Reaper's Justice

by Sarah McCarty

  “Actually, yes.” She twisted her foot into the bottom, enjoying the smooth wood against her soles. “What kind of herbs are these?”

  “A concoction I picked up somewhere.”

  She wiggled her toes, admiring the utter symmetry of the bowl. Whoever had crafted it had an eye for detail. “Can I see the bag?”

  A stillness took Isaiah, and for a second she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shrugged and said, “That was the last of it.”

  “Oh.” So much for learning the recipe. Which was a shame, because her feet felt miraculously better. Her stomach rumbled.

  Isaiah looked over. “It will be a few minutes before the rabbits are ready.”

  She kept her expression neutral while she cursed the blush that heated her cheeks. What was it about the man that kept her so unsettled ? A woman her age, with her experience, should be long past blushing.

  She let the pelt slide off her shoulders. “Then, I’ll set the . . .” Isaiah stared at her. Too late she remembered there wasn’t a table. “I’ll get the silverware.”

  His stare got harder.

  “We do have silverware?”

  “Does this look like a fancy hotel?”

  “No.” It looked like a hole in the side of the mountain, but that didn’t mean the basics couldn’t be observed. “You must at least have a fork.”

  He reached for his hip and pulled out a big knife. He handed it to her, hilt first. She didn’t take it. “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s either this or your fingers.”

  Her fingers were as dirty as the knife. “Is there a place I can wash?”

  “There’s a stream to the left.”

  “Soap?”

  Another stare. Eating with her fingers was distasteful. She looked at the knife. It at least was a utensil. She reached for it and then stopped. How many men had he killed with it? She caught herself before she could ask the question. “Then I guess I’ll be eating with my hands.”

  He put the knife back in the sheath. “I thought so.”

  She bit her lip on a sharp retort and tugged the pelt up. If he continued to be this much of an ass, he was going to end up with one of those spitted rabbits up alongside his head, which was going to make dinner conversation extremely awkward.

  7

  IF THE MEAL WAS AWKWARD, THE AFTERMATH WAS WORSE. Isaiah was sullen and quiet. Addy was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but there was only one pallet on which to sleep, and quite frankly, Isaiah wasn’t a man with whom she felt comfortable just closing her eyes and letting down her guard. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

  She took the remnants of the carcasses, stripped bare of meat, and set them aside. This wasn’t her home so she didn’t know what to do with the refuse. There weren’t any dogs. There was no clearly delineated area for garbage. “What do you want to do with the carcasses?”

  “Leave them.”

  Leaving them meant attracting all sorts of wild animals. Maybe even a bear. She gathered up the bones and set them in the wooden bowl. “I can take them and—”

  “I said leave them.”

  “Bury them,” she finished, muttering to herself before saying louder, “I’m not leaving them.”

  They were filthy clutter.

  He stabbed the knife with which he’d been eating into the dirt and glared at her. “Did you ever think you’d live longer if you learned to do as you’re told?”

  Was that a threat? It didn’t matter. Her muscles twitched with the need to dispose of the mess. “Yes, but there are just some things I can’t abide.”

  Filth was one.

  He snatched up the knife and stood quickly. She jerked back. He reached out. For the scraps, she realized. A blush burned her cheeks as he took them. “Thank you.”

  “You like things ordered. There’s no fault in that.”

  Looking at him gave her all sorts of uncomfortable feelings. A couple she could identify. They were the usual—fear, apprehension. The others put that particular hitch in her breathing and unrest in her nerves, like maybe her skin had shrunk. She wanted to move and fidget, and she never fidgeted. “No, there isn’t.”

  The grunt he gave her in response was not enlightening. She stood and, with the back of her hand, brushed the leaves off her skirt. A stain at the hem irritated her. This dress was fairly new. She’d spent a lot of hours making it and now it was ruined because people couldn’t leave her alone.

  “I’m going to wash up.”

  Another grunt. She eyed a pebble on the ground. She had the irrational urge to kick it at Isaiah. He was her rescuer—why wasn’t he making this easy?

  “Which way is the stream?”

  He pointed to the right to the narrow ledge—the “path.” Perfect. Just perfect. “Thank you.”

  “Be careful.”

  She was always careful. “Of course.”

  Once she was on it, the ledge was even narrower than it had looked. If that were possible. The bulk of her skirt prevented her from pressing her back as close to the wall as she’d have liked. How had Isaiah carried her here? Holding her breath, she crept along the ledge, her eyes glued to the drop-off to the left. She was sure having a house, if one would call that lean-to a house, perched so precariously was great for defense, but she wouldn’t want to have to get up in the middle of the night and go relieve herself. With her luck she’d tumble off the edge and land at the bottom of the cliff. She leaned forward. And it was a long way down. She’d heard of people who’d just walked off ledges. She’d never quite understood the temptation, but now she did. There was something hypnotizing about that long tumble of space, something that encouraged a body to lean forward.

  A hand caught her left arm and pushed. She screamed as she stumbled forward.

