Читать книгу The Horseman's Frontier Family - Karen Kirst - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Temper boiling over, Gideon kicked an empty pail and sent it sailing through the air to bounce across the yard. Beneath the anger and resentment churned very real concern. What if the judge ruled in her favor?

A lifetime of living at the mercy of other men’s whims had sparked within his soul a desperate craving for independence. For control. The chance to shape his own destiny. And now, thanks to the Chaucers, his dream of running his own ranch was being threatened.

His gaze touched on the corral and the partially-built stable, the trees he’d felled and readied for use. All this effort—the planning, the sweat and toil and time—would’ve been for nothing.

His hunger forgotten, repressed energy making him jittery, he stalked around back and lugged another log closer to the rear wall. While he worked, he pondered the stakes. If Drake had indeed summoned the strength to switch them, where had Gideon’s disappeared to? Just didn’t make any sense.

He’d tried to help a dying man and his repayment was this—a problem he couldn’t readily fix, one he couldn’t have foreseen. Yet another tangle with the troublesome Chaucers. A year and a half ago, he would’ve gotten on his knees and sought God’s direction. Not now.

He was itching to inform his brothers of this new trouble. True to form, Lije would suggest he pray about the situation. Not happening. Lawman Clint would be more inclined to action, but what could be done? As much as he needed to mull this over with them, he didn’t feel right leaving his claim just yet, not when the Chaucers were sure to return with the widow and her son.

Wedging another log into place, he caught his thumb in the indented corner. With a muttered oath, he tugged the glove off and sucked on the throbbing finger. Should he abandon the project? After all, there was a very real chance he was actually building this shelter not for himself but for a hateful family who did nothing but point their fingers at him and his brothers, unfairly blaming them for their own misfortune.

But he’d never been a quitter. Call it determination or plain old stubbornness—he wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t stop fighting for his dream until the judge gave his ruling.

Two hours later he was downing a quick lunch of buffalo jerky and two-day-old biscuits he’d snagged from Alice’s table when Mrs. Evelyn Montgomery returned with a mountain of belongings. Trunks and barrels and carpet bags were piled into the wagon driven by her twin, Reid. Where did she think she was gonna stow all that?

Perched on an upended crate near his tent’s opening, the towering cottonwoods high, crooked branches providing welcome shade, he did not go out to welcome them. His dogs, Lion, a golden-haired beauty with a wise face, and Shadow, a shaggy black mutt with a playful spirit, lifted their heads from their outstretched paws. Bringing them to Oklahoma had been the right decision. The dogs were good companions, loyal to a fault.

Reid stopped the wagon in front of the stable and, after assisting his sister and nephew down, began to unload her stuff.

“Where will you sleep?” Reid’s question carried on the breeze.

She glanced Gideon’s way and, catching him staring, arched a provoking eyebrow. “Mr. Thornton and I will sort that out.”

Seeing the direction of her gaze, her brother tossed him a scowl. “I wish you’d let me help you get settled at least.”

She turned her back and her response was lost. Burrowed into her skirt, the raven-haired boy twisted his head to stare at Gideon. The absence of animation on his face was unnerving. He was what? Four? Five? For certain he was missing his pa but the watchful stillness wasn’t typical of a child that age. Especially a boy.

Gideon found he couldn’t look away. Memories burst into his mind. A little girl’s giggles as he twirled her up in the air. The sweet scent that clung to her blond curls and skin as she nestled in his lap for a bedtime story.

Surging to his feet, he discarded the now-cold coffee behind the tree and rinsed his mug in the stream, deliberately blanking his mind. He’d spent little time around children in the past year or so. Only natural that the boy’s presence would resurrect the past.

Best thing to do is keep your distance. Let the two of them tend to their own business while you focus on yours. It’s not like you have extra time on your hands anyway.

“Mr. Thornton?”

He stiffened, turned to see mother and son standing by his stone-encircled fire pit. Beyond them the wagon ambled in the direction of the hastily-constructed town, which so far consisted of a single bank, mercantile, café and jail.

So. This was it. They were well and truly stuck with each other.

“I see you haven’t built a cabin.” She indicated the undulating fields around her with a sweep of her arm. “Where do you suggest we sleep?”

