by Jillian Hart
“I’m fine. It’s hard every time I say it aloud.” She focused her light blue eyes on him, he’d never seen a truer color. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you about your loss.”
“I did lose a son. I was away when he was born and I never got to see him.” It was the truth. Thomas could never be his son. He could never be Thomas’s father. “I never thought anything could hurt as much as longing heart and soul to lay eyes on him.”
“I know that longing, too.” She drew in a shaky breath, took a wobbly step away from him but her hand remained in his. A real, human contact. A touch of comfort and connection.
Years of loneliness faded, as if forgotten, as if they had never been when his gaze collided with hers. He didn’t feel the stain of prison in his soul when she smiled at him. He shouldn’t be standing here like this, losing himself in her eyes. “I’d better get my prisoner to town.”
“Hurry back, Caleb.” She drew her scarf more tightly around her throat, took a few steps back and swirled away from him. Snow obscured her when she opened the door. She was only a hint of shadow, a swish of skirts and a remembered scent of cookie dough as he watched her go.
A woman like that could make a man believe in just about anything. That life could be good again, that hardship might be behind him. But he wasn’t that man. He couldn’t afford to be. He’d found what he’d come for and Caroline’s words confirmed he needed to keep on going. If the local lawman recognized him from an old wanted poster, if he came across someone he’d known in prison or from his life in Blue Grass, then Thomas would be branded a convict’s bastard.
No, he had to move on. He tucked the sandwich into his coat pocket to eat on the ride to town. The coffee warmed his chilled hands as he downed it. He caught sight of Thomas rolling a snowman in the yard. A serious, silent shadow of a boy. Hard not to want to go to him and draw him into his arms. Just hold him tight.
But he had to do the right thing. He untied the thief from the water trough, mounted up and let the storm wrap around him. He nosed Ghost toward town. Loneliness wrapped around him like the whirling snow. Leaving was like being torn apart but he kept going. He wanted one last glimpse of Thomas and of Caroline, but instead he closed his heart and rode into the bitter wind.
Chapter Three
Caleb hesitated on the boardwalk outside the jail, keeping a good tight hold on his captive and on his courage.
“Lemme go. I’ll get you gold. As much as you want. I’m real good at getting my hands on it.” The horse thief had been bargaining on his long walk to town behind Ghost. Even half-frozen from the inclement journey, the criminal hadn’t given up. “I’ll do anything, man. Just don’t take me in there.”
“Then you shouldn’t have been stealing a widow’s horse.” He didn’t like lawmen. A sheriff’s mistake had been the reason he’d served hard time but he yanked open the door, gave his prisoner a shove and followed him into the warm office.
“Do we have a problem here?” A marshal looked up from his desk, scattered with paperwork. Sharp, assessing eyes met his. “I’m Mac McKaslin. What’s going on?”
It wasn’t easy walking into the lion’s den but he did it for Thomas and Caroline. “Mrs. Dreyer had some trouble with a horse thief. I caught him in the act. Since you’re the law, he’s your charge now.”
“Is that so?” Marshal McKaslin rose slowly, his gaze probing deep. Authority rang in that voice as he circled his desk, taking his time, taking in the situation. “Just who are you? I know everyone in these parts, but I don’t recognize you.”
“The name’s McGraw.” The stain of prison clung like a brand he was sure the marshal could see. Caleb released his hold on the thief. He waited, expecting the worst.
“McGraw? Not a name I hear in these parts. You’re not from around here.”
“No, just passing through on my way west. To find work.” Caleb fought the urge to look down, ashamed of who he was. He’d been innocent of the crime he’d been charged with, but the punishment had branded him. It had forever marked him. All he could do was stand his ground like the man he used to be and meet the marshal’s gaze.
“I see.” As if satisfied, Mac McKaslin turned his attention to the trussed up man looking over his shoulder for a way out, as if still hoping for escape. “You, son, do look familiar. Your face is on a wanted poster on my office wall. Right over there. Good thing Mr. McGraw caught you before you did something worse.”
