Ezra strode past the painted door of the shack that passed for a saloon in this hole-in-the-wall town. There couldn’t be more than thirty people in the entire community, yet the ruckus inside made it sound like twice that number had piled in the place for homemade corn whiskey and who knew what else.
He left the building behind, heading on toward the room he’d taken in the boarding house. This was the second night he’d been gone, and the travel was wearing on him. Or maybe it was the way almost every man he spoke to about work for the ladies had some other kind of proposal to offer.
Some were respectful enough. Those who were married offered a brother or neighbor in need of a wife. The tavern owner he’d asked in the last town said he’d be willing to let the women stay above stairs if they’d earn their keep. The memory of it sent his blood to boiling all over again. He unclenched his fists, pressing the man’s pock-marked face from his mind before he imagined himself plunging those fists into the crooked nose.
A ruckus behind him made him spin and reach for the pistol tucked in his waistband. Two men poured out of the saloon, rolling in a heap as one struck a fist into the other’s gut. A third man ran out, jumping around them.
He started toward the group to help split the pair apart, but the blast of a gunshot rent the air. He ducked, running low to the corner of the shack. There’d been a flash of gunpowder near the third man, so it must have been he who’d fired the shot. Maybe even to break up the fight, but the whizz of air that had blown by Ezra’s head meant the man was either a sorry aim or at least half drunk.
A burn singed his upper arm, and he felt the spot with his other hand. His fingers found a hole in his coat, and he winced as he touched bare flesh. No wonder he’d felt the zing of air from the bullet. A fresh flood of anger washed through him. He’d been on his way to stop the fight, and this was his thanks?
He peered around the corner of the building. A crowd had formed around the fighters, each man clamoring about what he saw. He probably couldn’t pick out which of the men had fired the shot. The anger in his chest melted into disgust. He’d be leaving this place at first light, and good riddance.
Turning away from the cluster of drunks, he blew out a breath. Remote towns like this were the perfect place for criminals of all kinds to hide away. This was the last place he’d let Tori and Opal come, even if they were protected by menfolk he could trust. He’d let them wed one of the decent men he’d met yesterday before he brought them here.
Which begged the question, could marriage be the answer for them? He’d not broached the subject with Tori, but that seemed to be the only acceptable offer he could find. Maybe if he found the right fellows, it wouldn’t be such a bad solution. Yet, he couldn’t stop the churn in his gut as he thought of Tori with the gap-toothed farmer he’d spoken to outside of Lawson. Or the balding mercantile owner. Or the grizzly-like man who ran the sawmill south of that town. Any of those matches would keep her close enough that he could ride up and check on her every so often. And they’d all seemed like honest, hard-working men. So why couldn’t he stomach the thought of it?
He should marry her himself and be done with it. Opal could stay in the spare room that used to be Mara’s, and they’d both be safe.
He stilled, his hand on the latch string of the boarding house. Could he marry her? The thought hadn’t really occurred to him, but…might it work? She knew him a whole lot better than she knew any of these other yokels, so she might consider it. Did he want that?
Letting the thought simmer, he pulled the rope and stepped into the dining room of the house. “It’s Ezra Reid,” he called into the darkness. “I’m just headed up to my room.”
“G’night,” the woman of the place called from the kitchen.
Trudging up the stairs, he made quick work of settling in for the night, then pulled the quilts up over him as he stared up at the dark ceiling.
Marry Tori. The thought sat better than any other he’d contemplated that night. And it would certainly solve her problems. Maybe she would see that and agree to the arrangement. If she wanted a chaste marriage, could he live with it? She was so beautiful, it would be hard to never touch her. But maybe, in time, she might change her mind. And as long as he could guarantee their safety—which he could do more effectively at the stage stop than any other place—he’d deal with everything else somehow.
Besides, if he had to take a wife, he could do a lot worse than Tori Boyd. She was as stubborn as her red hair portended, but in the couple of weeks he’d known her, he’d seen the depth of her caring, the strength of her devotion, the quickness of her wit, and the amazing speed with which she learned new things. The strength and animation of her personality would likely keep him amused for years to come.
No, it wasn’t hard to imagine a life side by side with Tori Boyd.
Ezra had pushed hard to make it back to the stage stop, but as he sat on his horse at the edge of the clearing and stared at the dark buildings in the distance, he was loathe to approach any nearer. Tori and Opal would have both gone to bed at this late hour. He should wait ‘til morning to disturb them.
His breath formed a white cloud in the light from the quarter moon above. An owl hooted in the distance, and he strained to listen, waiting for the answering call. There hadn’t been Indians in the area for a few months, but he’d learned long ago the simple sounds of nature weren’t always simple.
He eyed the stage stop again. He should ride in so he was close enough to protect them, should danger of any form approach. The barn would work for him to bed down tonight, so he didn’t disturb the ladies. Or the bunkhouse even. There he could light a fire in the little warming stove and shake off some of the chill.
