The Indian didn't avoid her eyes or seem uncomfortable speaking to her. "You are good for him."
She hoped so. She prayed they'd be good for each other... and for Zoe.
Obviously not a man to waste words, Red Horse turned and left the house.
Later, four pies sat cooling on the table. Humming a soft, wordless tune, Thea sensed someone behind her. Booker stood in the doorway, boots in hand, white shirt over one long forearm. Soft-looking black curls carpeted his chest and dived into the waistband of his tapered black pants.
Thea couldn't resist running her gaze across his muscled shoulders and sleek torso. What would it be like to see this man first thing in the morning every day for the rest of her life?
The thought did not distress her.
"Morning," he said, his gaze flickering over her hair and dress. His freshly shaved jaw was almost shiny in the morning light. The roomy kitchen seemed to shrink with his brawny presence.
"Morning," she replied, pulling herself into action and reaching into the cupboard for a cup. "Coffee's ready."
"You've been up awhile, I see." He perched on the chair, where he draped his shirt over the back and tugged on his boots.
The skin around his waist creased in the most fascinating manner as he bent forward to his task. She tried not to notice the tendons across his sunburnt shoulders flex with each movement. Suddenly her mouth seemed parched, and she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Yes. I wanted to get a head start on the day."
"Don't wear yourself out. This party is supposed to be fun."
The coffee scalded her tongue, a painful distraction. She sat the cup down. "It will only take me a few minutes to put your breakfast together."
He stood and plucked the shirt from the back of the chair. Shoving one arm carelessly through a sleeve, his molded shoulder rolled in a timelessly masculine gesture. He reached behind and caught the other armhole, exposing a black thatch of hair and a marble-perfect bicep.
Thea couldn't drag her captivated attention from Booker. He glanced up and his fingers stumbled over the buttons.
Thea touched the numb spot on her tongue to her lip.
Something in the air changed and made breathing difficult. Booker held her gaze until she allowed hers to drift to his boots.
"I'll let the horses into the corral while you get breakfast," he said.
She nodded and watched him go out the back door, her heart slowing to a rate she could live with. Merciful heavens, if just being within six feet of him without his shirt on had this effect on her, what would happen the first time he touched her... the first time he...?
Footsteps running across the wood floor snagged her attention. Zoe flung herself across the room and hugged Thea's knees. Lucas appeared in the doorway.
Thea knelt and kissed Zoe. "Morning, Lucas," she said, straightening.
"Ma'am," he replied with an awkward duck of his head. "Ma'am?"
"Yes, Lucas?" She turned from reaching for a basket of eggs.
"Thanks for the shirts and dungarees." He shot through the back door without a backward glance.
Mentally tallying how many days it had taken him to muster that much courage, Thea smiled at the patch of sunlight breaking through the opening. "You're most welcome, Lucas."
* * *
"Thea?"
She turned toward MaryRuth. They had most of the food prepared and covered, the tables set up and the decorations in place. In less than an hour, the neighbors would begin arriving.
"Are you all right?"
Thea took her sister's hand and led her upstairs. Ushering her into a sparsely furnished bedroom, she closed the door.
"Whose room is this?" MaryRuth asked.
"Mr. Hayes offered it to me until we're married. He thinks I need to rest more often."
MaryRuth's eyebrows shot up. "Are you going to stay here at night?"
"Of course not. How would that look?" She perched on the bed's edge and remembered the day they'd stood looking at Mr. Hayes's bed. Ever since, she'd wondered what MaryRuth had wanted to tell her. "Can I ask you something?"
Her sister nodded and stood in front of the open window.
"Remember when we were girls, and we used to talk about what it would be like when we got married?"
"Yes."
"Is it frightening? Is it wonderful?" She slipped to her sister's side. "I feel like I'm just a naive girl again."
MaryRuth gave her a sad-sweet smile and touched her hair. "It can be wonderful, Thea. It can."
The regret in her sister's voice frightened her. "What's wrong, MaryRuth? Can you tell me?"
