by Jillian Hart
A movement in the parlor caught her eye. The bounty hunter was striding toward her, sure footed, the firelight and lamplight outlining his big frame and long legs, which carried him into the kitchen. He took one of the bowls from the counter where she'd set them down, and she stared at him in surprise, feeling every inch of her body thrumming. Why was she so attracted to him? "You didn't have to dish yourself up. I was about to bring you a bowl."
"I don't mind, and you have waited on me enough. I sure appreciate it, but I'm feeling better now." He ladled another spoonful of chicken soup into the bowl, revealed by the lamplight, and he added one more ladle full into his bowl. "I noticed you didn't take time to eat supper."
"I wanted to make sure you and Jack were well taken care of. Even if you are rather unexpected guests." She blushed, unable to quite say what she meant or even know how to put it into words. "I'm glad you found me."
"You have no notion what you're saying, as kind and good-hearted as you are." He set down the bowl and took the other to fill. "I have both a wanted outlaw and a would-be bounty hunter, who wanted the blood money his outlaw buddy put on my head. What would happen to Jack if Henson had gotten ahold of him, and, worse, you? Do you think he would have stopped to be polite to you?"
"No, I certainly don't. Even I know he has to be a dangerous man, but I never stopped to think too hard about myself. I've been worried about Jack and you. You are shot and wounded, you know."
"I'm tough, and I will be okay. Only because of your help, you know. But I'm worth a lot of money dead or alive. The price Brant put on my head to get revenge is as good as a bounty, and worse considering it's about vengeance, and so I have to keep moving when I can. But right now staying quietly here seems to be working out." Despair cut lines of sorrow into his face, lines Saydee felt in her own heart.
The wind gusted, sending a cold draft through the cracks around the door and into the kitchen. She shivered, unable to find the right words to comfort a man who felt as cold as the wind, without hope. What could she do for him? What could such a strong man need from her?
12
"I can read that look on your face." He set down the ladle in the spoon rest.
"What look?" Saydee blushed.
"The one that says you care. And that you've realized without needing to ask that I'm all alone. No matter what, I have no relatives or in-laws I can ask for help, and I'm all that Jack has. I have no one to leave him with, not unless it's an orphanage."
"An orphanage?" The past threatened to rise up, full of memories that hit as hard as grief. "I didn't know you were that desperate, without options, but I'm not that surprised."
He set the bowl meant for her closer to her on the counter and looked away. A muscle jumped along his tense jaw, and she wondered about the kind of strain he was under. Her heart beat faster, full of fear for him. "Did you say, worse than having a bounty on your head?"
"I did. Jack is slowing me down, he should not be with me, but I don't have a choice. And if I don't keep moving, then those men find me and I'm out of luck and out of life."
Saydee's knees wobbled, nearly giving out, and she grabbed the edge of the counter for support. She watched, amazed by the steady, methodical way he grabbed a hot pad and lifted the kettle off the stove. He set it down to cool on a trivet as if undaunted by his admission, but she could feel the weight of the burden in the air, as dark as night. "And what about Jack?"
"Exactly my greatest worry. Whatever it costs me, I don't care about me, just him. I need to find a way to keep him safe. I can never let men like Brant or the ilk of Henson get their hands on him, not ever." Cords strained in his neck. "Or you, which is why I need to be moving on as soon as that weather lets up for a long enough stretch."
"It is easing some." Saydee stared hard at the steam rising off the soup he'd poured for her. What did the future hold for this man?
The silence that settled between them held no answers. She listened to the whir of the storm outside and the crackle of the burning wood in the cookstove and swiped at an unbidden, surprising tear with the tips of her fingers. The little boy slept in the next room, his breathing even and normal, and she gave quiet thanks for that. She studied the father, the bounty hunter weak from his wound and refusing to show it, the man who looked just a bit flushed, fighting illness as he dug a spoon into his soup bowl and blew on it.