  “Don’t look down.”

  The hoarse order did nothing to calm her. She plastered herself back against the ledge as her heart thundered in her chest. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you.”

  She pressed her hand to her chest. “To what? An early grave?”

  “You were looking down.”

  She lied through her teeth. “It’s a nice view.”

  “You were getting close to the edge.”

  “I’m fine.” At least she would be when her heart resumed a normal rhythm.

  Another push. “I’ll walk you.”

  Obviously, his definition of “walk” included force-marching her along the edge at a pace that far exceeded what she thought was safe.

  She dug in her heels. “It’s not necessary.”

  With a flex of muscle, he popped her forward. “Humor me.”

  He didn’t leave her much choice as he propelled her onward. Dirt stuck to the grease on her fingers, irritating her almost as much as Isaiah’s shoving. She wanted to shrug away but where would she go? She was already halfway across the ledge. So she stepped forward, nerves twitching, fingers clenched into fists, following the path until they got to the wider part, where it split. At least her feet didn’t hurt anymore.

  “Take a left at that tree lying across the boulder.”

  She took the left. Isaiah grunted again. If she listened carefully, she could hear the water tumbling down the mountainside. As soon as they were clear of the ledge, he stopped and let her go.

  “What?”

  “I thought you might like some privacy.”

  First he acted like a domineering ass and then he pulled out his manners.

  “There is just no understanding you,” she muttered as she rubbed her hands on her skirt, wishing she could give up on the notion of staying clean. What did it really matter? She was carrying half the Territory on her clothes. But unfortunately, it did matter, down inside her where there was no negotiating. She looked at the stream and was pleasantly surprised to find it was actually more than a trickle. Over time the bend in the stream had hollowed out a wide pool. The sound of water tumbling was created from the excess water spill
ing over the rock ledge on the downhill side. The water looked inviting. The sunlight dappling the surface, cheery. A definite bright spot in her day.

  “Why did you keep this from me?”

  Isaiah gave her a strange look. “I didn’t.”

  She harrumphed, and slid down the embankment. After only a slight hesitation, she knelt at the side of the stream, trying not to think of the fresh dirt embedding in the material, focusing instead on the opportunity to clean up. She stuck her hands in the cold water and let it slide over them, sighing as it worked its magic on her nerves. She’d be so glad when this was over. She couldn’t wait to get home, to throw this dress away, to throw this memory away. To get back to her life.

  Scooping some pebbles off the bottom, she rubbed them over her hand. Looking over her shoulder, she could see Isaiah. He stood at the top of the hill, arms folded across his chest, shoulders squared, feet braced slightly apart.

  He looked as harsh and intimidating as the mountain peak behind him. Downright scary. Except she could still see his eyes from here, and they drew her with that same senseless tumble that she’d experienced when looking over the cliff. Suggesting that if she looked hard enough, she’d discover something wonderful. Which was pure foolishness.

  She scrubbed her hands harder. A man like Isaiah was not for her. She had to remember that. She’d picked out a nice steady gentleman for her future husband. Isaiah was exciting in that dangerous sort of way that only a man who lived out here could be. In a lot of ways he was like her cousins. In a battle there was likely no one better to have at her side, but when it came to settling down and handling the day-to-day calm of town life, he’d crawl right out of his skin.

  She scrubbed harder still, letting the burn drive her point home. She had to keep all of that in mind because worlds were not easy to build and they could be broken so quickly, just one wrong move, one wrong thing, one wrong choice . . . She closed her eyes. For God’s sake, this whole mess had started with her drinking her evening tea. Something she did every night at the same time. Such an ordinary thing to have launched such a horrendous journey.

  Isaiah hunkered down beside her to rinse his hands. She hadn’t heard him come down the hill, but she was getting used to his silent ways. Without looking at him, she asked, “Do you know why they took me?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  That wasn’t good. That meant they could come try to take her again at any time. That meant she wasn’t safe at home. She looked around at the vastness of the wilderness. Then at Isaiah. For an instant she had a wild notion to set another lean-to up beside his and hide right alongside him. But only for an instant. She wasn’t the type of woman who hid. If she were, she’d be at her cousins’ ranch living a stilted life under their protective thumbs. “I can’t stay here.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  But where would she go? Her cousins’ ranch, which sat in the middle of Indian territory, might be well guarded, but the location played havoc with her peace of mind. Living there brought back too many memories, and no matter how strict a routine she established, or how many new ones she initiated, she couldn’t control the way she reacted. She was always a mess when visiting there.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Isaiah said, shaking out his hands.

  She followed suit though a lot less aggressively. No need to turn the dirt on her skirt to mud by applying water. “I think I’ve got a lot to worry about. Someone wants me to suffer.”

  Just the thought had her scrubbing her hands again.

  “I won’t let them take you again.”

  He couldn’t stop it.

  “Your hands are clean.”

  She gave them another scrub. “I just like to be sure.”