A tear formed and slid down MaryRuth's pale cheek. "I'm not sure." She slumped into the armless rocker near the window. "I don't know what to do."
"Is it Denzel? Has he done something?" Anger made her voice sharper than she intended. She knelt at her sister's feet. "Has he hurt you?"
"Oh, no! No, he would never hurt me. That's the problem... I think."
"What's the problem?"
"Thea, you know how happy we were at first. Until—until David."
"What's happened?"
"I don't know!" MaryRuth's voice trembled. "Ever since David was born, Denzel doesn't..."
"Doesn't what?" Thea asked.
"He doesn't want to..." She opened her eyes wide to suggest her meaning.
Thea sat back on her heels and a pent-up breath escaped her lips. "Oh, my."
MaryRuth's shoulders shook softly. "I don't know what's wrong. I just know we can't go on like this."
"Have you talked to him about it?"
"He won't. He just says he doesn't want to hurt me."
"Well, you're going to have to make him talk about it. Or—" Her head snapped up. "Or you're going to have to get him to do it."
"How?" She stared at Thea through her tears.
"We'll figure that out." The rumble of a wagon in the yard below caught their attention. "Don't worry anymore." Thea stood and pulled her sister to her feet. "Here, use my things and fix your hair and face." She pushed her toward the dressing table. "We're going to have fun today, remember?"
Thea hugged MaryRuth and hurried down to greet the guests. There had to be something she could do to help her sister.
* * *
The biggest share of the men showed up prepared to work. By late afternoon, a barn had been constructed and stood waiting for a roof. A few complaints grumbled among the settlers; some of them didn't like Red Horse's presence among the workers. Booker ignored their superior attitude. On the whole, he couldn't believe his good fortune. The men finished eating, and the musicians carried instruments from their wagons.
He caught sight of Thea. She stood near the corner of the back porch, a pitcher of lemonade in her grasp, talking to Odessa Woodridge. Listening to her aunt, her gaze drifted across the yard and settled on him.
Booker smiled, and she responded with a shy grin, sharing the secret. His stomach turned over. It was time to announce their wedding plans.
Jim Coulson ambled through the throng toward him. "Need some moral support, son?"
Booker smiled. "I'm not going to get cold feet."
Jim slapped him on the back. "Let's do it, then."
Booker focused his attention on Thea as Jim shouted for the gathering to come close and listen to Booker's announcement. She handed the lemonade to her aunt, smoothed her red-gold hair off her neck in a self-conscious gesture, and came to stand between Booker and her father.
Hip to hip, Jim slid his arm around Thea's waist. "Listen up, everybody! Booker has some news."
Booker cleared his throat.
Thea smiled.
"First of all, I'd like to thank the women for the meal. And thank the men for the hard work and the barn. It would have taken me weeks to finish it alone." He waited through a pattering of applause. "And I'd like to thank you men for something else, too. I'd like to thank you for leaving Thea, here, for me."
Thea glanced at her father and Jim kissed her cheek.
"
It's my good fortune," Booker continued, "that someone as beautiful and unselfish as her waited for an old soldier like me to come along."
Silence fell over the men and women. A few children's voices carried across the yard from where they played games near the corral.
"I asked Thea to marry me." He turned a hand out and she slid from her father's embrace into his. "And she said yes."
Madeline stepped from between her girlfriends and stared in disbelief. A few surprised murmurs turned to congratulations, and the bystanders applauded. Agnes Birch and Malvina Beck put their heads together and chattered.
Thea looked up into Booker's eyes, her cheeks flushed in becoming embarrassment. He squeezed her waist.
A ruckus from the back of the throng drew the crowd's focus, and heads turned to see the source. Reluctantly, Booker turned his attention away from Thea's pink-faced pleasure and followed the sounds.
The shouting grew louder, and the settlers parted. A wiry, dirty-clothed man was dragging Lucas through the crowd by the shirt collar. "Good for nothin’ runt!" the man snarled into Lucas's face and shoved him to the ground. "Look it here what I found hidin' back o' the stock pens."
Lucas spun on the ground and pulled himself to a defensive crouch.
