“Home,” Luke said.
“Nowhere,” Deborah said.
Case’s head swiveled to study the Indian first, then his sister. “I don’t want to go home,” he said in a very small voice.
The marked contrast between his statement and the shouting got everyone’s attention. Deborah placed a comforting hand on his slender shoulder, all the while staring down the dark-eyed man. “Don’t worry, dearest. We’re not going anywhere. This is our home now.”
“This place isn’t fit for a woman and child alone.” In frustration, Luke clamped a large hand around her forearm. “You aren’t safe.”
She glared at the offending hand before shaking it off. “We were plenty safe until you arrived, you… you molester.”
Mild disgust registered on his face. “Lady, is that all you ever think about?”
“Her name is not Lady,” Case corrected him. “It’s Deborah. And I’m Case. What’s your name?”
“Luke.”
Case’s eyes glowed with delight. “Luke’s a Bible name. Luke was a friend of Jesus. Are you a friend of Jesus?”
Deborah didn’t like the turn of conversation to personal matters. At any moment, her brother would be inviting the man to stay. “Luke is a savage, dear.”
Case studied the man for a second, taking in his clean-shaven face and neatly trimmed hair beneath a cowboy hat, his cotton shirt, and brown canvas pants, then shook his head. “Can’t be. He ain’t wearing war paint.”
“Isn’t wearing war paint.”
“That’s right, he isn’t wearing war paint—or feathers neither.”
“That’s lovely, dearest.” Deborah placed a quelling hand on her brother’s shoulder and attempted to turn him back toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you go sit down and wait for me?”
“Do you like hot biscuits with Aunt Mimi’s peach preserves?” Case called over his shoulder as he was being bustled away. “That’s what we’re having for dinner. Debs always makes plenty. Can you stay?”
“No, he can’t—”
“I can stay.”
Deborah’s mouth clapped shut. At the moment, she could have cheerfully wrung her tenderhearted brother’s neck for inviting the man to stay. She was so angry, she was certain steam must be pouring from her ears.
And how dare that Indian accept the invitation when he knew very well he was unwelcome?
She resisted the urge to stomp her feet in frustration. The invitation had been extended and accepted. She might as well make the best of it. She’d serve up the meal in record time and hustle the savage out the door and bolt it behind him.
“How nice,” she gritted out between teeth clenched in what she knew would never pass as a smile. “Won’t you come in and sit down?”
She led the way down the dark hall and into the kitchen. She heard the Indian gasp, and whirled to face him. “What is it?”
He was staring at her as though he’d seen a ghost. For a split second, she thought his jaw went slack. He recovered quickly. “Nothing, ma’am.”
The sudden appraising look on his face did odd things to her stomach. She wasn’t wearing her protective layers of clothing today, and it appeared he noticed and appreciated the difference. Deborah lowered her eyes away from his pointed gaze and smoothed her skirts self-consciously. “I’ll have your dinner ready in a minute.”
“You can sit in my chair,” Case offered. “I’ll sit on the floor.”
Luke glanced at the table, noting the arrangement of the two chairs. Without saying a word, he turned and left the room. He came back with a wooden crate from the storage room. He carried it to the table and sat it on end. “Try this,” he said, patting the slatted seat.
Case sat, gingerly at first until he was sure of his balance. Then a wide grin split his face. “Look, Debs, my friend Luke made me a chair.”
She supposed she should appreciate his kindness to her brother, but in her present mood she couldn’t get past the ungracious thought that two chairs had been plenty before he intruded.
She scooped a dozen biscuits onto a platter and carried it to the table. She gathered plates and utensils from the stack in the corner and placed them on the table. Lastly, she carried the glass jar of preserves over and took her seat across from Luke.
“Case, would you ask the Lord’s blessing?”
Case extended a hand to both her and the Indian. Luke looked at it, then back at Case.
“Take it,” Case prompted. “We always hold hands when we pray.”
