Bang! Bang! Bang!
Katie Ellen spun to the door. Her mouth tightened. Surprises only happened when you lost control of a situation, and Katie Ellen didn’t favor being out of control. Who could possibly be at the door? No one would try to cross the river now. Swinging the door open, she braced herself, but it was hopeless. She was never prepared to come face-to-face with Josiah.
A trickle of water ran down the side of his face and pooled next to the dimple that was really too close to his mouth to be normal. Quick as a flash his tongue darted out and caught the stray drop.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The bridge is out.”
“Then I won’t cross it. Thank you.” She stepped back and swung the door closed, but Josiah caught it and pushed it back open.
“Can I come in?”
Out of habit, Katie Ellen scanned the room, knowing the few spots she always found troublesome when company dropped in uninvited. Her pa’s pipe balanced perfectly atop his tobacco box and Ma’s sewing box had been hidden behind the spinning wheel.
“Ummm . . .” Why couldn’t she just once stop worrying about the condition of the house? Not like Josiah’s chaotic home could compare, but a compulsion had her checking the hearth for ashes and the corners for cobwebs.
The door creaked. She turned to find Josiah already across the threshold. The puddle beneath him spread like an ink stain.
“Stop it!” she cried. “You have to leave your wet clothes on the porch.”
That misplaced dimple showed up again. “If you insist. . . .” He stepped backward across the threshold, slid his palm beneath his suspenders, and shrugged one strap off his shoulder. The second strap was sliding down his arm when Katie Ellen slammed the door in his face.
She’d caught enough glimpses of Josiah swimming at the deep hole of the river to know he didn’t cotton to wearing clothes when he didn’t have to. An annoying predilection he hadn’t outgrown even as he’d filled out into a good-sized man.
Through the door he called, “I’m soaked clean through. How many of my clothes do you want me to leave out here?”
“Go home!” she hollered.
“I’m afraid I can’t. The bridge washed out.”
“When did that ever stop you? You can swim.”
His low chuckle unsettled her equilibrium. “Have you been spying on me, Katie Ellen?”
Guilty memories pricked her conscience. Angry at herself, she threw the door open, forgetting his naked threat, but his shirt and trousers were still in place.
“You can go down the bluff,” she said.
“That’s quite a walk back around to my place, and it’s long past dinnertime.”
On cue, her stomach grumbled. Traitor. But she had no reason to send him away. None besides he’d hurt her feelings three years ago. Yes, sir . . . hurt feelings. It sounded better than a broken heart. Besides, she’d passed a fair number of evenings alone of late, and she had a whole pot of poke salad boiling. Way too much for one.
“I suppose you did try to help with the cattle.” She’d probably regret inviting him in, but they were adults. Surely she could handle a simple dinner. If he got fresh, she’d toss him out on his backside before he knew what hit him. He stood at the doorway, already barefooted and waiting for word from her. With a confident nod she made her decision. “Wait right here.”
She hustled through the house, as always her eyes searching for anything out of place, but as usual finding nothing. At the pine chest, she bent, lifted the lid, and grabbed out a stack of thin cheesecloth towels. How to get him to the kitchen without making an even bigger mess? Beneath the towels her sleeve pressed into her wrist and she was surprised to feel dampness there. She’d thought that she’d stayed dry. Well, considering the downpour, maybe that one spot was forgivable.
When she returned, she found he’d disappeared. Frowning, Katie Ellen stuck her head out the door and looked both ways, but no sign of him. Then her eyes followed the trail of water across the main room to the kitchen. She forced her breath out her nose, dropped to her hands and knees, and mopped her way forward.
“I was worried about coming in,” he said. “Didn’t know if you’d booby-trapped this place or not.”
“Ma doesn’t allow my inventions inside,” she huffed as she flipped the towel over to find a dry spot. “But what’s your worry? They never kept you out of my tree house.”
“They’re the selfsame reason I went to your tree house—to see what you’d concocted.” He scratched at his chest. “By the way, I saved some of the boards from your bridge. Caught them hung up downriver.”
