know, but at least he would convince her that he needed a hiding place for a while, and his skills at working around a farm would pay her well for her help.
He rode as quickly as the nag he’d borrowed would allow, hoping against hope that his arrival would preface hers by at least an hour. He needed time to put his horse behind the barn, should there be one, break in to her house and then lie in wait for her to arrive. His senses told him he was being followed and it was time to go to ground.
He would be gentle with her, for she was no doubt a crone, a woman of years who kept to herself and lived quietly. A grandmotherly sort, he imagined, a woman set in her ways, but perhaps thankful for a helping hand for a short while. Not a woman who would tempt him to abandon his celibate lifestyle for want of her charms.
He rode down the narrow lane toward her holdings, admiring the clean lines of her buildings, the neatly kept yard and the buildings surrounding it. There was a shed, less than a barn, but a sturdy structure, and a smoke house, side by side with another small structure, probably a milk house or corncrib.
The house was a typical farmhouse, with a wide porch and windows that looked out upon the backyard. Ridiculously simple to break in to, he thought, sliding a kitchen window upward without much nudging. He climbed within, relishing the scent of the bread she must have baked this morning. Before she went to town and left herself open to a scalawag such as he, a man who climbed through her window and into her house, awaiting her return.
The sun had set, painting the sky with soft colors, promising fair weather for tomorrow, and he waited, his patience long, his stomach well tended by the loaf of bread he found on the kitchen cabinet. Old or not, the woman could bake bread, he thought, and then tensed as he heard the sound of a horse, the soft whicker that sounded from the yard.
He rose and stood by the window.
The woman rode astride, defying the rules society back east had set down for a female on a horse. No saddle darkened the back of the golden mare she rode, only the flowing skirt that hung halfway down her legs, catching the breeze as she rode. Double saddlebags lay across the animal’s rump, apparently balanced there, for they did not depend on a saddle to hold them in place.
As Tyler watched from the window in her house, she brought the horse to a halt there in the first light of the moon, never touching her reins. Only the pressure of her knees against the animal’s sides caused the mare to slow her rapid pace and then stand, head lowered, next to the watering trough.
In a smooth motion, the rider slid to the ground, exposing a slender thigh as her dress pulled up, then she approached the horse’s head, rubbing her knuckles against the mare’s long nose, speaking to the animal as she removed the bit and bridle from the pale horse. The mare bent her long neck gracefully and drank from the trough, her rider waiting patiently. And then they were headed for the small stable that sat in utter darkness just beyond an enclosed chicken coop, the mare following her mistress as might a faithful pet. The woman’s dress swayed against her body, exposing moccasins beneath its hem.
The barn door was opened and the woman and her mare went inside. In less than five minutes, the slender female emerged, tossed her dark hair back and lifted her face to the skies. The glow of moonlight illuminated her and Tyler inhaled sharply.
She was lovely, and definitely not what he’d expected when he’d heard of an Indian woman living alone beyond the edge of town. She couldn’t be more than eighteen or twenty years. Her dress clung to her form, and the black hair she’d flung over her shoulders formed a dark cape that hung past her waist. She carried two sacks, one in either hand, hefting them easily. Tyler felt a heaviness in his groin as he watched her approach the house, and fought it with a sense of scorn. He wasn’t here to take advantage of a woman, but to find a sanctuary of sorts. At least for a week or so.
Her footsteps were silent as she walked across the porch and the sound of the door opening seemed magnified in the stillness of the night. He moved swiftly to stand behind the door as it opened…and waited.
DEBRA SLIPPED HER FEET from the moccasins she wore, kicking them to one side of the open kitchen door, then stepped inside and pushed the heavy portal closed behind her.
Without warning, a rough hand covered her mouth, forcing her head against a solid wall of muscle, and the burlap sacks of foodstuffs she’d been carrying landed on the floor beside her. A powerful arm circled her waist, and held her firmly.
From behind the door, where he’d apparently been lying in wait, a tall figure shadowed her. He’d hidden there, and now he had the advantage over her. She was, of necessity, silent, his hand not allowing her mouth to open. But she could fight soundlessly, and her hands reached back over her head, fingers curved and aimed at his face.
She felt a fingernail dig deeply into flesh, and the indrawn breath of the man who held her. With a quick move he captured both her hands and drew them behind her back, turning her in his arms to face him.
“Hold still, ma’am. I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll be all right.”
His voice was graveled, rough and deep. She’d never felt less secure in her life, and he had the nerve to tell her that all was well. She stiffened in his grip, her breath rasping in her lungs, as she forced her bruised lips to open.
“I doubt anyone could hear you shout or cry out,” he said mockingly, looking down at her from dark eyes that were barely visible in the light of the moon and stars from the windows. “You’ve chosen to live alone, a mile from the nearest neighbor, and let me tell you, that isn’t a safe choice for a woman by herself.”
“I have no intention of calling for help, you bastard!” she whispered. “What do you want with me? Or is that a stupid question?” A vision of violence filled her mind, with herself as the victim, and she shivered as if a wintry chill had passed down her spine.
“I’ve already told you that I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said quietly. “You certainly weren’t what I expected to find here. You’re only a girl.”
His voice rang with disgust, and he shook his head, as if denying his thoughts. “I just need a place to stay for a few days. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”
She laughed scornfully. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You’re too big to sweep under the rug, and I have nowhere to keep you. I only have one bed in the house. It belongs to me.”
“Have you never heard of sharing?” A touch of humor, bordering on teasing, colored his voice, and he allowed his index finger the privilege of tracing a line down her cheek. She pulled away from the touch, shivering as the rough pad of his finger took stock of her smooth flesh.
“I don’t share my bed with anyone,” she said adamantly. “If you insist on sleeping in the bed, I’ll take the floor. I spent a lot of years without a mattress beneath me. Another night won’t hurt me.”
“Ah, you’re wrong there,” he insisted firmly. “You’ll be where I can reach you. And I’ll warn you right now, I’m a light sleeper. One move out of you and I’ll be on you like a bear on a honey tree.”
Somehow the picture that brought to mind lacked much, Debra decided. For a moment she wished fervently that she’d stayed in town with the storekeeper’s daughter. The invitation had been given in an undertone, while Mr. Anderson was with a customer, and Debra had shaken her head, knowing that, if she were discovered in her friend’s bedroom, there’d be hell to pay. And she’d be the one paying it.
A half-breed was tolerated
