Chapter 8
Sabrina awoke to the wonderful smell of bacon frying. She thought bacon was the best smell in the whole world. Crawling out of her bed and peeking her head over the loft, she saw Brock standing at the wood stove cooking breakfast. Her stomach rumbled, and she leaned over to check and see if her clothes were dry yet. Giving them a quick squeeze, she found they were still damp.
Regretfully, she made her way down the ladder again wrapped in a blanket.
Brock looked behind him and offered her a grin. “Morning.”
“You really do know how to cook,” she said, coming up behind him to peer around his back at the stove.
“I’m very good at lots of things.” Brock smirked, expertly turning the sizzling bacon. She watched as he checked on the biscuits he had made earlier and shook her head in wonder. He was like the perfect prince in a fairytale. Prince Charming. She imagined a crown on his dark head and giggled.
Brock looked down at her strangely. Noticing, she faked a cough and cleared her throat. “Never learned to cook myself.” She sat at the small table as Brock scooped out the crispy bacon onto the tin plates. He then cracked eggs into the pan, letting the bacon grease season the eggs as they cooked.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to teach you. You have to keep up your end of the chores.”
A memory of Alma chasing her out of the kitchen when she was younger flashed through her mind. She had been trying to boil water for some tea and had somehow caught the drapes on fire.
Alma had put the fire out quickly with her wash water for the dishes. Sabrina’s heart filled with fear as she now realized what a dangerous situation she had been in. Instead of being mad at Alma for scolding her, she should have been grateful for the woman’s swift action. Anyhow, she was not allowed to cook again, which was fine with her. She would much rather be outside taking care of the livestock anyway.
Finishing the eggs, Brock carried the plates outside for them to eat. It was a beautiful morning and the food was really good. They did not talk while they ate and, for that, Sabrina was grateful. It was nice to sit and enjoy a good meal with Brock; she even relaxed her guard a little. As Sabrina finished eating, Brock stood up, stretching his long, lithe body.
Sabrina knew she was staring again but she could not help it. She was mesmerized as he raised his arms up over his head and stretched like a cat.
“I cooked; you clean,” Brock said, heading toward the barn to check on Troy. Sabrina sighed, watching him go. She felt a strange churning in her stomach whenever she was near him. She knew what that feeling was; Lydia had taught her all about that kinda stuff. She knew her body was reacting to him like a dog in heat. It really made pretending to be a boy a whole lot harder. Maybe she’d made a mistake by moving in with Brock. She really didn’t know what had possessed her to say “yes” or what had come over him to ask her.
Seeing him in the barn she thought back to the first time they had been there, when she was showing him the place. His mouth was so close he could have kissed her. He was reacting to her too. Of course he still thought she was a boy and it was confusing him to no end. Just imagine if he knew she was a girl. She grinned a little as she gathered up the plates to wash.
Brock leaned against Troy’s stall. The boy needed clothing and necessities. He would have to take him into town to get him some. He needed his own horse. Unfortunately, Brock did not have enough resources for that now. He would just have to ride double with him on Troy. If need be, Will could walk to town and back but that was silly since they were both going to the same place. He tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head, which told him that he wanted the boy to depend on him and that he liked it when he rode with Will. Saddling Troy, he headed to the house to inform Will of his plans.
Sabrina had to drop the blanket while she finished the dishes and pans. She stood by the small table in nothing but Brock’s shirt. She was covered almost to her knees but she felt naked. She needed clothes, she needed money, she needed a job. It would take months to rebuild the livery, if or when Mr. Swanson decided to do so. There weren’t that many jobs available for a boy of her age. She shook her head as she thought of herself as a boy; hell, she was even confusing herself now.
She heard the creak of the door opening behind her and froze. She wanted to make a grab for the blanket but knew that would appear suspicious. So she pretended that she didn’t hear him enter and continued with her task. She felt a large warm hand on her shoulder and electricity shot down her spine as Brock leaned down and told her to get ready to head into town. Flushed from the contact she turned away and only nodded as she dried the last dish.
Picking up the blanket and wrapping it around her, she scampered up the ladder. Up in the loft she took deep steady breaths. This was driving her crazy. She needed to tell him the truth. Sabrina despised liars more than anything and that is exactly what she had become. Fearing that if she did tell him he would be angry and kick her out, she decided to keep silent. For now, she had no other place to go. Grabbing her slightly damp clothing, she squirmed into it and headed back down the ladder.
She handed Brock his shirt back, careful not to touch him in the process. She thanked him and looked up at him as she did so. He was so tall she only came up to his shoulder. His eyes met hers, and he quickly looked away, taking a step back.
“We need to go into town to get you some things,” Brock stated.
“I don’t have any money right now, I’ll just make do.”
“Since you’re in my charge, I’ll provide for you.”
Sabrina bristled at this. “First of all, you are not in charge of me. I’m kinda down and out right now, and I appreciate you taking me in until I can get back on my feet. If you insist on getting me things, just know that I will repay you as soon as possible. I don’t need charity or anyone feeling sorry for me.”
Brock was surprised by the boy’s strength and courage. He had nothing, and yet he was not broken. He nodded to Will, trying to hide a small smile and received a glare for his effort. He headed outside and mounted Troy, not daring to offer the boy a hand up lest he get another lecture. Will climbed up behind him with no problem. He felt small hands on his waist and sent Troy into a trot.
They were silent as they rode into town. Passing the burnt out barn, Brock felt Will’s hands clench into fists as he held onto his shirt. He guided Troy to his office and tied him at the post outside. Will was off the horse almost before he stopped. He looked at Brock with his arms crossed in front of his chest, daring him to say a word. Sighing, Brock headed toward the mercantile and hoped that Will was following him.
Sabrina stopped outside of the store and hesitated. The same blue dress was still in the window mocking her. She hated it. She hated all dresses. She had much more freedom. Now she could go and do whatever she wanted to do; be whoever she wanted to be. So why wasn’t she happy? Frowning, she followed Brock inside.
He led her over to a table of denim overalls and pants. She chose a pair of bib overalls in blue and, at Brock’s insistence, another pair of brown jeans. Next came the shirts. Grabbing two, she added them to her pile along with a pair of long johns that Brock tossed on top, smirking as she glared at him. Ignoring him, Brock added some socks to the pile. He headed over to the boot section and Sabrina put her foot down.
“My boots are just fine; I don’t need another pair,” she hissed in embarrassment. “It’ll take me a year to pay all of this off as it is.”
Brock let her win the shoe argument but insisted on buying a jacket for winter. It was already fall and, even in Oklahoma, it can get awfully cold. Sabrina was battling with herself. She knew she needed a coat she just didn’t need one right now. If she said no she knew he would argue with her and make a scene. It would save her a lot of grief if she just went ahead and let him buy the damn coat now. She reluctantly agreed, but Brock was already searching through the coats.
Mr. Taylor added up her purchases and wrapped them in a burlap bundle tied with string.
“Here you go,” he said, smiling happily at the large sale.
“How much is everything?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it, son, I just added it to the Sheriff’s tab.”
She scowled up at him. “How much?” she repeated slowly, as if he was dense. The mercantile looked at Brock nervously. “Um, four dollars.”
Sabrina glared at both of them. “Really? Cause I added it up to be fifteen dollars.” Brock and Mr. Taylor both looked surprised at that.
“Um, yes, but we’re having a sale.”
“Sure,” Sabrina said, stomping out of the mercantile angrily as Brock grabbed the package, thanked the clerk, and chased after her.
Hearing him hurrying behind her, she stopped and spun around to face him. Not anticipating such a sudden stop, Brock knocked her backwards into a very large puddle of mud. He expected the boy to explode in anger but was taken by surprise when he sat silently in the puddle. The look he gave Brock made his heart ache.
