by Ford, Linda;
Mandy gratefully accepted. She was famished, hot, and thirsty.
The three of them dished up the stew and moved away from the cooking fire to eat. They chose a shady spot where a cooling breeze blessed them.
Cora carefully kept her face turned from Mandy, but at least she sat with them.
The meal finished, the three of them leaned back against the trees, Trace between Mandy and Cora.
“Where have you come from?” she asked.
The air stiffened. She didn’t need to look at either to know the question made them nervous.
Then Trace eased back into an indolent position. “Missouri. We’re from Missouri.”
She tried to think what she knew about Missouri, but it was embarrassingly little, never having paid much attention to such things. The political discussion she’d overheard at the stopping house centered mostly on the Civil War. She couldn’t imagine friend fighting against friend, or worse, brother against brother. “We sometimes see families moving West to get away from the war.” She assumed they were doing the same.
Neither of them answered.
“Is it possible in Missouri to avoid being affected by the war?” Mandy asked.
Cora gave a strangled sound. Trace bolted to his feet and strode away.
“I’ve got a house to build.”
Mandy rose more slowly, fully aware she’d said something to upset the brief spell of contentment among them. “I was only trying to make conversation.”
“We know,” Cora murmured. “But it’s a touchy subject for us.” She took the dirty dishes and hurried to clean up.
Mandy supposed she should drop the subject and promise to forget about it, but their reluctance only served to make her more curious.
The Owenses certainly had their share of secrets. And she didn’t like secrets. Reminded her too much of Pa. He would have his little secrets and wouldn’t tell the girls even though they knew something was up. Then one day he’d be gone. Most times with no warning. No forwarding address. No invitation to join him. They’d be left in the care of anyone he could interest in the idea.
No, she didn’t like secrets one little bit.
“I was only showing a little interest in you,” she muttered as she returned to her house. “It’s not like I’ll condemn you for what side you support.” Whack, whack. She adjusted the supporting posts.
No answer from either Owen except for a muffled sound from Trace and a vicious swing of the ax.
He better be careful, or he’d injure himself.
“I guess it has something to do with why you’re here.”
Trace lowered his ax to the ground, wiped his brow, and glowered at her. “Now why would you say that?”
She studied her house as if it required all her attention, but she couldn’t have said what she saw. “I don’t know. Intuition maybe. Or because”—she glared at him till her eyes stung—“when I mentioned the war, both of you bolted like I’d thrown scalding water on you.”
He stalked over to plant himself directly before her. “Mandy Hamilton, you are the most persistent woman I’ve had the misfortune of meeting. Once you get an idea in that… that”—he sputtered—“that head of yours, you worry it to death like an old hound dog with a rank bone.”
“My, but you do know how to sweet-talk a woman.” She ground about on her heel, putting distance between them for his safety. “First a pig, and now an old hound with a smelly bone.” She gave the wretched building before her careful consideration. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you offended some pretty little gal back in Missouri with your sweet talk, and she ran you out of town.”
Cora, scouring dishes, giggled.
“Yes, I’m persistent,” Mandy continued, her anger fueling heated words. “Let that be a warning to you, Trace Owens. Right now I’ve got my mind set on owning this land, and like you said, I don’t give up.”
She grabbed her ax and headed for the woods to find more trees. But amid her anger, Mandy felt scraped to hollow rawness. She was only trying to be friendly. Something she thought he would welcome after he’d almost hugged her yesterday.
Just went to show how far you could trust a man to have regard for your feelings. About as far as she could throw him with one hand tied behind her back. Which wasn’t very far.
Trace couldn’t believe only this morning he thought she was sweet and pretty. Believed he’d felt attracted to her as they stood arm to shoulder.
They worked throughout the afternoon in silence as his heart continued to vibrate with anger. Anger at the deceit of those who’d forced him into this position and made it impossible for him to trust anyone, but especially anger at Mandy with her persistent prodding. Unknowingly, she’d picked a newly formed scab off a fresh wound.
As if she had any right to stick her nose into their business. He’d never met a more annoying woman in all his born days.
It was a relief when she tossed aside her ax, called an abrupt, unfriendly good-bye, and disappeared into the woods. Finally he could take in a decent lungful of air and edge aside his anger.
Thankfully, Cora kept her opinion about the whole episode to herself, though he felt her measuring look more than once.
Next morning, the events of the previous day lingered like a persistent headache. He downed two cups of coffee without relief.
Cora sat back watching him, well aware of his unsettled mood. “Why don’t you tell her what happened and get it over with?”
“Because I don’t trust her. Don’t trust anyone.”
“What’s she going to do? Announce it to the whole town?”
“Maybe.”
“I wonder if people here will care. Didn’t Mandy say she’s seen people heading West to avoid the war? Maybe they’ll understand our desire to be neutral.”
“I simply can’t see any benefit in telling our story.”
Cora shifted closer. “I am not the only one scarred by what happened.”
He jerked up to stare at her, letting his gaze drift to her burn.