"What the—?" Booker loosened his hold on Thea and started forward. Thea grabbed his wrist and glanced around at the crowd. Her hold on his arm dragged her with him. "Who are you?" Booker asked. "What are you doing?"
"That's Ronan Bard," Jim Coulson supplied. "He indentured that boy when the orphan train came through."
Booker glanced down at Thea. "That true?"
She nodded, fear apparent in her expression. "I knew he'd run away. I didn't tell you."
"Skinny knothead ran off," Bard shouted, and started after Lucas again. Lucas tried to scrambled away with agile, crablike movements.
The fear on Lucas's face told Booker everything he needed to know. It also left him no choice. Anger such as he'd never known surged, blurring his vision. Thea must have sensed it and tightened her grip on his wrist.
Calmly, Booker pried her fingers from his arm and focused his eyes until the hateful man's face became clear. In three long strides, he stood between Bard and Lucas.
The man looked up at him, rage distorting his rheumy features. Booker leveled a stare back, seeing only the web of scars lacing Lucas's scrawny back—some faded by time to atrocious memories, others bitter-fresh evidence of this man's obvious brutality.
With shameless deliberation, Booker drew his fist back and hammered Bard's nose with a deft blow. The man howled and fell back in the dirt. "You son of a good for nothin’ cow!" he shouted, and rolled over, blood spurting across his lips.
Booker stood over him.
Bard pushed himself to his feet and dug in his filthy pants pocket. "Here!" he pronounced with a triumphant flourish. "I got the papers. He's mine!"
Scornfully, Booker yanked the document from his grasp and tore it into a dozen pieces. "Here's what I think of your paper," he said calmly.
Bard sputtered and swung at Booker. Another big mistake.
Booker caught his arm and glared in his face. "And here's what I think of you."
One punch and the man sprawled on the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. Booker caught Lucas's shocked expression. He swung around to Thea. The setting sun set her marmalade hair aglow. Her face blanched, and she opened her blue-green eyes wide in apparent dismay.
What had he done? He'd ruined her day.
Thea stared down at the horrid man crumpled in the dirt. He'd ruined her day. This day that was to have been special. Thea raked her gaze over the detestable man on the ground and tried to bite back her sore disappointment.
Poor Lucas. He picked himself up and brushed off his new dungarees, all the while gawking at Booker as though the flashing-eyed man was a bigger-than-life hero from a dime novel. Thea started toward Lucas and noticed the mortified expression on Booker's face. He met her eyes with a mixture of dread and... fear?
"Booker?" she said softly, placing her hand on his arm without thought.
She didn't understand the troubled question on his face, but knew he was waiting for something, some reaction from her. Releasing his arm, she held out her hand to Lucas.
The boy came to her uncertainly, his chin dropping to the front of the shirt she'd sewn for him. She took his chin in her hand and brought his face up. "Are you all right?"
He nodded, his cloud gray eyes sliding to Booker. Thea wrapped her arm around Lucas and pulled him to her side. Surprisingly enough, he came willingly and turned his temple against her breast. His whipcord-lean body trembled within her embrace.
"Thank you, Booker," she said softly.
Booker's gaze lifted from Lucas to her, his mouth a pleasureless line, and one black brow raised in question.
Thea smiled, and the distress lines smoothed from Booker's forehead. He gave her a brief nod. She released Lucas, and Booker hooked a large hand around the boy's neck.
"Let's get this troublemaker home," Jim Coulson suggested. "We have a dance to commence with."
Several men jostled Bard's limp body into a wagon bed. The crowd broke up, the ladies packing away food and dishes, the men setting up beer kegs near the wood-plank dance floor. Lucas disappeared into the house.
Booker pulled Thea aside. "Where's Zoe?"
"MaryRuth took her and David inside earlier."
"Good. I'm glad she didn't see that." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you did."
