by Karen Kirst
Crouched a scant yard away, he was on eye level with her, his cool gray eyes sober. Watchful. The fact that he wasn’t laughing at her predicament came as a surprise. Her brothers would’ve laughed and teased her mercilessly. Drake would’ve lectured, pointing out her lack of forethought and overall incompetence.
A curl tumbled over her forehead and tickled her nose. Lifting a hand to her hair, she belatedly wondered what a tangle with the tent had done to her appearance. Her focus shifted to the left, to the half-built stable and her belongings now strewn about the grass. Her hand mirror was there. Somewhere.
Not that she cared one whit what a Thornton thought about her.
Dislodging the irritating curl, she rose to her feet as gracefully as she could and, shaking out her skirts, stepped over the wadded-up canvas. Her stiff boots chafed her heels. She wished she could join Walt at the stream but there was too much work yet to do.
With her out of the way, Gideon went to work. Beneath faded cotton the same hue as the sky above, his back and shoulder muscles rippled and tensed as he plunged the poles deep into the soil. Every move was calculated. Deliberate. No wasted energy here. Despite his size, he was very much in control of his body.
He intrigued her when she had no business being intrigued. Enemy, remember?
With a flick of his wrists, the canvas billowed out and settled over the poles. He then straightened the sides and tied up the door flaps.
He stepped back and surveyed his work. “All finished.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t easy expressing gratitude to this man.
He looked at her. “Point me to your necessities and I’ll bring them over first.”
“I don’t need any further assistance from you, Mr. Thornton.”
Squinting, he studied the horizon, where the sun was dipping closer to the distant plains. “It’d be a shame if you and the boy had to bed down in the grass. Not easy to sleep on an empty stomach, either.”
Pursing her lips, she ran a finger beneath her scratchy collar. There was much left to do before nightfall. What was more important in this instance? Heeding her brothers’ warnings or seeing to Walt’s needs?
Easy choice. “I’ll accept your help, Mr. Thornton. This time.”
She’d gone five steps when she noticed he wasn’t following her. Halting, she twisted around. He hadn’t moved. Spine straight, shoulders set and hands at his sides, he watched her with his unnerving gaze.
She quirked a questioning brow.
“It’s Gideon.”
“Fine. Gideon.” She pressed a hand to her bodice, the intricate beadwork digging into her palm. “Evelyn.”
His gaze openly roamed her features, probing, as if attempting to unearth answers to puzzling questions. The intense focus made her skin prickle. While she was accustomed to men’s appraisals of her appearance, this went deeper. To her mind, her very soul. It made her feel exposed.
Turning her back on him, she marched across the field and, with a scant glance at the handsome horses grazing in the expansive corral, began searching for the trunk containing their bedding. He joined her but did not jump in and start rifling through her things. Instead, he hung back, awaiting her direction. Gideon touched only those things she pointed out to him, and she felt a grudging appreciation for the respect he showed her.
The transfer of personal items, as well as cooking essentials and preserved foods, took half an hour. He did the majority of the work. Evelyn tried her best not to be awed by his effortless strength. Tried and failed.
After checking on Walt, who was now knee-deep in the stream searching for bugs, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and, planting her hands on her hips, confronted Gideon.
“Why are you helping me? What’s it to you whether or not we eat? Where we sleep?”
Lowering her portable iron stove to the ground between a small barrel of eggs packed in sawdust and a trunk filled with clothes, he straightened and mirrored her stance, large hands gripping his denim-clad waist. A muscle ticked in his granite jaw.
“What exactly has your family told you about me?”
Refuse to be intimidated. Lifting her chin, she met his smoldering gaze head-on. “I know that right before the war, your father took you and your brothers and, like a coward, fled north in the middle of the night. You betrayed your neighbors, your friends and your state. Indeed, the entire Southern way of life. And yet you prospered, were rewarded for your traitorous actions, while we, despite our loyalty to our traditions, had our home sold out from beneath us by your beloved North.”