Slowly, as though the concept was foreign to him, Luke took the small pale hand within his own large bronze one. Deborah was careful to keep her free hand tucked in her lap. She had no intention of holding Luke’s hand.
Case was grinning from ear to ear. “Dear God, thank You for our dinner, especially Aunt Mimi’s preserves. And thank You for our wonderful new Indian friend. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”
Luke seemed to be as reluctant to release Case’s hand as he had initially been to take it. He considered the clasped hands for a moment before opening his to free Case.
“Would you care for a biscuit?” Deborah handed the platter to Luke. He took two and held the plate while Case selected one for himself.
Deborah was half-disappointed Luke didn’t wolf his food like an animal. Instead, he ate with all the polish of a well-bred gentleman. A hungry well-bred gentleman. As much as she wanted to dislike him, it was difficult to harbor malice toward someone who obviously enjoyed her cooking as much as he did. It was downright flattering to see the look of undisguised ecstasy on his face as he savored each bite. So intent upon eating, she doubted he noticed she refilled the platter of biscuits once, his cup of milk twice.
Finally, long after she and Case had eaten their fill, Luke seemed satisfied. He pulled the napkin from his collar and laid it beside his empty plate. He raised dark eyes to hers. “Thank you, ma’am. That was delicious.”
She didn’t mean to smile at him. She certainly didn’t like the man, but she felt the corners of her mouth turn up as she said, “You’re welcome.”
He pushed back in his chair and cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”
The feeling of camaraderie, of shared pleasure, evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. “Case, would you please go and begin your lessons? I’ll be with you in just a moment”—she turned to face Luke to finish her sentence—“as soon as Luke leaves.”
Case obediently rose from the table, carrying his dishes. He deposited them in the washtub before making his way slowly across the room. At the door, he paused and turned around to say, “Thanks for coming, Luke. I hope you’ll be back real soon,” before exiting the room.
As he left, the smile on Deborah’s face faded. She sat forward in her chair, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded on the table. “What is it you’d like to discuss?”
Luke straightened, matching both her position and tone. “You can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.”
“So you said.”
She could see the mounting frustration in his stove-black eyes. “Ma’am, I’m looking at your best interests. Cyrus would say the same thing if he were here. Go home to your family.”
“Cyrus is not here. And we cannot go back.”
“They don’t want you? Turned you and the boy out?”
What an odd remark. And made with such depth of feeling, such pained compassion, as if he could somehow understand their plight. Which of course he could not.
“We were not turned out,” she snipped. “They did not want us to leave.” Deborah unbent enough to repeat her aunt’s hurtful words. “They thought we were crazy to leave.”
“I’d have to agree with them.”
For a minute Deborah wasn’t sure the quietly spoken words were his, or simply the refrain of doubt that played in her mind. His pointed look assured her he did indeed speak them.
A week of backbreaking work and little sleep left her feeling close to the edge of her endurance. At his matter-of-fact denouncement of her plans, the dam
of her pent-up emotions burst.
“Is it crazy to want the best for Case?” she demanded, her volume increasing with each word. “Is a normal life without pity too much to ask? Am I crazy to know there is something better here—something more—and to be willing to risk all to find out?”
He stared at her for a moment. Through her angry haze, she could see her questions struck a chord deep within him. “No,” he said at last. “That’s not crazy.”
It felt so good to hear someone say it. To agree that her plan wasn’t crazy. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she swept the hot tears from her face. Deborah took a deep breath and released a long, ragged sigh. “I’m staying.”
“Then so am I.”
CHAPTER 5
He was crazy.
Luke lay on the lumpy pile of straw serving as his bed, looking up at the early morning sky through narrow cracks in the roof of the lean-to. He wondered how in the world he’d gotten himself into this. Was it more of that honor Cyrus had talked about years ago? Luke snorted. If so, he could do with a little less honor right about now.