Nudging his horse, they ambled forward, each step taking them closer home. He couldn’t help the breathless anticipation in his chest as he thought for the thousandth time about how he would ask Tori. She loved letters, and the soul she exposed in her writing was what had first drawn him to her advertisement. Maybe he should write her a letter to suggest his idea.
He shook the thought away as soon as it settled. A man didn’t propose marriage to a woman on paper, not if he could do it face to face. If he were to have any hope of talking her into the idea, he had to do this right.
He rode quietly into the courtyard and slipped into the barn. But when he lit a match and the lantern flamed to life, a chorus of nickers sounded from the row of stalls, erupting in the silent air. His own gelding responded, and Ezra stroked his shoulder as they made their way to an empty pen.
He had the animal settled quickly enough, made easier by the fresh hay one of the women had piled in the corner when they must have cleaned it. Just as he would have done. Had they noticed his habit? Or were they just that thoughtful?
Carrying the lantern that usually hung in the barn, he slipped out the door. Exhaustion weighted his bones as he trudged toward the bunkhouse, and his arm throbbed something fierce from the grazing of the bullet the day before. He’d ridden hard the entire trip, and a warm meal would be nice. But that wasn’t to be tonight. At least he wouldn’t be sleeping out in the snowy woods.
“Ezra?”
He stilled, then eased around to look toward the house. The voice had come so softly, he might have imagined it in his exhaustion.
But no. A beam of light haloed from the cabin’s doorway, illuminating Tori. He walked toward her but couldn’t remember consciously choosing to take a step. It was like she drew him. But why not? She was pretty enough to woo any man. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He took the stair as she stepped back into the house, allowing him to enter.
“I heard the horses.” She pulled a wrap tighter around her shoulders. “Come sit. You’re frozen.”
Maybe it was the yellow firelight inside, or maybe it was his senses dimmed from the cold, but a haze seemed to form around him, as if he were in a dream. He sat at the table where she motioned and took the mug she handed him. Strong tea spread through his senses, pulling him from his stupor as he breathed in the richness of it. The warmth from the cook stove finally began to penetrate his chill.
He straightened as Tori sank into the chair adjacent to his. “Where’s your cousin?”
“Sleeping.”
Of course. And from the look of her mussed braid, Tori might have been too. Although she wore a blue muslin dress, her face had a rosy sleep-ruffled look that built a lump in his throat. He fought the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. It would be soft, he had no doubt.
“Are you hungry?”
He was, but he was honestly too tired to worry over food. “I’ll wait ‘til morning.”
“Was your trip successful?” Her eyes scanned his face.
Should he ask her now? Tell her his idea? No. He could feel the layers of trail grime covering him, and between his aching arm and the exhaustion, he couldn’t quite seem to clear his mind. Tomorrow he’d be better at finding the right words.
He sipped the tea again, letting its warmth soothe his aches. “I’ll take another cup of this to the bunkhouse if you have it.”
Twin lines formed between her brows. “You can’t sleep out there.”
He nodded, not up to an argument. “You ladies have the house. I’ll be fine.”
Her chin took on that stubborn jut. “You’ll sleep in your own room. I’ll move in with Opal.”
So, it was she who occupied his bed while he was away. He’d wondered after that first time, when he’d inhaled the scent of flowers as he sank into the quilts. And the thought now warmed him with more power than the tea could ever possess.
She rose and moved to the stove, returning with the pot to refill his cup. “I’ll slice some bread and meat for you.”
“No.” He reached for her arm to halt her, but the movement sent a shot of pain he wasn’t expecting. He pulled back, fighting to hold in a grunt.
“You’re hurt.”
His pain must of have shown on his face, so he turned away from her probing look. “Only a graze. Not even worth talking about.” His fingers wandered to his arm, covering the spot as if to protect it from her view.
“A graze? Like from a bullet?” The incredulous tone in her voice showed just how little she really knew about this wilderness.
“It’s nothing.” He swigged down the last of his tea in a long gulp, then pushed to his feet.
But Tori had already moved to the shelf where they kept the crate of medical supplies. “Sit down. Is the bullet still in your arm?”
He couldn’t stop a chuckle, although it was partly spawned of annoyance. “It’s just a graze, Tori. That means the ball never went in, only skimmed the surface. Just enough to get my favorite shirt bloody.”
She spun, the crate in both her hands. “I’ll deal with the shirt tomorrow. For now, sit down and let’s have a look.”
He couldn’t have said why he obeyed. Probably the fact it was easier to concede than battle her, and he was so very weary.
“Take off your coat.”
He did as she commanded, then loosed the buttons at his neck so he could slip the shoulder from his shirt. The wound was high enough on his arm she could see it that way and still allow him a scrap of modesty.
As the air reached the cut, its burn deepened.
