Come Back

by Melissa Maygrove

  “I know how to use a gun, Seth. A knife too.”

  “Yeah. I saw how well you defended yourself against those men. You were winning that one for sure.”

  Becca gasped and her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. She wanted to strike him, to wound him as deeply as he’d wounded her, but she turned and walked away. Her heart ached—for her family, for Seth, for all she was giving up—but she’d been kidding herself. This would never work. Tucking her arms tightly around her gutted middle, she headed in the direction of her cave.

  Seth muttered a curse. “Becca, wait.”

  Boots thumped the ground behind her and his hand closed over her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and walked faster.

  He grabbed her again.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Becca, I’m sorry.”

  She rounded on him and tore his hand from her arm as unholy outrage burned away every last bit of restraint. “You’re damn right you are.”

  Seth’s eyes widened.

  “How dare you blame me for what happened.” Her fists clenched as fury tremorred through her body. “You want to know how those men got the better of me that day? I’ll tell you. They were able to sneak up on me because I was distracted, not paying attention. And do you know why that was? It was because of you—you, Seth. I was thinking about you.”

  Chest heaving, she glared at him, watching his shoulders wilt and his face grow pale. Her words had hit harder than her hand ever could.

  Tears welled as anger abated. And she’d be damned if she’d let him see her cry. “Goodbye.”

  The salty drops had barely reached her lips when he came up behind her and grabbed her arm. She clawed at his hand, but it wouldn’t budge. “Let me go!” She kicked his shins and beat his chest with her fists, but he captured her anyway, holding so tightly he pinned her flailing arms and muffled her protests with a wall of flannel-clad muscle.

  “Rebecca, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  The naked remorse in his voice drained her ire and reduced her to sobs.

  Seth cocooned her in his arms, enveloping her with his familiar scent and the deep timbre of his voice. “Forgive me.” His cheek molded to her temple. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  She sniffled, and her hands, which were flattened to push him away, curled around the fabric of his shirt.

  He sighed. “I don’t blame you for what happened. And I trust you.”

  “No you don’t,” she choked out.

  “Yes I do. But I convinced you to travel with me. I’m responsible for your safety.”

  Becca lifted her head and wiped the moisture from her face. “That’s admirable, but it’s not realistic. No matter how hard you try, you can’t protect me from every possible danger. You’ll kill yourself trying.”

  Troubled eyes studied her from under drawn brows.

  “I mean it, Seth. If you’re not willing to let me do my part, then leave me here. We’ll never make it to California if we don’t work as a team.”

  He sighed again and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were soft with acquiescence. And dull with fatigue. “You’re right.” He brushed the ridge of her cheekbone with his thumb. “I know you can take care of yourself. I didn’t mean what I said before.”

  Seth left her and collected Cyrus. “Ride with me?” he asked over his shoulder.

  The vulnerability in his voice softened her even more. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He mounted and lifted her onto the saddle. “I need a rest. And Sam would skin me alive if I left a lady to walk while I rode.”

  Becca sat a little taller and glanced at him sideways. “I’ll go along—in front of Sam. But when we’re alone, that’s another compulsion you’ll have to get over.” She squirmed and shifted her hips. “Riding makes my backside numb.”

  “Lord, have mercy,” he muttered. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  Becca squinted at a strange brown speck in the distance. “Is that the outpost?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “How many people live there?”

  “Just Sam and a couple of men who work for him.”

  “No women?”

  “Nope.”

  Becca’s shoulders sagged. She’d hoped for some female conversation. “Sam’s not married?”

  “He’s a widower. And the men who work for him are single.” Seth’s stern gaze left the horizon and focused on her. “All three of them strike me as trustworthy, but see you stick close to me. Understand?”

  Becca nodded. He was overprotective, but on this, she wouldn’t cross him.

  She turned her attention back to the south and the outpost, growing larger and larger with each of Cyrus’ steps. When they were half a mile away, Seth lifted his arm and waved.

  “What was that for?”

  “Just saying hello.”

  “They can see us?”

  Seth chuckled. “I dare say Jesse’s been watching us approach since we were five miles away.” He pointed at a tall, wooden structure to the left of the building. “See that tower?”

  Becca nodded.

  “He and Andrew take turns sitting up there, keeping an eye out for trouble.”

  “So, how do you know it’s Jesse?”

  “He always takes watch this time of day.”

  Becca smoothed her hair, adjusted her clothes, and wondered what people would think of her. For the first time in over a year, appearances mattered.

  As Cyrus ambled into the yard surrounding a new wooden structure that resembled a general store, a middle-aged man stepped off the porch and walked out to meet them. He dressed much like Seth, but he was shorter and stouter with graying hair fringing the bottom of his hat.

  Seth handed her down, then dismounted and came to stand beside her. “Rebecca Garvey, this is Samuel Dugan.”

  Sam tipped his hat. “How ‘do, Miss Garvey... Seth.” Both his tone and his gaze turned on edge with the second greeting.

  “Where’re Jesse and Andrew?” Seth asked.

  “Jesse’s is in the tower and Andrew’s over there.” Sam lifted his chin to indicate a man with sandy hair and green eyes standing in the doorway of a nearby shed.

