by Paty Jager
“Will ye be back afore dark?” The worry lines furrowing her brow started his feet toward her. He squeezed past the table before she took a step back. Slow. He had to move slow and easy around her.
“I know where a small herd hangs out just over the top of the ridge. We’ll be back before dark.” He had to touch her. His fingers tingled with the urge. He cupped his hand and gradually raised it until he cradled her cheek in his palm. His fingers entwined in the wayward strands of her soft hair.
“Shayla’s going to be fine.” The words came out on a released breath. Aileen didn’t back away. His heart hammered in his chest as she nuzzled her cheek against his palm.
“I thought we were goin’ hunting?” Colin’s angry retort sucked the small moment of joy out of the room.
Aileen stepped back, and Ethan spun on his heels. The touch had fulfilled him more than any of the times he’d held a prostitute. He didn’t look back, just ducked out the door and captured the rifle without stopping.
He trudged up the slope, ignoring the branch snapping behind him as Colin huffed to keep up. When they topped the ridge, he held a finger to his lips and moved along the ridgeline toward the ravine where he’d observed a small herd of deer the past week.
Ethan caught sight of the herd and raised his rifle. A tug on his shirt drew his attention from the animals to the young man still seething behind him.
“I don’t want you touching my ma.” Colin’s hands fisted at his hips. His chest heaved from the climb and his agitated state.
“I would never hurt your ma, or Shayla, or you” Ethan whispered and walked back the way they’d come. He didn’t want this discussion to scare the deer. He’d promised Aileen they’d be back before dark and didn’t plan to waste time hunting for another herd.
“Mr. Miller was all nice at first. But it didn’t last.” Colin scanned the length of him. “And you’re a lot bigger.”
“Son—”
“I’m not your son!” The boy spit the words out as if they soured his tongue. “He’d call me that—son, like he couldn’t remember my name. Then he’d…” The boy’s face turned crimson and contorted.
Ethan’s heart lurched.
“Colin, I don’t know how I can make it any plainer. I won’t hurt any of your family. I don’t believe in hitting women and children.” He sat on a fallen tree. The act put him a couple inches shorter than the standing boy. “You can ask my brothers and anyone in Sumpter. I’ve never laid a hand on anyone other than men who needed straightening out ’cause they were liquored up.”
“Do you like whiskey?” The words rang more like an accusation than a question.
“On occasion, I’ve had a drink or two, never to the point I didn’t know what I was doing.” He grinned. “Not every man turns mean with liquor. I don’t.”
“I still don’t like you touchin’ Ma.” The boy’s stance wasn’t as rigid, but he remained defensive.
“How about we let her decide if she wants me to touch her?”
Colin shook his head.
“She’s a smart woman. One of the smartest I’ve come across. I think she can make the decision.” He stood. “Let’s get that deer and get back to see if Shayla’s awake.”
He snuck over the ridge with a quieter, stealthier young man following him.
****
Aileen’s thoughts bubbled like the pot of water she’d put on the fire. They bounced between fear for her lassie and the emotions Ethan Halsey had unburied. She sat in a chair pulled up to the small, rumpled bed where Shayla lay as still as death. She checked the fluttering rise and fall of her child’s chest, the shallow wisps of breath that touched the back of her hand. The only signs that showed her darlin’ still lived.
After Ethan and Colin left, she’d shed tears and asked God not to take her angel just yet. She needed her daughter to keep her days bright.
Memories of the heat of Ethan’s hand on her cheek, warmed her body clear to her toes. When Patrick died, she believed no man could move her as he. Ethan’s touch had proved her wrong and relit a fire she’d thought Mr. Miller had snuffed out forever. Did she dare let the man close? The monster she’d married hoping for a better life in America had been nice at first, but after he realized she still loved a dead man, he’d gone deeper into the bottle. He’d been a mean, vulgar drunk. She’d preferred the beatings to the taking of her body. Aileen shuddered.