McMurphy took a bite. "Jack loved every mouthful and now I know why. This is real tasty. It hits the spot."
"I'm glad you like it." Saydee resisted the urge to brush away the shock of dark hair tumbling across his forehead and into his eyes. After what he'd been through, she couldn't say she would be doing as well. "Maybe you would like to sit down and rest when you eat that. I can set out the rest of last night's johnnycake and butter."
"I'll do it myself." He set down his bowl and grabbed the butter dish from the counter. "Don't you dare touch that pantry door. I'll take care of it. Sit down."
"Don't you even think about waiting on me."
"I saw that chin of yours go up. You have a stubborn streak. Still."
She opened her mouth to comment, but words appeared to fail her.
He set the butter dish down on the table and across the counter watched tears shine like diamonds as they pooled in Saydee's soft blue eyes. Sympathetic tears. Caring tears. And for him.
Feelings, long unnamed and unused, settled onto his chest like a thousand pound weight. She bowed her head as he grabbed the pantry doorknob and turned, and he had to fight the knowledge that she, who was golden and sweet, lace and porcelain, was not just the woman he'd come in search for, but the woman his heart needed. What was he going to do about that?
Nothing, he thought, his emotions too heavy, knowing he was no free man. He had to do his best to resist the concern in her voice, heartfelt and genuine and entirely focused on him. He could feel how much she cared, how it mattered to her that he was hurting. His chest filled with painful tenderness and he turned away from her before he reached out and brushed those unfallen tears from her eyes and offered her all the tenderness he hid in his heart.
He'd do best to concentrate on his insurmountable problems. That's what mattered. He clamped his mouth shut to keep in the words, ignored the hitch in his stride and the pain in his side and clenched his teeth against it, refusing to give into or acknowledge the way he trembled, weak when he didn't want to be. Saydee drew his attention, no matter how much he fought it, his eyes stayed on her, brushed by lamplight and surrounded by golden flame, still standing by the pantry watching him with shocked surprise on her face. Her dress draped her slender shape, hugging her well-shaped breasts and narrow waist and flare of hips and thighs.
Her delicate beauty was made greater by a delicate heart, and with her blond curls tumbling down to frame her face she reminded him of a china angel his grandmother had to adorn the top of her Christmas tree when he was a very small boy, just a toddler. But Saydee was not like that porcelain piece of beauty cold and kept out of reach, but pure goodness and light, softness and elegance and reminded him of everything he'd never had and once had faith in.
He wanted to believe like that again. He wanted to draw her into his arms, but instead he drew out her chair, set her bowl on the table on her placemat, and his hand reached out to her naturally. Her fingers wrapped around his and made his heart jump with longing so powerful, it nearly knocked him to his knees.
The wish for a life he doubted could ever have again rushed through him, a wish for safety and life. But he was not free, a man with a price on his head and a murderous outlaw on his trail. Dread filled him, and he could not bear to look at her and risk that she saw it. The honest trust soft on her porcelain beauty of a face made him go weaker, wishing he had a chance as she slipped into her cushioned chair and let his hand go.
He turned away from her touch, grabbed his bowl and strode away from her quiet caring, that felt like a safe harbor on this cold, grim October's eve.
* * *
The whine
from the German shepherd broke the stillness in the dark house. Saydee looked up from her knitting at the kitchen table, where the light was best and she wouldn't disturb the sleeping boy, to see that Jack had woken up. He sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. "Is my pa gone?"
"Just outside, but he ought to be back indoors soon." Concern tugged at her heart, cinching hard in her chest. She set down her knitting and pushed to her feet and approached him, knowing more about loss and about need than she wanted to admit. "He's been out there for a long while, so it's my guess that he won't be out in that cold for much longer, or he'll be one great big icicle."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"It surely ain't blowing that hard out right now. He could go off and leave me." Anguish shadowed his eyes the same color as his father's, and his chin wobbled as he drew in a soft breath of air. And he reminded her of an older boy with that same face she'd hardly known but saw nearly every day in the eating hall at the orphanage. Jack sighed. "He might never come back."
