by Lucette Nell
The boulders smashed against each other in his head again. He staggered sideways and the rope around his ankles tripped him up. The woman tightened her grip around him, and wedged herself against his chest, keeping him from falling. Her gasp reached his ears only moments before he regained his balance.
Did he smell vanilla? He fought the urge to lean forward for a deeper whiff.
Dark lashes shielded her eyes from his. “Do you think you can make it to the chair?”
“Maybe you can afford to untie my feet?” He glanced at the piece of furniture, then at his feet.
She ignored his question and tugged at him.
Guess not. Two shuffles and then he went stumbling to his knees. “Please? I promise I won’t try anything.”
She squared her jaw. “I can always leave you here.”
She’s stubborn. Jonah exhaled. With a curt nod he managed to stand up again. At this rate, Christmas would come before they reached the chair. The floor swelled and dipped, and he squeezed his eyes for a second. He exhaled as he finally crumpled on to the furniture.
“Are you comfortable?”
His tiny nod had pain spearing his skull again. She confused him. She didn’t trust him, but she came close enough for him to have easily looped his arms around her to restrain her. A sign of bravery or pure foolishness?
Water splashed into a tin mug. Not water. Coffee? He’d recognize the aroma anywhere. The cup, as battered as the coffee pot she poured from, scraped against the table as the woman slid it in front of him.
“Where’s Don?” He struggled with the rope again.
“Who’s Don?”
“Don Hanson. This is his cabin.”
She stiffened and rubbed her forehead. She looked around the tiny shelter, gnawing her bottom lip. Lifting her chin, she rested her hand on her belly. “When we arrived, the cabin was empty.”
“Really?” Jonah cocked his eyebrow. Don left his cabin only to fish at the creek fifty feet from here. In rare cases, he bought supplies in Hollow Creek and enjoyed a drink at the saloon.
“Yes.” Her voice was as crisp as a November morning.
He narrowed his eyes. Criminals came in all shapes and sizes, and lies dripped off their tongues as easily as the snow was coming down outside. Even a pregnant woman with beautiful, walnut-colored eyes, and a skillet-wielding son. Could she have offed the old miner to take his cabin? She, who’d offered him a place next to the fire, and even poured him coffee?
He worked his jaw back and forth. His gaze flitted from her to the freckled faces of her two young children. The boy was solemn, desperately trying to look older than his age. But his eyes belied his brave stance. The shy little girl buried her face in her mother’s skirt.
The woman gasped, and Jonah jumped.
“You think I did something to him?” Her voice thinned.
“Did you?”
3
Had the lout implied she’d murdered a man? Assaulting someone with a skillet was one thing. But murder? She should whack his head with the pan again and smile about it. Resisting the urge, Adeline stepped back. Genesis. Exodus. Leviticus. Numbers. Deuteronomy. Calmed enough that the skillet no longer enticed her, she balled her fists in the pockets of her apron. “Of course not.”
“All right.”
She frowned at him. “All right what?”
“Say I believe you, that the cabin was empty when you arrived. You still haven’t given me your name or what you’re doing here.”
His look almost had her squirming.
“My name is Adeline Spencer. I’m a widow from Pueblo.” Her voice faltered. “My husband died eight months ago. These are my children, Ethan and Lily.”
Ethan squared his narrow shoulders. She doubted Mr. Hale would find a scrawny boy intimidating. Lily clutched Adeline’s skirt and peeked at the man.
“We arrived here yesterday afternoon some time. The cabin was empty. I expected the owner to return, but no one did. I assumed it had been abandoned.” She picked at the torn lace at her cuff.
She surveyed the cabin’s interior. Granted, the cabin hadn’t appeared uninhabited. An old, braided rug covered the floor. A cast iron wood stove squatted against the far wall. Three rough shelves lined the wall with battered cooking utensils. A cot with a thin, bumpy mattress claimed another corner.
The sheriff occupied one of four ladder-back chairs that flanked the round table standing in the middle of the place.