  “Andrew,” Seth greeted.

  Andrew responded with a silent nod, but his icy look of reproach matched his boss’s tone. For men Seth spoke of with such ease and favor, they seemed none too friendly, and he shifted under their scrutiny.

  Sam looked back at her, his face softening. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Garvey.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Dugan.”

  “Aah—Mr. Dugan was my father. You can call me Sam.”

  “All right then. Sam.” Becca felt another surge in her pulse. She wasn’t used to calling her elders by their given names.

  “That’s better.” Sam gestured, indicating she walk with him. “I’d like to speak with you, if you don’t mind.” Becca looked to Seth. His expression was stiff, but he gave a curt nod, so she let Sam lead her a few feet away.

  Sam faced her and held her hand between both of his, the way her preacher used to do when he greeted congregants. “I know you don’t know me from Adam, Miss Garvey, but I’m someone you can trust if you need help.”

  “Um, thank you.” She hazarded a glance over her shoulder, unsure what to say. “We came for supplies before heading west.”

  Sam pressed his lips into a tense smile. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Jesse can see quite a ways from that tower. He told me there was some trouble between you and Seth before you arrived. Seth didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No! We had an argument, that’s all.”

  “What Jesse described sounded like more than an argument. I swear to you, if you’re being mistreated in any way, you can tell me. I’ll protect you. Jesse and Andrew will, too.”

  “That’s kind of you, but Seth would never hurt me. He’s gone out of his way to protect me. He’s a good man.”

  Sam eyed her a moment more, then released a burdensom
e breath. “I must say, I’m relieved. I was beginning to question my ability to judge a man’s character. Seth has never before given me a reason to doubt him, and it was plain as a beak on a bird he was worried sick over you, but I wanted to be sure.

  “If you ever need help,” he added with a pat to her hand, “the offer stands.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that.” Becca shifted back and forth on her feet, thankful her skirt hid the little dance. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Yes.”

  She squeezed her thighs together. “Where’s your outhouse?”

  “Forgive me for not offerin’. It’s over there.” He pointed to a spot behind her.

  Becca hurried past Seth who stood stock still except for a muscle twitching along his jaw and a stony gaze that followed her every move.

  After relieving herself and sending up a prayer of thanks for modern convenience, she opened the pine door and started across the yard to rejoin the men. Sam was speaking to Seth, looking rather apologetic, and the tension in Seth’s shoulders had eased.

  Andrew reached them just before she did. He tugged off a leather work glove and extended his hand. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

  Seth shook his hand. “Don’t worry about it. If the tables were turned, I’d have done the same.” He’d no sooner introduced her to Andrew when a shorter, younger man—not more than eighteen—walked up with a rifle in his hand and a broad smile on his face. He had green eyes, too, but they were brighter, and the hair curling out from under his hat was jet black.

  “Hey, Seth.” The young man looked at Becca, his smile never faltering. “This must be the girl you told us about.”

  Andrew elbowed him and Sam frowned. “The lady has a name, Jesse. This is Miss Rebecca Garvey.”

  He turned sheepish and tipped his hat. “Forgive my manners, Miss Garvey. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Becca smiled. She imagined Jesse got reminded of his manners quite a lot. Probably as often as he was forgiven. He had a face you couldn’t stay mad at for long.

  Jesse looked from Sam to Andrew. “Did you tell ’em about the horse yet?”

  “Jesse,” Sam admonished. “These folks just got here. I haven’t had the chance.”

  Seth looked to Sam. “What’s he talking about?”

  “’Bout a week or so back, a horse came wandering up, saddle and all. I sent Andrew out to search in case the owner needed help, but he never found anyone.”

  Becca caught a glimpse of Seth. His jaw was tight again.

  “What did you do with the horse?”

  “We still have him, but he’s not worth the feed it takes to keep him.” Sam scratched a spot beneath the band of his hat and settled it back on his head. “The gelding and his saddlery looked kinda familiar, like one we saw passing through around the time you left.” He motioned at them with his hand. “C’mon. I’ll show ya.”

  Becca trailed behind Seth as they all walked to the paddock. His frame tensed and his steps grew mechanical as he neared.

  “You recognize him,” Sam said.

  Seth didn’t respond. He rubbed the back of his neck and woodenly lowered his arm to his side.

  Sam narrowed his eyes, then gestured to his men. “You two go back to what y’all were doin’.”

  “But Sam—”

  “Do as I say, Jesse. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “C’mon Jes,” Andrew said with a tilt of his head. “I’ll catch up with you later, Seth.”

  “Andrew,” Sam called before he’d gone very far. “Show Miss Garvey inside so she can rest.”

  Becca clasped one clammy hand with the other to keep herself from wringing them. “Thank you, but I’d rather stay.”

  Seth looked at her with painful indecision.

  She stared back at him, silently pleading. Something was weighing heavily on his conscience, and she had a fair idea what. She didn’t want to leave him to face this alone.

  He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Let her stay.”

  “You sure about that?” Sam asked.

  Seth nodded.