The door opened. Colin walked in holding a piece of fresh venison the size of his head. The grin on his face melted her heart. He hadn’t smiled like that in years. The accomplishment in his eyes and the turned up corners of his mouth made her heart sing with joy.
“Looks like my man brought us some dinner,” she said, standing and peering past him to the one she owed more than she’d ever be able to repay. Ethan stood at the door, hat in hand, a shy smile tweaking his lips.
“She awake?” he asked in a hopeful whisper. Aileen shook her head.
Colin started to put the meat down on the uncovered wood table. Aileen hurried to stop him.
“Nae. If ye plan to bring home meat ye need to know better than to put it on the table,” she scolded, grabbing an old plank she used as a cutting board. Scanning the small crock that held her cooking utensils, she couldn’t find her knife.
Ethan nudged her aside. “We’ll take care of this. You tend Shayla.” He produced a long-bladed knife and deftly cut the meat into bite size chunks before sliding them into the boiling pot.
“Ah dinnae know what to do with the two o’ ye waitin’ on me.” She sat in the chair beside the bed and stared at Shayla. She spoke the truth. Never in her adult life had someone taken the time to see she did nothing. Her marriage to Patrick had been full of love, but he worked long hours and fought to keep their land. It had fallen on her to keep the household going and take care of Colin. Then with Mr. Miller, she and Colin worked the mine as well as took care of the house and cooking. After his death, there was even more work.
Nae, she’d not had a soul care whether she had a moment’s rest in fourteen years. She glanced over her shoulder at the man giving her this luxury. He winked and went about adding things to the pot and wood to the fire.
The heat from the cooking made the stench stronger. Though she lived in it for six years, she still couldn’t stomach it.
“Open the window,” she said to Colin, hoping fresh air would fill the room.
“What is that smell?” Ethan asked, opening the door as well.
The resentment she harbored for Mr. Miller emerged at the thought of their battles over his use of the corner.
“When Mr. Miller was drunk and rebellious, he would pee in that corner.” She pointed to the empty corner to the left of the fireplace. “Ah’ve tried everything ah know to take away the smell, but ah can’t.”
“Colin, bring me buckets and a shovel.” Ethan moved furniture to one side of the room to make a narrow path from the corner to the door. He’d dig all night if it would get the stench out of the shack. Scent played a large part in memories. Whenever he caught a whiff of cinnamon, memories of happy Christmases with his parents and brothers blanketed him. No doubt the vile smell of Mr. Miller’s urine held bad memories for the mother and son.
Colin returned with two buckets and a shovel. Ethan went to work digging an area nearly three feet from both walls. The boy dumped one bucket while he filled the other. By the time the stew was ready to eat, he’d made a hole three feet deep.
“Does it smell any better to you?” he asked Aileen.
She nodded. “Ye dinnae have to do this.” Her objection was flimsy and he smiled. He did have to do this. Any time he could help this family his chest expanded with pride.
“Do you have any ashes?” he asked, stepping out of the hole.
“Laddie, fetch Mr. Halsey the bucket o’ ashes ah was savin’ to make soap.” When the boy headed out the door, she stood, stepping next to him.
“Mr—”
“Ethan. Call me Ethan when it’s just the two of us.” He wante
d to push back the hair sliding onto her cheek, but refrained. He’d been fortunate to touch her once already.
“Ethan. Ye really dinnae have to do this, but we appreciate yer hard work.” Her gaze skimmed over his face as if she searched for something.
“I know the power of bad memories,” he whispered as Colin banged through the door.
The shock on her face before she stepped out of the way, proved his point. The smell was a constant reminder of the pain the man inflicted on her.
Ethan took the bucket and poured the ashes in the hole. “I’ll fill that with clean dirt tomorrow.” He glanced at the bubbling stew. “I’ll clean up, and we can eat.”
Aileen nodded. He gathered the buckets and shovel, leaving the small confines. The cool evening air swirled around his sticky body. He inhaled deep, filling his lungs. How could they have lived in that stench? He dropped all but one bucket and headed to the creek to wash off the dirt, the sweat, and hopefully some of the smell.
