by Janet Dean
“Good, then it’s settled. I’ll bring my tools and be over after supper.”
“I’ll make sure Henry doesn’t bother you again.”
“I suspect Henry will sneak over here whether you approve or not.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s missing his pa.”
Carly sucked in a breath. “No. He isn’t. No one in town misses Max.”
His eyes bored into her, trying to see inside her. “I can imagine.”
She looked away, avoiding his probing gaze and the unspoken questions in his eyes. Questions she had no intention of answering.
He stepped in front of her, dipped his head, forcing her to look at him. “Are you all right?”
After Max’s funeral, she’d felt as if she and Henry had awakened from a nightmare. Then this man had ridden into town, intent on ruining their lives, bringing with him a new threat.
She raised her chin. “I was fine until you showed up.”
“Wish I had another choice.”
“We always have another choice.”
“Do we?” he said, his tone soft, laden with sorrow.
The pain in his eyes rooted her in place. No matter what she’d claimed, she knew as well as this man, sometimes there were no alternatives. The reason she’d stayed with Max.
“I suspect your life hasn’t been easy, Mrs. Richards. That your husband didn’t treat you the way a man should.”
At his gentle tone Carly again looked away, unable to bear such scrutiny.
Callused fingers tenderly tilted her face to his. “You and I have had to live with the hand we were dealt.”
Her gaze locked with his. In his gray depths a flash of interest sparked and flared. Carly’s mouth went dry as dust as her heart rat-a-tatted in her chest.
What was happening to her? How could she find the man responsible for Max’s death attractive?
Her breath caught. She’d feared the influence Nate Sergeant would have on Henry, never once considering he might hold some unexplainable power over her.
He was a bounty hunter. He was trying to take her shop. He was a terrible example for her son.
Not admirable, not the kind of man she wanted in her life. She’d promised herself and God she’d never run ahead of Him again.
She took a step back and steeled her spine. “We may not always have a choice, Mr. Sergeant, but in this matter, I do. A gun-toting bounty hunter is a bad example for my son. I don’t want Henry spending time with you.”
As if a shade had been pulled, the light vanished from his eyes. His gaze grew distant, detached. “I’ll fix your pump. And do what I can to keep Henry away.” He huffed. “But make no mistake—I won’t hurt that boy’s feelings. I can’t do it.”
“Better to hurt his feelings than to lead him down your path.”
“I’d never do that,” he rasped, his jaw chiseled in anger.
“Whether you intend to or not, that’s exactly what could happen. I have no idea why, but Henry admires you.”
Without a backward glance, Carly gathered her skirts and dashed toward home. For a moment she’d connected with the rogue determined to take her shop. Once again, she’d been drawn in by a handsome face, a winsome smile and a string of sweet words—all meaningless. Hadn’t life with Max proved where such foolishness led?
Lord, help keep up my defenses. Keep me strong. Henry’s future depends on it.
Chapter Eight
Nate crossed the alley and Carly’s backyard and then stepped onto the side porch, stopping by the open window of the Richards’s kitchen, spellbound by the family inside.
Eyes on the McGuffey Reader she held, Mrs. Richards sat at the table, giving Henry his spelling words. “Bubbles. The sink was full of bubbles.”
“B-u-b-b-e-l-s.”
“No, try again,” she said, her tone soft with patience.
“B-u-b-b-l-e-s.”
“Good.” She smiled and went on to the next word.
Mother and child—the pretty picture of a normal family, a normal family Nate had experienced as a child.
A desire to walk into that picture rose up inside him, filling him with a craving so strong his chest burned.
If only—
A cold splash of reality doused him like the frigid air of a nor’easter. For a minute there, he’d longed for the impossible. And forgotten who he was—Nate Sergeant, bounty hunter—on a mission he could not shirk. Forgotten who Carly Richards was—the obstacle to Anna’s future, an obstacle Nate would thwart. Forgotten who Stogsdill was—a menace to mankind, a threat Nate would defuse.