She should thank him, but being irritated at him was much safer. “What are you doing in here?”
“Your pot was boiling over.”
So was her temper. Sopping up the last of the rainwater, she bustled to his side. “I don’t like sharing my kitchen.”
“You cooked for us when Ma was ailing.” He lifted the kettle with a hot pad and set it on the table.
“Not on the tablecloth . . .” Visions of a scorched white cloth flashed before her eyes. She could use vinegar to get the mark out, but it’d never be same. She reached for the kettle, but he got it first.
“When did you get so particular, Katie Ellen? You ain’t no fun at all anymore.”
Her gut twisted. What he said was true, but she had her reasons.
“I grew up. Now, give me that kettle. The greens need to be rinsed again.” She reached for the hot kettle, but he raised it over his head and out of her reach.
“Let me help you.” His deep voice broke through her thoughts of ruined tablecloths, and his light touch on her shoulder felt like it would scorch her shirtsleeve instead. Brushing off his hand, she grabbed for the kettle.
Except she forgot about the hot pad.
Her hand knew she’d been burned before her brain figured it out. The kettle crashed to the floor, strewing dark green poke salad everywhere with splashes of it sticking to the calico covering that hung from the kitchen counter.
Katie Ellen glared at him, her eyes speaking words her mouth wasn’t allowed to utter. She cradled her hand against her chest. Josiah grimaced. Then, quick as a wink he reached for her butter dish. With a scoop of his finger, he produced a creamy glob. “Here, smear this on the burn.”
“I’d just molded that loaf of butter,” she gritted from between clenched teeth. “Now it’s ruined.”
“Katie Ellen, you are being downright cantankerous. Give me your hand.”
“Butter goes on bread, not skin.”
“If that’s what you want.” Reaching behind him, he snagged a stale biscuit from the bread basket and smeared his finger into it. He offered it to her, but when she shook her head, he took a hearty bite out of it. “When do your folks get back from Fayetteville?” The hair around his forehead was drying in blond wisps. His dark brows amplified the effect of the sparkling eyes beneath.
Choosing to focus instead on the messy floor, Katie Ellen looked away. “Tomorrow, or the day after, Lord willing . . .”
“. . . and the creek don’t rise,” he finished for her. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with them. Thought maybe you were sweet on the Freeson boy.” He finished off the biscuit.
“Maybe I am.” She swooped down to snag the copper kettle lying on its side. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Junior were to ask Pa if he could call while he’s down there.”
Josiah stepped out of her way as she deposited the kettle into the basin. “Don’t seem right a pretty girl like you would have to go all the way to Arkansas to find a fellow. Seems like there was a feller ’round these parts who was partial to you not so long ago.”
Her mouth went dry. She blinked rapidly. How could he act so nonchalant when he’d hurt her so badly? But hadn’t she done everything to guarantee he didn’t know how she felt about him?
And he could never find out. “Go home,” she said. “Dinner’s on the floor and I’m not hungry anymore.” The wind rattled the front door, givi
ng her an excuse to leave the kitchen. The soggy poke leaves would have to wait. She couldn’t stay in the room with him a moment longer.
Katie Ellen marched into the main room of the cabin, intent on going to her bedroom and slamming the door, when movement by the fireplace startled her.
“Pa?” she said. But it wasn’t Pa standing in her house. It was a stranger.
The man turned around, stroking his graying beard with a bony, nearly skeletal hand. A chill ran up her back, and this time it wasn’t because of the rainwater puddling on the floor.
“What . . . who are you?” Her elbows tightened against her side. “What are you doing in my house?”
His beard parted to expose a mouth of teeth headed in every direction. “This your house? You don’t say.” Outside, thunder rolled and rattled the fireplace poker against the stone hearth. “You all by yourself? That don’t sound safe.”
The hand on her shoulder nearly stopped her heart, but it was only Josiah. Only Josiah? What was the world coming to?