Now he knew why they ate outside the first day he arrived. But what had they done in the winter?
He stripped off his shirt and scrubbed the sweat from his body and the dirt from his arms. With the bucket, he poured icy water over his head and growled at the prickling of his skin. He grew up bathing in the snow-melt creeks. The cold invigorated even as his skin numbed from the exposure.
This was the same body-numbing water the Miller’s took baths in. The thought of Aileen walking into the pool around the bend, brought his body to life. He doused his head with another bucket of icy water and stood, shaking like a dog. That kind of thought would get him nowhere. He had to remain neutral if he wanted to further his family’s future.
He grabbed his shirt and spun to head back to the shack. One arm raised as he slipped it into his shirt. Aileen stood not four steps from him watching. Her eyes widened, no doubt, due to his bare chest. In the summer he didn’t wear the long underdrawers. They were too hot.
Aileen had come out to thank Ethan and assure him that once he ate, there was no reason for him to stay. At the sight of his wide, muscular chest covered in brown, curly hair that v’ed into a line down his rippled stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his trousers, she couldn’t find her voice. It took all her concentration to keep from reaching out and testing the hardness of his muscles.
“Did you need to talk to me?” He slid his other arm in the sleeve and started buttoning his shirt.
She shook her head to clear the improper thoughts.
“You didn’t want to say anything?”
“Nae, ah mean aye, ah wanted to say something.” She wrung her hands. She was a grown woman who’d had two husbands. Why did this man reduce her into a young, tongue-tied girl?
“After ye eat, it would be best if ye traveled on home.” She raised a hand when he started to protest. “There’s nothin’ ye can do. The lassie will wake when she wakes and ye bein’ here won’t make it happen any sooner.”
“I’m not just staying for the child.” He took a step.
Her actions earlier in the day had been wrong. She’d thought it over. She’d given him the impression he interested her. He didn’t. Or rather shouldn’t. But her legs wouldn’t move, wouldn’t carry her away from him.
“Ma! She’s awake!” Colin’s happy voice jerked her from her trance. She spun around and ran to the house. She gripped the doorway and peered at the small bed. Shayla’s big, beautiful eyes stared at her. They weren’t bright, but a wisp of a smile curved her small mouth. Aileen’s heart raced in her chest. A sigh of relief whispered through her lips.
“Lassie, tis good to see yer sweet eyes!” She crossed the room, sinking to her knees beside the bed. She captured her daughter’s hand and kissed the small fingers.
“My head hurts, Momma,” Shayla whispered.
“Ah know darlin’. Ye were hit on the head by a board. Just rest, we’ll no’ leave ye.” Aileen glanced up as Ethan entered the shack.
“How is she?” He stood behind her. The heat from his legs seared her back.
“She says her head be hurtin’.”
“That’s normal. You’ll need to watch her for vomiting.” He reached over her. His shirt grazed her head as he smoothed a curl off Shayla’s forehead. “You rest sweetheart, and do what your ma tells you.”
He straightened and dropped a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to head home now that I know she’s come around.”
The comforting pressure of his hand and the soft words melted her resolve to stay aloof to the man.
“Ye can’t head for home without somethin’ in yer belly.” She stood. He was so close, she noticed the small specks of gold in his brown eyes.
“I should head home…” his gaze drifted to her mouth and back up to her eyes.
“Ye can’t leave without tastin’ yer own stew.” She brushed past him and filled a tin plate with the wonderful smelling food in the pot.
The chair creaked as he settled his body onto it. She turned from the fireplace, set the plate in front of him, and handed him a fork.
Their fingers touched. The connection ricocheted heat up her arm and straight to her center. She jumped back, clutching her hand tight against her body. The distress in Ethan’s eyes didn’t smother the fire his touch ignited.
Colin squeezed around her to fill his own plate. He plopped the plate on the table and his backside in the chair opposite Ethan. As the laddie fell upon his food with gusto, she dished her own plate. She took a seat in the chair to the right of the man who had, in one day, started crumbling all her objections to having a man around.
