him.
Disorder in the spaces surrounding him had a way of seeping into his mood. The previous owner had left behind only a few dented pots and pans, along with some chipped plates and cups. He snatched a bandana from his back pocket and pinched the edge of a plate between the unsoiled fabric. With his fingers protected from the dust, he stacked one dish atop another, then repeated the process.
“What are you doing?” Tilly wore a scarf wrapped around her hair, pulling the chestnut mass away from her face. “I wasn’t shrieking my head off because the cupboards are in disarray!”
He nudged the handle of a cup toward the north, neatly folded his bandana and stuffed the square back in his pocket. “What’s the matter?”
Even the simple task of straightening the plates had a calming effect.
She urged him forward. “Take a look.”
The space between the workbench and the stove was narrow enough that she rested her hand on his shoulder and peered around him. The warmth of her touch seeped through his shirt and landed somewhere near his chest.
He grasped the broomstick once more and stuck the end through the oven handle. As the cast-iron door fell open, the rusted hinges squeaked. Tilly’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.
Something growled.
An enormous raccoon bared its teeth.
Nolan surged backward.
Tilly shrieked. From her perch on the chair, she leaned around Nolan and kicked shut the door. “I told you something was in there.”
“You can’t just trap the animal.” He splayed his hand to hold her back. “It’ll suffocate.”
Memories settled over him like a bleak dirge. He’d once spent an entire month in isolated confinement for a minor infraction of the rules. A month in complete and utter darkness with nothing but the scuttle of rats for company. His throat tightened painfully and he searched the open shelving behind Tilly’s head. There were four plates, an even number, and the handles on the cups faced north. Restoring order forced calm. If he spun the last plate clockwise, he wouldn’t even see the chip on the edge.
Tilly’s face swam before him. “Thank you for coming to our rescue, Mr. West. That animal startled me. Not what I was expecting to find during our explorations.”
“Explorations?” he said.
“Yes. Aren’t you simply fascinated by this town? Think of all the stories people left behind. Haven’t you ever wondered about who lived here and what they dreamed about?”
Frustrated by his inability to control the actions of others, he offered a curt “No.”
“I do.”
There was a gentleness and a guileless optimism about her that had been missing from his life for a very long time. An eternity. Part of him wanted to reach for the soothing comfort of her limitless hope in the world, but any thoughts in that direction were folly. He needed the distance. Nolan tore his gaze from the vulnerability in her clear eyes and stared at the dusty shelves.
Four plates. An even number. Even numbers symbolized order. With Tilly and the girls staring at him, he couldn’t very well scrub the dusty surfaces. They’d think he’d gone mad for tidying an abandoned building. He’d wind up like his aunt Vicky, who lived near his aunt Edith in Cimarron Springs. Aunt Vicky kept fifteen goats and dressed them up on special occasions. He needed to be alone because hiding his affliction only increased his anxiety.
“I wouldn’t waste time thinking about a bunch of strangers,” he snapped. “I don’t know why you’d want to meet a bunch of fool people who built a town without checking to see if there was actually gold in the river.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said, a thread of hurt weaving through her voice. “Still, they must have loved adventure to go to all this trouble for a chance at gold.”
The adventure hadn’t turned out well for her brother-in-law, but Nolan doubted she’d made the connection. That was the problem with optimists. They ignored the facts that didn’t fit their rosy picture.
“Never mind,” he said. Her wounded eyes had him feeling like a first-rate heel. “Let’s see about this raccoon. I think there’s a reason she’s taken up residence in the kitchen stove.”
“The raccoon is a girl?” Tilly laughed. “I didn’t realize the two of you had met before.”
She leaned over his shoulder, and her cheek brushed against his ear. His pulse thrummed. She must have rinsed her hair in lavender water that morning, and the delicate scent overwhelmed his senses. He’d forgotten how much he missed the simplest pleasures of female companionship: the soft laughter, the swish of skirts, the way they made even the starkest places feel like home.
Home. This wasn’t his home, not permanently, and he didn’t need a bunch of folks crowding up the place.
“Your raccoon is definitely female.” Nolan focused his thoughts and eased the oven door open once more. “Look.”
Four tiny pairs of black eyes shimmered in the ambient kitchen light.
“Babies.” Tilly’s lips parted in a gasp, and her warm exhale puffed against his neck. “Now what?”
The mother hissed and they both sprang back. Tilly teetered and he automatically caught her around the waist. His breath hitched. She was soft and yielding and undeniably feminine. Once she was steady, he swiftly released his hold.
“It’s up to you,” Nolan said. “If you really want, I can relocate them, but there’s a good chance the mother will reject the babies if they’re moved.”
“No!” Caroline called from the doorway. “You can’t kill them, Aunt Tilly. They’re just babies.”
“You’re awake!” Tilly exclaimed. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better.”
“That’s wonderful.” The relief in Tilly’s voice was obvious. “We’ll be able to leave on Thursday.”
Clearly she wanted out of Pyrite as much as he wanted them to go. The thought should have relieved him. Instead, her words left a deep, hollow ache in his chest. He’d lost his tolerance for people, though he hadn’t entirely lost the need for human connection. Yet the longer they stayed, the more he risked revealing his eccentricities. He couldn’t stomach watching their regard turn to disgust, or, worse yet, feel their ridicule.
Tilly took the broom from him. “If you don’t want them harmed, Caroline, then we’ll leave them be. It’s almost suppertime—we should go anyway.”
As they emerged into the dining room, a shadow passed before the front window. The five of them paused. The outline of a rider trotted down Main Street. The hollow thud of hoofbeats drifted through the partially open door.
An icy knot of fear settled in the pit of Nolan’s stomach. A lone rider around these parts was unusual. Most folks traveled in pairs or groups through Indian country. There was safety in numbers.
Tilly squinted through the filthy
