who would give you a home?”
The look she gave him dripped disbelief. “Do you think if we did, we would have fallen into the clutches of a man like Thorton?”
“Guess it was a stupid question.”
“It sure was.”
He sank to his backside and drew his knees up in a pose that mirrored hers. Together they stared down the trail. “I got a place. Ain’t much. Just a tiny cabin. Someday it’s going to be more. Got plans for a big house.”
“What you want with a big house? You got a girl?”
“I got a mother and two brothers. It’s for them.”
“No pa?”
“He died.”
“Where are they now?”
Her question unleashed a tornado of memories, infiltrated with regrets and pain. “Back in New Brunswick. Travers is three years younger than me...” When he and Travers said goodbye, Travers swore he would come and join Ward when he thought Hank could take care of himself. The Travers he remembered never went back on his word. “Hank is ten years younger,” he continued. “He’d be thirteen by now. I ain’t seen him since he was six.”
She shifted to see his face. “How come?”
“I left.”
“Who is taking care of them?”
“My stepfather.” The man had vowed he loved Ma and the boys. Love! A word easily spoken. It meant nothing. Taking care of others was all that counted. That and kindness.
“Oh.” Her voice was small, tight. “That why you left?”
Something in her tone drew him. He met her probing gaze. “He didn’t care for me. Just me being there made him angry.”
Understanding flickered through her gaze. “He used a belt? Fists?”
He nodded, and in that moment they formed a bond—one based on the shared experience of abuse. He looked deep into her hurting soul, found a reflection of his own. He knew then what he must do. “I’ll take you to my cabin. You can stay there as long as you need.”
“What about your family? Aren’t you expecting them?”
He closed his eyes, shutting out her gaze, as a newer, fresher pain surfaced. “They aren’t answering my letters.” He’d had but three letters in the years since he left—two from Ma and one from Travers. Nothing in almost three years.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” A cool hand touched the back of his, and he jerked his eyes open. She pulled her hand to her knee and looked into the distance, but she’d touched him. Offered comfort. That tiny gesture slipped into his troubled heart and mind like a warm summer breeze full of sweet scents.
“So you’ll accept my offer?” He hoped she’d agree willingly. Let him help her and Belle.
She developed a keen interest in the blade of grass plucked from nearby. Her hesitation gave him plenty of time to reconsider, but rather than withdraw his offer, he silently begged her to accept it.
Slowly she turned and faced him. “What would you expect in return?”
The question sliced through him like she’d used the ax she’d threatened the circle of men with. Then the meaning of her words hit him with peculiar force. He sprang to his feet and backed away three steps. “I am not that sort of a man. I made an offer out of concern for you and Belle. I have no ulterior, despicable motives.” What had Thorton demanded of her? His cheeks burned to think of the sort of things that went on in the back rooms of a saloon. Some would see Red as soiled, ruined. But all he saw was a woman who needed help to escape a bad situation. He could offer that.
She didn’t lower her gaze, nor did her silent demand ease.
“If you accept my offer, it will be clearly understood that I—” he could think of no gentle way to say it “—I do not want repayment of any sort. My only concern is making sure you and Belle are safe from the kind of treatment you received at Thorton’s hands and that you have a place to live.”
Still she considered him, looking up from her seated position. He felt her careful examination of his words. Of him. As if she probed his thoughts, his heart. His very soul.
He met her gaze without once blinking. She would find him reliable, trustworthy, perhaps even noble so far as he was able.
Finally she spoke. “Very well. I will accept your offer until I can find something suitable that allows me my freedom and independence.”
Her answer was less than satisfactory. After all, he had no intention of infringing on her freedom, though she’d had none whatsoever until he intervened. She might remember that. And how much independence did she expect? She had neither means nor opportunity to pursue such. “I’m not asking to own you, only help you.” But at least she had agreed to use his cabin. “Then let’s get on our way. Where’s Belle?”
“Belle, come.”
Nothing.
“She’s afraid of you.”
“Now, that hurts. If you’d said she’s afraid of men, I’d understand, but you make it sound like it’s only me.”
“That’s because you’re the only man here. So at this point she’s only afraid of you.”
“Do you always have to win every argument?”
He might as well have accused her of some heinous crime the way she glowered at him. “I most certainly do not. Do you turn everything into a confrontation?”
“A what?”
“Yes. See, a simple comment about Belle being afraid of you becomes a—a—”
“Yeah. What?”
“A challenge. That’s what.”
He slapped his forehead. “I can see this is going to be a fun time.”
She slowly rose to her feet, planted her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin as she faced him. “Do you mean to say you will be residing in this cabin? Because I did not understand that part. If that is so, then I change my mind. We’ll find some other place.”
He groaned. “I will be living at the ranch. That’s where I work. But unless you have a means of getting supplies, filling the wood box, bringing in meat... Well, do you?”
She squinted without answering.
“I thought not. So I expect you’ll be happy enough to let me do that. Which—if you can bear the thought—means I will occasionally come by to perform those necessary tasks.” Suddenly the idea held a lot less appeal than it did just a few minutes ago.
“Just so long as we understand each other.”
“Oh, I think we do.”
“Fine.”
