Chapter Twenty-Five

 

"Anybody home?"

The accompanying knock sounded once more, startling Jessica. She'd been so intent on washing the dishes that she thought she'd imagined it.

"Yes. Just a minute." She dried her hands and hurried to the door, stopping only to pick up the loaded shotgun she kept standing by the hearth. She took a deep, calming breath. "Step back off of the porch, please."

She heard the man's ponderous footsteps as he backtracked down the porch steps into the yard. Cautiously, Jessica slid the bolt free and opened the door.

The man stood silently at the foot of the steps, his blue eyes alight, laughter threatening to bubble over as his lips twitched slightly under his long moustache. He nodded at Jessica, eyeing the long barrel of the shotgun she aimed at his heart.

"No need for that weapon, ma'am," he said. "I was just hopin' for a meal. Grub line's pretty scarce in these parts."

Jessica did not lower the longarm. She had Lexi to think of, as well as herself. "Who are you? State your business."

The man looked down as his smile blossomed, widening into a quick grin. "I mean you no harm." He raised his blue gaze to her once again. "My name's—" He hesitated briefly, then, "Freeman. Dave Freeman. Out of Texas, most recently."

"But before that, Mr. Dave Freeman. Where were you out of?" Her finger trembled, but the gun remained steady.

"War's over, ma'am." He stood straighter as he spoke, his expression gravely sincere.

She nodded. "For some. Around these parts, there's some don't realize that."

"I'm a Southerner, ma'am, by heart and by birth."

"I make you out to be a Georgian, by the way you speak."

Freeman smiled wistfully. "Macon County. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get back thataway." He tilted his head up to look at Jessica from under the brim of his worn Stetson. "I'm powerful hungry, ma'am. That is, if you've got any grub to spare."

"What are you doin' up here, Mr. Freeman?" Jessica fought the urge to push a strand of hair behind her ear. The gun didn't waver. "You're a long way out of Texas."

Again, he hesitated for an instant before he answered. "I'm lookin' for an old friend from the War. Heard he was hereabouts."

"Who?"

"Fella by the name of Eaton. Jack Eaton. Heard tell he's a Federal Deputy Marshal, and when I stopped off in Fort Smith they told me he'd headed up this way to take care of some business. Thought maybe I'd surprise him."

Jessica tried to hide her shock at the man's words. A friend? Was he telling the truth? Something nagged at her. He seemed sincere enough, but…

She lowered the shotgun. "Reckon I can feed you, Mr. Freeman, if you're not too picky. I have to tell you, I'm not all that good with a gun, and I haven't shot any game lately." She looked down, hoping the lie didn't show in her expression.

"You here alone?"

Her head came up quickly, eyes cool. "Does it matter?"

Freeman opened his palms. "No, not at all. Just curious."

"My husband is away. Yes, Mr. Freeman. I'm here alone with my daughter. Do I have anything to fear?"

"Not from me, ma'am. I'm just hoping to maybe do a few chores around here for you, to repay you for the food."

She nodded, sinking her teeth into her lip briefly. "Come on inside then. There's always beans and cornbread, even when we don't have much else. You're welcome to it."

"Much obliged, Missus."

Jessica stood aside as Freeman approached.

He bent low to enter the cabin. Jessica did not replace the shotgun in the gun rack, but took it with her into the kitchen.

He grinned affably as she nodded toward the table. "Have a seat, Mr. Freeman. I'll warm up the beans."

"No need, ma'am. I don't mind havin' 'em cold. I'm sure they'll be fine." He chuckled as he pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. "I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

Jessica took a bowl from the cabinet and spooned the beans into it. She noticed Freeman's gaze resting on Lexi, sleeping in her crib.

"How old's your little girl?"

"Six months, nearly seven."

"She's a pretty little thing."

Jessica set the bowl of beans on the table along with a spoon and a napkin. "Thank you."

"Didn't know she was sleepin' or I wouldn't've knocked so hard earlier."

Jessica smiled. "That's all right, Mr. Freeman. Lexi's a sound sleeper. Here, let me get you some cornbread. Would you like some butter?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. This here's fine," he said. He ate quickly, hungrily, as Jessica poured him a glass of cool water.

"I'm sorry there's no coffee. I don't keep it made up just for me. I'll put some on, if you like."

Freeman waved a dismissive hand and reached to take the glass of water from her. "Never you mind, ma'am. Water's fine." He took a drink and set the glass on the table, then finished off his meal in silence.

Jessica had gone to the wash pan to rinse the dishes, letting him eat uninterrupted. She glanced over at him, feeling his eyes on her.

"Would you like more? There's plenty."

He shook his gray head. "No, thank you. It was mighty good, and I sure do thank you for your hospitality." He stood up and carried his empty dishes to her.

"I didn't catch your name, ma'am." His voice was polite, his eyes kind.

Jessica dried her hands on the dishtowel. "Jessica—" Could she trust him? He'd said Jack Eaton was a friend. Turner was a common name. Chances were it would mean nothing to this man, anyway. "Turner," she said.

There was no light of recognition in his blue eyes as he took the hand she offered. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Turner. And once again, I do thank you for your kindness."

Jessica let her breath out slowly. Usually, she could read people rather easily, but shaking this man's hand left her with a blank feeling. Yet, his eyes held a kindness in them, his voice a shy quality, and his manners continued to be impeccable.

"You said you were looking for Jack Eaton," she said, meeting his eyes.

"You know him?" His voice contained a hopeful note.

