Little Red: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

He woke up to the nicest feeling he could imagine; a woman snuggled up beside him. Well, she was more on top of him than beside him, but that wasn’t really the point. Her hair was tickling his lips, and he could smell the clean goodness of her. He was surrounded by her warmth.

  Almost afraid of what he’d see—the last day had been full of surprises, after all—Hank opened his eyes and canted his chin down a bit. Sure enough, Red was lying on top of him, and he was surprised by how good that confirmation felt. She was still sleeping—at least, her eyes were still closed, and she was tucked into him like a cat, all of her curves and valleys pressed against his like they belonged together.

  This might explain the extremely pleasant dreams he’d been having, and also why he was so warm. Hank glanced at the horses, pleased to see that they were still huddled together among the trees, and looked none the worse for having been out all night. When he looked back at the soft face pressed against his shoulder, she was gazing back at him.

  She had blue eyes. Really, really deep blue eyes. Not dark, but deep, like the kind of blue that a man could fall into and drown, and where the hell had that thought come from? Might’ve had something to do with the hand that was pressed between his legs. Logically, Hank knew that it was only there to keep warm, just like her other hand was tucked into his armpit, but he had no luck convincing his body of that. Staring into those eyes, he felt himself hardening under her touch, and wondered why she wasn’t pulling away.

  She blinked sleepily, and then smiled a bit, and it felt… right. Like coming home might feel. Like waking up to a welcoming woman should feel. Damned disconcerting, actually.

  “Good morning.” She even sounded sleepy.

  “Good morning, Red.”

  Another long moment, and Hank realized he was smiling stupidly back at her. Had he ever spent this much time looking into a woman’s eyes? Especially a woman he hadn’t made love to the night before? Hank didn’t think so, but then, he couldn’t remember ever spending a full night with a woman, either.

  He didn’t even know her name.

  “You hungry?”

  She jerked suddenly, as if remembering where she was and who she was with. Her cheeks pinked and she looked away, trying to push herself out of the tangle of blankets and her cloak. Clearing her throat, and not looking at him, she said, “I could go for some more of that coffee, if you’ve got any.”

  They sat up, and the moment—if there’d been one—was lost. He built up the fire and set some water to boiling, while she did whatever women did with themselves in the morning. His shoulder ached from the cold night spent outdoors, but somehow it didn’t seem as bad as usual this morning. She helped him roll up the bedrolls, and settled herself across the fire. Taking the offered plate of leftovers, she grimaced slightly. “Oh, good, more beans.”

  “You don’t like ‘em?” She wasn’t alone.

  But she just shrugged, and said around a bite, “They’re warm, Mr. Cutter, and better than nothing.”

  It was a surprisingly pragmatic thing for a woman dressed as fine as she was to say. Hank stared at her while he nursed his coffee. Just who was she?

  “You can call me Hank.” She just nodded, intent on her spoon. “So, Red. You mind telling me your real name?”

  She very clearly did not look at him as she chased the last of the beans around the plate. Why was she hesitating? Did it have anything to do with why she was out here on the open range, alone? Last night, Hank had taken a guess at her being chased—why else would she climb on a horse she knew nothing about and try to ride across Wyoming?—and her reaction had confirmed it.

  But then she put down the plate, clasped her hands in front of her, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “Rojita Zapato”.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My name is Rojita Zapato.”

  “The hell it is.” The woman didn’t look a thing like a “Zapato”. With all that thick red hair, she must’ve been… Scottish or something. Definitely not Mexican.

  But she just raised a brow at his rudeness, and launched into a tirade of Spanish. He understood only about half of it, but her offended tone was hard to miss. He held up his hand to cut her off. “Honey, I’m from Texas, and I know a Mexican when I see one. And I ain’t looking at one now. How about you tell me the truth?”

  “I am, Mr. Cutter—”

  “Hank.”

  “Hank, my name is Rojita. When I came to the orphanage, I was named Mary, but there were already three other ‘Marys’ there, so Abuelo called me Rojita, which means—”

  “’Little Red’.”

  She shrugged. “It fit.”

  Yeah, it did fit, with her tiny frame and all that thick red hair. “How old were you?”

  “Five or six, probably.”

  “And you were in Mexico?” The whole thing sounded pretty far-fetched to him.

  “Concordia, Kansas. The orphan train from New York had dropped me off there. Abuelo was running from Mexico, so he came north. And when they came for him, he kept moving. Abuela was collecting orphans as she went, and he couldn’t say no to her. They gave us all their last name.”

  It was her complete nonchalance while she told the outrageous tale that made Hank want to believe her. “Who came after him?

  She shrugged. “He never mentioned it to any of us, as far as I know.”

  “Should you be telling me all of this?”

  She held his gaze. “My grandfather died over the summer, Mr. Hank. And I think it’s important to tell you everything, because I intend to hire you.”

  Well now. Hank put down his coffee cup, and shifted forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. He tried not to look too rude, but was afraid his disbelief crept into his voice when he asked, “You intend to what?”

  “Hire you. I need to get to Everland as quickly and safely as possible, and you’ve already proven that you’re able to protect me.”

  He managed to contain his snort, but just barely. Protect her? Hell, he’d been one step away from digging his fingers into that mess of hair and crushing his lips to hers. At least, that’d been the direction of his thoughts last night, sitting by the fire with her. Luckily, he’d managed to rein in his arousal before the expectant, breathless look in her eyes had done him in.

  “All I did was pick your fool self up off the ground.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, judging from the hurt in her expression, and the way she lifted her chin stubbornly in reaction. “One hundred dollars, Mr. Hank. Am I foolish to offer you that?”

  His low whistle made her nod, as if to assure him her offer was serious. “A hundred dollars? Just to get you to Everland?”

  “Safely to Everland. Avoiding the train, I think.”

  “Is that why you left Marston and cut east by horse? What’s on the train that you want to avoid?”

  “Not what, Mr. Hank, who.”

  Hell, he’d been afraid of that. “You got off a perfectly good train and decided to ride a horse to Everland? It’s March, Red. You got any idea how dangerous that is? That horse isn’t even yours, is she?”

  Yeah, she was furious all right, judging from the snap in those deep blue eyes, and Hank found himself wondering how else he might irritate her. She sure was a sight, all riled up like that. But for all the ire in her expression, there was a hint of embarrassment she was trying to cover, too. So he needled her further. “You don’t have the sense God gave an acorn.”

  That did it. With a huff, she stood up, and Hank found himself craning his neck and ignoring the twinge in his shoulder to keep his eye on her. She was either going to cry or explode, and he hoped it was the later.

  Thankfully, she did neither. “One hundred dollars, Mr. Hank. And one of the stipulations is that you stop insulting me.”

  “I’ll stop telling you the truth if you’ll stop running off all half-cocked.” Her lips tightened, and Hank managed not to smile. She sure was an easy one to rile. “You do what I tell you, when I tell you, and we’ll get along j
ust fine.” Was that relief she was trying to hide with her haughty expression? What was so all-fired important in Everland?

  Her hands fisted around the edges of the red cloak, but he couldn’t tell if it was in anger, or frustration, or if she was just cold. Finally, though, she nodded once. “I’ll listen, I promise.” When he watched her speculatively, her chin went up. “What? I can follow directions.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Hank drawled. “You ain’t exactly the kind to look before you leap, are you?”

  Her glare told him that she didn’t appreciate his teasing, so he didn’t chuckle when he poured the rest of the coffee on the fire and stamped it out.

  But it was close.