A full night’s uninterrupted sleep gave him a clear enough perspective to see that he’d gone about this whole thing all wrong. He was man enough to admit his mistakes. He’d been wrong to assume Cyrus’s people would leave. His assumption was based on what he thought he knew of Lumpy… Deborah. He could see now he’d grossly underestimated the lady.
Luke folded his hands behind his head and grinned. What an understatement. If it weren’t for her soft voice and wide green eyes, he’d never have believed the fiery beauty he met yesterday was one and the same as timid Lumpy. Beneath the shawls and dirt, Lumpy… Deborah was a pleasing combination of creamy skin and graceful curves.
He’d underestimated her looks just as he’d underestimated her spirit. She might look soft and womanly, but she had plenty of grit and determination.
He’d been wrong to judge her at face value. He knew from painful experience how much he hated it when people took one look at him and rejected him because of his Indian heritage.
He’d been crazy to expect she couldn’t last a week. She had conviction written all over that pretty face of hers. No doubt about it, the little lady dug her heels deep into Texas soil.
A rustling outside snagged his attention. Intruders. Luke cursed his stupidity. He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts he’d let his guard slip. Careless men didn’t live to be old men.
Silently, quickly, Luke rolled to his side and pulled his rifle from beneath the blanket. He raised the gun, lined up the door in his sights, and slid his finger over the trigger guard. Every cell in his body was on alert.
“Hello in there!” Case’s head peered around the corner. “Are you awake yet, Luke?”
Luke’s heart hammered with the guilty realization he could have shot the child. He lowered the rifle, but not fast enough to escape the boy’s notice.
“Say, what a fine-looking gun,” he said, hobbling into the lean-to. “Can I see it?”
Aware of what an overanxious trigger finger might have wrought, Luke’s hands were none too steady as he extended the gun, now uncocked, toward the boy.
Case blew out a long, admiring breath. “I’ll bet you’ve killed a lot of outlaws with it, huh?” He bent slightly, squinting to examine the gun in the shadows. “I don’t see any notches. Haven’t you notched it to keep up a count? Have you got a name for it? Can you teach me to shoot it?”
As Luke listened to the rapid-fire questions, he had an uncomfortable memory of his own youth, when he had been full of questions and there had been no one to answer them.
“It’s a Sharps rifle, Case. Buffalo gun. It’s not notched because I’m not proud of killing any man. Killing isn’t sport. Killing’s for food or self-defense. As for teaching you to shoot it, I’m afraid not. It’s a sight bigger than you are. Probably weighs as much as you.”
It unsettled Luke to see the sparkle in Case’s eyes dim. He deliberately softened his voice. “Maybe when you grow some I can teach you.”
The child launched himself at Luke, throwing his skinny arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. Caught unawares and unsure how to proceed, Luke left his arms at his sides.
He’d never been embraced before. Not in his entire life. Once or twice Cyrus had clapped him on the back, but this bear hug was different. Luke felt a strange warmth seep through his limbs. There was such a feeling of acceptance in the embrace of a child.
Before he could fully come to terms with the hug, it was over. As Case drew back, the feeling of belonging dissipated.
“I like you, Luke. I’m glad God sent you to us.” Case clapped a hand over his mouth and giggled. “Oops, I almost forgot. I was supposed to call you to breakfast. We’d better hurry or Debs will be mad.”
“Debs” didn’t look any too pleased when Luke arrived in the kitchen minutes later, though whether her displeasure stemmed from their tardiness or his presence, he wasn’t sure.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
She didn’t look up from her work at the stove. “Good morning. You two sit down so we can eat before the food gets cold.”
Luke didn’t need to be asked twice. His reluctant hostess set out quite a spread.
Deborah carried a plate stacked high with steaming hotcakes to the table.
“Johnny cakes!” Case cried. “My favorite.”
Deborah took her place at the table. “Would you ask the blessing, Case?”
This time Luke was ready for the strange ritual. He extended his hand to Case, accepting the small, smooth hand in his own. He darted a look at Deborah, gauging whether she wanted to take one of his hands as well, but she kept her free hand under the table and her eyes down.