Sabrina bit her lip as tears burned her eyes. What a crappy week. Hearing piercing laughter, she looked around and saw Sally and Thomas nearby. Perfect.
Brock watched in contempt as a chuckling Thomas went to Will’s aid, pulling him to his feet. Taking control, Brock stepped forward, thanking Thomas for his assistance and pulling Will down the street and into a narrow alley.
“I don’t appreciate being lied to. I told you I would pay you back. I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone.”
“Don’t you?” Brock asked softly.
Sabrina could hide the tears no longer. She felt Brock’s arms wrap around her and held her to his chest. She didn’t know how long they were standing there in the alley. Time had stopped for her. All she knew was that it felt damn good to be held in Brock’s arms. She reluctantly pulled away, sniffling as she wiped at her face, smearing mud on it.
“You’re getting muddy,” she told him.
“I don’t care.”
“I’m sorry for being such a cry baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You have been through too much lately; it’s good to cry on occasion.“
“Do you cry?” she asked, taking Brock off guard.
“I have,” he answered, looking away. “I got paper work to catch up with; why don’t you come back to the jail with me and you can change.”
Looking down at her muddy clothes, she agreed. Brock shut the door and locked it back after they entered. Sabrina took her package to the cell she slept in the other night. It seemed like so much had happened since then. So much bad had happened in her short life that she was weary from it. Making sure Brock was sitting at his desk with his back to her she quickly took off the dirty clothes and put on a clean shirt and the overalls. She was pleased to see that the overalls did much to hide her figure and chest. It seemed silly to dress in clean clothes when the rest of her was filthy but it felt good just the same.
Retying her bundle of new clothes and wadding the dirty ones up on the floor for now, she went up to Brock.
“Thank you for my clothes.”
Brock looked up at her. “You’re welcome.”
Her eyes widened as she glanced up and took in the new wanted poster behind Brock’s head.
Brock turned, following her stare. “Ted Roberts. Head of the Roberts gang. Do you know him?”
Sabrina felt faint; she did know him. He had worked on their ranch. She had no idea he was a murderer. He was very quiet, he liked to read, and he was very smart. He was very nice to Sabrina but something about his eyes, the way they were always watching her. The way he always gazed at her was frightening; it made her feel sick inside, like she was dirty. He had started following her around, keeping track of her. When her father found out about it, he fired him.
She flashed back to the day of the murders. She remembered a man on horseback watching the commotion. He was too far away to see his face but he was on a black horse. Ted Roberts had a pure black horse.
Brock stood, grabbed her by the arm and set her in his chair. She shook her head in denial. Her mind and her heart were locked in combat. She did not want to admit the possible. “No, I don’t know him,” she whispered, but they both knew she was lying.
Sabrina felt dizzy and leaned up against a wall. Brock insisted she go back into the cell and lie down, but he could tell by Will’s breathing that he was not sleeping. He wanted to take him home but he had too many reports to write up about the fire. He liked to keep a log of the goings on in the town. He knew he would not be able to help Will unless he talked, and it seemed as if the boy was determined not to, no matter how scared he was.
This bothered Brock. He wanted to protect him and keep him safe and happy. So far, he was not doing a very good job at either.
Sabrina stared at the wall feeling a sense of deja’vu. She had tried so hard to forget what happened that day so long ago; to wipe it out of her memory. Now, she wanted to replay it in her mind… to see if it really was Ted Roberts there that day. If he was, her family’s deaths were all her fault; she was the one who rejected him. She was the one who snuck out to go fishing with Samuel without telling anyone. It was her fault they were all dead…her fault…all her fault.
She dozed and began to mumble lightly. Suddenly she was shaken awake by Brock as her screams echoed off the metal bars of the cell.
“Sorry,” she whispered as people off the street poked their heads in the door to make sure all was well.
Brock sighed, “I think we should be getting home.”
Home.