One glance at Carly explained his loss of memory. He’d succumbed to the tantalizing pull of a pretty woman. To a pretty woman with a light floral scent that lingered in his nostrils. To a pretty woman with coal-black hair that shimmered like reflected moonlight on water. To a pretty woman with a marriage that surely had been as excruciating as walking barefoot over red-hot embers.
If that suspicion was true, Carly Richards was better off alone than tied to a cruel husband. Her son was better off fatherless than tied to a heartless pa.
A harsh truth put a stranglehold on his neck as suffocating as a hangman’s noose. Carly Richards saw Nate as made from the same tattered cloth as her dead husband.
Nothing could be further from the truth. He lived on the right side of the law, seeking justice. Her opinion stabbed at his pride, scoffed at his integrity.
Again, he asked himself why he cared.
How could he feel this puzzling sense of attraction to this petite woman who was a giant nuisance? Who thought him unworthy, uncaring, a bad influence on her son?
He expelled a shuddering breath. What Mrs. Richards thought of him didn’t matter.
What mattered was catching Stogsdill. Nate wouldn’t rest until he’d put Stogsdill behind bars. If there was any justice, the man would rot in jail.
With his purpose clear, Nate rapped on the door. He had a pump to fix, nothing more.
Carly stood in the entrance, an apron tied around her waist. Tendrils of hair loose around her face. At the sight of him, her blue eyes filled with disquiet.
Behind her, dirty dishes, glasses and an iron skillet were stacked beside the sink. Otherwise the small space was pristine.
Not dirty like Nate, not tainted by failure and death. He cleared his throat, then doffed his hat. “Came to fix that pump.”
She stepped back to let him enter.
With a squeal, Henry scrambled off the chair and raced toward him. “Nate!”
The unreserved welcome and the sweet innocence on the boy’s face knotted Nate’s stomach. Children were trusting, defenseless. They needed to be protected with the same vigilance as a mother bear had for her cubs. He must do everything in his power to keep his distance from the boy.
Henry pointed at the metal box Nate carried. “What’s that?”
“A toolbox. Belonged to my pa, but my sister keeps it now,” he said in a tone as raspy as a door on rusty hinges.
“Wow!” The boy squatted beside him as Nate opened the lid, peering at the wrenches, hammers and screwdrivers inside. He looked up at Nate, his eyes filled with eagerness. “Can I help?”
Nate glanced at Carly. “Is that all right with you?”
“I’ve practiced my spelling words. Please!”
Carly’s azure eyes turned stormy, revealing the battle raging inside her. She didn’t want Henry getting closer to Nate. Yet she didn’t want to deprive her son of the chance to learn a manly skill.
“All right, if you promise to do exactly what Mr. Sergeant says and not get in his way.”
Henry beamed. “I promise!”
Nate examined the pump positioned at the end of the counter. Two missing screws in the base made the pump wobble, an easy fix, but surely not the main problem. “What’s the matter with the pump?”
“Water is leaking from the pipe under the sink.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“I’d appreciate it,” she said, her tone gentle, grateful, drawing him closer.
With Carly within arm’s reach, Nate found himself fumbling for the proper tool, his mind fuzzy, as if he couldn’t tell a wrench from a hammer. How could this woman who couldn’t abide his presence have this unsettling effect on him?
“I have paperwork to do,” she said, then weaved past the table and chairs, her skirts swishing softly.
At the door she stopped, glancing back as if checking on Henry, and caught Nate watching her. Pink flooded her cheeks and she quickly turned away, proof his presence had the same strange effect on her.
While Nate assessed the pipe under the sink, Henry stuck closer than a shadow at noon, asking questions, adoration plain in his eyes. He didn’t want to be important to this boy. He didn’t want to care about Henry, didn’t want to get involved with anyone, not even the boy’s tempting mother.
Nate grabbed a box of various-size screws out of the tool kit and handed Henry a screw. “Find one more like this one,” he said, setting the open box on the table.