His piercing gaze connected with hers. She struggled to ignore the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He rolled his shoulders and inhaled. Silence stretched between them and her pulse galloped.
“Where were you heading, Mrs. Spencer?”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with you.” She smoothed her skirts, straightened her shirtwaist, and then clasped her hands in front of her. Men fed on fear. Her marriage to Ben had taught her that.
“I told you I’m the sheriff of Hollow Creek.”
“Hollow Creek.” After a quick squeeze on Lily’s shoulders, Adeline sat down on a chair.
“Yep.”
A sensation similar to heartburn rose in her chest. Careful. “What if the sheriff is a lying lackey?” How would she be able to tell? Her truth-prompting glare might work on her son, but this man could have years of experience. Her skills at reading people were limited.
“My badge is beneath my coat.”
“You could’ve stolen the badge.” Ethan folded his arms. “People steal stuff all the time.”
Ethan’s matter-of-fact tone reminded Adeline so much of Ben, her heart cramped. Wasn’t her son too young to be so skeptical?
“But stealing is wrong.” Lily piped in with an adorable lisp, lingering close to Adeline.
“I want to see the badge.” Adeline lifted her chin a notch.
Mr. Hale raised his bound wrists. “It’s a little difficult for me to reach it.”
Squaring her shoulders, she rose and rounded the table. He tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow at her. She balled her hands at her sides. Why would her palms turn all clammy, now?
“It’s pinned on my left side. On my vest.”
She slipped her hand beneath his duster and stopped the moment the tips of her fingers brushed against metal. Her hand lingered against the firmness of his chest. He inhaled, and she yanked her hand away.
“Is it there, Ma?” Ethan’s voice sliced through her daze.
“Yes.” Mr. Hale was telling the truth. Her shoulders slumped as a mixture of relief and confusion flooded her.
Mr. Hale harrumphed. “My saddlebags are stuffed with canned goods. And fruitcake.” His eyebrows hiked. “There’s candy too.”
Not even the mention of fruitcake could get Adeline to move. She narrowed her eyes. Sheriff Hale had kind eyes. He looked younger than any sheriff she’d imagined, but something about him told her he was intelligent. Not a quality she’d expect in one of Ward’s puppets. This man didn’t look as if he would bully a woman and her children. But men, even lawmen, succumbed to the temptation of money. Hadn’t Judas betrayed the Lord for thirty pieces of silver?
The chair creaked as Sheriff Hale leaned back against it. “Go ahead. Search my saddlebags.” He thrust his chin toward it.
Oh, the infuriating man! She crossed the distance to where she’d dumped his items. The bulging saddlebags were heavy as she returned to the table.
Eyeing him, she worked on the buckles and lifted the leather flap. Every item the man named was inside. Before she could bottle it, hope sparked in her heart. Could Sheriff Hale be God-sent help against her brother-in-law? With trembling hands, she returned the items to the bags, ignoring the way Ethan and Lily eyed the candy. “Is the miner your friend?”
“Not exactly. The congregation of Hollow Creek sends Christmas goodies to Don every year.” He shifted. Sable-colored hair flopped across his forehead. Ben had preferred a beard, which she’d grown to like, but this man was shaved clean, revealing a lean jaw with an intriguing, strong, cleft chin.
/> Her chest tightened. In the back of her mind, Ward’s words niggled. You can’t run from me, Adie. She couldn’t afford to take chances. Not while her children were around. Ward had never appeared mean—until he’d accused her of stealing his money. Money she didn’t know about. She fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry. I can’t untie you.”
His lips parted as he exhaled in frustration. “Care to tell me why you nearly cracked my skull and tied me up?”
She pointed at him. “You sneaked around the cabin.”
“I knocked on the door.” He twisted his head and rubbed his cheek against his shoulder.
“You could’ve done that to alert your buddies of your entry.”
“Huh?”
She folded her arms. “I imagine you expected to find Ward inside the cabin. Instead, it was us.”
“Ward? Lady, you’re not making sense. I told you this cabin belongs to Don Hanson.” He shook his head. “How long are you planning to keep me a prisoner?”
