An Uncommon Protector

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  “I will. I’m shaken up, but I’m not about to sit and do nothing all morning.” Actually, she couldn’t think of anything worse than to sit in the house alone and let her mind drift. It would be far better to keep busy.

  “We’ve got a plan, then.” Reaching out for her hand, he squeezed it gently. “Don’t look out the window, though. I’ll take care of the calf. You don’t need to look at it again.”

  Grateful for that, she nodded.

  After he closed the front door behind him, she pressed her fingers to her eyes once again. She needed to regain her composure. She needed to stop thinking about what used to be accepted and what was going to cause talk. None of that mattered. She needed to start thinking about herself and her needs.

  What was more important than anything else was the future of the ranch. She needed to keep it, needed to get some cattle to market. That, not anything else, was what she needed to concentrate on.

  If that was even possible, now that someone seemed to be going to great lengths to threaten everything she held dear. She just had no idea why. Or who.

  12

  ASSURED LAUREL WAS RESTING IN HER SITTING ROOM AS comfortably as she was able, Thomas wrapped the calf in a worn sheet he’d found at the bottom of her rag basket near the kitchen and carried it to the barn.

  The calf was stiff in his arms and so very pitifully small. Probably only a day or two old. His death was such a shame.

  When Thomas walked by the horses, both whinnied in alarm. He guessed it didn’t take much for them to sense death.

  After depositing the calf in an empty stall, he peeled back the sheet and examined it for cuts or any other signs of foul play. But beyond the blank stare and an odd set to the animal’s jaw, he couldn’t find anything amiss.

  Now he was going to have to get other people involved. Definitely the sheriff, and maybe even the doctor if he was willing to take a peek at the animal. Thomas was as sure as the scars on his back that the animal had died of unnatural causes.

  If the calf had merely died from a snakebite or from disease and someone had come across it, that person would have knocked on the door in the light of day.

  No, someone had gone out of their way to intentionally scare Laurel. The questions, of course, were who would do something like that, and why?

  Though he’d only been around Jerome and Bess for a few minutes, they didn’t strike him as the type to do such a thing. It was too much trouble, for one. They both had seemed rather squeamish too. Killing an animal and carting it to Laurel’s doorstep in the middle of the night seemed like a lot for a pair like them to take on. Besides, he was sure he would have heard them. No, this was someone who knew how to keep even a former soldier from being aware he was there.

  After covering the calf with the sheet again, he hurried to his room. There, he buttoned his shirt, wincing as he realized how exposed he had been in front of a lady, but remembering, too, the soft touch of her cheek on his chest. Shaking his thoughts away, he put on his boots and belt. Then, after caring for the animals, he washed his face and teeth. Feeling more fit for her company, he headed back toward the house to get Laurel.

  Whether she saw him walking toward her through the window or the timing had worked out, she exited the door and hurriedly met him on the limestone walkway.

  It seemed she, too, had used some of their time apart to put herself together. Her hair was braided more tightly and pinned into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She had also slipped on stockings and boots, and carried a basket.

  He had to admit he was a little disappointed by that. He had loved seeing her bare toes peeking out at him. He’d loved seeing her in a way no one else ever did.

  “You put your boots on,” he said when she got to his side.

  As he’d hoped, her cheeks bloomed into a faint flush. “Oh, yes. I hadn’t meant to go out barefoot in the first place.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “I see you’ve put your boots on too.”

  He grinned. “A man learns to cover his feet when he’s around farm animals.”

  “A woman learns to do that too.”

  Looking at her closely, he said, “Are you doing a little better?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t say that I am. Who do you think could have done such a thing?”

  “I was just doing some thinking about that myself.” Knowing they would no doubt need to talk about potential enemies soon, he said, “Let’s not think about it now, though. Come on and show me how these hens greet you.”

  She looked at him in a bemused way, but Laurel acted agreeable enough. Leading the way to the henhouse, she said, “I have a dozen hens, ten of which are good layers.”

  “And the other two?”

  She frowned. “They are destined for the stew pot,” she whispered as she picked up a scoop of feed and scattered it along the ground.

  With a flurry of white feathers, the majority of the hens trotted out and began pecking at the seeds. As they pranced importantly, Laurel went to their nests to gather eggs. She talked quietly to the hens, even going so far as to touch one of the chicken’s heads.

  Thomas watched with his arms resting on the fence, unexpectedly charmed. He liked that she treated those birds as though they had as much right to be there as she did.

  Of course, that made him realize just how heavily that calf’s death must be laying on her heart.

  When she walked back out, he held out a hand for her basket. “I’ll carry your eggs for you.”

  “I can handle carrying eight eggs.”

  “No doubt. But I’ll feel better giving you a hand.”

  “Thank you.”

  He followed her into the house and back toward the kitchen. “Do you want me to wash them for you?”

  “If you do that, I’ll get right to work on breakfast.”

  While he primed the pump and washed eggs, she competently made biscuits, then put them in a cast iron pan and into the oven.

  “Gravy?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He watched as she sliced off a thick piece of ham, fried it, and then added milk and flour.