  Sam waved Andrew on, and then he propped a dusty boot on the bottom rail of the fence and adjusted his hat. “You know the owner?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “He around?”

  Seth’s gaze lowered and he slowly shook his head.

  “I see.” Sam glanced at the horse before returning his attention to Seth. “A few days before you left to search for Miss Garvey, Jesse mentioned seeing a couple of ne’er-do-wells passing through. One tall, one short.”

  Becca’s stomach began to churn.

  “They kept their distance,” Sam continued, “but they came up later that evening, trying to talk him out of some feed. Did you see them?”

  “No.”

  “Jesse said one was named Ray.”

  Becca swallowed back the foul-tasting liquid that rose in her throat as Seth’s face drained of color. No. This wasn’t happening.

  Sam looked back and forth from Seth to her. “Jesse said they took off the next morning, headed west in a rush, as if they’d struck gold.”

  Seth’s throat moved with a measured swallow and his eyes turned to steel. “What did Jesse tell them?”

  “Nothing, he swears. And I believe him. He’s a mite impulsive, but when it comes to the safety of this camp and the people in it, he knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

  “It had to be him. I never saw them. How else would they have known about her?” Seth’s nostrils flared with an intake of breath, and then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line of regret. “Andrew,” he muttered. “They must’ve overheard me talking to Andrew.” When his eyes opened again, they were ravaged by torment and shame.

  A tear rolled down Becca’s cheek. She brushed it away.

  “Miss Garvey? Did those men hurt you?”

  “No.” Her voice trembled. “Seth stopped them before they could.”

  Sam muttered a curse.

  “They were going to rape her. I—”

  “Stop. Don’t say another word.” Sam eyed the stray horse with his lips curled into a scowl. “If you did what I think you did, those bastards got what they deserved.”

  Becca looked up from her plate and gazed around the roughhewn, rectangular table at four men shoveling their suppers into their mouths as if they hadn’t eaten in a month. Relearning how to use the cookstove had taken some effort, but it was worth it to be revered by a group of soon-to-be- stuffed and sated men.

  The corner of her mouth lifted as she forked another piece of chicken and tried not to jump up and squeal. Sam had chickens. That meant eggs for breakfast.

  “Excellent meal, Miss Garvey,” Sam managed between bites.

  The sentiment was echoed in a murmur of masculine tones from the other three who nodded and smiled, but barely stopped chewing long enough to agree.

  When they’d all cleaned their plates, Sam leaned back in his chair and rested a work-worn hand on his belly. “Thanks again, Miss Garvey. I haven’t eaten a meal that good in a long time.”

  Becca dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  He regarded her with a boyish smile. “I hate to ask after all you’ve done, but I was wonderin’ if you’d do us one more favor.” He gestured to the others. “We could all use a haircut. If I found you a pair of scissors and made these rascals wash up, would you be willin’?”

  Becca scanned the expectant bunch of men with mops of unruly, hat-dented hair hanging past their collars. “I’d be glad to.”

  She cleared the table and washed the dishes. By the time she was done, Sam had moved a straight-back chair out to the porch and found her a pair of scissors and a comb.

  Jesse was first in line. He shucked his shirt and wet his hair with scoops of water from a nearby bucket while the other men settled on some upturned crates in the yard and watched from a distance, talking among themselves. Becca tried not to stare at his scrawny chest
as he climbed the steps and sat down. His rangy, boyish frame was nothing like Seth’s.

  “How short do you want it?” She asked as she draped his shoulders with a towel.

  He ran his fingers through the thick, damp mass. “Ah, take a few inches off, I guess. Ain’t no women folk around, and the lot of us’d starve if we had to earn our keep as barbers.” Becca began combing and trimming the ebony locks, wet clumps landing on the floorboards near her feet. “Have you worked for Sam long?”

  “He took me in a few years ago when my parents died.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  “They died in a carriage accident. There’uz nothin’ anyone could do.” He shrugged, but she doubted he was as indifferent as he appeared.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No.”

  She nudged his head forward so she could even up the back, then stepped around front. “What about Sam’s children?”

  “Irene—she was Sam’s wife—couldn’t have kids, so I’m the only one. When Irene passed, Sam decided to move out here and build this outpost. He says it’s so I’ll have something of worth to inherit someday, but I think he needed to get away from the memories that were keepin’ him sad.”

  “Sounds like you and Sam are lucky to have each other.”

  “Yeah.” Emotion finally penetrated the show of indifference.

  Becca finished with Jesse. Andrew went next, then Sam. As he buttoned his shirt and returned to his crate, she swatted bits of hair off the chair with a rag. “Seth, it’s your turn.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  She blotted her forehead with the back of her wrist. “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  Jesse nudged him. “Go on. She does a good a job.”

  “He’s right.” Andrew lifted his hat. “Best haircut I ever had.”

  “You do look a mite scruffy,” Sam added.

  Seth braced his hands on his thighs. He stood and walked toward the porch, setting his hat aside when he reached the low table with the bucket. With a solemn expression, he tugged his shirt loose from his pants and removed it. As he doused his hair and took a seat on the porch, the murmur of male conversation ceased.

  Becca winced inwardly. She’d forgotten about his scar.