In the Sheriff's Protection Page 7

  As crazy as it sounded, she felt better than she had in years. “Yes.”

  “Good, because we have a lot of work to do now.” With a grin, he glanced at her feet. “I’m glad you found your shoes. For a while there I thought you were just trying to get out of the hard stuff.”

  “Hard stuff? I—”

  He laughed and winked. “I know. I was just teasing.”

  She playfully slapped his arm. “You are very good at that, Tom Baniff. Teasing people.”

  “And you are very good at everything,” he said. “The hardest-working woman I’ve ever met. The most determined one, too.”

  “Enough of this teasing.”

  “I’m not teasing.” He let go of her arms, but didn’t step away. “I’m serious. I have no doubt whatsoever that if I hadn’t been here, you would have found a way to get that tree out all by yourself.”

  She couldn’t be sure, because she’d never seen it before, but Tom’s eyes, his entire face, held admiration. No one had ever admired her for anything.

  “You’re a strong woman, Clara, and I believe you can do anything you set your mind to.” He reached out and lifted her chin with one finger, keeping her gaze locked on his. “Anything.”

  He dropped his hand and stepped around her then. She spun around, not sure what she should say.

  With a grin and a wink, he said, “You could start by maybe making us some lunch. Breakfast is wearing off and we still have a day’s worth of work ahead of us.”

  She laughed at how even his demands were more of a suggestion. “I’ll think about it.”

  “How hard?”

  “Go on,” she said, waving a hand while wishing he would never have to leave. “I’ll have lunch done before you have that branch chopped up and stacked.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Feeling as carefree as he was acting, she grabbed a branch from the floor. “No.” Swiping at him like she was going to use it as a switch, she said, “Now, go on. Off with you.”

  He grabbed his backside as he ran for the door, like a child would trying to run away from a whipping. She laughed harder, and chased him all the way to the front porch.

  The fun didn’t stop there. A short time later, during lunch, Billy suggested they should just put a window in the roof so she could see the next time a tree was falling and get out of the way. Rather than tell Billy how silly that was, Tom went along with it, teasing her about sewing curtains for her new window and how she’d have to climb on the roof to wash it. It was silly talk, and utterly enjoyable, and memorable. So very memorable.

  By evening, the house was fully restored, inside and out. After nearly falling asleep at the table, Billy stumbled into his room and fell onto his bed. Clara went in a short time later and removed his shoes and covered him. When she returned to the kitchen, Tom was already clearing the table.

  “I’ll do that,” she said, grasping the bowl he was picking up. “You worked all day.”

  “So did you.” With a grin, he let go of the bowl. “How about we help each other.”

  She twisted to look around the edge of the table. “Are you wearing shoes?”

  “Nope,” he said. “Boots.”

  It wasn’t much of a joke, but still he laughed, and so did she.

  “You should laugh more often,” he said.

  Not wanting the joy inside her to diminish by admitting there wasn’t a lot for her to laugh about, she said, “So should you.”

  “I laugh all the time. I told you about the people in my town. There’s always something to laugh about.”

  Dumping warm water into the wash pan, she said, “Tell me more about the people there.”

  “Well, let’s see... Did I mention Wayne Stevens has a dog the size of a horse, and Wayne himself has admitted the dog sleeps on the bed with him and his wife.”

  “It does not.”

  He assured her that the dog did and then went on to tell her about other residents of the town. Some stories were funny, others touching, but one thing was clear. He truly did think a lot of Oak Grove and the people who lived there. She imagined those people thought just as highly of him. Once, during a quiet moment, she considered asking why he was after Hugh, but didn’t. She didn’t want to know for the exact reasons she’d told him earlier. Furthermore, she didn’t want to be saddened by learning that Hugh had hurt one of the people Tom had told her about.

  When the dishes were done, they went out to the porch and sat side by side like they had the last couple of nights. She would miss this. Miss talking with him. Miss laughing. And miss him. Simply looking at him was enjoyable.