  While she cooked, he said, “It’s kind of surprising to see a lady like you so at home in the kitchen. Did the war teach you to cook?”

  “I suppose so, though my mother taught me to cook by her side at a young age. This is a working ranch, you know. Neither of my parents had much patience for men or women who didn’t want to pull their own weight.”

  “I’m guessing, then, that it was fairly hard to stand by and watch Bess and Jerome do next to nothing around here.”

  After checking on the biscuits, Laurel nodded, her expression pained. “I don’t understand their ways, if you want to know the truth. Their father had always been a hard worker, and he always looked pleased about the work I did here.”

  Thomas was doing his best to keep their conversation general to try to keep her calm. It was a difficult endeavor, however, because all he really wanted to do was swear a blue streak and then go find whoever had done such a thing and make them pay for upsetting her so much.

  He was supposed to be beyond all that, however. His moral fiber was stronger, his faith more pronounced. He hoped he’d always be that way. All that time in captivity had to have been good for something.

  With all that in mind, he said, “Do you think they might have gotten so mad at you that they would be capable of doing something like what we found this morning?”

  “Killing a calf?” She shook her head. “Not at all. To be honest, I don’t know of anyone who would do such a thing. Not only would few people be so cruel as to hurt a young calf, but no one around these parts would knowingly put an end to something that could bring in money. Not even if this is one of the men who has been trying to persuade me to sell.”

  “I wondered about that too.” He was tempted to brush a knuckle across her cheek, but he didn’t. “How about we do some more thinking about this later?”

  “I think that’s a good idea, since
breakfast is now ready.”

  He grinned. “Your timing is perfect. I’m starving.”

  After serving himself, he sat down across from her and stared in wonder at the plate of food in front of him. Just like the meals she’d made the day before, it was more than he’d had at one time in months and was certainly better than anything some jail cook had made. It all smelled wonderful.

  He was truly thankful.

  “May I lead us in prayer?” he asked.

  She blinked, bringing a wave of appreciation into her gaze. “I’d enjoy that, Sergeant. Thank you.”

  “Dear heavenly Father, please bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Please also be with all creatures on your earth, great and small, and let us not forget to give thanks for even the smallest of blessings, for each day is a gift. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she echoed. When she opened her eyes, she said, “That was a lovely prayer.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I guess I am. Well, a little bit. I didn’t take you for being a praying man. You seem so hard.” She blinked. “I meant that in the best way.”

  “I’ll take it in that way. I am hard. But because of that, I’ve learned to reach out to our Lord. I’m a man who needs all the help he can get.”

  “I don’t know if you’re teasing me or not.”

  “I never joke about my faith,” he replied before biting down on a biscuit and tasting heaven.

  It was almost impossible to talk after that. Each bite was a revelation. She might have been surprised by his prayer, but he was just as amazed by her expertise in the kitchen.

  Beside him, she ate as well, but in a far more desultory fashion.

  Realizing he’d probably just inhaled his breakfast with the grace of a feed horse, he said, “I guess it’s obvious I haven’t had too many opportunities to eat in the company of ladies. Or with anyone who knows how to conduct himself in a proper way. Have my poor table manners taken away your appetite?”

  “Not at all. I’m glad you’re enjoying your food.”

  “I am indeed. You are a very fine cook, Miss Laurel.”

  “Thank you.” She motioned to the stove. “I made lots, so go get some more if you’re hungry.”

  Since he couldn’t argue with that, he gave himself a second plateful, then took care to eat it far more slowly. When he was done at last, he pushed back from the table and stood up.

  “How should we handle things? Do you want to go into town? Do you want me to go in your place? I can do that, you know.”

  “As much as I’d like you to talk to the sheriff without me, I think I had better go with you. After all, it is my ranch.”

  Glad that she stood her ground, he nodded.

  “We need to do this today, don’t we?” Dread filled her every syllable.

  “Yes, I think we do.” Picking up his plate, he said, “I’ll work on the dishes while you get ready to go into town.”

  “You helped with the dishes last night.”

  He looked her way as he picked up a bowl. “And?”

  “I should have stopped you. Washing dishes is women’s work.”

  “I ate from my plate. I think I can wash it too.” When she still hesitated, he smiled. “The faster you get ready, the faster we can get this errand over with.”

  “This is true. I’ll be right back.”

  When she disappeared up the stairs, he got busy scrubbing pots and washing each dish and fork and spoon with care. He’d just dried the last piece when she appeared again, this time in a light-blue dress with rows of pin tucks across the chest.

  On her head was a lovely wide-brimmed straw hat. It was flattering, highlighting her many attributes, and he hadn’t thought she needed any help to improve her looks.

  “You look real pretty, Miss Laurel.”

  Twin spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “Thank you, Sergeant. I . . . well, I thought maybe I’m going to need all the help I can get for this errand.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to utter that, because she had him now, she wouldn’t need to worry about facing the world on her own, at least not anytime soon.

  Thank goodness he caught himself in time.