His nostrils flared. “You keep saying ‘you.’ You’re forgetting I was a child when the war between the states began and so were you.”
He was right. She didn’t remember wearing expensive frocks or attending parties. Nor did she recall the grand plantation home where she’d been born. All she’d ever known was the reality of living in crowded quarters with other unfortunate relatives, of sitting down to humble meals and wearing cast-off clothing. Oh, but her parents had regaled her and her brothers with stories of their former life, showing them the single remaining photograph of Rose Hill, describing the plantation in such minute detail that it came alive for her.
Her mother’s words echoed through her mind and she spoke them. “The North robbed us. Because of people like you and your father, we lost everything.”
“I’m not to blame for your family’s misfortune,” he bit out.
“You come from a family of traitors.” She found herself repeating Theo’s often-spouted remarks about the hateful Thorntons. “You’re not to be trusted.”
“Hogwash.”
“I know you’re a brawler. I know you broke Theo’s nose.”
Clouds passed over his face. “I will accept the blame for that.”
The minute the Thornton brothers had returned to their defeated Virginia town after the war, the threat of trouble lurked in the shadows, infected conversations and dogged everyone’s thoughts. The once-beloved Thorntons had become hated for their escape of the war’s repercussions while local families loyal to the South had lost everything. They had betrayed the South and had been handsomely rewarded for it, their ancestral home having been restored to them by the Reconstructionist government. The townsfolk had made it plain they weren’t welcome. Two months after their arrival, a brawl had erupted between them and her brothers. While Evelyn hadn’t been told the details of the fight, the Thorntons’ abrupt departure afterward had told her everything she’d needed to know. As had Theodore’s broken nose. They were at fault.
He lifted his chin. “I had trouble controlling my temper when I was younger.”
“And you’re in total control of it now?”
“No.” His face became pinched. “Not entirely.”
He was admitting to a fault? “I—”
Walt ran up and tugged on her skirt. Smoothing his ruffled raven locks, she summoned a smile. “What is it, sweetheart?”
He cupped his throat, a signal he’d devised to express thirst. Oh, how she missed hearing his sweet voice. When would he speak again? What if he never— No. She couldn’t entertain such a horrific thought.
“You want some water?”
Frowning, he shook his head.
“Milk?”
At his firm nod, she shot Gideon a quick glance. He was observing them with a studied frown, confusion wrinkling his brow.
Self-conscious, she knelt to Walt’s level and tried to explain about the milk cow. “We had to leave Mirabelle at Uncle Reid’s, remember?”
His frown turned into a scowl. Of course he would miss having milk on hand. Evelyn hadn’t had time to think through all the ramifications of this move. Now she worried his health might suffer if their case didn’t come to trial in a timely manner. Please, Lord, don’t allow this situation to stretch on interminably. I can’t abide
this man. Not after what he did to Drake and what he’s trying to do to us.
Gideon’s measured voice broke the silence. “There are wild strawberries on the other side of the stream. Maybe he’d like to pick some.”
Irrationally perturbed at his intrusion and that the solution was a good one, she watched Walt’s somber expression change to one of eager anticipation.
“I’ll get you a container to put them in.” Straightening, she sent Gideon a “good riddance” look. “Thank you again for your help. I can take it from here.”
“Of course.” Touching the brim of his hat, he gave her a stiff nod and strode off, leaving her to her work. She breathed easier after he’d gone.
Chapter Three
“They accused you of what?” Above the pewter mug suspended halfway to his mouth, the gold flecks in Clint’s brown eyes shimmered with disbelief.
Cradling his mug of steaming coffee, Elijah leaned back in his chair and sighed. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise. We’re all aware of the Chaucers’ opinion of us.” He looked across the table at Gideon. “I’m just sorry that coming to a man’s aid has placed you in this position.”