Relief eked out of his tight chest, one mouthful at a time. Maybe his secret would stay hidden and buried, not visible after all.
The marshal ignored the wanted man’s ardent professions of innocence and showed him to the single cell in the corner of the room. The clank of the steel bars hooked deep, drawing up memories. Fragments of misery and hopelessness rushed up to dim the light from the room. Times he didn’t want to remember, so he headed to the door. His duty was done. He was a free man. To leave or to stay. It was his to decide.
“Where you going, McGraw?” Mac McKaslin’s tone boomed across the sparse room. “You might want to stay around for a moment or two. You’ve got a reward coming.”
“A what?” His hand froze on the doorknob. Surely he hadn’t heard that right.
“There’s a bounty on Carter’s head.” The lawman managed a smile, friendly. “It’s yours.”
“Mine? That doesn’t seem right. I didn’t do much.”
“You did what was right. The money is yours fair and square.” Mac took a cup from a shelf and filled it from a coffee pot rumbling on the potbellied stove. “I’ll put in for the funds. I’m sorry to say it may take more than a few days to get here. You might want to stick around town long enough to claim it.”
“Will do.” A reward. How about that. He shifted his weight, thinking this turn of events over. Now he had a reason to be in town and see more of Thomas. The fact that also meant seeing more of Caroline sent tingles through him.
“How well do you know Caroline?” the marshal asked.
“I only just met her. It can’t be easy for a woman raising a child alone.” His throat knotted, aching in ways he couldn’t explain. Her lovely face flashed into his mind, porcelain daintiness and goodness. He would never forget the way she’d looked at him, as if he were a real man, whole, untarnished.
“No, you’re right. I think she is struggling hard to make ends meet.”
“Struggling?” He’d been so absorbed by the sight of his son and the woman’s effect on him to notice.
“I keep an eye on things in my town. It’s my job to know who needs help. When she moved in three months ago with that little boy in tow, I’d never seen a sadder sight. I hear she’s a hard worker, but a woman can’t make what a man can in this world. It’s a plain fact. One I don’t much like, but there it is.” The lawman shrugged. “It’s good to meet you, McGraw. I hope you stick around for a while.”
“I’m considering it.” The moment his boots hit the board-walk it was settled. He needed more time with Thomas—just one more day. It would give him the chance to assess Caroline’s situation, make sure she was all right and to help where he could. Then he would be on his way. He didn’t lie to himself. Riding away was the best thing he could ever do for his son.
It’s starting to look like Christmas, Caroline thought as she set the last loaf on the table to cool. The fresh doughy smell of baked bread filled the main room with a cozy feeling. Content, she surveyed her afternoon’s work. She’d been surprisingly productive after Caleb left. She ignored the little sputter in her heartbeat whenever she thought of him. No, she wasn’t about to become attracted to the man. It was sympathy she felt—nothing more.
The sagging door creaked opened and a snow-covered little boy trudged inside. Apology shone in his gaze, all she could see of his face as she circled the table and came to his rescue.
“Goodness, Mr. Snowman. What are you doing in my house? Have you seen Thomas anywhere? I expect he’s getting mighty cold. He’s been outside a mighty long time.”
“It’
s me, Aunt Caroline.” His words were muffled by his scarf until he tugged it off his face. “I’m Thomas.”
“Oh, my. I guess you are. For a minute there I thought a snowman had come to live with us, too.” She nudged off his hat, snow tumbling. “What do you think a snowman would eat? Surely not the bread I just baked.”
A twinkle of interest flashed in his eyes.
Progress. Satisfied, she dusted off his icy coat. “Maybe snow pies?”
A faint smile curved up the corners of the boy’s mouth.
“Snow pies. Maybe snow and dumplings.” She worked a snow-caked button through its buttonhole. “I don’t have any recipes for those things, so I’m really glad it’s you and not a snowman in my kitchen.”
“Me, too. It would be cold to be a snowman.” Thomas shrugged out of his coat, snow tinkling to the wood floor all around him. “Besides, a snowman couldn’t come in here ’cuz he’d melt.”
