Wagon Train Proposal
Page 26
No doubt this stranger would be angry that his stores had been depleted. But she wouldn’t let him hurt her. If she put on a brave face, perhaps he would leave her alone. Just leave. It was a wild hope, but at the moment it was all she had.
Be brave. But she couldn’t stop her hand from shaking.
The man’s tall, broad form filled the doorway, his long coat and Stetson making him seem impossibly large. Wind blew snow inside past him, chilling her as the last of the warmth leaked out of the open cabin door.
Then he did something she never would have expected. He set down his gun, leaned it against the wall and put both hands palm out in front of his body, as if he was surrendering. To her.
“I ain’t gonna shoot you,” he said, and his voice had gone much quieter than the shouts he’d sent through the walls. Varmint, he’d called her through the closed door.
He’d put down his gun. It put her in a position of power, didn’t it?
A small white dog rushed into the room, past the stranger’s legs. It approached her, sniffing at her skirts until she shifted her shoe, not truly kicking at it but attempting to get it to move away.
Hysteria bubbled up inside her, threatening to make her either laugh or cry, she didn’t know which. Or maybe that was just part of carrying a baby. She’d not been prepared for the abrupt swings in her emotions. Neither had her husband. Or maybe he just hadn’t cared.
“G-go away,” she said, when she wanted to say, Please help me. The command would’ve been stronger if her voice hadn’t trembled over the words.
His lips parted in a sigh. He took off his Stetson and gloves and brushed a large, work-roughened hand through the front of his flame-red hair. Somehow, framed against the slate-gray sky, it made his hair seem even brighter. The flash of surprising color reminded her of the bright red bird she’d seen on the windowsill earlier, before the storm had hit, and she dropped her guard for the briefest moment.
Her arm fell, and the shawl that she’d had wrapped around her, both for warmth and to hide her condition, slipped. She tried to straighten it.
Too late.
His eyes fell to her distended belly beneath the ill-fitting gray dress. His mouth tightened, lines bracketing the slim lips putting her in mind of Jamie when he’d been angry or frustrated at her.
She firmed her hand on the gun. Fear made her voice emerge too high. “P-please. Leave.”
He turned his head and briefly looked out the open door, then shook his head. One hand still held his hat against his thigh.
“Sorry, miss,” he said apologetically. “It’s storming too bad, and I’m coming inside.”
He stepped farther into the cabin, shrinking the already-small space with his presence. He shut the door, and the gray light that had come in from outside extinguished with the sharp snap of wood against the door frame. The lone candle sputtered but didn’t go out.
With very little light coming in the window thanks to the overcast skies and snowfall outside, it made the enclosed space with its tiny kitchen counter, black serviceable stove and top and bottom bunks in the corner even more ominous.
“You want to put that down?” he asked mildly, gesturing to the gun she still had pointed at him. He hadn’t moved into the room any farther than necessary to get the door closed, but her heart still rattled in her chest.
“No,” she said, and was gratified to find her voice a mite stronger this time.
The baby kicked, a hard thump against her ribs, as if to argue with her. Surely she was imagining the timing of the babe’s movement.
He nodded. “All right, if it makes you feel safer. I doubt you’d hit me anyway with the way your hand’s shaking so bad. And a little thing like that ain’t going to kill me anyway.”
She didn’t know whether that was true or not. She’d never shot a gun in her life. She’d only found it among Jamie’s things after his untimely death.
“Where’s your man?” the cowboy asked, his eyes roaming the interior of the cabin as if to find Jamie there.
She cringed a little when his breath hitched as he saw the shelves bare of their bounty. Was he angry?
“He’s dead and buried beneath a big pine tree behind the cabin.” She jerked her head roughly in the direction she meant. Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted it, shouldn’t have told him there was no one around to rescue her if he had nefarious intentions.
His brows crunched together. “How long?”
“Couple of weeks.” Long enough for her to deplete the food. They’d only meant to stay a few days in the cabin. She hadn’t wanted to stay at all, had wanted to go on to the town he’d promised was only a few hours on.
“How come you didn’t come looking for help? My pa’s place is down the mountain. There’s neighbors in all directions.”
“No horse,” she mumbled. Something had scared it, making it bolt and causing Jamie’s untimely death. Was it wrong that a small part of her was relieved to be free of the husband who was nothing like he’d pretended to be during their courtship?
Her arm was starting to shake even worse, weak from days of inactivity and tired from holding the gun trained on him.
His brows crunched again, as if she wasn’t making any sense.
“And I’m not from around here,” she said with a defiant hike of her chin. “I’m from St. Louis. How am I to know that there’s more than this...wilderness all around?”
Copyright © 2015 by Lacy Williams
ISBN-13: 9781460383155
Wagon Train Proposal
Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Renee Ryan for her contribution to the Journey West miniseries.
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