The thin girl’s strength startled Rafe. She’d tussled in terror, fighting for her life, and he’d let her go. He could’ve easily held her, but he knew that would terrify her more. Her feeble attempts were laughable if it hadn’t been so plain she lacked energy because of starvation.
“Whoa,” he said quietly, as if calming a spooked horse. “Stay there, I won’t touch you.”
Rafe put up his empty hands as she heaved with effort. “I need to talk with you.”
She panted and studied him with huge, brown, eyes.
“My name’s Rafe Tanner. I’m Colvin Stallings’ cousin.”
This statement didn’t seem to reassure her as she tucked her body behind the narrow pipe. He ran his gaze over her. Thick, dark hair shimmered with cinnamon highlights. She wore it pulled back and braided, doubled up and secured at the nape of her neck. Flyaway hairs surrounded the thin, frightened face like a halo.
Her skin was tanned already in mid-April, and the dress was an absolute rag. Now that he approached her, she didn’t appear as young as he’d first thought. He stepped back and let her breathe and realize he meant no harm.
“Listen, I’m gonna take your fish and clean it. I’ll fry it over at the campfire, and then we can eat and talk. I’ve got some bacon and a few rolls left over from my lunch in town. Just don’t run off. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
The horror on her face eased, yet her eyes followed his every move. He maneuvered himself backward and gathered the catfish and the wood, leaving as much perimeter around the girl as possible. He settled beside the campfire. This wouldn’t take long. Then this whole misunderstanding would be cleared up.
* * *
She assessed his distance, popped up, and scampered to the cabin, stumbling with exhaustion. After wrenching the door open, she slammed it shut. After two attempts, she managed to throw the heavy chunk of wood into the cast iron rests. She collapsed onto the floor and sucked air. Curled up in a fetal position, her body quivered. What was she going to do? Exhaustion trumped her fear. She blinked. Stay alert.
Nearly an hour passed as she lay there, mustering some strength. A soft knock sounded behind her. She flinched and lunged away.
“Ma’am, the fish is done. I’m gonna set the plate here on the back steps if you wanna get it. I’ll be over by the fire.” Jubilee strained to hear his soft voice. “You oughta get it soon or a critter might drag your fish off.”
She struggled to a sitting position. Dare she open the door? Her stomach clenched in reply. Is this a trick? She glanced to the table. With the greens and onions, she could make do. But the thought of a raccoon getting her fish repelled her more than she could bear. Yet that man. What if he…? She refused to contemplate.
She chewed her lip. Finally, her stomach won. She knelt, hoping to snatch the plate—if it were really there. Certainly worth the chance. With the stealth of a Kickapoo, she removed the bar and the door yawned open.
A platter came into view, and the smell of food filtered to Jubilee’s nostrils. An onslaught of saliva flooded her mouth. Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed the door wide to search for him. Her gaze caught him quick and, like his words, he sat next to the campfire, his eyes on her.
She swallowed. Why would he give her this food? Enough pondering, grab the fish. After seizing the plate and plopping the platter to the floor, she snatched the leather handle and yanked. Shouldering the wooden bar, she secured the door. She froze and panted. What was he doing? She pressed her ear against the wood, trying to calm her breathing.
Nary a sound. She looked at her plate. Some of the precious fish had scattered across the dirty floor. Scooping it up, she noticed several strips of bacon and two rolls also graced the tin platter.
She didn’t take time to ruminate, but hurried to the table to rinse the dirty pieces of fish in the water bucket on the table and jammed them into her mouth. Grabbing an onion to season the fish, she hoped to finish it. Oh, the bacon. When had she last tasted its salty goodness? She ate in a frenzy for a few moments before slowing her pace. Her stomach could only take a few bites at a time. Her plate was still plenty full when she stopped. She was stuffed.
She dunked the dipper in the bucket and took a long drink of water. Her satisfied stomach caused her to pause and think. Why had this stranger shared his food with her? She glanced toward the door and shrugged one thin shoulder. Right now, she’d exhausted herself. She’d mull the thought later.
Jubilee picked up the plate and the bucket of water and plodded to the straw mattress in the corner. It only stood two feet from the back door, but Jubilee’s energy was depleted. She set her load next to the bed and lay down. If she woke in the night, she’d try to eat more. She’d need her strength tomorrow. Snuggling under a threadbare quilt, she fell asleep in moments.
* * *
Rafe drank his coffee and listened to the coyotes howl in the distance. This farm appeared a lonely place for a man used to family at every step. His gaze shifted to the doorway of the cabin. Did this woman live here, day after day, by herself? How frequently had Colvin come back to actually occupy the house? Considering the state of the farm and the condition of his wife, if that’s who she was, not often.
He thought over his position. Where he’d bunk was the easiest to plan. The barn, the best building in the area. Who this woman could be, and what to do with her, completely perplexed him. He threw the leftover coffee on the fire. This problem wouldn’t be solved tonight. He’d just as well find a comfortable spot in the barn and hope daylight would answer some of his questions.
* * *
Jubilee’s gritty eyes cracked open. Weak morning light washed across the floorboards from the lone window on the far side of the cabin. Her breath formed clouds in front of her face. With reluctance, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Last night’s events cut through the fog of her brain. She leaned back against the wall and reached for the plate, which still contained a few bites of fish, bacon and roll.
For the first time in months, she’d awakened with a feeling of real strength. Shortly after downing the water from the dipper, she realized another need. The outhouse. She glanced around, wishing the chamber pot hadn’t been left outside the back door. Her only option was to leave the sanctuary of the cabin.
