their tent and carrying him off into the night. But then the unexpected had happened. He’d realized his blunder and remedied it.
Not that one kind gesture could soften her opinion of him. Land robber.
Sighing, longing for the days of honest-to-goodness baths—luxurious soaks in full-length tin basins—she took hold of the nearest stick and maneuvered herself underneath the thick white canvas. Holding the rear of the tent with a hand above her head, she attempted to lodge the makeshift pole into the hard ground. It refused to cooperate. She really needed both hands and perhaps a trowel, but she couldn’t do that without the canvas collapsing in on her.
Oppressive heat quickly filled the space. Her itchy bonnet had been discarded an hour ago while rifling through the trunks searching for the tent. Her heavy hair strained the pins holding it in place, which occasionally poked her scalp.
Deciding to let the canvas rest on her shoulders, she curled her fingers around the thick stick and tried jamming it as hard as she could. Unladylike grunts slipped out as she repeated the action. At last it was deep enough. When she successfully angled the pole up to support the top, she sat back with a satisfied sigh.
When it tipped over and the whole thing collapsed in on her, she let out a frustrated yelp. She swatted the material engulfing her.
Suddenly, steel-like vises gripped her shoulders through the canvas. “Hold still.”
“Get your hands off me!” Embarrassment flooding her cheeks, she tried to twist out of his grip.
“It’d be a whole lot easier to get off if you’d stop fighting me.”
The suffocating feeling intensifying, she stilled, and within seconds the white canvas was pulled away. Welcome sunlight and fresh air washed over her.
“If you’ll step over to the side—” Gideon’s controlled voice snapped her eyes open “—I’ll have this set up in a jiffy.”
Crouched a scant yard away, he was on eye level with her, his cool gray eyes sober. Watchful. The fact that he wasn’t laughing at her predicament came as a surprise. Her brothers would’ve laughed and teased her mercilessly. Drake would’ve lectured, pointing out her lack of forethought and overall incompetence.
A curl tumbled over her forehead and tickled her nose. Lifting a hand to her hair, she belatedly wondered what a tangle with the tent had done to her appearance. Her focus shifted to the left, to the half-built stable and her belongings now strewn about the grass. Her hand mirror was there. Somewhere.
Not that she cared one whit what a Thornton thought about her.
Dislodging the irritating curl, she rose to her feet as gracefully as she could and, shaking out her skirts, stepped over the wadded-up canvas. Her stiff boots chafed her heels. She wished she could join Walt at the stream but there was too much work yet to do.
With her out of the way, Gideon went to work. Beneath faded cotton the same hue as the sky above, his back and shoulder muscles rippled and tensed as he plunged the poles deep into the soil. Every move was calculated. Deliberate. No wasted energy here. Despite his size, he was very much in control of his body.
He intrigued her when she had no business being intrigued. Enemy, remember?
With a flick of his wrists, the canvas billowed out and settled over the poles. He then straightened the sides and tied up the door flaps.
He stepped back and surveyed his work. “All finished.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t easy expressing gratitude to this man.
He looked at her. “Point me to your necessities and I’ll bring them over first.”
“I don’t need any further assistance from you, Mr. Thornton.”
Squinting, he studied the horizon, where the sun was dipping closer to the distant plains. “It’d be a shame if you and the boy had to bed down in the grass. Not easy to sleep on an empty stomach, either.”
Pursing her lips, she ran a finger beneath her scratchy collar. There was much left to do before nightfall. What was more important in this instance? Heeding her brothers’ warnings or seeing to Walt’s needs?
Easy choice. “I’ll accept your help, Mr. Thornton. This time.”
She’d gone five steps when she noticed he wasn’t following her. Halting, she twisted around. He hadn’t moved. Spine straight, shoulders set and hands at his sides, he watched her with his unnerving gaze.
She quirked a questioning brow.
“It’s Gideon.”
“Fine. Gideon.” She pressed a hand to her bodice, the intricate beadwork digging into her palm. “Evelyn.”
His gaze openly roamed her features, probing, as if attempting to unearth answers to puzzling questions. The intense focus made her skin prickle. While she was accustomed to men’s appraisals of her appearance, this went deeper. To her mind, her very soul. It made her feel exposed.
Turning her back on him, she marched across the field and, with a scant glance at the handsome horses grazing in the expansive corral, began searching for the trunk containing their bedding. He joined her but did not jump in and start rifling through her things. Instead, he hung back, awaiting her direction. Gideon touched only those things she pointed out to him, and she felt a grudging appreciation for the respect he showed her.
The transfer of personal items, as well as cooking essentials and preserved foods, took half an hour. He did the majority of the work. Evelyn tried her best not to be awed by his effortless strength. Tried and failed.
After checking on Walt, who was now knee-deep in the stream searching for bugs, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and, planting her hands on her hips, confronted Gideon.
“Why are you helping me? What’s it to you whether or not we eat? Where we sleep?”
Lowering her portable iron stove to the ground between a small barrel of eggs packed in sawdust and a trunk filled with clothes, he straightened and mirrored her stance, large hands gripping his denim-clad waist. A muscle ticked in his granite jaw.
“What exactly has your family told you about me?”
Refuse to be intimidated. Lifting her chin, she met his smoldering gaze head-on. “I know that right before the war, your father took you and your brothers and, like a coward, fled north in the middle of the night. You betrayed your neighbors, your friends and your state. Indeed, the entire Southern way of life. And yet you prospered, were rewarded for your traitorous actions, while we, despite our loyalty to our traditions, had our home sold out from beneath us by your beloved North.”
His nostrils flared. “You keep saying ‘you.’ You’re forgetting I was a child when the war between the states began and so were you.”
He was right. She didn’t remember wearing expensive frocks or attending parties. Nor did she recall the grand plantation home where she’d been born. All she’d ever known was the reality of living in crowded quarters with other unfortunate relatives, of sitting down to humble meals and wearing cast-off clothing. Oh, but her parents had regaled her and her brothers with stories of their former life, showing them the single remaining photograph of Rose Hill, describing the plantation