  They talked deep into the night, not about anything important, but things she’d remember forever. Like how he didn’t like cabbage, and that he’d broken his arm by falling off a rope swing, and almost drowned when a raft he’d built didn’t float.

  She told him about things she hadn’t thought about in years, things from when she was little, back in Iowa. The bird she’d found with a broken wing, how she’d doctored it, and watched it fly away. Or the time she’d gotten stuck in the outhouse hole and her father had to pull her out. Silly things that she’d never imagine telling anyone. But with him, it was so natural, the stories were flying out before she could stop them.

  When it was time to retire, a mutual agreement neither had mentioned but somehow both understood, they rose from their chairs.

  Completely understanding something else, even though neither of them had spoken of it, she said, “You won’t leave without saying goodbye, will you?”

  “I have to get back on the trail, Clara.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not answering my question.”

  He took off his hat and spun it in his hands.

  “It’s a simple question, Tom.”

  “Then the answer is yes. I’m riding out at dawn, while you and Billy are still sleeping.”

  His answer was exactly what she’d thought. Hiding the hurt inside her, she said, “Well, then, let me get some food together for you to—”

  “No, Clara. I’ve already eaten enough of your food.”

  “And you’ve earned every morsel.” She started for the door. “It’ll only take me a moment.”

  His hand grasped her wrist. “No food. No goodbye. But I will tell you this. I’ll be back. I can’t say when, but I’ll be back. You can count on it.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. She couldn’t say she didn’t want him to come back, but also couldn’t have him coming back. Hugh would return. Eventually. He always did. Pinching her lips together, she closed her eyes, refusing to let the tears escape.

  Tom lifted her hand and softly kissed the back of it. When he released it, she laid the hand over her heart and covered the back of it with her other hand, almost as if she could preserve the most precious kiss she would ever experience. She watched him walk away, and through the blur, she tried to preserve that, too.

  She wanted to run after him, tell him she’d leave with him, but that would be too dangerous. For him and for Billy.

  * * *

  Wrestling the tree out of the house and repairing the roof had left his muscles sore, and should have had him so tired he should’ve fallen asleep as easily as Billy had, but that wasn’t the case for Tom. Sleep was eluding him again. His thoughts were chasing each other around in his head like Billy chasing those toads last night.

  He’d miss that kid, but was doing the right thing. Saying goodbye would make Billy sad, and there was no sense in that. Furthermore, he would be back. Once Hugh Wilson was tried and incarcerated. Clara would have no reason to stay here then. No one to fear finding her. No one to fear, period. Leaving without her, them, wasn’t his first choice, but Clara’s mind was set. So was his. He was going to find Hugh Wilson before the man had a chance to hurt Clara again. He was more determined now than when he’d left Oak Grove. The idea o
f Hugh even laying a hand on Clara tore at his insides harder than when Julia had died, and he didn’t think that was possible.

  Tom’s mind eventually settled and he slept enough to be refreshed. Before the sun was up, he was, and packing his saddlebags. While he was about to toss the saddle blanket over Bullet’s back, hoofbeats sent the hair on his neck standing straight. There was a chance it wasn’t, but better odds said Hugh Wilson was riding in.

  Tom laid the saddle blanket back over the stall wall and walked to the door. It was Wilson all right: the black-and-white paint with an arrow on its flank just like eyewitnesses had described was more than proof.

  Wilson didn’t glance toward the barn, merely tied the horse to one of the porch posts, grabbed his saddlebags and walked inside the house.

  Contemplating his options, Tom settled one hand on the gun in his holster and watched the house door. His mind was making up all sorts of scenarios that he tried not to let take root. Clara wouldn’t mention he was in the barn, but Billy wouldn’t see no reason not to. The boy had hoped his father would come home soon, just so the two of them could meet. Tom had tried his best to not say anything against Hugh, or the few teachings Hugh had given the boy, even while disagreeing with some of those teachings. Most of them, actually.

  When the door opened, Tom grasped the butt of his gun, but then released it when Clara was the only one to walk out. She went straight to the paint, untied it and started leading it toward the barn.