What did she say to that? Saydee missed a step and caught the arm of the sofa to keep from losing her balance. The poor child, afraid of losing his father. What was it like to have been on the run across the territories, with dangerous outlaws hunting them? She shivered, cleared her voice and willed all the soothing she could into her tone, fearing the child might need more comforting than she could give. "Why would your father go anywhere without you? He loves you very much. I doubt he could live a day without you near him."
Jack didn't answer. He tipped his head back to gaze up at her with eyes as round as an owl's and his whole heart of vulnerability in them. Such a good boy, he was, as he blew out a breath and a shock of hair breezed upward, and out of his face. Before she could reach out a comforting hand or open her mouth to offer a kindness, the door whipped open and icy winter air blew in. A shadow filled the doorway and boot steps knelled in the eerie stillness.
"I'm sorry about the snow in your house." He shouldered the door closed and began unbuttoning. "I keep bringing trouble to your parlor floor. Where do you keep the broom and dustpan?"
"None of your business and don't you worry. I will find a way to both clean up after you and forgive you." She knelt in front of the wood box and reached out.
"Don't you dare." His baritone boomed, startling her, louder than his footsteps striding toward her. "You let me do that. You let me do the heavy work while I'm here. It's the least I can do after coming into your life and ruining your peace and quiet."
She watched him grab several chunks of chopped cedar and tucked them neatly into the hearth's grate, where the writhing flames surged upward, snapping and popping, with a spear of brightness in the near dark.
"There, that will keep us warm for a while. Jack, have you been giving Miss Saydee a difficult time?" He held out his hand and before she could stop him, maybe too surprised to do it, she felt the rough calluses on his male-hot palm against hers as he took her hand in his. His touch sizzled, and she felt claimed. Did he feel this too? She searched his shadowed gaze but saw nothing different, only heard the steady calm in his voice when he spoke.
"Speak up, Jack. You keep rubbing your eyes. Are you feeling better? Or do you need more of Miss Saydee's mustard and onion plaster? That was the most eye-watering concoction I've ever come across, I must say it smelled strongly, but if you need more, than you speak up."
"No, Pa, I think that maybe my eyes have stung and I've stunk just about enough."
"Okay, then are you hungry? I can get you a bite to eat before you go back to sleep for the night."
"No, I just wanted to know you were here, that's all. Don't leave me, okay? Not now, not yet."
"Okay, will do, sweet boy." He rubbed a hand across the tousled dark brown hair, cowlick and all, and fought a wave of deep, unending, deeper-than-the-soul love for his son. He watched over Jack as he laid back down on his pillow, gave a sleepy yawn and sighed. The dog licked his face with one swipe before the two of them drifted off to dream, just a boy and his would-be dog. "Out like a light."
"And adorable, too. Look how Pete loves your boy." Saydee swept away soundlessly, careful not to make noise on the floorboards.
He did the same. "Do you know what? I've been riding all the way from Dakota Territory and this house of yours has been an oasis. And I mean that. We've had a long, hard row and it's been a long time since anyone has helped us, or could do so. You're the one, the only one, to offer us a little kindness. And it lights up the whole night, believe me."
His confession and the depth of feeling in his words stymied her, and she shook her head, feeling not quite worthy of that lofty compliment but touched by it. "I did what any good neighbor would do, help a stranger in a storm. It has been no big thing, barely anything at all."
"Are you kidding? It's been everything. You saved my son. You saved me. You made sure we were safe from the storm and you spared Jack a long bout with a rough illness. I can't tell you what that means to me, just everything, that's what. Everything."
"You give me too much credit, but I can't say that I don't like it. Coming from you, why, it means a lot." She saw so much goodness in him, and she was touched by the sight of his love for Jack, which burned greater than any star in the sky, truer than the most constant one. She no longer felt that he was a stranger, but saw in him someone she knew, even if she could not place him, at least not yet. But her memory would kick in, and then she would know. "I'm glad you think that I made a difference, but the truth is that anyone would have done the same."