With a nod, Henry scrambled onto a chair and spread the screws out in front of him. “Pa never let me help. He said I was...” The boy frowned, as if searching for a word. “A hinder pants.”
Hinder pants? A chuckle shoved up Nate’s throat, but one look at the hurt in Henry’s eyes dispelled the humor. “I think you mean hindrance. Your pa probably thought you were too young to help.”
“I’m a big boy. And I can hammer.”
“Well, this job doesn’t need a hammer, but we do need those screws.”
Henry bent to the task with total absorption, wanting only to please. What kind of a man would label his son a hindrance? What other far worse names had Max Richards called his son?
Nate selected a wrench from his toolbox, worked the pump handle, then shoved the curtain aside and crouched beneath the sink. The joint in the pipe was wet and dripping, producing a puddle of water on the floor. If he couldn’t tighten the joint with the wrench, he’d have to solder it.
Henry tugged at Nate’s shirt. “Found it.” He stretched out his hand. Two matched screws nestled in his palm.
“Thanks. You were a big help.” Nate tousled the boy’s hair.
“I’m a good boy,” Henry said, yet his tone lacked confidence, as if trying to convince himself.
“You’re a very good boy and an excellent assistant.”
A giggle slipped from Henry’s lips. He danced around the kitchen, unable to contain his joy at those few words of praise. Poor kid hadn’t heard many from that father of his.
Nate pulled a chair over to the counter. “Want to put in those screws you found?” he said, grabbing the appropriate screwdriver from the toolbox.
With an eager nod, Henry clambered onto the seat. Nate showed him where to place the screw in the wobbly base, and then gave the screwdriver a few turns. “Hold it like this,” he said, covering Henry’s small hand with his own. Together they tightened the screw.
With stubby fingers, Henry jammed the second screw in place. Nate twisted the handle a few turns. “You can finish,” he said, handing the boy the tool.
With each turn of the screwdriver, Henry’s smile widened until he was beaming and the screw was in place. “I did it!”
“You’re a fast learner.”
Carly walked into the kitchen. “It’s bedtime. Come along, Henry.”
“Do I have to?” Henry whined. “Nate needs me.”
“Wouldn’t take but a minute to tighten the other two screws and put the rest away,” Nate said, turning his gaze on Carly. “He’s a big help.”
Her gaze bored into his. She gave a brisk nod. “All right.”
“Would you put the screws we aren’t using in there, Henry?” Nate said, pointing to the open box.
Henry’s fingers fumbled in an attempt to hurry, and several screws fell to the floor. His gaze flew to Nate’s, alarm wide in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to drop ’em.”
Had Max struck his son? “We men have trouble holding on to small objects.” Nate searched the floor. “There’s one.”
As Nate gathered the rest, the lad darted under the table, then came up with a smile and his hand fisted. In seconds he’d climbed onto the chair and tucked them inside.
While Nate watched, Henry rose on his knees and poked the tip of the screwdriver into the notch. His face scrunched with effort, Henry turned the handle with a grunt. With each twist, the fastener settled deeper.
“Did you see me do it, Mama? All by myself!” Henry crowed.
“I sure did. I’m proud of you.”
Henry pivoted on the chair, facing Nate, his expression uncertain. Then he flung his arms around Nate’s chest and burrowed into him.
Nate tucked the boy into an awkward hug. “Thanks for your help, buddy.”
Carly’s brow furrowed. “Time for bed, Henry,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.
Nate gently pried off Henry’s arms and smiled down at him. “A wise man listens to his mother.”
Henry gave a nod and then trailed after Carly, looking back with a nameless plea in his eyes Nate couldn’t handle.
Once the boy disappeared around the corner, Nate knelt near the pipe and tightened the joint. Not easy to do. Most likely mineral deposits had clogged the grooves. He got to his feet, gave the pump handle a few cranks and nodded when water flowed into the sink but not onto the floor beneath.
Finished with the task, he packed the tools, then closed the chest and walked onto the porch. Sweet notes of a song floated to him, first Carly’s voice, then Henry’s.