“She’s not by herself. I’m here.” Josiah pulled her to his side and draped his arm across her shoulders. The man’s eyes darted from Josiah to her and back again. It took every bit of Katie Ellen’s will for her to stand still and accept Josiah’s familiarity. Only imagining how she’d exact revenge made it possible.
Water ran off the man’s layers of clothing into an ever-widening pool. “And who are you?” he asked.
“Me?” Josiah squeezed her shoulder. She jolted back to the present, pushing painful memories aside. He was waiting for her to acknowledge him before continuing. With a barrel of misgivings and a thimbleful of trust, she met Josiah’s eyes. His smile was reassuring—until he deliberately let his gaze wander to her lips. “I’m only her husband,” he said.
Chapter Three
“You’re my what?!” Katie Ellen wrenched out of his grip. First a loathsome man wandered into her house and then Josiah lost his senses? This was not what she’d intended.
But Josiah wasn’t laughing. Instead he’d fixed the man with a chilling stare. “What made you think you could walk into my house? Don’t you know such doings can get you killed?”
The man’s beard waggled as he ground his remaining teeth. “I heard a crash and some yelling, and since the door was open . . .”
Josiah’s gaze shifted to her. Had she left the door open? Was it possible that she’d once again made a mistake in front of him? Katie Ellen shrugged.
His mouth hardened. “You can stay for a bite to eat, but then you need to be on your way.”
“Where am I going?” The man pointed out the window with dirt-caked hands. “I crossed that bridge this morning, but it’s washed clean away. It’d be death to cross the river now.”
“You’ve been here since morning?” Katie Ellen asked. The skin on her arms puckered like she’d just climbed out of the hip bath during winter. Wanderers in the woods were never up to any good. Ma and Pa had cautioned her against entertaining strangers while they were gone—but she hadn’t even known he was here. “Why didn’t I see you?”
“’Cause I didn’t wish to be seen.”
“Why are you hiding?” Josiah asked.
“Not hiding, exactly. Just lost my way.” The man narrowed his eyes at them. “You two are awfully jumpy,” he said. “Makes me think something suspicious is going on here. You got a secret? Something you don’t want me to know?” Thunder rumbled again as his eyes darted from Josiah to her and back.
Maybe appeasing him would be the best thing. “You can stay for just a spell, then,” Katie Ellen said. “But you have to hang your coat outside and leave your boots on the porch. You show some respect for my housekeeping.”
“My coat stays with me.” He sounded almost amused.
“Then you stay outside,” Josiah said.
Now the man’s face took a contemplative cast as he sized Josiah up. Even though Josiah was a hand shorter, the gaunt man paused. Josiah had swagger and cheek, that she knew, but when had he started intimidating grown men?
The man shrugged. “If that’s the way it’s got to be—but don’t think I’m feeling kindly about it.” He walked to the porch with Josiah on his heels.
“Knock before you come back inside.” Josiah closed the door and nearly stepped on Katie Ellen when he turned around.
“Who do you think you are?” she whispered.
Evidently he thought he was someone who could take her by the arm and drag her into the kitchen, because that was exactly what he was doing.
Her feet skidded across the floor until he stopped at the butter churn and leaned in close. “He can’t know you’re here alone. That means that until the rain lets up and the river goes down, you and me, we’re married.”
Something unhealthful was going on with her heart. “Why not tell him you’re my brother?”
Josiah frowned. “Of course you’d have a better idea, but too late now. Besides, I never pictured myself as your brother.”
“But you’ve imagined yourself as my husband?” she snorted.
The ornery gleam was back in his eyes. “I think I’ll be able to convince him. Can you?”
“Why would I want to?”
“Look, I can’t leave you alone. I’m doing this for your own good.”
Banging sounded against the door. At least the man would keep Josiah busy, and maybe she’d get a chance to make some dinner. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t expect me to like it.”
Because enjoying Josiah’s company had already proven to have serious consequences.
