The Horseman's Frontier Family

Bolting upright, she called his name, lifting the blue-and-yellow-swirled quilt even though it was obvious he wasn’t here.

She shoved her arms into the thin cotton housecoat, tugged on her boots without bothering to lace them. Stumbling outside, she searched both sides of the stream. The fields were empty. