Jodi Thomas (23 page)

He thought of the foolish question Nellie Jean had asked him about loving his wife. Love was something for poets to write about, and Carter had no time in his life for such nonsense.

In truth he hadn’t even heard the word in so many years he wasn’t sure what it meant. The preacher’s wife said they took him in out of love, but they never shared any of it with him. He guessed his father and mother loved each other, for he’d found a note in one of his mother’s books written in his father’s hand that had been signed, “With love.”

But did he love Bailee? If love meant he’d risk his life for her, he guessed he must, for he hadn’t hesitated. He could never tell her such a thing, though.

He stretched his legs toward the fire, his fingers silently signing the words he swore he’d never say aloud.

B
AILEE’S ARMS ACHED FROM DRIVING CARTER’S wagon through the mud. Within a mile from town the men had climbed out of her and Samuel’s wagons. They’d walked alongside the wheels, ready to help push the wagons from the mud.

Samuel’s eyes were poor, and he ventured off the road several times in the rain and darkness. Finally Lacy had talked him into allowing Bailee to lead, knowing he could follow easier.

Piper slept wrapped in blankets in the old woman’s arms. Through the darkness Bailee heard her singing to the child in a language Piper couldn’t have understood even if she could have heard.

An hour before dawn they finally reached Carter’s place. All were so tired they could hardly move. The men took care of the wagons while the women crowded into Bailee’s kitchen. She made coffee and a soup of boiled tomatoes with cream added. By the time the men returned, the women were warm and mostly dry. With little talking, they all sat around the room on the floor.

Bailee dipped the soup in bowls and cups. The women passed each serving carefully around the room. No one ate until all held a bowl, then the old man thanked first Bailee, then God, before nodding that they all should eat.

Too tired to eat, Bailee refilled coffee cups for the men and milk for the children. Dawn spread across the horizon by the time they finished.

Lacy rocked Piper to sleep while Bailee stepped out on the porch. The air was still thick with the smell of rain, but the downpour had slowed to a drizzle. She realized Samuel hadn’t come back from the barn with the men and worried if the old man was all right. Hurrying across to the barn, she found him.

“Mr. Samuel ...” She stepped in front of him as he carried a board from the bunkhouse to the barn. “What are you doing?”

“Once those folks are fed, they’re going to need a place to sleep. The loft will be dry, but I don’t want any of them rolling off and scaring the horses. I thought I’d put some boards up along the edge.”

Bailee fell into step wondering if the old man cared about the people or his horses.

By midafternoon the sky had turned dark once more, and thunder rumbled a promise of more rain. The women helped Bailee make a thick soup of potatoes and carrots. As before, everyone sat on the floor of her kitchen and ate in silence. Slowly, a few at a time, they said their farewells and ran across to the barn, finally leaving only Lacy, Piper, and Bailee in the house.

Lacy yawned and held her hand out to Piper. The child nodded and followed her to Bailee’s bedroom. As Lacy helped Piper removed her dress, she called through the open doorway. “Want to sleep with us tonight?”

“No,” Bailee answered. “I’ll stay out here and wait for Carter.”

Lacy mumbled good night and closed the door, leaving Bailee to her thoughts.

Bailee sat in her kitchen alone, unable to sleep. Too many thoughts haunted her, teasing her with possibilities of what might be. If Carter’s distraction hadn’t worked, the man who shot Piper might already be on his way to finish the job he started. Maybe he stayed long enough to murder Carter and the sheriffs. Maybe another was sent ahead and had somehow watched her climb from the train.

Bailee relived each step since she left town. Clouds kept them from seeing if anyone followed, but she’d listened for sounds and heard none.

Samuel was the only one who didn’t seem to sense danger; she could see it in all the other’s eyes. He’d helped everyone get settled, then disappeared into the small building Carter called the bunkhouse. Bailee peeked inside it once and found the long room looked more like a workshop than a bunkhouse, but Samuel seemed to know his way around. He hadn’t commented on all the half-finished furniture and tools, so they must have been a common sight. He also rolled his wagon into a space in the barn as if the slot were marked with his name.

