by Linda Ford
She nodded. “Thank you.”
For a moment their gazes held, hers clinging to him. He could almost think she wanted to stay this close to him, to feel his presence. An urge to pull her into his arms, to hold her close and reassure him, swept over him.
He stepped back. “Let’s move on.” He had to remember that he couldn’t offer her or anyone safety unless he concentrated on the job Harrison had given him.
Birdie didn’t exactly lead him down the hall to the next room. More like she clung to his side in the narrow space. He shifted so she was on his left, leaving his right hand free, and he patted the gun where it lay strapped to his side.
“Harrison’s room.” She pointed past him.
The door stood open, and Clay stopped before he reached it and pressed to the wall, pulling Birdie to his side. He eased forward. Saw nothing and inched forward until he had a clear view of the room. “It’s safe,” he said. “Tell me if anything is out of place.”
Birdie stood behind him, peering around him on either side. “It looks okay.”
They returned to the hall.
“That’s my room,” she said.
He repeated the procedure and stepped into a room that he’d have guessed was Birdie’s even if she hadn’t said so. A collection of framed drawings he recognized as hers filled the wall above her bed. He’d like to take a closer look at them and read the words she’d penned on most of them. Her bed was neat as an old lady’s bun, covered in a bright quilt of many colors. He chuckled softly.
“What?” she asked.
“Birdie’s quilt of many colors.” He wondered if she’d get his hint at the reference to Joseph and his colorful coat.
“I like bright things.” She looked about. “Nothing has been disturbed here.”
He finished his own visual exploration. The room was neat and tidy and yet so full of life that he could almost lose himself in the vibrancy. He couldn’t have that. He hurried from the room.
Birdie practically glued herself to his side. Was this the woman who’d vowed she could protect herself and her niece? He liked knowing she appreciated having him there.
“What’s that room?” He pointed to the fourth door.
“Spare room.” She half pushed him in the direction.
The door was closed, and he turned the knob and let it glide open. He eased inside. The drapes were drawn, the room in shadows, but no human shape filled them. The space was barely wide enough for a bed and a night stand. On the opposite wall sat a chair and a chest of drawers. Pictures of old people hung on one wall. There’d been similar pictures of long-dead relatives in his childhood home. He blamed the familiar sight for the lump lodged deep in his chest. If he weren’t long past such an emotion, he might have said it was lonesomeness for home and family.
Birdie stayed behind him as she looked around the room. “Everything is in place. Nothing added. Nothing disturbed.” She let out a gusty breath. “I should feel better, but I don’t.”
“You won’t so long as someone is intruding your home and threatening you and the child.”
She moved to the window. “I wonder why Harrison was called away. I can’t help think it was something bad. I hate the idea of such evil around me.”
“Evil can be found everywhere. Anywhere.”
She faced him. “Life is full of pain. Evil is everywhere. My, what a jaded view you have.”
He met her gaze, hoping his revealed nothing.
“I take it you speak from experience.”
It was as much question as statement, but he saw no reason to respond.
She moved toward him, stopping within arm’s length. “Clay, what happened? What evil touched your life?”
“You don’t want to know.” Now why had he said that? He’d as much as admitted to a sorry story.
She touched his arm, sending a jolt through him. “I’m not just being nosy. I know what it is to be hurt, to be touched by evil. Sometimes talking about it helps.”
They regarded each other, the dimness of the room cocooning them, making Clay feel like they shared something.
“What are you guys doing?” Megan called.
He glanced toward the door and the voice. “Now is not the time or the place to speak of it.” Not that there ever would be an appropriate time or place.
“Perhaps a time will come when we feel we can confide in each other.” She led the way out of the room.
He followed slowly. Confide in each other? Did she want to tell him what had hurt her? Did he want to know? To his surprise, he realized he did. But that didn’t mean he would ever feel free to tell of his own bitter experiences.
He was still Clay Fisher, and the sooner the menace to Harrison’s family ended, the sooner he could fade into the distance. Hopefully before anyone realized exactly who Clay Fisher was.
* * *
Birdie’s stomach twisted. Someone had been in the house. Someone had left another clear warning. But who? And why?
They returned to the kitchen where Cosette and Megan waited.
Angus came inside with an empty slop bucket.
“I have to take care of something.” Clay went to the back step. A moment later, he stepped inside carrying a handful of nails. “It’s not safe to have any of the windows open unless someone is here. From now on they are to be nailed shut when you leave the room.”
Angus got a thunderous look on his face. “Me old pappy would roll over in his grave to know a man can’t be safe in his own house.”
Megan watched the conversation with big eyes. Birdie wondered how much she overheard, how much she assumed, and how much more her active imagination had added.
Birdie sent a warning look to the men before she crouched down to Megan’s height. “Seems we should go check on the baby kittens.”
Megan brightened and headed for the door.
Clay handed the nails and hammer to Angus, grabbed his hat, and followed them. He stopped them before they entered the barn. “Wait here until I say to come. Mutt, stay.”
Birdie held Megan back. The dog sprawled across the doorway. She had the feeling the animal wouldn’t let them enter until Clay told him it was okay to do so.