  In case Hugh was watching, Tom refrained from opening the door for her, and stayed in the shadows as she walked in and closed the door behind the horse.

  “You have to leave,” she whispered while leading the paint into the first stall. “Now. Or as soon as I get back in the house. Quietly. I’ll keep Hugh away from the windows.”

  “I can’t do that, Clara.”

  “You have to.”

  He stepped up beside her and gently pushed her hands aside when she started to unsaddle the horse. The animal was damp with sweat and clearly fatigued. Tom didn’t need any more reasons to loathe Hugh, but had them. Both the horse’s condition and the fact the man had sent Clara out to see to the animal. “I have to finish what I started.”

  She’d already dumped grain in the feed trough and had walked over to collect the bucket of water that he’d left by the door last night. “I understand that, Tom, but please, not here. Not in front of Billy.”

  The saddle blanket was soaked clear through. After tossing it over the stall wall, he grabbed a rag to towel dry the horse. “Keep him in the house and send Hugh out here.”

  “I can’t do that, Tom. I told you that. I have to think of Billy.”

  He wasn’t sure which irritated him more: her loyalty to her no-good husband, or the fact she wore little more than her nightgown. She’d covered it with a long shawl, and wore shoes, but knowing Hugh was in the house, and had most likely seen her without the shawl on... He cursed to himself. Hugh was her husband, and had seen all she had before. Had the right to. It was him that didn’t.

  With his insides twisting in knots, a portion of his frustration came out as he asked, “What about when Billy’s old enough, Clara? Don’t you want him to have other choices besides following in his father’s footsteps?”

  Anger sparked in her eyes. “Arresting his father in front of him isn’t the answer for that.”

  He clamped his teeth together until a portion of his ire eased. “I’m not saying it is. You know—”

  “I know you need to leave.” She was on her way to the door and didn’t look back toward him. “Hugh rode all night. Give me time to feed him. He’ll go to bed afterward. You can ride out then.” At the door she paused, but didn’t turn around. “I’m begging you, Tom—please don’t stay here. Please.”

  He didn’t waste the breath to say he wouldn’t be leaving without Hugh, but he did follow her to the door, and stuck a boot in the corner so she couldn’t close it tight enough to drop the crossbar latch in place. The very latch he’d repaired while she’d been sick and sleeping. Her pleading tore at him. Denying her anything tore at him, but he couldn’t leave. He was a lawman and Hugh was the man he was after.

  She didn’t make it as far as the water trough before the house door opened and Hugh walked out. Billy was right behind him. Tom hadn’t known a man’s heart could sink, until his did at that moment.

  “Billy tells me we have company staying in the barn,” Hugh said. “Why didn’t you mention that, Clara?”

  Tom grasped his gun.

  “Because it doesn’t matter,” Clara said, still walking toward the house. “He’s getting ready to leave right now.”

  Hugh stepped off the porch. “Is he? My son didn’t say that.”

  “He must have forgotten,” Clara said.

  “Maybe it’s you who’s forgotten things. Forgotten that Billy’s my son.” Hugh grabbed her by the arm. “That you’re my wife.”

  “No one’s forgotten anything, Hugh,” Clara said. “He’s just a stranger that needed a place to sleep.”

  Tom was about to push open the door, but Billy ran off the porch and grabbed Hugh’s hand.

  “He’s in the barn, Pa. You’ll like him. His name is Tom.”

  If it was anyone else, anyone but Clara and Billy, Tom would take his chances, step out and draw on Hugh. But his gut would not let him do that. Not in front of Billy. Turning, he walked over to the paint.

  “I think it’s time I meet this Tom. Thank him for all the work he’s done around here.”

  Hugh was obviously talking loud enough for him to hear. Tom knelt down next to the paint and grabbed a handful of straw to rub down the animal’s hind leg.

  The door swung open with a bang, but Tom didn’t turn around, not even when Billy spoke.

