Uncharted Journey (The Uncharted Series Book 6)

by Keely Brooke Keith

  His children’s book would have to wait. He would write those stories and more one day for Zeke and for any future children he and Eva were blessed with. It didn’t matter that he’d worked for most of his forty days at Falls Creek because he was no longer counting the days.

  He’d told Eva he wouldn’t leave the inn until she said to, and he meant it. He would stay and do Leonard’s job until the new man started. Then he would take over for Frederick if the older man would have him.

  Yes, Eva’s search for a new stable manager was over. He was the man for her in more ways than one. She just didn’t know it yet. He would make a life here with Eva and her son. Telling her now would probably put her on guard, so he would woo her gently. She deserved to be lulled softly and loved fiercely, and he was the man to do it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Bailey shoved her hands into her pockets as she walked through the dewy grass toward the barn. The night air had cooled quickly after the sun set. Her back was tired from a long day of physical labor and her belly was full from dinner. She wanted to relax, but she’d been invited to take part in something she was good at. This was her chance to connect with these people. She couldn’t let it matter that looking at Connor reminded her of all she wanted to forget.

  Before opening the barn door, she stood under the eave and listened to the men inside. Connor was counting like a drill sergeant, and each number was followed by a burst of baritone grunts. It reminded her of training with Coach and the team when she was younger. She opened the barn door without knocking, tossed her Eastern Shore University sweatshirt onto a workbench, and joined the men doing push-ups in the middle of the barn floor.

  The room was dimly lit by an oil lantern hanging from the rafters. Something wet squished under her right hand, and every time she lowered her body, her nose almost touched a clump of horse manure. She missed the matt-covered floor in Coach’s well-lit gym in Virginia but couldn’t let it distract her. This was her life now, horse manure and all.

  Connor gushed out air. “Fifty!” He shot up to his bare feet as did the five other men in the room. They looked like Civil War era civilian farmers training with their local militia, but Connor had taught them modern fitness and form. Masculine energy pulsed through the ripe barn.

  Bailey followed Connor’s lead as the former navy pilot continued the warm up. After a few minutes of star jumps he stopped and stretched his neck to both sides. While the other guys panted, Connor looked at Bailey. “I told them you would join us tonight.”

  When he’d invited her this afternoon, she’d declined. Neither had mentioned it at dinner. “How did you know I would come?”

  He flashed a confident grin. “Just knew.”

  If he didn’t posture himself so much like the enemy of her childhood, she could see why Lydia liked him. He was almost charming. It didn’t stop her from wanting to kick him in the face.

  She glanced at the other men in the barn’s open center. Revel stood to her right, red faced and sweaty. She recognized three of the others from the beach. Levi Colburn looked just like John but was thirty years younger and twenty pounds bulkier than his dad. Lanky sheep farmer Everett Foster flipped his dark hair off his forehead and began shadow boxing, already hyped for whatever they would do next. He was recently married to Bethany, John’s youngest daughter. That much Bailey had gleaned from dinner conversations.

  Bailey hadn’t met the other two men but recognized one from the beach. He was Nicholas Vestal, Sophia’s boyfriend. She’d never seen the man who was standing farthest from the door, but he probably had some sort of Colburn connection. Was there any way not to be connected in a society descended from eight families?

  Connor raked his black hair off his forehead. “Tonight, we will work on blocking. Bailey is a second-degree black belt in martial arts. She was a competitive fighter back in the day.” He sent her a wink. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

  She toed off her shoes and met Connor in the center of the barn’s smooth dirt floor. The five other men stepped back into a semicircle, giving them space. Connor put his hand on her shoulder while he addressed the men. She let him get away with it for the sake of comradery.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of sparring with Bailey yet, but if she’s as good as I think she is, this will be the best demonstration of blocking I can give you.” He removed his hand and looked down at her. “Sixty seconds. Give me all you got, Jeans.”

  She ignored his attempt to nickname her by the pants she wore and matched his smirk. “You asked for it.”

  Connor glanced at Levi, who pulled out a pocket watch. “One minute.” Then he took a step backward into a stance from a martial arts style differing from her training.

  She took her stance, unsure what rules—if any—they were to follow. He’d said they were going to demonstrate blocking. Who was supposed to strike and who would block? If she were back in Coach’s gym, he’d tell her to be ready, to be strong.

  Connor’s expression darkened as he prepared to fight. “Go.”

  She gave a quick bow out of habit, but instead of bouncing with energy, she stayed where she was and analyzed his movements as he approached. His jaw was set a fraction to the left, and his right foot turned outward more than the other when he walked. She could use his structural imbalance to her favor, but his extra six inches of stature would enable him to reach her first.

  He threw an easy straight punch at the center of her chest, testing her. She slipped to the side using only the controlled movement of her waist to avoid him. His fist flew past her. He repeated the punch, then again, alternating left and right, coming faster with each attempt to strike. She added a bob to her weave and evaded every punch, not having to risk contact.

  If this was supposed to be a blocking demonstration, the men might think she was a poor teacher, but Connor wasn’t throwing anything she couldn’t avoid. Coach’s voice was embedded in her mind. Avoidance is always better than contact.