What a powerful word and what deep meaning it should hold. Home is where you belong, where you are safe and warm. Where your family is. Where love is. Sabrina refused to cry as she followed Brock out the door, holding her packages tightly to her chest. Yes, she was going home.
Chapter 9
Still sleepy, Sabrina leaned up against Brock’s back as they rode home. She closed her eyes. She knew she would get no rest tonight. There were too many demons dancing around in her head for her to sleep.
They soon arrived and Brock lifted the sleepy boy down and made sure he was on his feet before climbing down himself. He told Will to go to the house and rest and he would take care of Troy.
Not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts, she followed Brock into the barn anyway. She sat on a bale of hay, deep in thought. Perhaps subconsciously she was not just hiding from Warren. Maybe she was hiding from something else. Something darker, something evil. She shuddered at the thought. She knew she no longer had to hide from Warren. Legally he could not control her. She had questioned herself many times as to why she still kept up the charade. Now she knew why. All this time she knew. She knew someone was looking for her: Sabrina. Nobody was looking for Will. Will was safe. For now.
Brock finished his work and headed out of the barn. He didn’t have to motion for the boy to follow; he was right on his heels. There were biscuits and bacon left over from breakfast but Sabrina did not feel like eating and offered her share to Brock. He looked at her in concern.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“About what?” Will mumbled.
“Anything that’s on your mind.”
“Okay, how did your parents meet,” she asked, taking him off guard. Had she been in a better mood she would have laughed at the expression on his face. ”Was your mother a captive? You said you would tell me later.”
She was sitting on the floor next to his bed with her back to the wall. She didn’t want to go to bed. She didn’t want to dream.
Brock came over and sat down on his cot. “You have a good memory. Ok, I’ll tell you.” He lay down on his back and put his hands behind his head as he stared off into another time and he told his story.
“My mother is a full blooded Comanche. She was very proud and very strong willed–so strong that the braves called her ‘Sharp tongue.’ Comanches are great horsemen and traders. They are fierce and strong warriors in battle. They travel a lot, see
king new trade. My father was a trapper; he owned a trading post where all tribes of Indians would gather to trade for goods. He was very skilled at his craft and showed the Comanche how to process the skins to be stronger. Anyway, that is how my parents met.”
Sabrina was intrigued. Brock was a great storyteller; his voice was very smooth and soothing. She was disappointed when he stopped talking.
“Was it love at first sight?” she asked.
Brock laughed aloud. “No, my mother was very stubborn, very difficult. She was a great annoyance to her father, a Comanche Elder. She somehow ended up running into my father while bathing. Before either one could react they were spotted by my Grandmother, who took the opportunity to force her to marry. My dad really had no choice in the matter.”
“I doubt that. There are always choices.” She hesitated. “Are they still alive?”
“Oh yes. They live in a cabin in the mountains. I see them when I can.”
“Do you have an Indian name?”
Brock hesitated before answering. “Yes.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Eagle Wind.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Brock humphed. “What about your parents?” he asked cautiously. He wanted to find out how the boy knew the outlaw but didn’t want to upset him again.
Sabrina closed her eyes as she thought of her parents. She usually tried not to think of her family–it hurt too much.
He was silent for so long Brock thought that maybe he had fallen asleep. He was surprised when Will started talking. “My mother was traveling with her sister. My Aunt Betty is very adventurous and loves to travel. She often dragged my mother along for company. My mother was beautiful. She had copper-colored hair and green eyes. Needless to say, I look like my dad.”
“Except for the eyes,” Brock broke in.
“Yes, I’m always told I inherited my father’s looks, my mother’s eyes and my aunt’s spirit. She and my aunt were traveling by stagecoach. It was attacked by outlaws, and they were rescued by my father.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should reveal. “He was a Marshall. It was love at first sight. At least that’s what my mother always told me. I have never seen a man and woman love each other so much. They would have died for each other. And they did,” she added softly.
The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances Page 8