by Karen Kirst
Pushing the covers off, she shoved her feet into her boots and winced. Still slightly squishy. There was nothing to be done about it. Petra had to be milked, the chickens fed, breakfast tended to and the coop finished.
She dressed in the same gray skirt and white blouse from last night, hurriedly splashed her face with cool water, and brushed and plaited her hair in a single heavy braid. She left Walt sleeping in his bed. He’d had trouble falling asleep and could use the extra rest.
As she emerged from the room, her gaze fell on the row of empty stalls. The worry that had dogged her throughout the night eased up, the knot in her stomach loosening. Gideon had been here to let his horses out. He’d obviously survived the storm just fine.
No doubt he’d think her silly for fretting.
Deciding to skip her morning coffee, she made due with milk and a day-old biscuit. The day was a dreary one, thick fog coating the fields and a canopy of gray clouds hanging low in the sky. The air was slightly cool against her skin. Beneath her boots, the ground squished as she traversed the field between the stable and cabin site. She resisted the urge to check his camp. While she was relieved he was okay, that didn’t mean she was ready for a friendly chat. Not that “friendly” really applied to them.
“Evelyn.”
His steel-and-velvet voice washed over her, raising gooseflesh along her arms. Halting midstride, she looked up, right into a pair of devastating smoky gray eyes. His features, so familiar to her now, struck her as both tragic and beautiful.
I will not be distracted by this strange pull he has on me.
“Gideon.” Her fingers tightening on the toolbox she carried, she walked right past him and continued on her way to the half-finished coop.
Setting the box in the damp grass, she rifled through the tools and fished out her hammer, keenly aware that he’d followed her. The tips of his brown boots edged her vision.
Focused on the box contents, she clipped, “If you’re here to try and stop me, I’ll just go and seek out Private Strafford’s advice on the matter.”
It was an immature threat and they both knew it.
His boots shifted once. Twice. A third time.
“I, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened yesterday.”
She slowly lifted her head. An apology was the last thing she’d anticipated.
His hand massaged the back of his neck, and he wore a sheepish expression. The tips of his ears burned bright red. “I shouldn’t have behaved the way I did,” he said. “I hope you suffered no ill effects from the... Well, you know.”
Standing upright, she folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head. She was enjoying his discomfiture far too much. “Are you referring to how you so rudely deposited me in the stream? On my backside, no less?”
He swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Taking pity on him, she offered him a rueful smile. “I owe you an apology, as well. My behavior wasn’t exactly that of a mature adult.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. Not a full-fledged grin but awfully close. She felt a sudden longing to see the real thing.
His hand dropped to his side. “So we’re good?”
“We’re good.” Until the next go-round. Considering the situation they found themselves in, she feared it was inevitable.
* * *
Gideon’s gaze snagged on the widow’s dazzling smile, her white teeth flashing against her burnished gold skin. Evelyn’s exotic beauty floored him, rendered him weak. Tempted him to disregard the vow he’d made to steer clear of entanglements.
Take that near miss in the stable, for example. He’d come dangerously close to kissing her. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d successfully held himself aloof since Susannah’s passing, embracing the loneliness as his unique penance. Some men were meant to be blessed with hearth and home and a loving family. Not him. One failure had taught him that lesson.
He lifted a hand in the direction of the coop. “I’d like to help you.”
Her rosy lips parted. “You would?” Clasping her gloved hands together at her middle, she cocked her head again in that cute way of hers, glossy braid slipping forward over her shoulder. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You and I working together carries a certain amount of risk, does it not? I wouldn’t want to end up in the creek again.”
Oh, being near her definitely risked his sanity. His composure, too. But after his sorry behavior yesterday, he owed it to her to help. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
One saucy brow quirked. Another potent smile flashed, and he found himself wanting to smile along with her. “In that case, Mr. Thornton, I accept your offer.”
Inclining his head, he started forward and, crouching beside her tool crate, swiped a hammer for himself. “Let’s get started, then.”
* * *
Rinsing out his coffee mug, Gideon couldn’t stop stealing peeks at the pair upstream. Likewise tending to after-supper dishes, Evelyn was bent near Walt over the shimmering water, her lilting voice singing a bewitching tune in a language he didn’t understand. The disturbing ache deep inside grew.
As he’d sat by his fire and eaten tasteless corn mush and too-salty pork, he’d listened to her chatter and Walt’s giggles, all the while battling the impulse to ditch his lonely meal and beg to join them.
Surprisingly their shared project that morning had gone well. Evelyn had told him she hoped her brothers didn’t find out they had worked together, not when she’d rejected their offer of help. Intrigued, he’d thought about asking her the reason for her acceptance but resisted. It didn’t matter. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
Evelyn looked up and caught him staring. Her dark eyes widened a fraction before her pretty mouth curved in a smile and she waved.
Inclining his head, he deliberately turned away and, after replacing his mug in the proper trunk, retrieved his bow and arrows. The pastime never failed to restore his sense of balance and perspective, the intense concentration it required a good way to clear his mind of foolish thoughts.
