Backward!”
As soon as he saw her reaction, Micah got a terrible feeling. “Who saddled Tulip?”
“I don’t know. She was ready when I got to the stable.”
He tilted her face up to his and softened his voice. “Sugar, didn’t it occur to you that all of the other horses are saddled with the pommel forward?”
“Yes. Josh said this was a special western woman’s saddle. He even pointed out it has special stitching.”
He’d deal with Josh later. For now, he shook his head.
Deborah cleared her throat. “The pommel is a completely different shape, size, and tilt than yours or Josh’s.”
He had to admit, she had a point. Micah crooked a brow. “If I put a pistol in your hand, do you promise not to shoot Josh?”
“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.” She patted his arm. “I would never aim a firearm at your brother.”
“I hear you have several knitting needles.”
Giggles spilled out of her. “Want a few to melt down for bullets?”
“It’s not funny, woman.” He followed her over to the spot where he had the pistols waiting and swiped the gun she’d lifted. “You could have fallen and broken your neck.”
“Grandma would see the buzzards and send someone to help you drag my dead body back home.” She grabbed the other pistol and gave him an impish smile. “Why don’t you calm down and tell me which end the bullet comes out of this thing?”
About an hour later, Micah slipped the reloaded pistols into his holster and shook his head. “If it comes to protecting yourself, you’d better have a whole basket of knitting needles with you, because you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
“I’m getting better.”
He gave the bale of hay a dubious look. She’d hit the edge of it once—in thirty shots. “Sugar, the only chance you’d have of someone not hurting you is that they’d run for cover because a loco is pulling the trigger.”
He switched her saddle around, lifted her up, and got the shock of his life when she managed to ride with considerable grace. Her eyes sparkled as she cantered alongside him. “Oh, this is marvelous! And your land is beautiful.”
“I’d like to think it’s mine, but legally, it’s not. Kansas stops at the thirty-seventh parallel, and Texas starts at the thirty-sixth. That leaves thirty-four miles here that the government thinks is too small for a territory. We’re all planning to claim squatters’ rights because the land will have to be annexed sooner or later.”
“It’s hard to imagine you as squatters. You have a lovely home.”
He saw her shudder. “We freighted in the lumber. It was expensive as all get out, but there aren’t many trees hereabouts. Even then, we ran out of wood, so the other half of the upstairs turned into a balcony.”
“I see.”
She hadn’t said much at all about Dustin after she’d spoken so frankly the night she burned the letters. Micah decided maybe he ought to stand up for the man. “I’m sure your intended would have built you a nice little place once he got established. Most of the folks out here live in soddies, you know.”
She shrugged and refused to say more. Micah decided to let the subject drop and started thinking about what he’d do to Josh when he got home.
“Micah?”
“Yeah?”
“Since Josh played that stunt on me, would you be upset if I found a way to surprise him back?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in vengeance.”
“I don’t, but I do believe in justice. What would you think if I …”
“Micah says I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if I tried,” Deborah announced merrily as she popped the buttermilk biscuits she’d made into a basket.
“She’s a terrible shot.”
“Probably had the wrong target.” Lou licked her finger after scooping mashed potatoes into another bowl. “Shoulda used a basket. Deborah’s the basket-est woman in the world. Her quilt is even a basket pattern.”
“Just how many baskets do you have?” Micah asked as he took the basket of rolls from Deborah and set it on the table beside the basket of flowers she’d gathered by Cherokee Creek.
“I never bothered to count.” She shrugged. “Whenever the need strikes, I just whip out another one.”
“You mean to tell me that trunk that was real light is just stuffed with baskets?” Josh hooted with laughter.
“Reeds, rods, splints,” she corrected.
Micah slanted a look at her. “You wove the baskets we’ve been seeing?”
“Why, yes.”
“Now there’s a fine skill to have,” Grandma said. “My aunt tried to teach me, but I couldn’t get the knack of it. Now, my fingers are too stiff to even try such a craft. Sewing is about the best I can do.”
“I’d be happy to help you with anything that needs to be done.” Deborah took the coffeepot off the range and started walking around the table to fill the mugs.
They all sat down for the meal and bowed their heads, and since it was his turn, Samuel prayed. A split second after they all chimed in to say amen, Lou snatched the basket of rolls and popped one onto her plate. It went all the way around the table, and Josh got the last one. Beneath the table, Micah nudged Deborah’s heel with the toe of his boot. He made a show of slathering butter on his roll. “Mmm-Mmm. Deborah, you do bake a fine biscuit.”
“Better than mine,” Lou agreed.