"Booker." His ebony eyes softened at her use of his name. "I knew Lucas ran away from Bard. Lucas was one of the children who arrived on the train with Zoe. He seemed so much better off with you... I didn't say anything when I realized he'd run away. Perhaps I should have told you, and we could have contacted Mrs. Vaughn. I was just so afraid that Lucas would run. I still am." Unbidden tears filled her eyes, and Thea blinked them back. "He has a history of being a runaway."
A muscle jumped in Booker's jaw. "Can't say I blame him. I'd run from someone who beat me, too."
A sad-hearted ache throbbed to life in Thea's chest. "Oh, my—" her voice caught on a sob. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and composed herself. Dropping her hand, she asked, "What can we do?"
He set his chin at a determined angle. "We'll do something. I promise." He studied the darkening sky for a long minute. "I'll wire Mrs. Vaughn first thing in the morning."
Thea nodded, encouraged.
"But for tonight..." he said.
"What?"
"I think as a newly engaged couple, we should dance, don't you?" Those beguiling smile lines crept into one side of his mouth.
Her heart tripped and steadied itself. Engaged. To this man. He extended his palm toward her. She regarded the proffered hand: Along-fingered hand that had loaded rifles, pulled triggers and fought battles; a strong hand that could send a man into unconsciousness with a single blow. Her gaze flickered across his hard-angled face and back to his hand: A gentle hand that had clumsily brushed baby-fine platinum locks; a tanned hand that had built a house with love in every stone and each length of wood.
Warmth flooded Thea's insides and expectancy bubbled through her veins: A man's hand that would soon know every inch of her as his wife.
She placed her fingers in his and turned them over to study his scraped knuckles. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I'd be more than pleased to dance with you, Mr. Hayes."
* * *
Lucas dallied in the roofless barn as long as he could that night. The last wagon had rumbled away from the yard an hour ago. Since then he'd checked on Gideon and brushed the horse Hayes had bought for his use until its speckled gray coat shined. He'd hate to leave this horse behind.
He'd hate to leave all of it behind. He glanced around the stalls and savored the fresh-cut wood smell. He'd never smelled anythin' like it. Never seen anythin' as fascinating as the delightful curls of wood that had fallen in a fragrant pile at Booker's feet that morning as the man had shaved lengt
hs of wood until they were straight. Lucas had gathered the precious scraps and saved them in a tinderbox next to the new cast-iron stove.
It'd be nice to stay somewheres long enough to have the place feel like home. He wondered what home felt like, anyhow. He'd discovered people out here built cabins and houses and lived in 'em for most of their lives.
Lantern light swung across the interior walls, and Lucas spun.
"Wondered what was taking you so long," Booker said, and set the lantern on an upended nail keg. "Watered Gideon for me, did you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Think he likes it out here?"
"Dunno." Lucas followed Hayes's gaze as he dropped his head back and stared at the diamond-studded sky above.
"Ever slept under the stars, Lucas?"
"Yes, sir."
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Lucas dropped his gaze back to the black-haired man. "Sky in New York ain't as big as here."
Hayes lowered his eyes. "No. I suppose not."
As a small boy hiding in a smelly back alley, a narrow strip of heaven was all he'd ever seen. And then the sky had only pointed out his vulnerability to rain and cold.
Hayes leaned against an empty stall and crooked a leg, the toe of his boot pointed at the dirt floor. "Lucas."
"What?"
"Remember that day I said you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to?"
Lucas nodded.
"Well, that still stands. I think I know now, anyway. I'm going to wire Mrs. Vaughn first thing in the morning."
Lucas's heart sank into his belly. He'd known it'd been too good to last. Now he'd have to run—before the agent came back and dragged him off to the next hellhole. Damn.
"I'm going to tell her what happened with Bard."
Lucas avoided Hayes's eyes, cautiously. Shame wound itself through his bones. He was street trash. Nothin' more. Nothin' better. And now everyone knew.
"I want to ask her if you can stay here. Miss Coulson and I will be married soon, so I think there's every chance the Home would agree to let you stay. But it has to be what you want."
Stunned for a long moment, Lucas could only stare back. He couldn't believe he'd heard right! Slowly, the realization hit him full force. Hayes wanted him to stay here. Here with him and the angel lady.
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