Her head thrummed with a persistent throb. “I don’t know.” Not the strong, confident voice she’d hoped for, but it would have to do. Ethan and Lily frowned at her. “I’ll have you know, Sheriff, I know how to use a gun. If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in you.”
His expression hardened. “And what exactly do you expect me to do with my hands and ankles tied?”
What exactly did she expect? “Until I figure out what to do with you, drink your coffee.” She motioned at her children. “Go wash your hands.”
Ethan groaned. “Why?”
“If you don’t wash your hands, there will be no supper for you.” She pointed at the pot where she had melted snow. After their hands were washed and dried, they sat down on the chairs opposite Sheriff Hale.
“Shouldn’t he also wash his hands?” Lily dipped her head when he smiled at her.
“Excellent point.” His smile broadened, revealing even, white teeth.
His eyes fascinated Adeline. For a moment, she forgot what they were talking about. It had been easy to be on her guard around leery-eyed men. It proved to be a challenge to be cautious around Sheriff Jonah Hale. If that was even his name. She was tired. That was it. Last night it’d taken her hours after the dishes had been scrubbed and stacked away to fall asleep. She’d jolted at every creak and moan of the cabin, expecting the owner or Ward to pound on the bolted door. She dipped the cloth into the water and held it out to him. When he took it with his still-tied hands, his fingers brushed against hers. She stiffened.
“Why doesn’t he need to use soap?” Ethan scowled.
“Ethan.” She arched her brow at her son. The boy dropped his chin. She filled a bowl and slid it across the table. Good thing the cabin owner’s shelves had been well stocked, for their supplies had been running low. When everyone at the table had a hearty bowl of beef and barley soup in front of them, she took her seat.
Ethan stuffed a piece of hardtack in to his mouth.
“Ethan Benjamin Spencer, we haven’t said grace yet.” He shrank in his seat. She looked at the sheriff. “Would you do the honor, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Hale glanced at her, then at her children. With a nod, he bowed his head. “Merciful Father, we thank you for your provision. Bless Mrs. Spencer and her children for their kindness. Amen.”
Kindness? Adeline flinched. Knocked unconscious and bound like a prisoner and he still referred to them as kind. She wouldn’t even label herself hospitable, or Christian-like, toward him. Heat burned her cheeks.
Lily giggled.
Sheriff Hale had abandoned the spoon and cradled the bowl between his hands.
Adeline stiffened.
Stew drizzled down his chin as he lowered the bowl back onto the table, a frown on his face.
“Ma says only animals slurp their food.” Ethan bit another piece of hardtack.
“Kind of difficult not to with my hands tied up.” Sheriff Hale wiggled his fingers.
“Eat your dinner, Ethan.”
A grunt from the sheriff beckoned Adeline’s gaze. He wiped his mouth against his sleeve and lowered the bowl. Her insides cringed. Perhaps she could untie him while he ate. It was the least she could do.
Wind whipped across the roof and she shifted. What would she do with the sheriff? She could force him to leave. But she’d hate to in this weather. For now, he was stuck with them while the storm continued to rage outside. What if Ward showed up after he left?
She tugged at the high collar of her dress. The bruises had not yet faded. Silent reminders of Ward’s temper and desperation to secure money he was convinced Ben took.
Lily yawned and Adeline drew a fortifying breath, terminating the memories. The intent look on the sheriff’s face caused her to still. She angled away and shielded her body with her arms as heat spread across her face. Had he seen the marks? Ignoring him, she stood. A sharp pain stabbed her in the ribs, stopping her. She gasped.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Lily’s voice trembled.
Sheriff Hale had managed to stand, hands pressed on the table for balance. His eyes were as wide as Lily’s, laden with genuine concern. “Ma’am?”
The pain subsided. “I’m fine.”
She stroked the affronted spot and smiled, swallowing down the panic that rose in her throat. She didn’t want to alarm her children. This pregnancy had been nothing like the two before. Discomfort was a constant companion. Walking was pure torture. “Come, let’s clear the table.” She gave Lily a reassuring smile.