Ethan shoved his finished plate to the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair. His knee bumped hers. Startled by the contact when her nerves hadn’t settled from the previous touch, she almost shot to her feet.
“Ma, what’s wrong?” Colin watched her warily before he glanced at Ethan.
“Nothin’.” She couldn’t look at the man beside her, unsure if he’d touched her on purpose or by accident.
“Thank you for the meal, but I’d best head for home. I’m sure Hank and Clay are wondering how Shayla is doing.” Ethan slid his chair back and stood. He towered over the table. His size didn’t induce the terror that had surrounded Mr. Miller.
“We’re the ones should be thankin’ ye. For carrying Shayla home, bringing us meat, and,” she darted a glance at the hole in the corner, “for cleanin’ our home.”
He walked to the door, plucked his hat from the peg, and turned back to scan first Shayla resting in the bed, and Colin, before his gaze rested on her face. “All any of you has to do is ask, and I’ll help you all I can.”
“Why?” Her question came out on a whoosh of air, more breathy than she’d planned. The spark of desire in his eyes sent her heart racing, conjuring up thoughts better left alone.
“Because, no matter what other people say, you’re good people.”
Chapter 11
Ethan arrived at his cabin near midnight. He entered, hoping Hank and Clay were sound asleep. The low flame of the kerosene lamp in the middle of the table barely cast a yellow glow beyond the flat surface. He hooked his hat on one of the empty pegs by the door and sat on his bed.
Before his first boot hit the floor, Hank sat up and swung his legs over the edge.
“Surprised to see you.”
“You left the light on.” Ethan dropped the other boot to the floor.
“That was Clay’s idea. He figured you’d feel bad if you came home and found the lamp burned all night.” Hank ran a hand through his already tousled hair.
“Doesn’t bother me.” Ethan stood to drop his britches to the floor.
“Did the little girl come around?”
“Yeah. She woke up just a little bit before I headed home. She’s got a headache, and her eyes weren’t too bright, but I think she’ll come out okay.” Knowing how much the mother loved her daughter, she had to come out fine.
“Did you find out why she was at the mill?” He didn’t miss the accusa
tion in his brother’s voice.
“No, she was too weak to ask any questions.”
“You could have asked the mother.” Hank rose off the bed and headed to the stove in his long-johns. His bare feet scuffed across the smooth, wood floor.
“I didn’t have a chance to bring it up.” He shrugged his tired shoulders. He’d dug a fair-sized hole in the dirt floor of that pitiful place they called home.
“You were there all afternoon and evening. How could you not find time to ask?” Clay rolled to his side, resting his head on his bent arm.
“I was busy. That place is falling down around them. I can’t believe they haven’t taken sick during the winter.” He moved to the stove and poured a cup a coffee.
“They’re none of our business other than what you agreed to in the contract.” Clay sat up and stalked to the table. Annoyance aged his face, making it more callous in the faint light of the kerosene lamp.
Ethan stared at one brother and then the other. “Do you think Ma and Pa would have turned their backs on a family in need?” When they both averted their faces, he raised the cup, “I didn’t think so.” He sipped the bitter brew. “Sheesh! How long has this been cooking?”
“Since this morning.” Clay shook his head. “We can’t take on their problems. Getting this mill running and still working the mine is going to take all our efforts.” He stared directly at Ethan. “We can’t have one of us running off whenever the mood strikes.”
Ethan surged out of the chair and paced the room. “If that girl had died, what do you think would have happened to all the money we’ve sunk into that mill so far?” He stopped, placed his hands on the table, and leaned down to peer into his brothers’ faces. “Well, what do you think would happen?” When they didn’t answer he continued. “I know. Aileen would have blamed us for the death and most likely have found a way to remove us from her property.”
He slid back into the chair. “And I wouldn’t have blamed her a bit. I made deals with her no sane businessman would make to get what we want. A stamp mill. Helping this family helps us. The more she gets from us the happier she will be.” He leaned forward. “And we’ll get the stamp mill and the profits to provide for our family.”