“Right. Why didn’t I think of that?” She took his coat. “Go warm yourself by the fire. I’ll bring you some hot milk.”
The boy trotted off. She barred all memories of the past from her heart as she hung up his things. The wool coat she’d made him, the hat, gloves and scarf she’d knitted. Determined to stay in the present, she circled around the table for the small pan on the stove, simmering on a trivet. Steam curled from the milk’s surface and scented the air as she poured it into Thomas’s tin cup.
The thud, thud of boots stomping on the porch step echoed through the house like gunfire. Her pulse lurched. Could it be Caleb? The pan slipped out of her grip and thunked to a rest on the trivet. She didn’t remember launching forward and skirting the round oak table. All she knew was the cool glass knob in her hand and the slap of icy air when she opened the door.
“Hope that invitation is still good.” He looked like a snowman, too. A snowman with strong, capable shoulders and the promise of a smile on his sculpted lips.
That odd sense of rightness returned, like a key turning in a lock, opening her heart. “Come in out of the cold, Caleb. I can make you a cup of tea.”
“Sure, but that looks good, too.”
“What? Oh.” She still carried Thomas’s milk. “There’s more where that came from. I can save you a cup.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He glanced over her shoulder, his expression softening. He’d probably spotted Thomas standing before the hearth. He squared his mighty shoulders. “Looks like you could use some wood. Do you have a supply in the lean-to?”
“Some. You don’t need to worry about the wood box.” She opened the door wider, hoping he would budge from the icy porch and take shelter in the warm house.
He didn’t. “I’ve got the horses fed, watered and bedded down for the night, stalls clean. Might as well get the rest of the outside work done. Do you need any water from the well?”
“That would save me a trip outside.” She whirled around to set Thomas’s milk on the edge of the table and fetch two ten gallon buckets. Across the main room, Thomas watched with worried eyes. Caleb’s size was intimidating, she decided. The man practically filled the entire doorway as he reached in for the buckets. His large hands closed around the pails, brushing hers.
The contact was brief, but a lightning bolt arrowed through her chest. She stumbled backward, startled. Whatever that was, it certainly could not be a jolt of attraction. And if it was, she couldn’t admit it. A woman with debt and a child to raise wasn’t high on any man’s most wanted list. And certainly not a man without roots and no apparent desire for them.
“Unlock your back door for me, please.” He said no more as he shouldered away, merged into the dark embrace of the blizzard and disappeared from her sight.
Realizing the house was a good bit colder, she wrestled the door shut against the wind and retrieved Thomas’s cup. Time to put more wood on the fire. She was a sensible woman. Always had been, always would be so she refused to wonder about the man outside doing chores for her. Refused to let him pull at the forgotten places in her heart.
“Why did that man come back?” Thomas took the tin cup with both hands. Worry furrowed his brow.
“I invited him to sleep in the stable. As a thank-you for rescuing Kringle for us.” She eased a thick piece of split wood from the box and set it into the grate. Flames leaped. “Are you afraid of him?”
Round eyes blinked once. Thomas shook his head slowly with great determination.
“Good boy.” She smoothed a wet shank of his hair, glistening with melting snow. Affection crept into her battered heart. “Mr. McGraw is going to be sharing supper with us.”
“And breakfast, too?”
“Yes. Is that all right with you?”
A little gulp of air, another nod.
“Then I had better go check on supper.” She stood, wishing there was more she could do to reassure the boy. He turned his attention to his cup and took a halting sip. The roasting chicken’s fragrance emanated from the stove as she swept by. First things first. She found her way through the dark, chilly lean-to and unlatched the back door. When she gave it a shove, the wind caught it and tore it from her hands. It struck like thunder against the wall.
“Here’s your water.” A hulking shadow moved in as she stumbled back. Two big buckets sloshed to a rest against the floor. “You go back in where it’s warm. Don’t even think about carrying those heavy buckets inside. That’s my job.”
“I’m used to carrying my own water.”