Josh laughed until he snorted. “Anyone’s is better than yours!” He grabbed the biscuit from his plate, dunked it into the gravy on his mashed potatoes, then took a bite—or more accurately, tried to take a bite. His eyes grew huge.
Everyone else at the table pretended to be busy cutting meat or sugaring coffee.
Josh gave his sister an outraged look. “You little sneak! You baked this. I can tell. It’s hard enough to use as a sinker the next time I go fishing.”
“Now wait a minute!” Lou glowered at him.
“Fish is about all I’ll be able to eat,” Josh continued as he pounded the rock-hard biscuit on the edge of his plate, which resulted in an astonishing, bell-like chime. “This thing’ll chip every last tooth in my head.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my biscuit.” Micah made a show of pulling his apart and sinking his teeth into a flaky half.
“Mine, neither.” Sam did the same.
Deborah looked across the table and tried to look innocent as could be. “Josh, I’m so sorry. I wanted to do something extraordinary for you. You helped me with that special western woman’s saddle this morning, so …”
Josh’s ears went red, and he looked down at the biscuit and groaned. “What did you put in this thing?”
“Flour, salt, and milk,” she began. Finally she couldn’t tamp down her smile as she added, “Of course it was Epsom salts; talcum powder, not baking powder; and, um, milk of magnesia.”
Josh glared at Micah. “You put her up to this.”
“Nope.” Micah gave her a slow, heart-melting wink. “The little lady cooked this one up all on her own.”
“See? I knew she belonged with us,” Lou declared. “She fits right in.”
Deborah continued to look into Micah’s fathomless gray eyes. Oh, if only I truly belonged here, with you….
“I don’t suppose you ever smile,” Deborah said as she set her sites on the target.
“Only when there’s reason.” Micah judged the angle of her pistol and estimated, “You’re going to overshoot. Lower your aim a smidgen.”
Her hands stayed steady, and she looked over at him with merriment dancing in her eyes. “A smidgen?”
The minute he’d used the word, he’d regretted it. He knew she’d nab him on it, but it was too late. “You here to gab, or to—”
“Gun?” she cut in. Her sassy grin made him break into a grin. “Well, well, do my eyes deceive me? Micah Stafford actually can smile. This is a red letter day, indeed!”
“It’ll be a red letter day if you ever fire that weapon and hit a target. I’m starting to think I should have left you with that peashooter instead of trying to teach you how to use a real weapon. With that thing, even if you wing yourself, you’d live. The way you handle that Colt, I’m half afraid you’re going to blow your head off.”
“Only half afraid?”
“The other half of the time I fear for my own skin.”
“My, my.” Deborah let out a cheerful laugh. “And to think I expected you to tell me it was because you’ve decided I have only half a brain!”
“You said it, lady. I didn’t.” He nodded toward the target. “Now stop lollygagging and get busy.”
“Yes, sir.” She closed one eye, squeezed the trigger, and bang!
To Micah’s astonishment, the bottle shattered. “You hit it! Now do it again. Hit the next one.”
Deborah bit her lip, closed one eye, and fired again. And again. And again. She emptied the chambers.
“Look! I got two!”
“Yeah, cupcake. Two out of six shots. If you have enough time to empty your gun, you should have run away.”
“Oh, don’t be so sour. We made progress.”
“Yeah. You’ll pull your gun and talk ’em to death.”
Suddenly, the brightness of her smile dimmed. Deborah turned the Colt around and carefully handed it back to him. As he stuffed new bullets in the cartridge, she wiped her hands on the sides of her dark-brown skirt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was talking so much.”
“No more than usual.” He glanced up at her and saw the momentary flash of hurt in her eyes before she looked away. He shoved the pistol in his holster and took hold of her arm. As he led her toward the horses, he tried to lighten her mood. “At least you hit something this time. That’s a definite improvement. It’ll take more practice before you develop any accuracy or confidence. I’ll bring you back here in a few days.”
“There’s no need.”
He stopped at Tulip’s side, checked the cinch out of habit, then curled his hands around Deborah’s slender waist. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“You’ve taught me gun safety. Lou could—”
“You’re plumb loco if you think I’d let you and my sis come shooting.” He tightened his hold and lifted her into the saddle. She smelled just like that pink soap in the washroom—flowery, fresh, and far too delicate for this rough land. Micah turned immediately, both to allow her a moment of privacy to adjust her skirts to modestly cover her layers of ruffled petticoats and trim ankles, and to mount up himself. He’d escort her home, then get back to work. He squinted at the shadows and estimated they’d spent a solid hour out here—not all that much, but more than he could afford. He also noted a dust cloud coming toward them at appreciable speed. As he swung up into his saddle, he clipped, “Let me do the talking.”