"Not true," he said gently. "Not true at all."
She reached for the teapot and plucked off the cover, glad for the reason to turn her back and hide her face from him so he couldn't see the caring in her eyes. She knew better than to care too much because anyone could see he was a man who would never be staying. "You have a dim view of people, Mr. Bounty Hunter, but I can't say sometimes it isn't true. There are some people, and I like to think only a few people, who don't blink twice at causing harm, or turning away a good man and his fine son in a storm."
"You are the issue, not them. You, Saydee."
He might be as strong as iron, but more depth of feeling than she'd guessed lived in him. She swallowed, searching for the words, glad for the kindness in return she saw in his eyes. "Me? Believe me, I'm not anyone special, just a regular woman, but I'm glad that I got to be the one to meet you and get to help you. After all, you could have landed on the neighbor's place instead. Then they would have that privilege."
"See? You are wonderful."
"No, you are wrong but it's okay if you secretly keep the wrong opinion. I'm less than average but sure hope that I am a good host."
"A good friend." He wrapped his big hand around the cup she'd poured for him and took a sip, no sugar, no honey. "I know you moved here when you have a falling out with your stepfather."
Her throat went tight, reminded of her mother's letter. "We were never close, and this move here, where I have my aunt's family, has been best."
"Why?"
"I was in my mother's way. I needed to be useful to them. Useful." There, she'd just up and said what was true and it hurt, and so she didn't want to say more and make her ma look bad. She really cared about her mother, regardless of how her stepfather felt about the burden of a stepdaughter.
The bounty hunter's arm brushed hers, lifting his cup to take a sip. Exhaustion draped him like a thick winter coat, bowing his broad shoulders. His whiskery jaw had tensed as he swallowed, and his eyes went as dark as night. The lamplight brush-stroked his face, highlighting the handsome lines of cheekbone and cheek but also drawing attention to the shadowed fatigue and pain carved around his eyes and in the corners of his stoic, unsmiling mouth.
How could this man be so feeling and full of care? How could he be anything but a bounty hunter on the move, always drifting, never settling down? He clearly left his son for work, for the boy was worried about him leaving for his job again. She wondered about the
man as he drained the cup, set it on the counter and ambled toward the warm parlor where Jack slept with the dog by his side.
"I'll bring up some of the plaster I made ahead from the cellar. You're going to need it."
He kept going, his step slow, the straight line of his back slightly slumped with exhaustion. "Jack won't need it. He's fine, now."
"It's for you."
He paused in mid-step, swaying for a moment, before his big, manly frame tensed, powerful and controlled and did not move. He bowed his head, unable to hide the fact that he was now more ill than he could afford to be, this man of steel and might. He was only human, after all with the storm ticking down and his son still not well enough to travel either. "Thank you, Saydee. I'll heat it up on the hearth here and put some on my chest. I suspect it will help about as much as that tea."
"Then perhaps I'll retire to my room for the night." Regret and the wish to do more for him rang in her heart but she tried to keep the tone of it out of her voice. "After all, you will need to take your shirt off for that and for an unmarried woman, I've seen you without a shirt on far too much as it is. What would my family think?"
"It's a good thing they will never need to know." He didn't move, didn't lift his lowered chin so their gazes could not meet. She felt his loneliness and an intense sorrow fill the air like the darkness of night after a candle was blown out.
"Good night." Her words sounded too hopeful, and how foolish was that? She turned on her heel to blow out the last lamp in the kitchen, and in total darkness made her way down the hall and out of his sight.
13
He startled awake. He stared into the blackness, listening for what had woken him, but there was only silence. He blinked, realizing that he was warm, lying between soft sheets that were so comfortable they felt like paradise found. Then he remembered his son. Was he still doing all right? Winn sat up, ignoring the pain streaking through his side. At least it was not quite as sharp.