At odds with her military-like posture and assertive manner, she kept a tight hold on the boy, the white in her knuckles betraying her unease.

“Got a tent somewhere in all that baggage?”

Studying his tent with distaste, she reluctantly admitted, “I’m certain I do.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“You don’t think I packed every single container myself, do you?”

Noting the sun’s lowered position in the sky, he picked up his Stetson and, brushing dust from the black felt, dropped it on his head. “I suggest you start searching, then, Mrs. Montgomery. Only a few more hours left before sunset. Wouldn’t want to be caught outdoors overnight without shelter. Coyotes pass through these parts on their way to the Cimarron.”

The boy’s jaw dropped and his fingers bunched in her black skirts.

“It’s all right, Walt,” she soothed, all the while shooting daggers at him over the child’s head that screamed, How dare you? Her silent reproach hit its mark with accuracy.

He’d spoken without a thought to Walt’s feelings. That was the first and last time.

He cleared his throat. “But they stay away from the tents because of Lion and Shadow.” Pointing to the dogs, he looked Walt in the eye, man-to-man style. “They’re my guardians. Now that you’re here, they’ll watch out for you, too.”

Walt tilted his head back and stared at Evelyn. A tender smile curved her lips, the intense love and affection shining in her eyes knocking Gideon back a step. He’d witnessed that look before, the shared unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. He felt the absence of it keenly. An image of two graves side by side with twin handmade crosses tormented him.

As desperately as he craved space, there was something he had to do first.

He bent a knee to the ground. “Lion. Shadow.” Immediately the dogs came to stand on either side. Resting his hands on their backs, he addressed the boy. “Would you like to come and meet them?”

Cautious interest bloomed in Walt’s dark eyes. Again he looked to his mother but remained silent.

Lightly squeezing his shoulder, she nodded. “It’s okay.”

Walt slowly approached, his focus on the animals sitting on their haunches and waiting patiently to be introduced.

“Walt, this here is Lion,” he said, indicating the yellow-haired one. “He’s intelligent and extremely loyal. Shadow is younger and a bit more playful.” He patted the shaggy black head. “Hold out your hand and let them smell you first. Then you can pet them all you want.”

He did as he was told, gingerly at first. When Shadow licked his fingers, a tiny smile flickered. Gideon’s gaze shot to Evelyn. Concern tugged her thick brows together, and she’d pressed her hands together, covering her mouth and nose.

What was going on here? He sensed something deeper than grief had affected Walt Montgomery. Mind your own business. Don’t get involved. Remain detached. His formula for avoiding any more pain.

Easing to his feet, he said, “Boys, you stay here with Walt. I’ve got work to do.” Inclining his head a fraction as he passed her, he said, “Mrs. Montgomery.”

Striding away, he felt the weight of her scrutiny sizzling the exposed strip of skin above his collar. He wouldn’t have a bit of trouble maintaining his distance from the woman. All he had to do was remind himself of her reason for being here. The boy, he feared, was another matter altogether.

* * *

“How hard can erecting one tent be?” Evelyn muttered, the pads of her fingers sore from trying to force the too-large buttons through the hand-worked holes along the peak. Hot, sweaty and thirsty, she regretted not accepting Reid’s offer of assistance.

Pushing errant strands behind her ears, she observed her son for a moment. Perched on a flat rock beside the stream, he sat between the dogs, his arms slung about their necks. He’d taken off his shoes and socks, rolled his charcoal pants up to his knees and submerged his feet and ankles in the meandering water.

A smile surfaced. If there was one good thing to come out of this dreadful arrangement, this was it—companions for Walt.

When the obtuse Gideon Thornton had goaded her about the coyotes, she’d been livid. The last thing she needed was for her son to entertain nightmares of rabid beasts ripping through their tent and carrying him off into the night. But then the unexpected had happened. He’d realized his blunder and remedied it.

Not that one kind gesture could soften her opinion of him. Land robber.

Sighing, longing for the days of honest-to-goodness baths—luxurious soaks in full-length tin basins—she took hold of the nearest stick and maneuvered herself underneath the thick white canvas. Holding the rear of the tent with a hand above her head, she attempted to lodge the makeshift pole into the hard ground. It refused to cooperate. She really needed both hands and perhaps a trowel, but she couldn’t do that without the canvas collapsing in on her.