When he’d woken up that morning, Josiah had thought his biggest challenge of the day would be besting his pa at checkers while waiting out the rain. Instead he was hanging fire, waiting to see when the blast would come. Not since those bushwhackers attacked his home had Josiah felt this heightened sense of danger—and danger called for action. Emergencies made him shine, and a little shine in front of Katie Ellen wouldn’t be amiss. And while Josiah didn’t hold with telling falsehoods, certain situations should be granted some leeway.
Josiah tensed as he crossed the spotless cabin. He’d have to work to keep his bluff in on this fellow . . . and Katie Ellen.
Josiah swung the door open. “I’m Josiah Huckabee,” he said. “I figure we need to start out anew.”
“Silas Ruger.” Silas tried to enter, but Josiah stepped in his way.
“Where’re you from, Silas?” Yes, he’d used this man’s given name, and Ma wouldn’t be proud, but if he was carrying on like the owner of the place, he’d best buck up from the get-go.
“Nowhere in particular. I travel around apiece.” Silas shoved his hands into an overcoat. Not the long coat he’d left outside, but yet another layer. And even the bulky jacket couldn’t hide the lump strapped against his ribs, beneath his arm.
Josiah’s throat went dry. He was unarmed, didn’t even know where Mr. Watson kept his shotgun. Had he bit off more than he could chew?
Never.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard someone needed burying. I’ve come to do the job.”
“Somebody died?”
“No, not yet.” Silas flashed a knowing grin.
He was on his way to kill someone? Josiah blinked. Deciding it was better not to ask any more questions, he nodded toward the kitchen. “Let’s see what Mrs. Huckabee has cooked up for us.”
He waited until Silas walked past him. Maybe this was all some sort of misunderstanding, but they didn’t need to wait around to find out. The only way to keep Katie Ellen safe was to put some distance between them and Silas. Climbing down the bluff was no church picnic, especially in this rain, but he knew she’d done it before. All they needed to do was get Silas distracted and they could escape.
Katie Ellen busied herself at the stove. She steadied the iron skillet with a hot pad, having learned her lesson from the kettle earlier. The kitchen floor shined from its recent scrubbing; the dirty rag in the basin still smelled of poke salad. Poor lady had to cook fo
r them twice in one meal. Silas reached for the nearest chair. Josiah intercepted him and pointed to the chair in the corner. He was not going to let that man sit between him and the door.
“I’m frying up some eggs,” Katie Ellen said. The skillet sputtered with popping grease. “I know it ain’t breakfast time, but I wasn’t expecting company.” She lifted the pan, her eyes growing tight as the heat from the iron handle worked its way through to her burn.
What would a husband do? Josiah wanted to hop up and take the heavy skillet for her, but if they were married, that wouldn’t be his job. Instead he rearranged the mugs of milk on the table. She scooped an egg and served him first. Sunny-side up. Josiah didn’t even bother picking up his fork.
“What’s a matter?” Katie Ellen asked.
“I don’t like my eggs like this. I like them scrambled.”
She rolled her eyes as she pulled out her chair and sat down at her own plate. “They look delicious to me.” And she took a big bite.
“Ain’t you’uns praying folks?” Silas asked.
Josiah brushed his hair out of his face. “Of course we are,” he said.
Katie Ellen’s second forkful stopped midway to her open mouth. Then she lowered it. “Of course we are.”
“You best be.” Silas fixed them with a stern eye. “Someday you’ll be standing before the Mighty and Fearful Judge. . . . And it might be sooner than you think. I’ll not have it on my conscience that I sent someone into the great beyond without a chance to prepare.”
Her fork clattered when it hit the plate. Josiah grabbed her hand. He’d only meant to comfort her, to let her know he was there for her, but she yanked away.
“I’m trying to pray with you,” he said.
“You don’t need to hold my hand to talk to God,” she snapped back.
Josiah’s head was going to burst. Why was she not allowing for the danger they were in? He bowed his head, but he wasn’t going to close his eyes with Silas in the room. And he wasn’t too all-fired excited about talking to God while he was perpetrating a lie. If he had his druthers, he’d wait until the whole scheme was past before addressing the Almighty.
Her Dearly Unintended Page 2