“Lord God, we thank You for this special breakfast, and our new friend. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Since he was not feeling hunger as acutely this morning, Luke could eat at a more leisurely pace and study his surroundings as well. He hardly recognized the kitchen as the same room he’d seen a week ago. The once-neglected room now shone with Deborah’s labors. Fact was, he didn’t ever remember it looking quite this nice when he and Cyrus lived here. Must be the woman’s touch that made everything look warm and inviting.
He stole a glance at Deborah. She looked better today. If he wasn’t mistaken, the dark circles under her eyes looked less pronounced. Her hair, which he’d been stunned yesterday to realize was not a dull graying brown, but a rich brown with glints of red, was pulled back off her face in a tight knot. It was scraped back so severely, it looked as though it might be painful. Maybe that was the reason she didn’t smile much.
He took a big bite of the hotcakes as he recalled the transformation of her face when she smiled yesterday. She was a pretty enough woman when she frowned, but when she smiled, the combination of straight white teeth and an answering sparkle in her eyes nearly knocked him off his chair. Maybe it was best she was a solemn sort of woman.
“Guess what, Debs? Luke said he’d teach me to shoot his gun.”
Luke glanced up to catch her reaction to Case’s announcement. It didn’t take a genius to see she wasn’t pleased with the news. Her face squinched up as it had yesterday when Case had invited Luke to stay for dinner. Luke took a deep gulp of milk to wash down his breakfast and replaced his cup on the table, waiting for the explosion.
“He did, did he?” Deborah calmly wiped her mouth with her napkin, then laid it beside her plate. “Case, if you’re finished with your breakfast, I’d like you to run along and work on your lessons. I’ll check them when you’re done.”
“Aw, Debs.” Case’s stricken face suddenly brightened. “Can Luke do my lessons with me? He can check ’em when I’m done so you won’t have to.”
“Lessons?” Luke shook his head while lifting a hand in protest. “No.”
“No,” Deborah said firmly. “Luke will be staying with me. There are some things he and I need to discuss.”
Case shrugged. “Okay.” He collected his dishes
and carried them to the sink. “Thanks for breakfast, Debs. See ya later, Luke.” He gave a little wave and limped out.
The temper she dampened in front of her brother surged to the fore. “How dare you!” she hissed.
She must have read the look of complete bewilderment on his face because she went on to elaborate, “How dare you try to draw my brother into your violent lifestyle?”
Violent lifestyle? Draw him in? Brother? Luke was tempted to look from left to right to see whom she was addressing.
He said the first thing that came to mind. “Case is your brother?” The thought never occurred to Luke. He figured Case to be her son. Of course, she was young, but he wasn’t too good at judging age. And she was real good at camouflage.
“Of course he’s my brother,” she snapped. “And don’t try to change the subject. Whatever possessed you to mention guns to him?”
Luke didn’t figure the truth would be too palatable, seeing as how the whole gun business wouldn’t have come up if he hadn’t drawn on the kid. Silence seemed like his safest bet.
She waited, her fingertips tapping on the table. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
She was itching for a fight. He could see it in her flashing green eyes. He wasn’t about to give her one. “The boy saw my gun, and naturally he was curious. He asked questions and I answered them as best I could.”
“There will be no guns in my house.” She thumped her finger on the table for emphasis. “There will be no talk of guns in my house. Do you understand?”
Luke’s gaze never wavered from hers. He understood plenty. She was crazy. Folks didn’t live off by themselves in Texas, unarmed.
“And there’s something else you need to understand. You don’t belong here. Your presence in this house is completely unsuitable.”
“Because I have a gun?”
“Yes. No. Well, not completely.” She was the one to break eye contact. “It’s because you’re… well, you’re a man.”
Luke thought for a moment. “Does this have anything to do with that touching stuff you keep talking about?”
She blushed strawberry red. “Yes.”
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 58