Oppressive heat quickly filled the space. Her itchy bonnet had been discarded an hour ago while rifling through the trunks searching for the tent. Her heavy hair strained the pins holding it in place, which occasionally poked her scalp.

Deciding to let the canvas rest on her shoulders, she curled her fingers around the thick stick and tried jamming it as hard as she could. Unladylike grunts slipped out as she repeated the action. At last it was deep enough. When she successfully angled the pole up to support the top, she sat back with a satisfied sigh.

When it tipped over and the whole thing collapsed in on her, she let out a frustrated yelp. She swatted the material engulfing her.

Suddenly, steel-like vises gripped her shoulders through the canvas. “Hold still.”

“Get your hands off me!” Embarrassment flooding her cheeks, she tried to twist out of his grip.

“It’d be a whole lot easier to get off if you’d stop fighting me.”

The suffocating feeling intensifying, she stilled, and within seconds the white canvas was pulled away. Welcome sunlight and fresh air washed over her.

“If you’ll step over to the side—” Gideon’s controlled voice snapped her eyes open “—I’ll have this set up in a jiffy.”

Crouched a scant yard away, he was on eye level with her, his cool gray eyes sober. Watchful. The fact that he wasn’t laughing at her predicament came as a surprise. Her brothers would’ve laughed and teased her mercilessly. Drake would’ve lectured, pointing out her lack of forethought and overall incompetence.

A curl tumbled over her forehead and tickled her nose. Lifting a hand to her hair, she belatedly wondered what a tangle with the tent had done to her appearance. Her focus shifted to the left, to the half-built stable and her belongings now strewn about the grass. Her hand mirror was there. Somewhere.

Not that she cared one whit what a Thornton thought about her.

Dislodging the irritating curl, she rose to her feet as gracefully as she could and, shaking out her skirts, stepped over the wadded-up canvas. Her stiff boots chafed her heels. She wished she could join Walt at the stream but there was too much work yet to do.

With her out of the way, Gideon went to work. Beneath faded cotton the same hue as the sky above, his back and shoulder muscles rippled and tensed as he plunged the poles deep into the soil. Every move was calculated. Deliberate. No wasted energy here. Despite his size, he was very much in control of his body.

He intrigued her when she had no business being intrigued. Enemy, remember?

With a flick of his wrists, the canvas billowed out and settled over the poles. He then straightened the sides and tied up the door flaps.

He stepped back and surveyed his work. “All finished.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t easy expressing gratitude to this man.

He looked at her. “Point me to your necessities and I’ll bring them over first.”

“I don’t need any further assistance from you, Mr. Thornton.”

Squinting, he studied the horizon, where the sun was dipping closer to the distant plains. “It’d be a shame if you and the boy had to bed down in the grass. Not easy to sleep on an empty stomach, either.”

Pursing her lips, she ran a finger beneath her scratchy collar. There was much left to do before nightfall. What was more important in this instance? Heeding her brothers’ warnings or seeing to Walt’s needs?

Easy choice. “I’ll accept your help, Mr. Thornton. This time.”

She’d gone five steps when she noticed he wasn’t following her. Halting, she twisted around. He hadn’t moved. Spine straight, shoulders set and hands at his sides, he watched her with his unnerving gaze.

She quirked a questioning brow.

“It’s Gideon.”

“Fine. Gideon.” She pressed a hand to her bodice, the intricate beadwork digging into her palm. “Evelyn.”

His gaze openly roamed her features, probing, as if attempting to unearth answers to puzzling questions. The intense focus made her skin prickle. While she was accustomed to men’s appraisals of her appearance, this went deeper. To her mind, her very soul. It made her feel exposed.

Turning her back on him, she marched across the field and, with a scant glance at the handsome horses grazing in the expansive corral, began searching for the trunk containing their bedding. He joined her but did not jump in and start rifling through her things. Instead, he hung back, awaiting her direction. Gideon touched only those things she pointed out to him, and she felt a grudging appreciation for the respect he showed her.

The transfer of personal items, as well as cooking essentials and preserved foods, took half an hour. He did the majority of the work. Evelyn tried her best not to be awed by his effortless strength. Tried and failed.