  Laurel Tracey had enough to worry about without her new ranch hand making a pest of himself.

  13

  AFTER THEY FINISHED THEIR ERRAND IN TOWN, LAUREL couldn’t wait to depart. Leading the way to the posts where Yellow and Velvet were tied up, she arranged the reins and looked for the block to help her get up into her sidesaddle.

  But before she could do anything more than pull the mounting block closer, Thomas was at her side. “Allow me.”

  Well aware of the many eyes watching them, Laurel slipped her hand in his as he used his other to give her a boost into her saddle. He held her steady while she looped one knee around the horn and arranged her skirts.

  Once she was settled, he swung into his own saddle as though he’d been born to it. Then, with barely a nudge, he guided Yellow onto the street.

  She and Velvet reached his side, then together they guided their horses the short distance down Sweetwater’s dry, dusty main street before heading in her ranch’s direction.

  After breakfast, Thomas had been prepared to hitch up the buggy again, but Laurel had asked if he’d be willing to ride instead. She liked to ride her horse, and she hated riding in the buggy in the middle of summer. It always felt too stifling and hot.

  Thomas had readily agreed. Soon she learned why. Thomas Baker on the back of a horse was truly a sight to see. He and the horse rode together as one. Whereas everyone else had seemed to need to fight Yellow over every command, Thomas controlled the gelding with ease.

  Though she hadn’t thought it would be possible, her ranch hand seemed stronger, more confident, and even handsomer in the saddle.

  She’d been glad of the distraction the whole way to town, since he’d put the wrapped-up calf across his lap. Laurel’s thoughts had alternated between wondering what the sheriff and doctor were going to say and worrying about running into Jerome and Bess.

  However, her worries were for naught. After Thomas told the sheriff about discovering the dead calf on Laurel’s doorstep, Sheriff Jackson said he’d take the calf to the doc and try to get some answers. As to who might have done this, he, too, had trouble identifying anyone both capable and willing to harm cattle to scare Laurel into selling her land, the most likely motive.

  Not even squatters seemed to be likely suspects, though no one really knew how desperate any of them could be.

  The sheriff encouraged Thomas and Laurel to head on back home. Doc Barnes was seeing to a mare and likely would not be back for hours. Jerome and Bess were nowhere to be seen.

  Now as they rode home, Laurel felt contemplative. She was somewhat surprised to realize that after spending only twenty-four hours with Thomas, she felt as if they were a unit. A team.

  “I know I said I didn’t think Jerome would ever do such a thing, but do you think it could have been him who carried that calf to the doorstep?” she blurted.

  “Like you, I wouldn’t have thought so, but it is just underhanded enough to seem like he might have thought it was a good way to scare you into selling the ranch.”

  “I’ve started to think about that too. And whoever is doing this, I agree that has to be the reason, to get me to sell. But it’s not as if this part of Texas has no other land available. Many a war widow has been forced to sell.”

  “I know it’s hard, but we’ll figure it out. You’ve got the sheriff on it too.”

  His words soothed her. So much so, it drew her up short. What was happening?

  How could she have gone from feeling completely alone to feeling as though she had finally found someone to depend on? It made no sense, especially given the fact that the man she was depending on had just spent several months in jail.

  When the house and barn came into view, they slowed their horses. There was a bit of shade now, thanks to a thicket of pecan trees that had been determined t
o grow and thrive for decades. Since Velvet and Yellow acted pleased to simply meander along in the shade, Laurel relaxed her grip on her horse’s reins. All of them needed a few minutes to relax a bit.

  She was just about to comment on the weather when Thomas turned to look at her, his blue eyes as striking as ever under the tan rim of his Stetson. “Miss Laurel, I think we should talk about something.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t like the idea of someone wandering around the ranch at night, especially with you alone in the house. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ve thought about that a time or two as well,” she said with a small smile. Actually, she didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to sleep through the night again. Every creak and moan in the house was certain to draw a healthy amount of fear inside her.

  Looking as if he’d just solved a difficult problem, he exhaled. “I’m glad to hear you feel the same way. Frankly, the idea of someone bothering you in the house while I’m sound asleep a hundred feet away in the barn scares the heck out of me.”

  “It scares me too,” she admitted after debating for a moment. She didn’t want to come across as any weaker than she was, but they were talking about someone killing animals and leaving them for her to find. Not just petty fears.

  “Will you allow me to sleep in your house for a spell? I promise I’ll sleep on the sofa in the sitting room if you don’t want me in a bedroom upstairs. I need to be near in case something happens.”

  “You’re right. But there’s no reason for you to sleep on the sofa. I’d like you to take a room.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m positive.” She would also sleep better knowing he was just down the hall instead of downstairs near the front door.

  The lines on the outside of his eyes crinkled in amusement. Then he seemed to gather himself together. “I don’t want to worry you, having me so close and all. I promise I’ll do my best to only come inside the main house to sleep.”

  “Sergeant, I don’t know why, but I feel safe around you. I think it’s also pretty obvious that if you had wanted to harm me, you could have done it by now. I’d rather trust you.”