  Connor bent his knees as if resetting his balance to change his approach. There was no way he was getting tired already. When he leaned back on his dominant foot, she stopped bobbing and anticipated his kick. If he wanted her to block it, he was in for a surprise. With a quick bend of her waist, she dipped and swung her upper body, allowing the momentum to make her flip and land behind him.

  He didn’t lose his balance as she’d expected but turned, challenge burning in his eyes, and attacked. His fists whooshed air across her face. He’d been holding back before. Probably thought he was playing with a little girl. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, scared of the drunken military men her foster moms brought home. And she was done avoiding contact with Connor Bradshaw.

  She wove to the side one last time, and as he pulled his fist back she attacked. He blocked her first kick with lightning reflexes and was ready for the second. He must have known her form from watching her break boards earlier in the day.

  She had underestimated him. Still, she was on the offensive and fired off every punch and kick combination drilled into her by a coach who wanted her to be able to fight off aggressive men.

  With Connor’s every block, her anger grew. He deserved to be hit, to be beaten into the ground. Him and every guy like him. She punched harder and faster, but he blocked her every attempt.

  “Time!” Levi yelled.

  Her disciplined muscles immediately disengaged as did Connor’s. She stepped back and bowed sharply even though she wanted to throw one last kick. Connor nodded his version of a bow. The darkness receded from his eyes as quickly as it had come.

  The dusty barn fell silent except for her and Connor’s heavy breath. He put both hands behind his head and let out an exhilarated whoop then grinned. “She’s better than I thought she would be.”

  As he explained their differing tactics to the guys, all Bailey could hear was the angry blood pumping past her eardrums. His measured military tone made her want to jump back in front of him and ram his nose into his brain.

  Wha
t had come over her? Maybe it was years of built-up frustration finally having a chance at release and not landing a solid punch. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. Whatever it was, she had to get out of here.

  Grabbing her sweatshirt from the workbench, she left the barn as quickly and wordlessly as she had entered. The chilly air did little to cool her while she stormed to the house. A lone cricket chirped in the ankle-high grass outside, singing its monotone ballad to the dark night sky. It paused its music as she passed by.

  The kitchen door was closed, which meant someone in the house was already in bed. Probably Lydia. She’d been up all last night, delivering someone’s baby, and had looked like she was about to fall asleep at dinner. Just a week ago, Bailey had been Lydia’s patient and now she knew the family’s routine. Her life was changing by the day, but not how she’d expected.

  Through the door’s window she could see a table lantern burning softly in the kitchen. John was good about leaving a light on for his busy household even after he’d gone upstairs for the night. He’d given her a bedroom and a seat at his table, but this beautiful old house in no way felt like home—whatever that feeling was supposed to be.

  Bailey reached for the doorknob and as she gripped it, pain stabbed through her hand. She stepped into the warm kitchen and examined her fingers in the lantern light. Her right pinkie had been jammed during her spar with Connor. Now that she noticed, it began to throb.

  Footsteps shuffled into the kitchen and a man’s voice came from the doorway behind her. “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t look Revel in the eye but reached to the cabinet for a water cup, using only her left hand so he wouldn’t see her jammed finger. “I’m fine.” She turned to the sink and pressed the pedal beneath it to fill the cup. “Did Connor send you to check on me?”

  “No, I came on my own.”

  “You shouldn’t have.” She took a drink of water, but it didn’t quench her thirst. “I don’t need people checking up on me.”

  Revel stepped closer. “Because you are fine.”

  “That’s right.”

  He leaned casually against the edge of the porcelain sink. “Do you hate me and Connor and the other guys because of what happened on the shore, or have you always hated men?”

  It was the opposite, actually. She’d always gotten along better with guys, even as a child. The girls at school never welcomed a foster kid with mismatched clothes, but the boys didn’t care as long as she was good at sports. Then once she started training at the dojo, most of her friends were guys. “I don’t hate anyone.” She tipped the water cup higher and let the last few drops slide down her throat. “Especially guys.”

  He raised his thick, brown eyebrows. “Any woman who wants to pummel a man as badly as you tried with Connor must have a problem with men.” He lowered his volume as he had the morning they both were in the kitchen before sunrise. “Who hurt you, Bailey? Was it your father?”

  The simple suspenders-wearing man was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for. Even though he’d been at the beach that fateful night, he didn’t seem like one of them to her. Maybe because he was new to the Colburn house. She and Revel had that in common. Cool water poured into her cup as she refilled it. “I don’t have a father.”

  Revel tilted his chin down and short strands of sweaty hair fell across his forehead. “Everyone has a father.”

  “Not me.”

  “Just because you’re angry with the man doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.”

  “Nope, no dad to be angry with. Check my birth certificate.”

  He pushed his damp hair back, sadness shadowing his face. “Oh. I’m sorry. Sounds like a perfect reason to want to pummel the entire sex.”

  He seemed to be struggling with this more than she was. Perhaps it was time she clued him in enough to give him peace so he’d leave her alone. “Have you ever seen a woman spar an opponent before?”

