In between testing both ends to check the sturdiness, he flicked her a hooded glance, and she realized he’d been aware of her presence from the second she arrived.
The pewter warm against her palms, she raised her hands to draw attention to her offering. “I brought lunch. Do you like rabbit stew?”
Stepping down from the low stool on which he stood, he whipped off the deerskin gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. His gaze zeroed in on the bowl, then rose to her face. “I’m not a picky eater.”
When he made no move toward her, she chose to go to him. Up close, his gray eyes contained a startling wariness. What had he to fear from her? “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe to eat. I don’t make it a habit of slipping poison in my food.”
Those refined eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How about we test that theory?” Taking the bowl and spoon, he scooped up meat, onion and broth and brought it to her lips.
Stunned, her lips parted automatically, which he no doubt took as a sign of compliance.
Not a single part of him touched her, yet disturbing awareness danced along her nerve endings, resurrecting a longing for connection, for companionship and, yes, that dirty word, romance. One would’ve thought living with three brothers and, later, a husband who despised her would’ve put such naive notions to death. But there it was. Deep down where she guarded her most vulnerable secrets, she yearned to be wooed and courted, dreamed of being that one special person in a man’s life. She wanted to be loved. Truly loved for the person she was inside.
Drake had admired her physical appearance, but the attraction had faded soon after the reality of married life set in.
She swallowed with difficulty.
Gideon’s gaze was locked on her mouth, uneasiness marring his brow. Taking the spoon and bowl with him, he executed a swift turn and crossed to the corner, where he lowered himself on the stool and concentrated on the stew.
Sucking in a balancing breath, Evelyn moved in the opposite direction, knowing it was unwise to linger. The logical thing to do would be to return to her tent and leave the taciturn cowboy to his own company. But while he didn’t seem to mind solitude—indeed, seemed to prefer it—she missed teasing and debating with her brothers. Talking to herself wasn’t entertaining in the slightest.
Surveying the neatly stacked walls, she touched a hand to the wood, careful not to get a splinter. A rather long structure, the stable would be big enough for six or seven stalls. Four horses currently occupied the corral.
“You aren’t planning a typical homestead here, are you? Most settlers get seeds in the ground before starting on shelters, yet I’ve seen no sign of turned earth.” She pivoted toward him.
Head bent, he said between bites, “My plans are for a horse ranch. Ranching is all I know.”
“How do you plan to feed yourself? Don’t you like vegetables?”
He raised his head at that, and his cool gray eyes were flat. “I don’t have a family to worry about. It’s just me. I could care less what I eat, as long as it’s filling.”
Evelyn was suddenly curious why he didn’t have a wife. Why there weren’t smaller versions of Gideon Thornton running around. She knew better than to ask such a personal question. Even if she hadn’t glimpsed pain in him, she recognized his desire for privacy.
“I will say,” he continued as his spoon scraped the bowl, “this is one fine stew. You’re a good cook.”
Despite the fact he’d already established his low standards where food was concerned, Evelyn couldn’t ignore the pleasure his simple praise evoked. Such compliments were rare. Sure, her brothers grunted their thanks as they dug into the meals she prepared, but actual words of affirmation were few and far between.
Smoothing damp palms along her skirt front, she lowered her gaze to the reddish dirt at her feet. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you for sharing with me.”
He rose and walked toward her, every step a warning striking her brain. Danger. Keep away. Any kind word at this point in her life was a heady thing. Coming from this man, it had the power to generate traitorous thoughts. His rugged appeal, the restrained energy rippling along his muscles, the scent of leather and campfire clinging to his skin and hair drew her.
Gideon Thornton is off-limits.
As he transferred the empty bowl to her hands, his warm, calloused fingers skimmed her knuckles. Sizzling heat penetrated bone and flesh. When she imagined what those hands would feel like cradling her face, she knew she had to act fast.
“You’ve done a remarkable job here. It’s good to know my animals will have a solid shelter once you’re gone.”
Breath hissed between his teeth. His jaw hardened to stone.
Bull’s-eye. She was safe.
“I’m not the one who’ll be leaving,” he said, his eyes narrowing to slits. “This is my land. I’ll do whatever it takes to hold on to it.”
“Whatever it takes? Even if that means circumventing the law?”
His hands fisted at his sides, he closed his eyes. His lips moved silently, as if he were ordering himself to be calm. Then his eyes bored into her. “You and your brothers can spread all the poisonous lies you want about me, but I know I’m no liar. I’m not a thief. And I don’t have to prove myself to you or anyone else in this town. The judge’s opinion is the only one that matters.”
Evelyn attempted to absorb his words. Passion rang in his voice. Sincerity blazed in his eyes. He was either an adept actor...or he was telling the truth. And if he wasn’t lying, then someone else was.
Chapter Six
Long after darkness had descended and Walt had drifted off to sleep, Evelyn reclined beside the fire, gazing up at a blue-black sky studded with brilliant stars, her thoughts unsettled. Conflicted. If Gideon was telling the truth, that meant someone in her family was lying.
While she couldn’t discount his conviction, the man was a complete stranger. She knew next to nothing about him. What she did know came secondhand, and none of it was positive. She loved and trusted her brothers. And Drake... Well, he wasn’t around to tell his story, was he?
Above the sound of the wood crackling and spitting came a soft thwack, thwack. Easing to a sitting position, she cast about for the source. What was that noise? It came again from the direction of Gideon’s tent. She stood and, tucking her blouse into her waistband, peeked in on Walt. He looked peaceful as he slept, his hands nestled underneath his cheek. She wavered in the doorway. Should she ignore the sound?
Thwack.
Now that her curiosity was roused, there would be no rest until she discovered whether the cause was man or beast. Preferably not beast.
On her right moonlight glinted off the ribbon of trickling water. On the far side of the stream, impenetrable blackness cloaked the rolling fields. Up ahead the fire cast orange fingers on the elms and cottonwoods towering over his tent. There was no sign of him.
“Gideon?” She spoke quietly, praying he wasn’t already asleep. Tiptoeing
