heaving with big breaths. Ben’s brows turned downward into a sharp V. She’d seen that look when he was planning a devious scheme. She began to take brisk strides toward him. He couldn’t continue, especially with the rightful owner retreating. Before she could speak, Ben swiveled around and barreled toward the unaware stranger. His head lodged in the man’s ribs. Grunting and groaning eclipsed Aubrey’s screams. Ben wouldn’t relent. Every time the man tried to escape, he’d clutch at him.
“Ben Huxley. You stop this instant,” Aubrey yelled from the back of her throat. The man tried to push him off, and Ben’s foot slipped from under him. He didn’t let go. Suddenly, they fell in a heap, Ben trapped under his opponent. The thud shook the ground beneath Aubrey’s feet.
She ran to them. “Ben, are you okay?” The man rolled off. Her brother lay there, moaning and reaching for his leg. “Ben, talk to me.” His leg was bent in an awful shape and his eyes fluttered open then rolled back.
“Ben!”
Slapping his face did nothing. His head became a heavy boulder in her arms.
Silence hung in the air, thicker than the dust that refused to settle from the fight. It seemed everything floated in a trapped moment of time. Aubrey listened as Ben’s heart began to slow from its quickened beat. The same rhythmic breathing from earlier this morning tickled her arm as she swiped away his hair to check for any open wounds. She tried to gently shake him awake.
His eyes fluttered open. Then he screwed his face up, reaching his hands down toward his legs. “It hurts, sis.”
“Just don’t move. We’ll get you help.”
A shadow blanketed her. Aware of her vulnerability now, Aubrey held her breath and skimmed her gaze upward. The man stood with a ray of sunshine around his silhouette. His body was indeed a shadow, dark and indistinguishable against the bright Oklahoma sky.
“Is this man with you?” His voice rolled away Aubrey’s timidity. She knew that voice. Her mouth fell as she tried to make out his features.
She swallowed hard and said, “He’s my brother.”
“Miss Huxley, I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” Cort Stanton squatted in front of her, and his face came into focus. His chiseled cheeks and strong jaw were covered in a thick layer of black dust, no doubt from the stampede of horses at the race. His green eyes pierced hers eagerly. There was that compassion again. He swiped his hat from his head, hanging it on his knee. “I tried to step away. I—I...” A crease appeared between his eyebrows, and he placed a hand on her arm. “I am so sorry.”
Aubrey stared at his strong, sun-stained hand—brown against her cotton sleeve—the hand of a hard worker but the soft touch of a dear friend. “He’s in pain, Mr. Stanton.” She searched his face once more for any sign of malice. If only she could find it then she wouldn’t feel so bad that he was the one person who’d destroyed her chance to own land.
His face transformed with an apology, but it would never be enough to comfort her. After all she’d gone through, she’d not only lost her one hundred and sixty acres, but injured her brother in the effort. A tender look on a handsome face did nothing to soothe her broken heart or restore her shattered dream.
“I can’t tell if you’re devising a plan of revenge, or if stealing my breath away is revenge enough.” Cort managed a smile that would’ve tempted many a woman to swoon and forget their current situation. But Aubrey was not just any woman. His charm only trivialized her loss.
“I do not intend to devise a plan.” She cleared her throat. “My only plan is ruined.” All her hope skittered away when he staked her claim.
Aubrey encouraged her brother to rest then carefully left his side. She brushed off her skirt, making sure her ankles were hidden away. Her world might be falling apart, but she needn’t lose her dignity. Her boots crushed the grasses as she headed toward her belongings. Sensing Mr. Stanton following her, she stopped and spun around.
“Do not accuse me of stealing away your breath, or anything, for that matter.” Aubrey leveled her gaze, her nose just barely aligned with Mr. Stanton’s dimpled chin. “ I am the one who’s been robbed. My horse was taken before I even had a chance to run. And another thing has been stolen right beneath my nose. Thanks to you, Mr. Stanton. You, sir, have stolen my land.”
* * *
Cort didn’t understand how delusion could look so beautiful. Under no circumstance was this Aubrey Huxley’s land. He glanced at his flag flapping in the hot breeze, looked about the land, then tilted his face toward her. “I am confused. How’s this your land?”
Miss Huxley flared her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. The prettiest little “hmph” came from behind her lips. She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder, freshening the air with the scent of spring flowers, then took brisk strides and snatched up her lifeless flag.
He eyed her brother’s crooked leg.
Please, Lord, forgive me for hurting him. I tried not to—
Cort’s horse grunted behind him. “Hey there. Decided to stick around?” Loyal after a day? What a creature. He hitched him to a tree. Cort had thrown himself off so fast when he’d seen the man running for the flag, he didn’t even consider his horse’s whereabouts. His only belongings were strapped to the back of the horse. And really, nothing was worth much in a change of clothes, cooking utensils and some blacksmith tools. But his pay from horseshoeing these last couple of months would get him started on building. His fingers itched to work land of his very own.
Miss Huxley tied a bonnet around her hair, the straight long locks fanned out upon her shoulders. If ever there was a beautiful mess, it was those dark strands catching the breeze.
Enough, Cort.
Where in the world had his reason gone?
Miss Huxley returned to her brother. Kneeling down, she held her hand high above his face, seemingly blocking out the sun. A whimper bleated from her lips, and her tiny figure began to tremble. She was crying. He steeled himself. He did not need to be a hero right now by rushing to her side to console her. Besides the fact that every fiber in his being told him to do just that and he couldn’t trust himself, he was tired of what she did to him when she was close. To see those large brown eyes swimming with tears? Well, that would be the end of him.
“Miss Huxley, I’ll get some water for him,” he offered and didn’t wait for her answer before heading toward the creek. When he returned, Miss Huxley approached him with her own canteen in hand. A crude tent made from a quilt draped over an upright shovel and her unused stake shaded the injured man.
“Here.” He handed her his canteen.
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “I’ll go fill mine for good measure.”
“Here, I’ll do that. You stay with him.”
Miss Huxley swiped her moistened forehead with the back of her hand. Tilting her head to one side, she examined his face. “That’s kind of you.” Lowering her focus to the canteen, she reluctantly gave it to him.
He hesitated, wondering how they’d ended up in this predicament. “Miss Huxley, did you run by foot? You said your horse was taken.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Your