After checking on Walt, who was now knee-deep in the stream searching for bugs, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and, planting her hands on her hips, confronted Gideon.

“Why are you helping me? What’s it to you whether or not we eat? Where we sleep?”

Lowering her portable iron stove to the ground between a small barrel of eggs packed in sawdust and a trunk filled with clothes, he straightened and mirrored her stance, large hands gripping his denim-clad waist. A muscle ticked in his granite jaw.

“What exactly has your family told you about me?”

Refuse to be intimidated. Lifting her chin, she met his smoldering gaze head-on. “I know that right before the war, your father took you and your brothers and, like a coward, fled north in the middle of the night. You betrayed your neighbors, your friends and your state. Indeed, the entire Southern way of life. And yet you prospered, were rewarded for your traitorous actions, while we, despite our loyalty to our traditions, had our home sold out from beneath us by your beloved North.”

His nostrils flared. “You keep saying ‘you.’ You’re forgetting I was a child when the war between the states began and so were you.”

He was right. She didn’t remember wearing expensive frocks or attending parties. Nor did she recall the grand plantation home where she’d been born. All she’d ever known was the reality of living in crowded quarters with other unfortunate relatives, of sitting down to humble meals and wearing cast-off clothing. Oh, but her parents had regaled her and her brothers with stories of their former life, showing them the single remaining photograph of Rose Hill, describing the plantation in such minute detail that it came alive for her.

Her mother’s words echoed through her mind and she spoke them. “The North robbed us. Because of people like you and your father, we lost everything.”

“I’m not to blame for your family’s misfortune,” he bit out.

“You come from a family of traitors.” She found herself repeating Theo’s often-spouted remarks about the hateful Thorntons. “You’re not to be trusted.”

“Hogwash.”

“I know you’re a brawler. I know you broke Theo’s nose.”

Clouds passed over his face. “I will accept the blame for that.”

The minute the Thornton brothers had returned to their defeated Virginia town after the war, the threat of trouble lurked in the shadows, infected conversations and dogged everyone’s thoughts. The once-beloved Thorntons had become hated for their escape of the war’s repercussions while local families loyal to the South had lost everything. They had betrayed the South and had been handsomely rewarded for it, their ancestral home having been restored to them by the Reconstructionist government. The townsfolk had made it plain they weren’t welcome. Two months after their arrival, a brawl had erupted between them and her brothers. While Evelyn hadn’t been told the details of the fight, the Thorntons’ abrupt departure afterward had told her everything she’d needed to know. As had Theodore’s broken nose. They were at fault.

He lifted his chin. “I had trouble controlling my temper when I was younger.”

“And you’re in total control of it now?”

“No.” His face became pinched. “Not entirely.”

He was admitting to a fault? “I—”

Walt ran up and tugged on her skirt. Smoothing his ruffled raven locks, she summoned a smile. “What is it, sweetheart?”

He cupped his throat, a signal he’d devised to express thirst. Oh, how she missed hearing his sweet voice. When would he speak again? What if he never— No. She couldn’t entertain such a horrific thought.

“You want some water?”

Frowning, he shook his head.

“Milk?”

At his firm nod, she shot Gideon a quick glance. He was observing them with a studied frown, confusion wrinkling his brow.

Self-conscious, she knelt to Walt’s level and tried to explain about the milk cow. “We had to leave Mirabelle at Uncle Reid’s, remember?”

His frown turned into a scowl. Of course he would miss having milk on hand. Evelyn hadn’t had time to think through all the ramifications of this move. Now she worried his health might suffer if their case didn’t come to trial in a timely manner. Please, Lord, don’t allow this situation to stretch on interminably. I can’t abide this man. Not after what he did to Drake and what he’s trying to do to us.

Gideon’s measured voice broke the silence. “There are wild strawberries on the other side of the stream. Maybe he’d like to pick some.”

Irrationally perturbed at his intrusion and that the solution was a good one, she watched Walt’s somber expression change to one of eager anticipation.

“I’ll get you a container to put them in.” Straightening, she sent Gideon a “good riddance” look. “Thank you again for your help. I can take it from here.”

“Of course.” Touching the brim of his hat, he gave her a stiff nod and strode off, leaving her to her work. She breathed easier after he’d gone.