Wanting to distract Megan, she sat against the corral fence, and pulled Megan to her lap. “Did I ever tell you about the time my mama and I were out for a walk and discovered a mommy skunk and four little babies?”
Megan gave Birdie an eager look. She loved stories about when Birdie was young like Megan. “Did she spray you?” She pinched her nose as if she could smell the odor.
“We didn’t move, so I guess she didn’t think we were a threat to her or her babies. I wanted so badly to capture one of the babies and take it home for a pet.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Mama said little skunks grow into big skunks. As we walked away, she said a lot of things in life were like those baby skunks. Little lies grow into big lies. Stealing little things grows into stealing big things. Saying slightly unkind things soon becomes saying cruel things. Basically little sins grow into big sins. She told me it was best not to take the little ones home and think they could be pets.” Birdie smiled at the memory of her sweet mother.
“You miss your mama just like I miss mine, don’t you?” Megan pressed her head to Birdie’s neck.
“Yes, I do.”
Clay cleared his throat.
Birdie glanced toward him. How long had he been standing there?
“You can visit the baby kittens now.”
Megan was off like she’d been launched by a slingshot. Birdie followed more slowly, confident no danger hid in the dark corners of the barn. She knew Clay would have searched thoroughly.
“I’ll stay out here and keep watch,” Clay said.
Birdie hesitated. Should she accompany Megan or stay with Clay? And why did she feel like she’d sooner do the latter? The thought made up her mind, and she crossed the barn and climbed the ladder to the loft.
Megan petted Rags, murmuring what a good mother
she was.
Birdie sat down beside her, but her mind was elsewhere. Knowing Clay had a painful secret stirred something deep inside her heart. An echoing of her own pain. She’d never told her father or her brother about Larry and the way he had treated her even though she suggested to Clay that sharing his pain would help him deal with his past.
Her hurtful memories swirled about like a steaming cauldron. She should have never told Clay that she knew what it was like to have evil and pain in her life. The simple fact of admitting it had set the pot boiling. She wondered if she could put the lid back on and put out the fire.
The afternoon lay ahead, and it would be full of emotional pitfalls if she didn’t guard her thoughts and words more carefully. Of course, she and Megan could remain in the loft until supper time, Clay down below, keeping them safe. If only she’d thought to bring her drawing things, she’d be quite content to stay here. She’d push open the big doors and let light fill the space. A drawing of the mother cat and her kittens would be nice. Maybe when the kittens grew a little and looked less helpless. Through the big doors, she would get a view of the house and gardens. She’d find something to draw.
Next time she would not forget her sketchbook.
“Rags wants to sleep.” Megan’s voice jerked Birdie back to the here and now. “Let’s go.” The child was down the ladder before Birdie got to her feet.
By the time Birdie reached the outdoors, Megan faced Clay. “I want to play hide and seek.” She sounded insistent as if she had asked the question before and didn’t like his answer.
“No hide and seek.”
Birdie understood why it wasn’t safe to play the game. She also knew Megan wasn’t used to being refused when she suggested something. “How about tag?” As soon as the words were out, Birdie wished she’d thought before she’d spoken.
“Yah!” Megan patted Clay. “You’re it.” She raced away.
Birdie stood motionless, twenty feet from a man who looked like he’d been challenged to a duel rather than a game. She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she tell Megan that Clay didn’t want to play? No, she thought not. It was up to him to say, if that was the case.
She moved into the open yard, watching to see what Clay would do.
Megan danced before him, taunting him to catch her.
Birdie held her breath, waiting, hoping he wouldn’t disappoint the child.
He lunged forward and tagged Megan and then ran.
Birdie’s breath whooshed out until she saw that he headed her direction. That meant Megan could as easy tag her as Clay. She lifted her skirts and bolted.
Megan’s laugh rang out as she darted toward Birdie then changed direction and raced toward Clay.
She was almost within reach of him.
Clay didn’t run. He held up his arms and quick stepped from side to side always staying inches from Megan’s outstretched hands. “You aren’t going to tag me again.”
They danced back and forth, Megan lunging toward him, him stepping aside at the last moment. Watching them dart and lunge, Birdie got the giggles. She laughed so hard she had to sit down.
Clay gave her a narrow-eyed look that slowly melted into a smile, then a deep-throated chuckle. He scooped Megan up and tickled her. They both laughed.
Birdie stared at the pair. Clay looked so comfortable with the girl, so content. Happier than she’d seen him all day.
Clay carried Megan under his arm like a sack of potatoes and jogged over to sit on the ground beside Birdie. He held a squirming protesting little girl for a couple of minutes, laughing at her futile attempts to free herself. Finally he released her, but she didn’t run away. She launched herself against him, knocking him to his back.
He caught her in his arms and pretended to squeeze her too tight, laughing at her pretend gasp. She struggled to escape his arms.
Birdie knew Megan wasn’t trying very hard to get away. She was having too much fun. Birdie watched Clay. The tense lines around his eyes had disappeared. His dark eyes glistened with humor. She’d thought him stern, hard-looking but saw now the warmth and kindness of the man. Her feelings toward him took a sharp turn from appreciation for his protection to something she couldn’t—didn’t want to—admit to. Her lonely spinster heart was seeing a very attractive man.