Gideon traced lazy circles on the coarse tabletop. Even if he could’ve foreseen the outcome, he wouldn’t have left Montgomery to die. His brothers knew that. Still, the situation he found himself in rankled.
Despite his fatigue, he’d passed a restless night, his mind on the occupants of the tent a quarter acre upstream. Visible yet far enough away he couldn’t hear their conversations. They don’t have conversations, though, do they? Not for the first time, he pondered the boy’s continuing silence.
“We don’t know much about Evelyn Montgomery. Is she as disagreeable as her brothers?” Clint asked.
His brother’s appointment as sheriff of Brave Rock had become more than just a job. It had become a calling, an honorable mission to maintain the peace of this Oklahoma town birthed from dreams of independence and the grit and determination to see them into reality. With a keen, observant mind and commitment to upholding the law, he was the best man for it.
“Evelyn—” her given name sounded odd on his lips “—can be difficult.”
“Which is another word for stubborn, like some people I know.” A knowing grin hovered about Lije’s mouth.
“Contrary is a better word,” Gideon shot back, thinking of her resistance to his every attempt to make life easier for her. Why he even tried he hadn’t a clue. “She’s good with her son, though. Protective.” The immense love she possessed for him was evident in every look, every touch.
Seated across the table in Lije’s cabin, his brothers exchanged a quick, telling glance. He knew by Clint’s cautious expression and the sympathy in Lije’s hazel eyes they were thinking of Susannah and Maggie.
“You have my constant prayers, brother. In time, God will sort this out the way He sees fit.”
Gideon pressed his lips together, cutting off the stinging retort. As a preacher, Lije centered his whole life around the things of God. Comforting folks, praying for them and encouraging them in difficult times came as second nature to the eldest Thornton brother. Gideon wanted no part of it. Not anymore. The grief stemming from the loss of his wife and daughter had transformed into resentment and anger at the all-powerful God he’d once served.
He could’ve spared them and yet chose not to. Every time he felt the urge to pray or dust off his Bible, he reminded himself of that fact.
Pushing to his feet, he set his cup in the dry sink behind him and crossed to the door, retrieving his hat from the row of hooks. “I’ve gotta go. Got errands in town to tend to.”
Lije stood, as well. “And I have to meet the work crew. We’re framing the chapel windows this morning.”
Work on the official Brave Rock church—which would also be used as a meeting house—had commenced a couple days ago on the western edge of Lije’s claim closest to town. Residents were working in shifts so that everyone shared the load and families weren’t taken from their planting and the building of their own cabins for very long.
“I can spare a few hours this afternoon,” Gideon told Elijah.
The preacher’s jaw dropped. “You’re offering to work on the church?”
Aware of Gideon’s aversion to spiritual matters, his brother hadn’t asked him to pitch in. But Lije worked his fingers to the bone seeing to the needs of this town. Swinging a hammer for a few hours was the least Gideon could do. Besides, it would gain him a reprieve from the feisty widow Montgomery.
“I am. Unless you don’t need me.”
Clint watched the exchange with interest.
Lije picked up his jaw. “Oh, we need you, little brother.” Clapping a hand on Gideon’s shoulder, he grinned big. “What time should we expect you?”
“Around one o’clock. How’s that?”
“Perfect. The men will be returning from lunch then.”
Gideon opened the door.
“Hold up a second.”
Clint shoved his chair back. The gold star pinned to his vest winked in the morning sunlight streaming through the curtainless window. The last shingle of Lije’s one-room cabin had been nailed into place last week, and it lacked those little touches that made a dwelling into a home. Wouldn’t be this way for long, however. He’d seen Alice hemming blue-and-white-checked curtains in preparation for her and Lije’s upcoming nuptials. If the bouquet of daffodils gracing the table—the only spot of color in the room—was any indication, the sweet-natured redhead would have these sparse quarters looking more like a home in no time.
“You should know we’ve had more trouble,” Clint said. “The Ramseys’ barn burned down last night. It was a total loss.”
