strung up by the neck in his own cell. And she wouldn’t be learning that he had other scars he’d gotten before going to prison.
Ivy didn’t need to know any of that.
He didn’t intend to answer any more questions. If she didn’t like it, she could send him packing. Or try. He wasn’t leaving until he figured out what was going on. Regardless of what Ivy did, he wouldn’t let Smith down. And he didn’t have to be her friend in order to protect her.
He could do what needed to be done without taking his meals with her, although it would be difficult to walk away from good food after years of prison slop. Still, he’d done harder things.
He’d keep to himself as much as possible. He was used to solitude. It was what he knew and understood. What he wanted.
If Ivy had told Gideon before lunch that a man might be causing trouble on her farm in hopes that she would turn to him in her time of need, Gideon would’ve thought the idea was far-fetched. But after seeing Conrad with her, Gideon couldn’t dismiss the idea, no matter how downright addled it was.
He hadn’t cared for the man’s manner at all, especially hadn’t liked how often he touched Ivy. Because of their business dealings, he understood why she hadn’t run the guy off her property at gunpoint, but that didn’t mean Gideon wouldn’t if he had cause.
After replacing a cheek billet on a bridle then a worn cinch, he strode out of the barn and across the backyard in search of Ivy. When he didn’t find her at the garden or the chicken house, he circled around to the front porch.
He knocked on the door. “Miss Ivy?”
“Yes.”
Gideon shaded his eyes to see inside, but she wasn’t in the front room.
“What is it?”
He opened the door and poked his head in. Still no sign of her. “I thought I’d look for your dog and also see if I could find anything that might help me figure out what happened to your missing chickens.”
“I thought I might look again, too.”
He turned toward her voice, coming from his left. Her bedroom. “Does Tug have a favorite spot?”
“There’s a place on the river that runs through the woods beyond the back pasture.” She stepped into the large front room. His pulse jumped. It took his brain a second to register what he saw.
Hell for breakfast.
Ivy was wearing trousers. Ill-fitting and too large, but definitely trousers.
A plain white blouse was tucked into dark pants that were cinched tight at her tiny waist. Though the pants weren’t tight, they shadowed the slender line of her thighs, the hint of her calves. Despite her petite frame, she was perfectly proportioned and all woman.
He clamped his jaw tight to keep it from dropping.
She must have noted his astonishment because she stopped in the middle of the room, angling her chin at him. “What? I’m not wearing a blasted skirt to look for my dog. The grass is wet, and that will weigh me down. Besides, we might have to go through some brush.”
“Makes sense.” He had no problem with her wearing a garment that showed so much of her shape, though he was glad no other man was around to see her. “I’ve just never seen a woman in pants.”
“Well, now you have.”
Oh, yeah. And he liked it. But as much as he enjoyed the front view, he nearly swallowed his teeth when she turned away and he got a look at her backside outlined perfectly in the loosely fitted garment. His mouth went dry.
“Let’s go out the back door,” she said.
Unable to take his eyes off her, he followed her like a half-wit across the front room and down the hall. His gaze slid over her narrow shoulders, the sleek curve of her waist, and lingered on her hips. The urge to touch had him curling his hands into fists.
How was he supposed to focus on anything when he was faced with that view?
After plucking a wide flat-brimmed hat from a peg on the wall, she settled it on her head as she pushed through the back door. She started for the fence, and Gideon lengthened his stride to catch up to her. They headed toward the river he’d only seen from a distance.
Bright sunlight and a clear sky gave no hint of last night’s storm. The ground was springy from the recent rain. The air was fresh and cool, filled with the smells of mud and grass and animals.
He and Ivy called out several times for the dog. Branches and limbs were scattered across the pasture. There was no sign of Tug or the chickens.
They topped a small rise, and Gideon saw the glitter of water through the trees ahead and to the left.
Ivy gestured toward the spot. “This is the Kiamichi River.”
“Little River is the one outside Paladin, isn’t it? Where the gristmill operates?”
“Yes.” Her soft floral scent drifted on the air.
During their few minutes of brisk walking through the damp grass, Gideon found his gaze on her more than he liked. Finally, they reached the river. The bank sloped gently to the water, slightly cloudy from being stirred up by last night’s rain. The river bottom was lined with flat rocks of all sizes.
The cattle and horses had kept the alfalfa grazed near the ground. Here and downstream, mature pecan trees and oaks spread wide canopies of shade. Farther upstream, where the channel narrowed, limbs tangled and arced over the water, hanging so low it would be difficult to guide a canoe through without getting smacked in the face.
Ivy pointed to a thick, scarred oak several feet away. “That tree has been here forever. There’s a hollow on the other side, and Tug likes to chase squirrels into it.”
As they made their way over to it, Ivy called out, “Tug! Here, boy!”
Birds flew out of the trees, and squirrels scurried across the branches.
Gideon’s gaze panned the area as they neared the tree. Ivy tromped ahead through ankle-high grass and stopped on the opposite side of the oak.
“Oh, Tug.” She braced one hand on the tree, her eyes troubled as they met Gideon’s.
He closed the distance between them, then ducked his head to look inside the hollow.
A large dog with dark, matted fur lay curled on its side, rigid and lifeless.
Ivy knelt, touching the animal’s stiff body. “This is why he didn’t come home.”
Her voice quivered, and tears slid down her cheeks.
The pain in her voice lashed at him. She choked out a sob then another. And another. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a pet so he didn’t know how it felt to lose one, but he did know how it felt to be alone. She’d lost her husband and now her dog.
She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Gideon’s