Tori sucked in a loud breath. “Ezra, it’s awful.”
He glanced over his shoulder as she pawed through the crate. He’d not looked at the wound since the night before when he flushed it clean with water. He hadn’t thought to bring a salve with him and surely wasn’t going to bother the missus at the boarding house for something minor like this.
The gash had reddened considerably, and a thick white puss had formed around the edges. Infection was trying to settle in, which could be a danger if they didn’t nip it at the quick now. “Let me have that garlic salve.” He motioned toward one of the brown glass jars she’d set on the table.
She scooped up the container and stepped close to him, peering at his arm. “I need to clean it first, then we’ll apply salve.”
She started preparing the cleaning supplies, leaving him sitting there with his shoulder uncovered. For some reason, it felt like more of him was exposed than that bit of flesh, but he swallowed to still the uncertainty in his gut.
Returning with a basin of water and cloth, Tori knelt beside his chair and peered at the wound. She was so close, the warm brush of her breath sent tingles through his skin.
And then she touched the gash, clearing every happy thought from his mind. He clamped his jaw to keep from jerking backward. As she rubbed, he had to grip the seat of the chair to fight the pain. How could a little cut burn like she was holding fire to his arm?
“I’m almost done.”
He tried to focus on her face, a welcome distraction from the pain she inflicted on his arm. Her brow had drawn together in a reflection of her deep focus, and she’d caught the corner of her lip in her teeth. He hadn’t noticed before how perfectly shaped that mouth was—lips neither too big nor too small, but proportioned just right. Funny, he’d never given much stock to the shape of a person’s mouth, but Tori had awakened him to many things.
“There.” She looked up at him, her gaze meeting his in a way that stole his breath.
She was so close, just inches from him. Her wide brown eyes fathomless. So innocent, he yearned to touch her cheek, to draw her closer.
He reached out and brushed her soft skin. Was that a flinch? The movement was almost imperceptible, but he glanced at her eyes to see her thoughts.
A glimmer of fear shone there, stilling his desire with a strong fist.
He pulled his hand back. “Do I frighten you, Tori?” Bile had begun to churn in his stomach. Maybe he’d taken a misstep somewhere along the way.
A thin shield slipped over her gaze, yet he could still see through to the whirl of emotions she was trying to cover.
He hated to press, but he had to know. “Do I?”
“Not you.” But the way she said the words seemed like she was trying to convince herself of their truth.
And then another thought hit him, a low blow to his gut. “Tori, has someone else frightened you? Another man?” He willed her to answer. To tell him what he was afraid to hear.
She dropped her gaze. Then seemed to catch sight of the cloth in her hand. “I’ll salve the wound now, then wrap it.”
As she turned away, a cold anger built inside him. “Tori. Who.” He bit into each word, tasting its acrid flavor.
“It doesn’t matter.” She busied herself with the crate, examining bandages. But she’d revealed much with the flippant reply.
He softened his approach. If she’d been handled in a way that frightened her, the last thing she needed was him charging into the memories like a longhorn bull. “Tori.” He kept his voice soft, relaxed.
She didn’t look at him, though. Didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
So he waited.
After a few tense moments, she turned with the medicine and a long white cloth. She focused on her work, not letting her gaze rise above his wound.
He let her work, careful not to concentrate too much attention on her. Not an easy thing with her so deliciously close. But the angry burn in his chest, the furious concern for her safety—her peace of mind—eclipsed all else.
At last she tied a knot in the bandage, and her quick movements bespoke the fact that she would likely turn and run the moment she finished.
“Tori.” He couldn’t stop the touch of pleading in his voice.
And maybe that was what made her stop. He would take her pause as encouragement to say the rest. “I don’t know what’s happened to you before. But you’re safe here. As God is my witness, I won’t let anything happen to you again. I promise.”
She raised her eyes to him, revealing a wariness so thick it cloaked every other thought he’d hoped to read there.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. What had been done to make her this skittish? “I promise, Tori.” Lord, help her believe me.
She nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Thank you.” And with those words, it seemed like maybe he’d garnered a little of her trust. Maybe.
She rose, scooped the bottles from the table, and laid them in the crate. “I’ll straighten this in the morning. You need your rest.”
She disappeared into his room, leaving the door open wide. Within seconds, she reappeared with a satchel in her hand. She paused at the door to the extra bed chamber and looked back at him. “Good night, Ezra. Thanks for…everything.”
He didn’t try to stop her as she slipped open the door and disappeared inside. She’d come a long way in the last quarter hour. No need to push her further.
But as he sank back in the chair and scrubbed a hand over his face, he couldn’t stop a sick feeling from settling in his middle. If Tori’s past was as bad as he now suspected, would she accept his offer of marriage as a logical solution? He would have to make sure she knew he expected nothing in return.
Yet now, a deeper drive had taken root inside him. Not just to keep her safe, but to help her see that life could be…better.