Carly was an excellent mother. Much like his.
Memories of Ma paraded through his mind. Her gentle touch as she tucked him in at night. Her laugh when he’d showed off, trying to impress her with his prowess. Her warning frown when he’d fidgeted in church. All the little things she’d done to guide him, to make him feel special, secure.
When he’d met Rachel and fallen in love, he’d thought he’d found that peace he’d been missing. What a fool he’d been. The memory of Rachel dying in his arms tore through him, exploding pain in his chest, squeezing against his lungs until he couldn’t breathe, as if he’d taken that bullet.
If only he had.
He gulped air, trying to ease his racing heart. Rachel, his parents, Walt had never done a cruel thing in their lives, yet all had died a violent death.
Lord, why do the good die? Why?
As long as Stogsdill ran free, Nate couldn’t rest. He’d go after the outlaw as soon as he could.
The prospect of living out of a saddlebag, searching for the vilest of men, tore at the moments of contentment he’d found here in a town with the unlikely name of Gnaw Bone.
Carly joined Nate on the porch, tucking her arms around her as if warding off the night chill.
“I tightened the fitting in the pipe. Appears to have stopped the leak. If not, I’ll need to solder it.”
“Thank you.” She laid a hand on his sleeve, then took a hurried step back, as if she hadn’t meant to touch him. “And thanks for allowing my son to help. He couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“The pleasure was mine. Reminds me of all the good times I had working beside my dad.”
The full moon illuminated her features with a faint glow. She kept her distance. Yet even from there he caught the faintest scent of roses.
“It’s a beautiful night,” she said. “I don’t get out here to enjoy the quiet often.”
“Sometimes I forget to enjoy it at all.”
She stepped to the porch railing. “I assumed a bounty hunter spent most nights under the stars.”
How could he explain that his focus on capturing Stogsdill destroyed the peace of the nighttime sky? “Guess the company makes the difference,” he said, taking a step closer.
He should go, yet he didn’t want to leave. What could he do that would allow him to stay, something that would put distance between them yet ease Carly’s burden?
Through the open door his gaze sought the stack of dirty dishes. “Maybe we should test that
pump? While I wash those dishes.”
She whirled to him. “You want to do dishes? Why?”
At the astonishment and suspicion in her tone, he bit back a smile, and then ushered her inside. “Yes, if you’ll dry.” He leaned in. “If I lend a hand, maybe you’ll believe I’m not all bad.”
She smirked. “This I’ve got to see.”
“You’ve never seen a man clean up the kitchen?”
“Not in my house.” She grabbed a dish towel from the hook by the sink. “My pa didn’t do what he called ‘women’s work.’ Max’s version of a household chore was taking care of his horse.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t speak ill of anyone.”
With a husband like Max Richards, the poor woman’s conscience probably worked overtime. “Living on the trail taught me to appreciate the work women do.” He smiled. “Especially a home-cooked meal.”
Her face softened, slipping into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. The sight of her stole his breath, left him standing there gazing at her with the intensity of a pup starving for affection. Her pupils dilated, luring him into their dark depths. He took a step closer.
She inhaled sharply and turned away, fiddling with the button at her collar, breaking the connection.
Telling himself her reaction was for the best, Nate walked to the sink. He pumped cold water into the dishpan hanging at the end of the counter and added hot water from the reservoir in the stove, all the while trying to tamp down an urge to pull Carly into his arms.
Carly opened a jar of soap, scooped up a blob and swished it around in the water, working up suds. She stood so near he could feel the heat from her body. Inhale her soft floral scent. See a hairpin that had worked loose from holding her bun in place.
She handed him a dishrag. As he took the cloth, their fingertips brushed. As a jolt of awareness shot through him, Carly sucked in a breath and busied herself filling another dishpan with hot water. Finished with that, she grabbed a dishrag and scrubbed the table and the counter, flitting here and there like a hummingbird in search of a place to light.