Fear kept Bailee awake like strong coffee pumping through her veins. She wanted this night to be over.

The old woman from the train that everyone referred to as “Madra” gave Piper a mixture of herbs to help her sleep and heal. Bailee wasn’t sure about the concoction, but Lacy swore it smelled exactly like a brew her grandmother used to make.

Bailee was so weary she wasn’t sure she had the energy to make a bed on the floor by the fire, so she curled into the chair Carter made for her. The day seemed a month long. Every bone in her body ached as she listed the reasons she was safe and shouldn’t be afraid. The men took shifts on guard, the door was locked and she was home in the solid little house that had become home. For the first time she was thankful for the narrow windows no man could crash through. No one would enter until she removed the bolt after dawn.

She’d put Carter’s supper on the back of the stove, wishing him home. Slowly she relaxed into the arms of the wood. She imagined him holding her. Closing her eyes, she prayed that he was all right. He’d run, not only to save Riley, but to distract the shooter from her and Piper. Maybe most of what he’d done had been for others, but maybe some had been for her. And that knowledge comforted her.

The practical side of Bailee said she didn’t care why Carter had fought so hard, but another part of her wanted to believe someone cared for her, cherished her, valued her. She might have been a throwaway daughter, but she was a valued wife.

 

The fire flickered low, sending stray shoots of light across the room. Rain slowed to a steady plopping off the roof as Carter slipped beneath a raised board running between the top of the back wall of his home and the roof. He rolled into a room where ceiling beams crisscrossed with shadows. The beams kept him from falling as he reached behind him and closed the vent he’d discovered as a child.

He’d shown it to Samuel once, and the old carpenter declared Carter’s father a genius for thinking of it.

Warm air now pressed against Carter, thawing his frozen skin. For a long moment he lay perfectly still, enjoying the feel of heat and the smells of home.

He’d thought of nailing the board closed a few years ago. His father had designed it to allow air to circulate on hot days through the door, across the room, and out the slot at the ceiling. Carter never thought to open the space. Usually by the time he returned from working, the house was cool enough to put up with at least until he could move underground. Now, with Bailee here, he’d have to consider opening the slot before he left for work.

Shifting, Carter looked down. Bailee was sleeping in her chair by the fire. He was afraid he would frighten her riding in after dark, so he tied the horse in the shelter of the trees and walked through a black night to reach the back of the house.

One of the dogs, the one Bailee called Henry the Eighth, met Carter when he came out of the trees and followed along behind him until he reached the house. The other two royalty lay stretched out on the porch without so much of a greeting or a raise of their heads. In the week she’d been here she’d turned them from guard dogs into worthless pets.

Carter half expected Bailee to be in bed but guessed she must have tried to wait up for him. Then he decided Piper must be in her bed. For the little girl, the past two days must have been terrifying. He’d told her that her family would be arriving soon to get her, then with no time to explain during the shooting, Bailee had to run with her and jump on a train.

He slowly lowered to the floor in the blackened back comer of the large room. He wished he could prevent the thud his boots and Bailee’s bag made as he dropped the last few inches. Kneeling, he pulled them off hoping not to awaken Bailee with footsteps across the floor. He’d look in on the child, check the locks, then disappear until morning.

But when he stood, Bailee was gone from the chair. He searched the shadowy room looking for her, wondering if his vision had played tricks on him. She had been his only thought for hours. She’d been in the chair when he’d looked down, he’d swear to it.

Her name was on his lips a second before he saw the butt of a rifle swinging toward his head.

Carter ducked, diving toward the shadow attacking him.

They tumbled across the floor into the fire’s light. She fought wildly as he rolled atop her and clamped his hand across her mouth.

Bailee struggled beneath him for a moment longer, fighting blindly.

He raised an inch above her, but didn’t loosen his grip. “Bailee,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

Her body turned to stone and her eyes were round in surprise.