  “That’s him, Pa. That’s Tom,” the boy said with excitement. “Hey, Tom. My pa’s home! I told him about fixing the barn with you, and the porch roof, and the hole in the house.”

  Pulling up a smile for Billy, Tom asked, “Did you tell him how good you are at splitting kindling?”

  “I forgot that!” Billy exclaimed. “Hey, Pa, I can cut wood the perfect size for Ma’s stove. Can’t I, Ma?”

  “The perfect size,” she said.

  Tom was still rubbing straw on the horse’s leg, paying special attention to the scabs near the fetlock. The injury was almost completely healed, which fit the timeline as to when the animal had been hobbled while tied to the train tracks.

  “I hear you’re quite the jack-of-all-trades,” Hugh said. “Are you good with horses, too?”

  “I’ve been around plenty.” Tom stood and patted the paint’s rump. “You’ve got a good mount here.”

  Dressed in black from tip to top, Hugh wore guns on both hips. Very few men wore two guns. Only outlaws and gunslingers. Or those who wanted to be one or the other. Hugh was on the taller side. Eye to eye with Tom, and with that gaunt look that made his eyes beady and his cheeks sunken. Men got that look from being in the saddle too much to eat three meals a day. Tom had seen that look plenty of times before, as well as the one in Hugh’s eyes. Ruthlessness.

  Hugh, with his hand still gripping Clara’s shoulder, pulled her closer to his side. “I know how to pick a good mount.”

  The shame in her eyes almost had Tom going for his gun, but he refused to let Hugh get his goat. However, he did level a glare of exactly how disgusted he was by Hugh’s innuendo. Wanting to give the man something else to think about, Tom nodded toward the paint. “What happened to him?” He purposefully didn’t specify the horse’s injuries.

  “Got caught up in some barbed wire up in Montana, where I was looking at some cattle to buy. The Double Bar-S Ranch.”

  The lie was to give an alibi. One Tom wouldn’t have bought whether he’d already known better or not. “Montana. That’s a long way to ride an injured horse.”

  “I didn�
�t ride him. A cowboy there doctored the wounds, and the owner of the ranch, Will Barnett, allowed me to stay there until the horse was good enough to travel.”

  More lies, except that there probably was a Double Bar-S ranch owned by Will Barnett, who would say Hugh had been there. All outlaws, at least the ones who made a career out of it, had alibis and men who would cover for them. Those men were usually as crooked as the outlaws.

  “Tom was just leaving,” Clara said.

  Tom kept his eyes on Hugh, and acted as if he hadn’t heard her, or caught the pleading look in her eyes.

  “Not without breakfast,” Hugh said. “I’m sure that’s the least you could do after all the work he’s done around here.”

  With a quickness he wanted seen, Hugh shoved her backward. “Go start cooking. And put some clothes on while you’re at it.”

  Clara caught her footing after a single stumble. “Hugh—”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said with a look that dared Tom to react.

  He’d like to react—was on the inside, where Tom was already seeing a bullet strike Hugh Wilson.

  “Billy, come fetch some water,” Clara said.

  Billy took a step forward, but Hugh grasped his shoulder. “No, the boy stays here. Fetch your own water.”

  Tom had to fight to keep from glancing at Clara. He wanted to let her know Billy would be fine. He’d make sure of that, but couldn’t let Hugh see him react to anything.

  Making sure everyone knew he was in control of everything, including the conversation, Hugh asked, “So, where’re you from, jack-of-all-trades Tom?”

  Chapter Six

  Tom didn’t blink an eye as he answered, “Kansas.”

  Hugh huffed out a sneering laugh. “A Jayhawker.” He bowed his head slightly while shaking it as if disgusted. “Ain’t never been to Kansas. Hear there’s no reason to.”

  In the split second Hugh had broken eye contact, Tom had glanced toward Clara and gave her a look that said Leave, now.

  She did, and by the time Hugh looked up again, expecting Tom to be insulted, Clara was gone, and Tom was far from insulted. There was already too much fury inside him for that.