Jessica didn't answer for a moment. Was she doing the right thing? If she told him where Jack and the rest of the marshals were headed, and what their purpose was, she could just as easily be setting them up for an ambush as reuniting two old friends. She bit her lip, undecided. "I've heard of him."

Freeman's face fell. "Oh. Well, I know he's got a reputation. A lot of people's heard of him." He glanced out the window. "He's a good marshal, by all accounts."

Jessica nodded.

"That Jack, he's a blowhard, but he comes through in the end. He's got a story for every situation, and they all revolve around him." He chuckled, his blue stare swinging back to Jessica. "I'd be much obliged if you could tell me what you heard about him."

Jessica shrugged. "Let's go sit down, Mr. Freeman. I know you must be saddle-weary."

"I need a smoke, ma'am, so maybe we could step outside." He broke off as her eyes went to the shotgun standing in the corner. "Mrs. Turner, I swear I mean you no harm."

Jessica let go a small, self-conscious laugh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Freeman. I'm sure you don't. Come on, we'll go sit on the front porch."

They stepped onto the porch and Dave Freeman immediately reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarette makings. "Mrs. Turner, I have to be honest with you. I figure you know a whole lot more than what you're tellin' me."

Jessica's heart jumped, and she fought to keep her voice steady. "Why do you say that, sir?"

He drew out his matches and struck one, cupping the flame as he brought it up to light the cigarette. "I been trailin' Jack Eaton for the better part of the past week. Been ridin' pretty steady, but by God, so has he." He gave her a speculative look, his blue eyes keen under his bushy gray brows. "I reckon, from the looks of things, he and the others spent the night here a couple of days ago. That right?"

Jessica swallowed hard. He didn't wait for her reply.

"I don't know who else is with him, but I got a feelin' your husband's ridin' with him, now." He took a long draw on his smoke. "I can pick up the trail, Mrs. Turner, but it would sure help me if I had any idea where they're headed."

"Honestly, I don't know."

The man was uncannily intuitive, Jessica thought. Much more intelligent and purposeful than he had first seemed.

"Do you know who they're after?" His gaze seared her, but she kept her head down, unable to meet his eyes. He gave a short, caustic chuckle. "Your husband Kaed Turner?"

She couldn't help herself. Her eyes flashed upward, the affirmative expression undisguised. "Don't you harm him, Dave Freeman!" she hissed. "I don't know why you're so hell-bent to find Jack Eaton, but you leave my husband out of it, do you hear?"

Freeman nodded, his eyes grave. "Don't know your husband, Mrs. Turner, but he's a lucky man. Seems like he's got it all right here. Don't know what would ever prod him to leave. Must be somethin' all powerful important."

Jessica nodded, thinking of what Kaed had told her about the children Andrew Fallon had taken, about the terrifying way Fallon had killed her own brother, and her husband, before that. Of how he had almost killed Kaed.

"It is," she said quietly.

"So you know the purpose, but not the direction."

When she didn't immediately answer, he put his cigarette to his lips again and puffed.

"What's your purpose, Mr. Freeman?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Come again?"

"Your purpose. Why are you suddenly tracking Jack Eaton? War's been over with now for two years."

Freeman chuckled. "Why, Mrs. Turner, you sound almost protective. Why is that? You sound as if you doubt my intentions."

She regarded him coolly, not returning his engaging smile, suddenly wishing she still held the smooth wooden stock of the shotgun in her hand.

"Your purpose, and your intentions, are your own, I suppose, Mr. Freeman. I suggest you attend to them. You may refill your canteen from the well before you go."

Freeman lifted his bushy eyebrows at her curt dismissal. "Well, then." He gave her a measuring look, then walked down the front steps to stand in the yard. "I appreciate your hospitality, ma'am. Thank you for the meal, and the company." A hint of a smile remained about his mouth, as if he found the situation amusing.

Jessica ignored it. She gripped the porch railing until her knuckles whitened to still the shaking of her hands. She couldn't let him know how unsteady her legs were, how glad she was not to have divulged any more than she had. How inexplicably worried she was that she had admitted to being Kaed's wife.

Freeman refilled his canteen from the well, deliberately, as if he were in no hurry.

Why doesn't he go? Just take the water and get out. Jessica was reading him plenty right now, and not liking it. But still, the man puzzled her. She had the urge to ask him—really and truly—who he was. But no matter what he intended, she was helpless to send a message of warning.

He capped the canteen and replaced it on his saddle, then opened his saddlebag and drew out a blue and black buffalo plaid jacket. The afternoon air carried a chill. Jessica stood immobile, wanting to rub some warmth into her arms and shoulders, but she would not move until the stranger was gone. And, she promised herself, she would sleep with the shotgun loaded and ready beside the bed tonight.

Freeman put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle. "Didn't mean to worry you, ma'am."

Jessica nodded, feeling foolish.

"Anything you want I should tell Marshal Turner for you?"

"No. No thank you." She fought the urge to cross her arms as a prickling sensation crawled up her spine and across the back of her neck. She tried to smile, but it was forced. I ought to offer him some food to take with him.

Instead she blurted, "Are you really Jack Eaton's friend?"

Freeman guided his horse closer to the porch and sat, eye-level, looking at her. His eyes burned a brilliant sapphire. "That's what I aim to find out, Mrs. Turner. Guess I'll know when I catch up to him, now, won't I?"

Jessica's heart jumped at the riddle in his words. He tipped his hat politely, riding away without a backward glance.

She didn't think he'd come back this way again. But she intended to lay the shotgun handy, all the same.