He raised up and sat beside her on the floor while he tried to slow his heart. She’d reacted to a shadow and he’d done the same. He could’ve hurt her, knocking her to the floor like that. Hell! If she’d used the other end of the gun, she could’ve killed him.

Carter forced words out. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

She didn’t move. The firelight flickered across her. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. He wanted to touch her, but since he’d already knocked the breath out of her and probably frightened her near to death, he figured he’d done enough.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated as he plowed his fingers through his wet hair. All he’d meant to do was come in quietly. Knocking on the door couldn’t have scared her worse than hearing him drop from the rafters must have. He didn’t want to face her. She’d probably been through a worse two days than he had, and now he’d knocked her flat on her back.

A timid hand touched his arm, and he raised his head to meet her eyes. Suddenly there was no room for even words between them. She moved into his open arms, and he held her tightly.

All the horror of the days melted away as he felt her body against him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. The need to be near her washed over him like a flood drowning all other thought. She’d been the one reason he’d fought-the night and the storm all day to get home. Not the place or the land, but her.

She trembled at the coldness of his wet clothes against her, but she didn’t pull away.

Her heart beat next to his, and he warmed from the inside out.

For a long while he just held her, afraid to let go for fear she’d never return to his arms. Finally her soft crying against his shoulder registered in his tired mind.

“Bailee?” he whispered as he leaned her back against his knee. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I could have killed you.” She refused to look at him. “I’ve got to stop killing people before I think. This time it could have been you.”

“I’m not that easy to do away with.” Carter laughed, amazed at how good it felt to do so.

Bailee finally met his stare. “I’m glad. But I swear I’ll fight the urge to murder from now on.”

She touched the side of his face. “You’re cold and soaking wet. I’ll make a pot of coffee while you change. I have to know what happened after I left with Piper.”

He stood, pulling her up with him without letting her from the circle of his arms. “I’ll be needing the medicine box as well.” He tried to say the words calmly, so they wouldn’t frighten her.

To his surprise, she nodded and he saw it again. That brave face she put on when she knew something had to be done.

She stepped out of his embrace and crossed to the kitchen. By the time he got his shirt and trousers off, Bailee was back with clean towels and the medicine box his mother had made years ago. The names of each mixture, pill, and ointment were written on the lid of the box for quick reference. Over the years, the list had been his guide to keeping it well stocked.

Without a word Bailee cut his longhandle underwear away from his leg where the glass from the sheriff’s office had sliced along his skin. The flannel was soaked in rain and blood.

The cut wasn’t deep, and he’d been too cold even to feel it until now. He didn’t move as she cleaned, doctored, and wrapped it with a clean strip of cotton that looked remarkably like his old tablecloth.

“You going to tell me how you got this?” she finally asked as she tied the bandage and slid her hand along his leg, making sure the dressing was smooth.

“I got knocked out of a window,” he answered, debating whether he should tell her about the man Riley thought had to be Zeb Whitaker.

“And the sheriffs?”

“Both alive. Both wounded. A woman named Fat Alice is looking after them.”

Bailee raised an eyebrow. He figured he’d said something wrong so he added, “She runs a boardinghouse for mature ladies and is too poor even to afford enough clothes to keep herself properly covered.” He’d thought his description would make Bailee feel sorry for Alice, but instead she looked at him in a way that made him think he’d be better off to say no more.

She brought him a cup of hot coffee and a bowl of soup before she started on the cut running along his shoulder.

“Your face is bruised,” she mentioned, touching it lightly with the tips of her fingers.

Since it wasn’t a question, he didn’t think he needed to comment. The warm soup tasted better than any meal he’d ever had, and the coffee flowed down his throat, warming him all the way to his toes. She’d set a loaf of bread on the table, and for the first time he allowed himself to take more than one slice. He wondered how long it would be before he thought he didn’t have to ration bread. Even a few days old, her bread was still better than anything he’d ever bought.