She’s not here? Did she go off and leave you?” There it was. Fury. It roared through him unbidden and with a power that he hadn’t felt since—
“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice carried like a gunshot on the wind. “Step away from my children.”
He did as she asked, so as not to startle her. But as he pivoted on his boot heel to face her, he steeled himself a tad more. He still wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Exhaustion was a mask obscuring her young face. Her dress was clean and proper and pressed, and her soft blond hair braided casually in one long tail that fell over her shoulder. The air of her, the feel that hung over her like a cloud, was pure hardship.
His emotions weren’t ironclad enough, because he felt the tug of pity. And more. The fury remained, digging deep. “This is my land, ma’am. You can’t go leaving your children alone here.”
“I didn’t leave them alone. I was down at the creek.”
As she strode to the crest of the rise, he could clearly see the two five-gallon buckets she carried, one in each hand. She was a tiny thing, and water was heavy. He was striding toward her before he realized he was moving at all.
There was fear in her eyes—fear of him, he realized, as he yanked the first bucket out of her hand. She drew back fiercely, sloshing water over the rim and onto her faded skirts, clutching the remaining bucket’s handle with a death grip.
“Give me the water.” He tucked his rifle against his forearm and held out his free hand.
Her eyes widened at the sight of his rifle, pointed downward at an angle toward the grass.
Women. He ought to have remembered what they were like, having once been married. He did his best to keep his annoyance out of his voice. “I use my rifle for defense, nothing more, ma’am. Now, give me the bucket.”
She swallowed visibly, as if she were about to hand over a potful of money. He had frightened her more than he’d realized.
Shame filled him and he took care when he lifted the heavy bucket from her small hand. He cleared his throat, not at all sure how to say what he had meant to say. Talking had never been his strong suit. He hefted the heavy water buckets and lugged them toward the camp, where both little children watched him wide-eyed. Anyone could see they were well-behaved, that their ma was doing a good job raising them up.
“Where you want these?” He glanced over his shoulder, but the woman seemed frozen in place on the rise. Mrs. Nelson looked like a sensible sort. Her pink calico dress might be faded, but it was simple and clean, void of frippery.
She came across as a decent lady down on her luck. And she was staring at him with fear on her face. Not the terrified sort of run-and-hide fear. No, the fear he saw on her delicate features was the kind that made him even angrier. The kind that spoke of ill-treatment.
“Where do you want me to put the water?” he repeated in as clear of a voice as he could manage.
Mrs. Nelson visibly swallowed. “Under the tailgate.”
Without a word he turned and marched angrily on, his boots clumping against the hard-packed earth. He hauled the buckets to the back of the wagon and dropped them with a small puff of dust. When he straightened, he realized both children had followed him, single file, and were staring up at him with dust-smudged faces. Mrs. Nelson’s skirts snapped as she hurried to stand between him and the young ones.
That only made him madder. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ll not have you using that tone in front of my children.” Her dainty chin came up, and she was all protective fire, though the old, worn fear was still there.
He hated that fear. It was all he could do to keep his tone low and his voice calm. “This being my land, ma’am, I’ll use whatever tone suits me. Now, answer my question.”
That chin lifted another notch before she turned to speak to her little ones. “You two go on and wash up for supper, while I speak to Mr. McKaslin.”
They nodded and politely went straight to it. The little boy fetched a bar of lye soap and a worn but clean towel from the back of the wagon, and took charge of seeing to the hands and face washing of his little sister.
With the children busy, Aiden followed Mrs. Nelson out into the grass. She turned to face him with her arms crossed over her chest and her spine straight. “We had no place to go, Mr. McKaslin.”
“You have family.”
“Family? I have no one and you know it.” She held herself very still. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get my children into the wagon and we’ll be off your property by sundown. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“You just said you have no place to go.”
“And a man like you cares?” She heard the heartlessness in her own voice and stopped, took a breath and a moment to compose herself. She might be homeless, but she had her dignity. “I cannot reimburse you for our stay on your land. I am sorry for that.”
“Sorry?” A muscle worked in his granite jaw. He repeated the word as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Sorry?”
“There’s no need to be so angry.” She took a step back and drew in a gulp of air. “We hardly did any harm.”
“Any harm?”
“We wore away some of your grass, and the horses grazed on the bunchgrass, but it wasn’t as if you were using—”
“This is unacceptable.” A vein throbbed out at his temple. “You’ve been living here for how long?”
“Since Mr. Wessox found us camped out at the edge of his farm on the other side of the creek.” She curled her hands into fists, keeping her chin set and her tone even. This was not the first irate man she’d ever had to manage.
“How long?” Tendons stood out in his muscled, sun-browned neck.
“We were only there a few weeks.” She felt very small. “We’ve been on your land for a little longer.”
“And you have no family?” A tick started in the corded muscles of his jaw.
“You already know the answer.” She took a few slow steps in retreat. She could not get to her wagon—or her children—without going past Mr. McKaslin. “My half brother has no interest in helping us. There is no one else.”
“What of your husband’s side of the family?”
“As he’s passed away, and his family did not approve of me, they want nothing to do with us. Not even for the children’s sake.” She didn’t know how it could possibly be, but her words seemed to make the man towering over her even angrier. He appeared to be restraining his fury, but it was a terrible sight. He was more than twice her size and strength, and as he began to breathe heavily with his anger, he seemed invincible.
A thin thread of fear shivered through her, but she firmly clutched her skirts, lifting them so she would not trip. Her first wobbly step took her closer to him. Closer to his rage. “Excuse me.”
To her surprise, he let her walk by. She did her best to ignore the