  He chuckled. “Not unless you call my sisters’ childhood catfights sparring.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then no.”

  “That’s why you mistook my focus and determination for hatred. It was competition, that’s all.” It wasn’t, but she hadn’t had a chance to figure out her own emotions during the impromptu match. There was no way she would sort out her feelings with this guy. “You’ve never seen a woman in battle before. We’re fierce. So you can go back to training now and tell Connor I’m fine.”

  He looked down at her injured hand and his expression changed. “Oh, I see the problem.” He gently took her injured hand in his and turned it toward the light. “This is why you’re doing everything with your left hand.”

  She shrugged. “I’m ambidextrous.”

  “No, you aren’t. I just watched you fight Connor. You’re right handed.” He met her gaze then returned his focus to her swollen finger joint. “Can you bend it?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  “It’s fine. You’re fine,” he repeated her frequent expression as he slowly pulled on her pinkie, relieving the pressure.

  “I can do that for myself.” Even though she spoke the words, she didn’t take her hand away from him.

  “No one should have to do this for themselves.”

  “Do you know how many times I jammed fingers in my years of training?”

  “Probably as many times as I’ve jammed mine in the last few weeks training with Connor.” He released her hand then walked to the wide doorway and leaned into the living room. “John, do we have any ice?”

  John’s calm voice came from the other room. “The ice box is in the cellar. What is wrong?”

  “Bailey hurt her hand.”

  “Take a lantern. The steps are steep. There should be a pick on top of the icebox.”

  While Revel carried a chamber lantern outside to go down to the cellar, John walked into the kitchen and gave Bailey a compassionate look. “Do you need to see Lydia?”

  “No, it’s just a jammed finger.” She sat in the ladder-back chair at the end of the long wooden table. “I’ve hurt it before. I’m fine.”

  “Injuries in our youth cause the most pain when we age.” John yawned. “I must retire for the evening. You should get some rest too.” He put his hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes. “Lord, I pray You comfort Bailey with Your peace and Your healing. May she learn to trust You fully.” With a short pat, he removed his caring hand then shuffled up the stairs.

  Bailey sat frozen in the chair. Coach used to pray for the whole team before a competition, but no one had prayed for her before bed since the summer she spent at the Polk family’s house in the country when she was ten. Scenes from every obstacle she’d faced in the sixteen years since flashed through her mind like a reel of tragic highlights. Yet through it all, God had guided her, carried her even, to this place. If she’d never stayed with the Polk family, she wouldn’t have faith in God. Nor would she have gone to college to major in plant biology. If she hadn’t been in Professor Tim’s class, she never would have been able to work with him on PharmaTech projects, which led to her being contacted by Justin Mercer, which led to her coming to the Land, to this place where people touched her easily and cared about her and prayed for her.

  She surveyed the lantern lit country kitchen with its warm stone hearth and beamed ceiling. This was all she’d wanted; this was where it all led. So why was she still fighting?

  She didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t know what she wanted her life to be like in the Land, but she wanted peace. Martial arts would always be a part of her life for fitness but not for the fight. That’s why sparring with Connor had made her angry. She wasn’t mad at him or the other men on the security team. It was a matter of being dragged back into a life she needed to leave behind—a life of inviting threat to prove she could survive.

  Revel rounded the kitchen doorway and walked to the table. He held the lantern by its finger loop and had a chunk of ice in the other hand. “This should help.”

  His kindness
touched her heart. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did.” He wrapped the ice in a tea towel and crouched in front of her. “Put this over your knuckle and leave it there for a quarter hour.”

  “I’ve got this, really. You should go back to the barn.” She held up her swollen finger. “This isn’t worth mentioning to the guys.”

  That got a quick smile out of him. “I won’t say anything. Connor probably already knows. He doesn’t miss much.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “He’s a good man.” He pressed his lips together in a solemn line while he stood. “You’ll see that once you get to know him.”

  Before Revel made it to the door, Bailey stopped him. “Revel?”

  He turned and looked at her with expectant eyes.

  She hadn’t wanted his attention nor his concern, but now that he was leaving, some immature part of her wanted him to come back to the table and talk. She swallowed the girlish feeling and held up the cloth-wrapped ice. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After sweeping the dining hall floor, Eva gently closed the screen door and walked down the four wooden steps from the side porch to the lawn. Dry grass crackled under her boot heels. The big gray leaf tree on the east side of the inn cast its afternoon shadow over the graveyard and beckoned her to sit on the iron bench and relax.

  As she ambled toward the bench, the autumn wind blew loose strands of hair away from her neck and chilled her sweaty skin. Over the past week, Leonard had gained the strength to walk to the house for lunch each day; and afterward while he napped on the divan in the reception room, Claudia hummed as she cleaned vacant guest rooms upstairs.

  Finally, Eva’s afternoons had regained an occasional, peaceful lull, but whenever her hands were still, her mind raced.

  Revel hadn’t replied to her last message. Nor had John Colburn, but she’d only sent her letters a week ago. The trader might not have made it to Good Springs yet, especially if he’d stayed more than a night in Woodland.