After the dishes were washed and put away, she wiped the table with a damp cloth one last time, ever so aware of Sheriff Hale’s gaze on her. For ten years, she’d shared a home with Ben. Time had taught her how to tread around him. Now she was stuck in a remote cabin that felt little bigger than a closet, during a blizzard, with a stranger. His presence seemed to shrink the shelter even more.
“Ma’am, I won’t hurt you, or your children, but keeping me tied up like this isn’t helping.”
Keeping him bound kept them safe. “I’ll untie you in the morning. Then you can saddle your mount and be on your way.”
His jaw squared. “I’m not going anywhere until I know where Don is.”
She straightened. “You don’t have a choice.”
After tucking her children into the cot, she dropped a pillow and a blanket on the floor close to the hearth, putting the sheriff mere feet from them. If he so much as cheeped during the night, she’d have her skillet at hand. Uncontrollable shaking took hold of her and she hugged herself. Her skin prickled. She swallowed, but her throat remained dry. Appearing calm and collected was draining. For a second, she allowed her memories to transport her back to the hotel in Denver, where Ward pressed her against the wall, his hand closing around her throat, cutting off her air.
“Mrs. Spencer?”
Show no fear. Stay strong. With a vigorous shake of her head, she dislodged the image.
4
Jonah stopped twisting his ankles when a floorboard creaked. The woman stood at the hearth, her back to him. He straightened on the chair, frustration mounting inside him with the force of a locomotive. The hemp rope pressed the sheaved knife against his ankle. His endless wiggling had pulled the restraints taut. Drat. It would be impossible to remove the weapon when he couldn’t even slip a finger between his boot and leg. Time for a new plan. He’d employ it, as soon as he thought of one.
“Would you like some more coffee?”
“Please.”
She pivoted and narrowed her eyes at him. Would she wallop his head again? Her look was enough to chill his blood. When she turned back to the stove, the hay mattress on the cot crunched. The boy glared at him. When did the kid plan to go to sleep?
Jonah smiled.
With a huff the little boy turned, giving him his back, and yanked the quilt up to his ears.
“Your coffee.” Mrs. Spencer sat down on the chair she’d occupied earlier and removed her knitting from the basket at her feet.
Who could knit at
a time like this? The cold had to have gotten to her as well.
“You talked about Ward. Who is he?” Whoever he was, he frightened her enough to let her clobber him on the head with a skillet.
With a sigh she discarded the knitting and stood to pace the length of the unit. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“I’ve got a knot the size of a silver dollar on my head, thanks to this Ward fellow and your skillet. I think it’s the least you can do.” He took the cup, enjoying the warmth that spread through his numb fingers, and then lifted the coffee to his lips and reveled in the welcome aroma.
She snatched her wool from the basket and sat down again. Knitting needles ticked against each other.
All right. She wouldn’t answer him.
Outside the storm still raged. Cold speared his limbs. Maybe it was aggravation. For all he knew, Don might be buried beneath several feet of snow just beyond the door.
He studied his captor over the rim of his cup. A cleft formed between her brows as she knitted, lost in thought. Could a woman knitting a pair of booties be a murderess? No. He’d been around people enough to be able to decipher the guarded look that lingered in Mrs. Spencer’s eyes. Ward Whoever was responsible for her strange actions.
“Stop looking at me like that, Sheriff.”
Sheriff. Said in that tone of voice, it was enough to chaff any man’s ears.
Time for a different approach. He downed the contents, and the cup clanged as he set it down on the table. “Are you heading to Hollow Creek?”
She lowered her knitting to her lap and straightened on the stool.
From the cot, muffled snores of her children rose. The little girl was a lot more talkative asleep than she was awake. Incoherent, adorable mumblings drifted from her.
“What makes you think we’re heading there?”
He flexed his fingers. The rope bit into his flesh and he winced. “Lawman intuition. It’s the closest town.” He made a sweeping gesture at their meager possessions. “Looks like you’re ready to settle.” Tread gently, Jonah.