“You’ve worn me out, Little Bit.” He pushed Megan to his side, and they lay there, staring at the clouds up above, the afternoon heat making them lazy.
She sat up. “I’m not Little Bit. That’s my calf.” She was on her feet. “Aunt Birdie, can I bring Little Bit out into the sunshine.”
Birdie welcomed the distraction. She needed to drive her thoughts back to center. Just because she was a spinster didn’t mean she would fall for any eligible male who crossed her path. Why, she didn’t even know if Clay was unmarried. She’d simply assumed he was because he lived up in the line cabin. Was it possible he had a wife hidden away up there? Perhaps someone not accepted by society? Maybe a woman with a disfiguring handicap?
Birdie Howe, you are being as foolish as Larry predicted you would become.
“I think your calf would enjoy some fresh air.” She took Megan’s hand, and they headed for the barn. She was far too aware of Clay as he scrambled to his feet, dusted himself off, had a good look around, and followed them.
He stood outside the door as Birdie and Megan brought out the calf. Little Bit bunted at Megan, and the child laughed. She led the calf and within minutes, they were running side by side.
Birdie leaned against the barn wall to watch.
Clay leaned beside her. “She is a joyful child, isn’t she?”
“She is.” Why would anyone threaten her, even if they were angry at Harrison? Like Clay said, life could be cruel.
They watched the pair playing together. Birdie felt Clay at her side even though they didn’t touch. Her nerves tingled with awareness of him. If she had half the sense God gave a rock, she’d walk away. Go weed the garden or draw pictures or shingle the roof or something.
But she remained right where she was, enjoying this unfamiliar feeling too much to bring it to an end.
The calf began to tire and Birdie told Megan to take it to water then back to its bed.
The rest of the afternoon loomed. Part of her said she could leave Megan with Clay to supervise. But a much more determined part said she wouldn’t let the child out of her sight as long as someone had the gall to sneak into the house and leave frightening messages.
And if it meant she would spend the afternoon hours in Clay’s company—well, that had absolutely no bearing on the matter.
Chapter 6
Clay told himself he was glad when Cosette called for supper and the afternoon ended. Not that he could deny he’d enjoyed the hours spent in the company of Megan and Birdie. Something had changed when Megan challenged him to a game of tag. The years had slipped away, and he’d felt young and full of confidence in the future. He’d laughed until his sides hurt, but it had left him feeling cleansed and more alive than he’d felt in a long time. Oh, he knew it would come to a crashing halt sooner or later, and he’d tried to bring the feeling to an end when tag ended. But watching Megan laugh and play with her calf, sharing the moment with Birdie, then wandering through the yards as Megan explored, had been too pleasant to deny himself.
He couldn’t recall the last time he had enjoyed an afternoon in the presence of others. It had to have been before Mary’s death. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Birdie about the life and dreams he’d shared with Mary when he caught himself.
There were some barriers he would not breach.
They trooped into the house. He hung his hat. Birdie’s gaze went to his gun belt and she sighed as if relieved he kept it on. If she only knew the trouble carrying a gun brought. On the other hand, he was grateful she didn’t. Grateful not to see the fear and loathing in her eyes—the look he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror and remembered that day.
Cosette had prepared another flavorful meal, thi
s time of fried chicken accompanied by new little potatoes boiled in their skins. He had forgotten how good food could taste.
Cosette chuckled when he admitted it. “Man not good cook?”
“Not this man. I eat to survive, but you remind me that food can be one of the true pleasures of life.”
She chuckled softly and patted his shoulder.
Birdie looked thoughtful and he wondered what kind of questions she’d have for him following that statement. To his surprise, he found he didn’t mind the idea of a little conversational dueling with her.
He leaned back in his chair after the meal, turned so he could see out the screen door, enabling him to watch for anyone approaching and at the same time observe Megan and Birdie. Birdie had Megan spelling out items in the room. If she got the word correct, Birdie dried a dish, if she missed it, Megan dried a dish. Cosette worked around them, smiling her amusement.
When the kitchen was cleaned, Cosette excused herself. “I have things at my house to see to.”
Clay pushed to his feet and hurried outside to speak to Angus. When he returned, he said, “I would feel a lot better if you and Megan weren’t alone in the house tonight. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Angus and his wife to stay here. They can sleep in the spare room.”
“That’s a good idea. And I’ll have Megan sleep in my room. Maybe you’d like to sleep in the kitchen?” She pointed to the back door.
He understood she wanted him to guard the door. It was tempting to stay close to them, but he could watch for danger better outdoors. “I need to be where I can see anyone approaching.”
“Of course. That makes sense.”
He scolded himself for the pleasure he got from hearing the disappointment in her voice. She wanted him nearby only for safety and protection, but it still felt good.
“Megan, honey, it’s time for bed.”
“Aw, already” Megan protested but she yawned before she could finish the words.
Clay ducked his head to hide a grin. He could remember the same automatic protest as a kid. Even when he was so tired he could hardly put one foot in front of the other.