She brushed it with her fingertips. “I know you don’t have an outward scar, but both of us have damage here.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “No one can see it. But it hurts as much as anything on the outside. And makes us want to hide from people every bit as much as my face does. I understand. You don’t want to open up to her because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. But I don’t think Mandy is like Annabelle.” She settled back to cradle her cup of coffee. Then she chuckled. “She isn’t anything like Annabelle.”
“Good morning,” Mandy sang out.
Trace stilled the surprise jolting along his nerves. How had she managed to step into their camp without him hearing her?
Because he was so busy trying not to think of her.
“Looks like it might be a little cooler today. That’s good news.”
Neither Trace nor Cora had answered her yet. He guessed Cora was as surprised as he at having the object of their discussion show up unexpectedly.
He glanced around. Either he’d spent a lot of time drinking coffee or Mandy was earlier than usual.
“Trace? Cora? Is something wrong?”
He shook away his mental fog. “Good morning, Mandy.”
Cora greeted her, too.
“Aren’t you early today?”
She leaned back, her arms across her middle. “Got to get my house built.” But she stood there grinning, not even looking toward her twig house.
What was she up to?
Her shirt billowed and wiggled.
He bolted to his feet. “Mandy, what’s in your shirt?”
“Oh, that.” She dug inside. “A little something for you. Not you exactly. It’s for Cora.” She brought forth a black-and-white ball of fur.
“A cat?”
“A kitten.” She cupped it in her palms and held it out to Cora.
Cora took the kitten and cradled it to her cheek. “He’s so soft.” She laughed. “He’s purring.” Eyes shining, she looked at Mandy. “Where did you get hi
m?”
“A man left five kittens at the stopping house. He said they were weaned now, and he didn’t want to take them farther. He took the mama cat with him. Joanna picked out one to keep. Said she wouldn’t mind a cat to keep the mice down. The others found new homes almost immediately. I claimed this one for you.” She beamed at Trace, saw his watchfulness, shifted her attention back to Cora, and was rewarded with nothing but pleasure in Cora’s expression.
“You’re sure it’s okay if we have him?”
Mandy nodded. “He’s yours.”
The cat played with the strings of Cora’s bonnet.
“What did the others look like?”
Mandy hunkered down at Cora’s side, teasing the kitten with a blade of grass. “Joanna kept one that is more black than white. Then there was one almost all white. This one, though, had a nice balance of both. The fourth was all mottled looking and the fifth striped.”
“This is the best one of the lot, then.”
“I thought so. Glad you approve.”
Cora favored Mandy with a smile.
Trace held his breath and waited for Cora to realize her bonnet had fallen to her shoulders and jerk it back up. Instead, she dragged one ribbon toward the kitten, laughing when he caught it between his paws and growled.
“Look at that. He’s a born hunter.” Cora lifted her face to Trace. “Isn’t he sweet?”
It wasn’t the kitten he thought of. It was Cora, seemingly forgetting her burned cheek for the first time since the fire. And Mandy, who’d worked this little miracle with her gift. He squatted beside Cora and scratched the cat’s head. The impossibly tiny creature grabbed his finger and licked it.
“He likes you,” Cora said.
Trace didn’t know if it was true, but for sure he liked what the cat had wrought in his sister’s behavior. “What are you going to call him?”
Cora grew thoughtful. “I don’t know. But not a silly pet name. This cat deserves a noble name.”
Mandy chuckled. “He’s so tiny. Why not call him Goliath?”
The three of them laughed at the idea. But Trace knew before Cora announced it. The cat was stuck with the name.
“Goliath it is,” Cora said. She grew serious. “Mandy, thank you for bringing him.”
Mandy draped an arm across Cora’s shoulders and gave her a little hug.
Trace’s throat tightened.
“You’re welcome. I thought he might provide you with some company.”
The teasing look she gave Trace sent a thrill through his veins. He knew she expected him to object, as if he weren’t enough company for his sister. But he was too pleased with the situation to rise to her bait. In fact, he feared his eyes might reveal far too much of what he thought and felt toward Mandy at the moment. He pushed to his feet and went to work on constructing a fine log house, determined he would think of nothing else until he finished.
At that time, Mandy would leave them alone.
When had the word alone ever sounded so barren?
Chapter 7
Trace looked up as Mandy grabbed her ax and strode into the woods in search of more twigs. He needed to cut more trees, too, and headed the same direction. His path took him past Mandy, and his steps slowed. He dropped the reins of his horse. But still he didn’t move toward her. Something inside him had shifted hard to the right at her kindness to Cora. The same feeling that shifted the opposite direction yesterday when she’d been so annoyingly persistent. In fact, he felt bruised on either side of his chest from the way his emotions bounced back and forth.
But he couldn’t pass without acknowledging what she’d done for Cora. He went to her side, being careful to stay away from the swing of her ax. “Mandy?”
She rested the ax head on the ground and faced him, her expression guarded as if she expected another insult or angry retort.
To his shame, he knew she had reason for her caution. He had not been a gentleman. And why she brought out the worst in him, he couldn’t explain. But at this moment he felt nothing but goodwill toward her. “It was kind of you to bring Cora a kitten.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, even though he hadn’t exactly said the words thank you. “You needn’t be surprised that I can be kind.”