“Not when I’m around. I do the heavy lifting. Got it?” Tenderness softened his tone. He’d meant to sound tough, invincible, in charge, but the respect he felt for her shone through, raw and naked in his voice. It embarrassed him. Hell, he didn’t know what she might think of him. She was too kind of a lady to laugh in his face at the preposterous notion that he liked her.
What wasn’t there to like? Her beauty, her generosity, the fact that she didn’t look down her nose at a roughneck like him.
“I suppose I can allow it this once, since it seems to make you happy.” She tipped her head back to get a good look at him. Humor danced in those deep blue depths, the most mesmerizing sight. “I’m not used to having a man around. It’s nice.”
“We’ll see if you still say that after I mess up your clean floor with my boots.” The quip came easier than the truth. Laughter chased away the fondness wedging its way between his ribs. He liked the sound of her laughter, light and lilting, almost musical as it joined with his, like melody to harmony. The hollows in his heart ached with loneliness.
He’d spent many long nights in prison before he’d fallen asleep picturing the life he’d lost and the one he was determined to find. Year by year the dream faded and reality set in.
A lady like Caroline can’t be in your life, he reminded himself as he abruptly turned away. Ice pellets scrubbed his face, blinding him and yet he preferred the bitter cold to the bleakness of his life. No decent woman would have him. A sheriff and a judge hadn’t believed him. After a conviction and a sentence served, no one would. He simply had to deal with that and not to start wanting things he couldn’t have.
He hadn’t taken two steps and he could still feel her watching after him. What a pretty picture she made framed in the doorway with the lamplight at her back, a swirl of pink calico and golden compassion. He took a moment to smile at her in reassurance. “I won’t be much longer.”
“I’ll have supper on the table in a few minutes.” Her smile could make him forget the man he was—and that must not happen. He steeled his spine, shored up his resolve and watched her spin away in a sweep of skirts. The wind felt colder without her.
Foolish, that’s what he was being. He tromped to the snow-covered woodpile marching along the back wall of the cabin. Fortitude and discipline had gotten him through his incarceration. Surely he could show a little bit of that now. He swept off the snow, peeled aside the tarp protecting the split chunks of pine and filled his arms to his chin. The blizzard fought him hard on his return trip, harder on the trip aft
er that.
It took four loads until he was satisfied with the stack in the lean-to. He shouldered the fourth load through doorway into the kitchen, snow and all. The bright lamplight burned his eyes, making them hurt. At least that was the reason he told himself as crossed the cozy cabin that felt like a home. Like no home he’d had in a long, long while. The scents of boiling potatoes, baked bread and roasted chicken made his stomach grumble.
“Look, Thomas, we have another snowman.” Caroline laid gleaming flatware on the table in neat, precise place settings.
The boy in the corner didn’t answer. Uncertainty pinched his eyes as he set down his tin cup. Not one word, just silence.
“He must be a snowman because he’s melting all over my floor.” Lightly, she didn’t appear to let the boy’s silence dim her cheer as she set down the last fork and plucked a towel off the small counter.
“Sorry about that.” He felt bad about the snow on the polished floor. “No way around it with a storm like that.”
“He speaks. I guess he isn’t a snowman after all.” She sailed toward him. “Don’t worry. I’m prepared. A little snow doesn’t bother me.”
“Glad to hear it, because I shook off all I could, but there’s still a fair amount.”
“You’re carrying one load of wood that I won’t have to. It’s a nice change. Thank you.”
“Just earning my keep.”
Gratitude shone in her soft blue gaze. Good thing he had his barriers up and a good hold on his resolve or he would fall right into that gaze and just keep tumbling.
Maybe agreeing to spend the night here hadn’t been such a good idea.
His boots struck the polished floorboards, his knelling gait echoing in the small room like hammer blows. Thomas stiffened with every step he took nearer to the boy. How did he reassure the little fellow? There was no one in the world he thought dearer than this child. He dumped his load into the wood box with a clatter, noticed water dripping down the stone chimney and tried to figure out what to say to his son.