The chill air raised goose bumps across her arms and she rubbed them, her teeth chattering. That man no doubt lingered, but he’d been kind enough to clean and cook the fish. He’d given her some of his food. But he’d grabbed her, just like Colvin. The fingers of her right hand worked a nervous circle in the thin fabric of her skirt. What choice did she have? An incredible need to know if Colvin was really dead rose in her. But, if this information were true, she had nowhere to go. The farm would belong to a stranger.
She glanced up to the old, rusted shotgun over the fireplace. The thing was useless. The weapon had greeted them when she and Colvin had arrived. It’d never been fired, and she had no bullets. However, this stranger didn’t know that. She hoisted herself from the mattress, pulled one of the table’s benches to the fireplace, and reached for the firearm. The rusted metal was cold to her touch. Even without ammunition, the gun made her appear a little more in control.
She unbarred and opened the door without a sound. With trepidation, she stuck her head out, glanced around, then crept down the steps one at a time. The frosty air nipped at her skin, and Jubilee shivered. She tried to hold the gun across herself, as if she could raise the barrel at any moment and blow off a varmint’s head. Unfortunately, the heavy thing weighed down her arms. Nonetheless, she arrived at the outhouse without incident.
On her return journey, her eyes searched for movements. Then, she heard it. A whistle. She gasped and glanced toward the cabin. It was a good ways from safety when he popped around the corner of the house, carrying a rake and a rifle. He spotted her and froze. Jubilee swallowed and raised the gun a bit.
“Mornin’.” He nodded and continued to saunter to the garden on her left. He began whistling again.
Jubilee’s arms quivered under the weight of the gun, and a shudder, which had nothing to do with the temperature, snaked down her spine. He propped the rake and the rifle against a tall stump while she sucked in small breaths to calm her pounding heart. He took up the shovel from the very spot where she’d buried it yesterday and began to dig. She narrowed her eyes. His strong, thick arms finished the row without much effort.
“Help yourself to some bacon left in the pan.” He motioned with the tip of his shovel towards last night’s fire.
A cast iron skillet sat on another stump nearby. She licked her dry lips. The leftover fish proved more breakfast than she’d become used to, but fresh bacon beckoned. Unfortunately, that salted pork rested fifteen feet from where he stood. He shrugged and walked toward her. She lifted the shotgun. He stopped as he came to the end of the row and began digging. The muzzle drifted down.
“You live here?” he asked as he dug.
She juggled her thoughts. Time to find out. Enough of this sneaking around. She needed to know. “Yes.”
He paused a moment to glance at her. “You know Colvin Stallings?”
Jubilee watched him dig. “He’s my husband.”
The digging stopped, and he stood. He was tall, much taller than Colvin. The shoulders on this man were next to frightening. She knew Colvin’s power firsthand, and this man’s larger build put her on edge.
They evaluated one another for a second or two, and the point of Jubilee’s shotgun inched up. He took a deep breath, pulled the hat from his head, and raked a hand through his blond hair.
“Ma’am, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Colvin Stallings is dead.”
“Did you see his body?” The wavering point of the barrel went center on his chest.
“Ma’am?” His brow lowered and he pressed his hat to his thigh.
“Did you see him dead?” she persisted and, despite the cool temperature, sweat beaded across her brow.
His eyes narrowed before he plopped the hat back on his head. “Yes, Ma’am, I did. I stood outside the saloon where he was shot.”
“Did you see him laid in his box?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, but I attended his funeral.”
Likely story. She tightened her lips and pressed her cheek to the cold barrel of the gun, focusing him in her sights. “How’d he die?”
* * *
Rafe paused and wondered at the coolness of her questions. It was difficult enough to tell someone their husband had keeled over dead, but should he reveal the truth? He glanced down and kicked at a clod of dirt hanging on the shovel.
“Ma’am, I have no reason to hide facts. He cheated at cards and Mose Brown shot him clean through.” He paused to gauge her reaction. When she gave none, he continued. “Mose is in jail now, waiting judgment.”
She stood with that pitiful gun. More than likely the weapon was more hazardous to her than him. Her lack of reaction set him to digging, and he was on his way back to start a new row when she finally spoke.
“You own this land now?”
He stopped again and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
She let out a shuddering breath.
“I apologize about all this being sprung on you, but Colvin never mentioned a spouse. As a matter of fact, he assured me the place had been empty for six months.”
Rafe dug the sharp edge of the shovel into the sod with new effort. A wife. Or worse yet, a widow. A very neglected one. Anger roiled inside him. He wished Colvin were alive so he could thump the side of his head with this shovel. Here he’d purchased this land in the middle of nowhere, intending to build a successful farm, recover from humiliation, and avoid female entanglements. Now, he’d inherited a widow.
With teeth gritted, he tore into the soil. After turning over another three rows, he paused. She still stood there. Fine. He’d tell her the way it had to be.
“Listen, I’ll be glad to pay your fare anywhere. You just let me know, and I’ll go to town and buy you a stage or a steamer ticket. Shoot, I’ll even buy you a horse if that’s how you wanna go. Colvin had no business doing this to you and, as his cousin, distant though we were, the least I can do is get you home.”
Rafe had never seen hope slide off of a person’s face quite like it did from hers. Her skin paled and her mouth parted. The small woman’s intense eyes, dark as night, pleaded. For what? For kindness? For understanding? For help? Rafe wasn’t sure. Despite the mixed messages, he recognized the despair in the sag of her body. Uneasiness teemed in his gut.
She shook her head, her voice a mere whisper. “There’s nowhere.”
“Surely you’ve got somewhere you can go. Your folks’ house maybe? An aunt or uncle or even a cousin?”
She glanced away and the shotgun lowered until the barrel stabbed the ground. “I’m an orphan.”