.
Hiram was the kind of man she knew she had to marry, a respectable man who would provide a home for her and Nathan. Rachel summoned an image of her suitor, but the man in her mind had green eyes and hair the color of a moonless night sky.
She should be ashamed. Rachel poured the bread dough onto her board with a plop and began kneading it with more energy than necessary. Could Jake tell she was thinking of him? Risking a glance at Jake McCain, she found him with his head bent over the revolver in his hands. His fingers seemed to caress the metal as he cleaned the weapon with a small cloth.
She wasn’t sure why, since she had little experience with guns. Her mother hadn’t owned one, and the missionary couple who’d taken them in relied on God’s Word as their only weapon. Even hunting for food was disdained. Everything will be provided by the Lord, the Reverend lectured whenever she dared to complain. All our needs will be met by those with whom we share the Word, even the flour for our bread. They went to bed hungry many nights, but the preacher was unbending.
Occasionally, a hunter traded a hunk of deer meat or a couple of rabbits for a meal and some company. She savored the tiny portion of meat she was allotted on those evenings, though it was never enough to satisfy her hunger.
With practiced motions, Rachel shaped the dough into four balls, covered them with a clean cloth and set them near the chimney to rise. It was twice the number of loaves she normally baked, but she didn’t know how much Jake would eat, and she wanted to have plenty. Taking up a damp cloth, she cleaned up and thought through her next task. She would make the cake after she convinced Nathan to work on his spelling. “Nathan, how are you coming with your chores?”
“All finished.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm. No matter the hardships they encountered, her brother always managed to brighten the day. “Then wash your hands and come to the table. You need to work on your spelling words.”
“Aw, do I have to?”
She bit back a smile. They had the same discussion every time she mentioned studying.
“Yes, you have to. You want to win the spelling bee this year, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You won’t win if you don’t practice.”
“Oh, all right. If I have to.”
She turned away to hide her smile and nearly collided with Jake. She had to look up to see his face. She hadn’t realized when he was laid out on the floor just how tall he was. He could put his chin on the top of her head without even stretching.
When one black eyebrow slashed upward in question, she stepped closer to explain, keeping her voice low so Nathan wouldn’t hear. “I hold a spelling contest each spring. Nathan’s best friend won last year and won’t let him live it down. He wants to get even.”
“You’re the teacher?”
“For nearly three years, now. I love working with the children.”
Jake nodded. “Will I be in the way here?” He indicated the table with a nod of his head. Rachel was mesmerized by the play of light in his hair. When the corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin, she realized she was staring.
“N-no,” she stammered. “You’re fine where you are.”
She turned away and scolded herself silently. What on earth was the matter with her? She helped Nathan arrange his books and slate, grateful for the distraction. Soon, the boy’s blond head was bent to the task, practicing the words she chose for him.
“Independent,” she repeated. Nathan’s brow furrowed as he thought over the new syllables.
“I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d...” He hesitated exactly where she expected.
“...a-n-t?” he finished with a question.
“Almost,” she prompted. “Remember, independence means you don’t need anybody’s help. Since anybody begins with ‘a’, you don’t need the—”
“I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t,” the boy corrected with a flourish.
“Yes,” Rachel cheered. “Absolutely correct.”
Jake looked up. “Good job, son.”
Nathan beamed under the praise from his newest hero. Bending to his task, he wrote the new word three times, then used it in a sentence. He smacked the chalk to the slate with the period and handed it to Jake to approve.
Jake stared at the slate like it was a rattle snake ready to strike. Rachel was certain she saw panic in his eyes before he went back to reassembling his revolver. “Ask your sister. She’s the teacher.”
Nathan’s face crumpled, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Rachel hurried to reassure him.
“You used it perfectly, Nathan. And your handwriting is improving.” She glanced toward Jake, but he was concentrating on his task. “That’s enough for today. Do you want to help me with the cake?”
“I guess so.”
He sounded so disheartened Rachel wanted to cry. “Then go put these things away. We’ll practice reading after dinner.”
He dragged his heels but did as she asked. The moment he disappeared up the stairs she rounded on Jake.
“Would it have been too much trouble to just read what he’d written?”
Jake glared at her but didn’t say anything.
Rachel wanted to say more, but Nathan’s boots reappeared on the stairs. With a huff, she spun away to the sink, banging pots and bowls around as she pulled out ingredients. Grabbing an egg, she smashed the shell into the bowl.
She stared at the mess and felt tears sting her eyes. How many times had Reverend Hudson lectured that her temper would be her undoing? And punishment was severe, as a reminder that a good woman never showed her feelings.
Forcing herself to calm down, she fished out all the broken pieces. She cracked another egg with greater care and set the rest aside for t
omorrow’s breakfast.
Nathan slipped quietly to her side, leaning into her for reassurance. Ignoring the mess on her fingers, she wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. Planting a kiss on the top of his head, Rachel released him and handed him the butter.
While Nathan melted a chunk of it in a pan on the stove, she whipped the eggs with more force than necessary. Then she turned the bowl and spoon over to her brother. Watching closely, she helped him measure the right amount of sugar and flour into the mix, adding a splash of whiskey and a drizzle of Jake’s honey for flavor.
Nathan poured the batter into the cake pans, and Rachel carried one to the stove, letting him bring the second one. She slipped the cake pans into the tiny baking compartment on the side of the stove, using the poker to spread out the hot coals so they would bake more evenly.
“Well done, Nathan,” she congratulated. “It’s going to taste wonderful.”
She stiffened when Jake pushed away from the table and limped across the room to where his saddlebags lay in a corner.
“Nathan.” His voice was rough and low, sending shivers coursing through her.
“Yes, sir?” Hope brightened the boy’s answer.
“I didn’t mean to seem...” He groped for the words. “What I mean is...” Jake heaved a sigh and stared at the sealed letter she’d discovered in his pocket last night.
“Do you think you could help me?”
“With what?” Wariness colored Nathan’s reply.
“Would you—read this to me?” He indicated the letter in his hand with a curt nod.
That was why the letter had never been opened. “You can’t read.” The words popped out before Rachel could stop them. A stain of red crept up from his collar.
Jake ran the edges of the envelope through his long fingers. “I never learned,” he admitted quietly.
“But, you carry a book with you. I saw it.”
“It belonged to my father. He was some kind of professor from England. He read all the time. He died before he could teach me how to make sense of the letters and words. That book is the only thing I have left of him besides memories.”
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