  “I know.” His hand covered hers. “It’s one of your rituals.” With a gentle pull he removed her hands from the water. “But you don’t need a ritual for this.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. I promised to protect you.”

  He had? “When?”

  “A year ago.”

  A year? “Where was I?”

  He didn’t even hesitate before he answered. “Drinking tea in your kitchen.”

  “You’ve been watching me?”

  He didn’t even have the grace to look uncomfortable, just gave her that brutal honesty. “Yes.”

  She didn’t want to know, but she had to ask. “You’ve been watching me for a year?”

  “Yes. When I’m in town.”

  A year. That was almost as disconcerting as being ripped out of her home by kidnappers. She took a careful breath and let it go. “Why?”

  “The usual reasons.”

  “Elaborate. Your usual might not be mine.”

  He shrugged again. “You’re interesting.”

  She, with all her strange rituals, was interesting? “You have got to be crazier than I am.”

  Again, no hesitation in answering. “In all likelihood.”

  Maybe she could use that. She needed to think. She waved her hands to dry them.

  “I want to go home.”

  “I heard you the first time you said it.”

  “Oh.”

  He stood. She waited for him to offer her a hand up. After a few seconds she realized the offer wasn’t forthcoming. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed Isaiah lacked the common manners basic to society. It just suddenly got more significant. She lifted her skirts and hauled herself up. Her leg muscles screamed at the exertion. She teetered. Immediately, he caught her arm.

  She let him. “You’re supposed to do that before I stand.”

  “Why?”

  “So I don’t fall.”

  His expression turned to concern. “You have a tendency to fall?”

  She sighed and stepped away. “It’s considered good manners.”

  His expression froze to that cold blankness she hated. “I see.”

  A man could hide a lot behind an expression like that. Including embarrassment. “Where did you grow up?” she asked him, heading up the hill.

  “Here and there.”

  Judging from his face, he was about thirty. Thirty years ago Montana Territory had been a very wild place. “Your parents must have been adventurous.”

  His expression didn’t change. “Maybe.”

  She tried another tack. “Did you fight in the War?”

  His lips thinned. That was obviously a touchy subject. He waved her on. She sighed.

  “Fighting for what you believe in is nothing to be ashamed of, no matter which side you fought on.”

  Another one of those grunts that irritated her was her only answer, but at least it was a response. “Did you come back home after the War?”

  “I left when I was finished.”

  That was an odd way to put it. “I bet your family was glad to see you.”

  “No.”

  He took her arm when they reached the ledge. She didn’t protest. From this angle the path looked even more treacherous. Isaiah kept her steady and away from the edge until they reached the campsite. His home, she corrected herself. What was surprising was that she was comfortable with him doing so. She actually trusted him to keep her safe. That was even somewhat amazing. She assessed the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles in his thighs, the strength in his hands. And very convenient. From the top of his head to his feet, this man was a warrior. And a warrior was exactly what she needed. Reaching into her pocket, she rubbed her worry stone between her fingers.

  “You said I did you a favor?”

  Isaiah nodded.

  “One you don’t feel is paid back yet.”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  A shiver of unease went down her spine, loosening her knees before surging back up her torso and then down her arms. She ground it out with the next pass of her fingers over the stone. “No, you don’t feel it’s paid back yet, or no, I’m wrong?”

  “No, the favor’s not paid back yet.” The words seemed to rumble out of him.

  Another sh
iver chased the first. But this one left a trail of heat in places she’d never felt heat. She narrowed her eyes. He was more dangerous than she’d first imagined. This was not a man with whom to let down her guard. “Would you like it to be?”

  His eyebrow went up. “What do you want?”

  “The threat to me isn’t over, is it?”

  “No. But it will be.”

  She wished she had an ounce of his confidence. She had to fake hers. “Who or what do you think is behind it?”

  “I think somebody is trying to get at your cousins through you.”

  So he knew about her cousins. That would make things easier. “Are you any good with a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at his belt, at the knives he wore there. “And with knives?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your fists?”

  He opened and closed his fingers. “None better.”

  “Good.”

  “You got a reason for sizing me up like beef at the market?”

  “You need money.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up. He glanced around. “You think the place needs dressing up?”

  The glimmer of humor was encouraging. She didn’t want to offend him, but good God, he lived in a house made of twigs and debris with barely enough blankets to make a bedroll. “A coffeepot wouldn’t come amiss.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Your company might.”

  “I don’t get company.”

  “I’m company.”

  “I’ll make a note for your next visit.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to want to visit?”

  With a deceptive simplicity, he pulled his knife, flipped it in the air, and caught it. “My skills.”

  She blinked. “Oh.” She licked her lips and ground her worry stone between her fingers. “I want—”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “I would if you wouldn’t be so rude as to interrupt.”

  “Sorry.”

  He didn’t sound sorry.

  “I want to hire you.”

  “For what?”

  As if he didn’t know. She shook out her skirt and pressed a wrinkle against her thigh. “I need a bodyguard. Just until my cousins can sort this mess out.”