He went through the motions of nailing the target to the tree trunk, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tense muscles and looping the leather quiver across his chest. Pacing away from the tree, he anchored the bow in the dip where chest met shoulder and took aim.
The first three shots hit square in the middle. The fourth went wide.
Evelyn had approached from behind, her footfalls masked by the grass, yet still he had sensed her presence, like a wolf recognizing a rival encroaching upon his territory. Or a potential mate.
Pivoting, he watched her come closer, dove gray skirts swirling about her long legs. Interest swirled in her eyes. She wants to give this a try.
Gideon extended the bow to her. “Your turn.”
She halted. Trepidation wrinkled her brow. “We’re just here to watch.”
Belatedly, he noticed Walt trailing behind, his black hair mussed as usual. Gideon almost offered to take him into town for a haircut but reminded himself it wasn’t his place. These two were not his responsibility.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t encourage her to try something new, however. “Come on, Evelyn. I can tell you want to give it a try.”
Her teeth worrying her full lower lip, she shook her head. Escaped tendrils brushed her defined cheekbones. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? I can teach you how, just like Lars taught me.”
“Thanks for the offer, but no.”
Troubled by the defeat in her stark gaze, he let the matter drop. For now.
He cocked his head to indicate the boy. “Would you mind if Walt gave it a whirl?”
“What do you think?” She bent at the waist, lightly touching her son’s shoulder. “Would you like that?”
Pulling in his lower lip, the child nodded.
Gideon held out his hand. At the light weight of Walt’s hand in his, the unguarded trust visible on his round face, Gideon experienced an overwhelming desire to protect, to guard against danger, to ensure this sweet boy’s happiness. But that was foolish in the extreme. He had no ties to Walt Montgomery. Even if he did, he knew from experience he had absolutely no power to keep him safe. He’d spent four years doing everything humanly possible to safeguard his precious Maggie and yet, in the end, he’d failed. Sickness had stolen her away.
Clamping down on the disturbing memories, he crouched to Walt’s level and allowed him to examine and test the weight of the bow and arrow. Satisfied he had a healthy respect for the weapon, he helped him fire off the first shot.
“Good try,” Gideon encouraged when the arrow landed in the bushes far left of the target. “This bow is too large for you. Maybe I can talk to Mr. Brinkerhoff about acquiring one more suited to a boy your size.”
Walt’s response was a blinding smile, one very similar to his mother’s. His doe eyes gleamed with happiness.
What would it be like to have a son? One to teach manly things to? Maggie had been all girl, content with her dollies and ribbons and pretty dresses Susannah fashioned for her.
The longing for more children snuck up on him unawares and struck him with the force of a blow mid-sternum, all the more cruel because he knew it would go unfulfilled.
When Walt’s attention was snagged by the dogs chasing a rabbit in the field behind them, he handed Gideon the weapon and took off like a cannon-shot. Gideon stood immobile, watching as the boy ran after the dogs, arms circling windmill-style.
“You’re very good with children,” Evelyn observed thoughtfully, lifting her skirts as she picked her way through the grass to join him.
Not trusting his voice just then, he shrugged.
“Have you considered marrying again?” she gently probed. “Having children of your own?”
He stiffened, fought to maintain a blank face. “Family life isn’t for me. I’m better off alone.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, Gideon Thornton.” She planted her hands on her hips and confronted him. “You may act all hard and tough and aloof, but in reality, you want to connect with people. And you have a lot to give. Look how much you’ve done for Walt. He may not voice it, but it’s plain as day he adores you.”
Gideon floundered for an appropriate response. He turned away. “You’re wrong. I’m just fine on my own.”
Her fingers slipped about his forearm, waylaying him, and she pressed in close to his side. Gardenias enveloped him, blurring his thinking. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, but not about this. Admit it—this whole hermit routine is just an act. You’re scared of getting hurt again.” Her features softened, voice lowering to a husky pitch. “I—I’m sorry about your wife. Did you love her so very much?”
His mouth went dry. “I didn’t love her enough,” he croaked. “I failed Susannah. Nothing I did made her happy.”
Forcing his gaze to hers, he saw that she’d paled and her mouth had gone soft with understanding instead of judgment. What had happened to the accusations she normally hurled at his head? Where had his adversary disappeared to?
“I...” She hesitated, her thick black lashes sweeping down. “I know what you mean. I couldn’t please Drake, either.”
He couldn’t imagine this woman failing to make any man happy. Evelyn was fierce in her loyalty, courageous, a loving, nurturing mother. Lovely in both appearance and spirit.
Drake Montgomery had been a fool.
“Then you understand my aversion to marriage? To relationships?”
Something akin to regret passed over her face. Releasing him, she stepped back, hugged her middle. “Unfortunately, I do.” She looked away and murmured, “I suppose we’re more alike than I realized. We both endured unpleasant marriages and because of that have chosen to live out the rest of our lives alone.”
“There is something to be said for independence.”
“And for loneliness.”