“Mandy, I’m not at all surprised.”
“Really? Aren’t I the most persistent, annoying person you’ve met? A hound and a pig?”
He hadn’t said those exact words, but it didn’t matter. He’d hurt her feelings and regretted it. He moved in cautiously, afraid of her reaction if she objected. But she only watched with guarded eyes. He grasped her shoulders simply to make sure she wouldn’t attack him. Inwardly, he grinned. He knew self-defense wasn’t his only motive. He wanted to touch her, feel her warmth beneath his palms. Most of all, he needed to erase the flash of pain he’d glimpsed. “Oh, Mandy. I don’t mean to call you names. But you must accept there are things I cannot tell you.”
She stiffened. “Secrets make me nervous.”
“No need for this one to.”
Her gaze searched his, reaching deep for answers, not finding all she wanted because he couldn’t let her. There was a time he’d trusted a woman to hold his dreams and desires gently. He’d gone to visit her when he knew the Bushwhackers were looting in the area. He should have realized his family was in danger, but he blindly expected his friendship with Austin to protect them.
She must have seen his guardedness. “I thought you would see by now I am not your enemy, but I fear you are more cautious than Cora. She hid in a tent. You hide out in the open.”
Her words were true. “I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands but did not step back, struggling between a desire to hold her close and derive some comfort and yet somehow maintain mental, emotional distance.
For several more seconds their gazes connected, searching, as the air between them shimmered with promises, hopes, and—invisible walls. He understood she could not trust him while he kept secrets. But he couldn’t allow himself to break his code of silence on certain matters.
“Mandy?” The word shifted the air, breathed open a clarity between them. If things were different. If they’d met at a different time, a different place. Before life had turned sour for him.
She stepped back. “It’s never mind to me what you’re hiding.” The way she hoisted her ax warned him she intended to get back to work. And if he was smart, he would step out of ax range.
“Thanks for your kindness to Cora.”
She snorted.
He picked up the reins and moved away. Life was what it was, and he couldn’t change the fact.
By the time he got back to the campsite Mandy had already returned and added another layer of branches to her—whatever it was. He couldn’t dignify it by calling it a house. He dragged a log to where he needed it and stood back to admire his work. Now this was a house.
Mandy and Cora were both out of sight on the other side of Mandy’s building. He heard shrieks of laughter; then Cora and Mandy raced around the corner, chasing Goliath. The cat ran between Trace’s feet and crouched behind the log, watching for the girls.
Mandy touched Cora’s arm. “Shh. You go that way, I’ll go this. We’ll corner him.”
They tiptoed forward. The kitten picked up his ears, well aware of their every movement.
Cora crept up beside Trace. Mandy edged to the other end of the log. She nodded her head, and both sprang toward the cat. Goliath jumped over the log and darted back toward Mandy’s house, Cora and Mandy in hot pursuit.
Trace leaned back and laughed heartily. Cora ignored him and continued the chase, but Mandy drew up short and faced him. She glanced toward Cora, who disappeared around the corner. Then her gaze rested on the twigs she’d dragged in.
He waited, wanting her to look at him, wanting to assure himself she held no ill will toward him. Finally, almost reluctantly, she rewarded his patience and studied him as if seeing him for the first time.
What did he want? Forgiveness? For what? For not being
open with her? Yes, he realized. Because she was hurt by his secretiveness.
“Maybe someday,” he murmured, not certain she would understand his meaning.
She flashed a smile and nodded.
His lungs expanded fully as if a weight had been yanked off his chest.
“I’m not only persistent,” she said. “I’m patient.”
“Nice to know.” Their gaze held until he felt hope building in his heart and jerked away. “Got to finish my house.” His words sounded thick.
“Yup. You get right at it. I want it as near completion as possible when I sign the deed.” She laughed.
For some reason her remarks amused him. He couldn’t say why, except it felt a whole lot more like they were partners than rivals.
The morning passed pleasantly enough as they worked side by side. Again Cora invited Mandy to share their lunch, and she agreed.
“Tomorrow I’ll bring something,” she promised.
“Can you cook?” He tried to picture her over a stove with an apron about her waist.
“Depends what you mean by cooking.” Her smile teased.
“Normally, I would mean put a pot on the stove, fill it with meat or potatoes, and cook them. Maybe put a pie in the oven.”
“Well, Joanna is the pie baker. None of us can do near as well as her.”
He waited. Nothing. As if that answered his question. “So you make the best”—he left plenty of time for her to insert something, anything—“uh, pudding?”
She shook her head.
“Mashed potatoes?”
A little one-shoulder shrug as if anyone could do mashed potatoes.
He looked at Cora for suggestions, but she had nothing to offer.
“Biscuits? Bread?”
“Nope.”
“Then what?”
“I can turn a venison roast into the tastiest bit of meat you’ve ever imagined.”
“Really? And how do you do that?”
She leaned forward, spoke close to his ear. “’Fraid I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.” She leaned back, a satisfied look gleaming from her eyes. “You know how it is with secrets.”