Lije’s expression turned grave. “There weren’t any fatalities, thank the good Lord.”
Gideon shook his head in disgust. “Did they get all the animals out?”
“All but a milk cow,” Clint supplied. “They were fortunate.”
“Any idea how it started?”
“Not yet. Lars and I are looking into it.” His younger brother’s features hardened. “If it turns out it wasn’t an accident, we’ll find out who the perpetrators are and go after them.”
“These incidents are stirring up suspicion amongst the townsfolk, which is the last thing we need.” Sighing, Lije wearily massaged his neck. If Gideon knew his brother, he’d probably stayed up half the night tending to the Ramsey family’s needs. “Without unity and a sense of brotherhood, what kind of town will Brave Rock be?”
Not a place any decent folk would want to live, Gideon answered silently. If he were still a praying man, he’d ask God for assistance. Since he wasn’t, he’d just have to trust Clint’s prediction. The troublemakers would make a mistake eventually, which would lead to their arrest and, ultimately, peace for Brave Rock’s residents. Hopefully sooner rather than later, before someone got hurt or outright killed.
* * *
“Hold him steady. I’m almost done.” Evelyn’s pencil scraped across the page in light strokes. “I think this one is some type of earless lizard. We’ll look it up tonight before bed.”
Fortunately, she knew exactly which trunk contained their books. Drake had argued against bringing them out here, saying she wouldn’t have time for such unnecessary luxuries, but she’d been adamant. Walt enjoyed studying the pictures in the encyclopedia and almanac. And she wouldn’t dream of leaving her journals behind. They contained drawings and descriptions of all sorts of things—Rose Hill, their church in Virginia, flowers, butterflies and birds she’d encountered—a pictorial history of her life. Of course, Drake hadn’t seen any value in them.
“Done.” She snapped the book closed.
Walt raised the bluish-gray-and-black lizard closer to his face, ran a finger along its spindly spine and gingerly set it on the sloping b
ank, watching intently as it scurried behind the rocks. Shrugging, he turned to her. Red ringed his mouth, evidence of the berries he’d eaten for dessert. She picked up the basin of dirty dishes and carried it to the stream. Crouching beside him, she dipped a rag in the cool water. “Let’s clean your face, sweetheart. It’s a wonder you didn’t get a tummy ache from all those strawberries.”
Wearing a long-suffering expression, he stood still and let her work. Affection bubbled up in her. He was so beautiful, her little boy. His olive skin, dark, expressive eyes and distinctive features had been handed down from his Russian grandmother, Nancy Petrov Chaucer, just as they had been to Evelyn and her brothers. There wasn’t a single sign of his Montgomery heritage. Was that the reason Drake hadn’t bonded with him?
Sighing, she kissed his cheek, which he rewarded with a tight hug. When he stiffened against her, she leaned back. His eyes were huge. “What’s wrong?”
Twisting, balancing her weight with a splayed hand in the grass, she spotted Gideon’s wagon slowly approaching. There, trailing behind it, was a Guernsey cow much like the one they’d left at Reid’s. That wasn’t Mirabelle, however.
Taking Walt’s hand, she stood and watched as the aloof cowboy eased his team to a stop in front of the stable. After setting the brake, he climbed down and, striding to the cow, untethered her and led her across the field in their direction. What in the world?
The brim of his black Stetson cast his eyes in shadow; his stubble-covered jaw and chin were set in grim lines. As if she exuded a foul stench, he stopped a ways out, his mouth unsmiling. Gloved hands gripping the lines, he extended them to her.
“This is Petra.”
“That’s a Russian name.”
A sigh lifted his vest-clad chest. “Bought her from a Russian family.”
“There are Russians here?” During their stay in Boomer Town, the tent city that had sprung up along the border of Unassigned Lands in the weeks preceding the land rush, she’d encountered Poles and Czechs but no Russians. “My mother came to America when she was a little girl. She taught me the language. What are their names?”