“At least you have your son.”
Her liquid brown eyes fastened on his face, she demanded softly, “What about you, Gideon? Who do you have?”
Chapter Thirteen
Her blurted question nagged Evelyn long into the night, as did the grief it had spawned in Gideon. He’d gone very still, his eyes tormented, before shaking his head and walking away. She regretted the entire conversation now, couldn’t fathom what had possessed her to say such things to him. To breach the chasm separating them and to speak the intimate, painful truth.
When she slipped under the covers, rested her head on the pillow and began praying for him, she accepted that her opinion had altered, so gradually she hadn’t been aware of it. And while a small part of her was fearful of her brothers’ reaction if they ever found out, she experienced an inexplicable peace, a rightness in her spirit.
Sounds pierced the night stillness. Footsteps? But who? It must be three o’clock in the morning.
They grew louder, more urgent. Her heart in her throat, Evelyn bolted upright, wishing she’d kept Gideon’s pistol. Feet tangling in the quilt in her haste, she tumbled to her knees, clapping a hand to her mouth to muffle her yelp. Somehow she freed herself and, snatching the porcelain pitcher from the stand, pressed into the corner. Whoever came through that door was gonna have a killer headache.
The latch lifted. The door inched open. Muted light spilled through the crack.
What kind of intruder carried a kerosene lamp?
Deerskin gloves curved around the wood. A scuffed boot planted itself in the dirt. She lifted the pitcher high above her head. Lord, direct my aim. Please protect us.
A dark head poked in. Her fingers tightened on the cold handle.
“Evelyn? Are you in here?”
“Gideon?” Shocked relief skittered through her. “What are you doing? Trying to frighten me to death?” she hissed.
Gray eyes glinting in the near-darkness, he cocked an eyebrow at her makeshift weapon. “What were you planning to do with that?”
She lowered the pitcher. “Offer you a drink of water?” she said too sweetly.
His expression grim, he straightened but remained in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to make sure you were all right. I heard men’s voices. Horses. I was worried about you and the boy.”
Unease rattled her bones. “Are they still here?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. In the weak light, the bristle along his jaws and around his mouth lent him a rakish air. Determination marked his features. “If they are, I’ll find them.” He lifted a Colt .45 from its holster and pressed it into her hand. “When I leave, I want you to scoot something in front of the door. Keep the gun ready.”
She nodded mutely. Fear captured her in its cold, relentless grip. By going after these men, Gideon was putting himself in danger.
He made to leave. Reaching out, she snagged his sleeve. “Wait.”
He stopped, gazing steadily at her but not really seeing her, already intent on the intruders’ trail. Evelyn noticed belatedly that he’d dressed hastily, his shirt unbuttoned, hanging loose over a white undershirt. The column of his neck was strong and tan, the skin beneath his collarbone smooth and sleek, inviting her touch.
“How will I know if you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You can’t know that. What if—”
His hand cupping her cheek halted her words midstream. Warm and comforting, his rough palm against her cool skin temporarily drove the fear from her mind and replaced it with unwise awareness. He lightly skimmed a thumb over her trembling lips, and it was as if he’d strummed every tiny nerve ending in her body to life.
“Don’t worry about me, Evelyn.”
Her name
again on his lips reduced her knees to jelly. “I want you to report back to me.” Like her wits, her voice was scattered. “I won’t rest until I know you’re okay.”
“Think of it this way. If something does happen to me, you’ll have this land free and clear. No more Thornton standing in your way.”
Then he disappeared into the night before she could slap him for saying something so despicable.
* * *
Nearly two hours later, Gideon’s adrenaline was waning. Fatigue dogged his steps. He blinked in rapid succession in an attempt to rid his eyes of the grit. The men he’d overheard near his tent were long gone, leaving him with too many unanswered questions. They hammered against his skull.
Even more troublesome were the thoughts of Evelyn that refused to leave him be, distracting him from his purpose. Why he had to go and touch her he had no idea. She was a weakness, a source of fascination, like a thousand-year-old buried treasure to a treasure hunter, a priceless painting to an art collector, a wild, untamed mustang to a horse wrangler.
She’s worried about me, which means she cares.
A thrill shot through him, one he ruthlessly suppressed. Evelyn had a big heart, he argued. She wouldn’t wish ill on anyone. Her concern didn’t mean he was special to her.
Of course you aren’t. In her eyes, you’re the bad guy. The man standing in the way of her future.
By the time he rubbed down Star and got him settled in his stall, Gideon could think only of his pallet and snatching what was left of this sorry night. He was unprepared then for the whirling dervish that assaulted him in the aisle.
Evelyn’s wrath poured forth in a string of incoherent phrases, her small fists pounding his chest.
“Whoa, slow down.” He captured her hands, forestalling her attack. “What’s got you in such a tizzy?”
From the circle of light emitted by the lamp swinging on a nail above their heads, her eyes blazed accusation. Pink stained her high cheekbones. She jerked, trying to tug free of his hold. “Let me go.”
