Willow grabbed a blanket and shook it open to help him beat out the flames. A daddy longlegs spider ran across her hand. She screamed in fear.
The man raced toward her, swatted the spider away and exchanged his now-charred coat for the blanket.
“That kind of spider isn’t poisonous even if it bites you,” he assured her as he ran back and attacked the flames even harder.
The fire seemed to be climbing faster.
“Take empty buckets,” he insisted. “The trough is outside closer to the blacksmith’s quarters. Bring back what you can carry without spilling. Fast as you can. And don’t worry about your nails.”
Nails were the last things on her mind. Being burned or bitten occupied her every thought. She grabbed the pails and ran, determined to carry both back full and in time. She spotted the trough quickly and the first bucket wasn’t that hard to fill. The second proved almost unmanageable once she was done and tried to lift both.
With every step, the water sloshed over the sides until she had to take slower ones to keep from spilling it. Her pulse raced, thrumming in her ears, lodging in her throat in a dry knot that felt as if it were drumming to her heartbeat.
As she finally reached the livery, she had to set a bucket down to open the door but forgot to move it back far enough to allow her enough space to enter. Not now, she prayed. Please let me prove helpful. I’ve got to save him. The horses, too.
What to do? What to do? Willow took one boot and scooted the bucket backward. It inched away. Another scoot. Too hard this time. The bucket tilted.
“No, don’t spill!” She couldn’t keep her prayer silent. Her boot hurried to sweep around the pail to prevent it from turning over. She misjudged the distance and ended up stepping directly into the tin container, sloshing water everywhere.
Willow grabbed the door and jerked it backward as she removed her foot from the almost empty bucket. One would just have to do for now.
She gathered the remaining pail in hand and ran toward the cowboy, relieved to see his battle with the fire had taken a turn for the better.
He emptied a bucket on the flames.
Where had he gotten that from? One of the horse stalls? How brave!
“Move out of the way,” she shouted, wanting to let him rest a moment while she took over. It was the least she could do.
Instead of stepping aside as she threw the water from her pail, he turned.
A faceful of her helpfulness drenched him just before the liquid hit its true mark, extinguishing the threat of fire.
“Oh, my,” she said, dropping the pail as her hands shot to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that, mister. Honestly. The bucket was so heavy and you didn’t... I mean... I guess my aim was off.”
He sputtered and tipped the brim of his hat so the water could run off. Before he settled it back on his head, he wiped his eyes with his forearm and blinked hard. “Actually, your aim was perfect, pretty lady. Your timing stinks. You could use a little improvement there.”
His admonishment hit her right where she hurt most—her past. Her need of a better future. But she heard the truth in his criticism. Timing was everything. It might just be the one skill she needed to learn in order to improve all the others she wanted to handle better.
After all, learning to do everything right the first time would sure make everything easier and save her lots of embarrassment.
Question was, she wondered as a possibility sparked in her mind, did he have the necessary skills to teach her what she needed to learn—and would he even want to?
Looking up into his warm eyes, she thought for a blink she saw laughter. Would he be someone who’d help? Someone who’d understand? Or someone who’d judge?
The barn burner grabbed another blanket off the shelf and carefully fanned it out, he supposed to make sure no more critters had set up house among the folds. She approached Gage as if she meant to cover him with it.
“Here, let me help you dry,” she offered.
He allowed her close enough to smell the hint of some flower that had wilted and lost part of its fragrance. Peach blossoms, maybe. Dying on the vine. Probably the effect of the long stage ride on whatever perfume she wore mixed with her sodden clothing. Sweat didn’t smell any prettier on a woman than it did on a man.
Gage waved away her effort, not wanting the blanket’s coarse material anywhere near his face. After six months of suffering from the tender flesh beneath his eyes and not being able to wear a bandanna over his nose all winter, he avoided anything getting close enough to cause further pain. “I’m fine. Keep the blanket for yourself. You’re wetter than I am. You didn’t get that much on me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to soak you.” Feather Hat looked genuinely apologetic.
“Won’t be the first time I got water thrown in my face. Besides, I was still wet from the rain.”
“I’ll make it up to you, sir.” She wrapped the fresh blanket around her. “Just as I plan to replace the wood for Mr. Bear.”
“Just Bear.” Gage gathered the pails and returned all but one to the stalls. The horses were calming down now that the fire was out and the haze of smoke moved higher into the rafters. “Bear and his wife, Pigeon, prefer you call them by their first names. The Funderburgs probably won’t let you repay them for the damage or they’ll make it easy for you to repair it. They’re good people.”
“Good people deserve respect, too.” Her gaze swept to the charred wall. “I’ll make it up to them. I’ll figure out some way.”
He didn’t know her from seed to high cotton, but the determination in her eyes impressed him. She meant business. Bear was about to get himself a new livery wall. Maybe he could lend a hand in helping her fix it.
She seemed to be waiting for him to speak or do something and Gage wasn’t sure what. He’d been so focused on determining her odd eye color, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if this really was her true shade. Not quite honey colored, but like brand-new buckskin. Palomino pretty. Something he was glad to have a chance to see before he no longer could.
Gage decided to clean up the mess for Bear and maybe that would give him and the lady some time to get to know each other a bit before she had to go. When he took a pitchfork and raked some of the ashes into the last pail he hadn’t returned, she tried to help by holding the pail steady and managed only to streak her cheeks and hands with soot.
She was about the most interesting woman he’d seen in a long time. Crazy hat and tangled hair, eyes the color of his favorite kind of horse and a smell that could make a man want to stand upwind of her. This woman made some kind of first impression.
He guessed he was like other men, favoring a pretty filly who kept up with her appearance and made him proud to walk beside her, but he didn’t care for fussy women who took preening too far and ate up a man’s time
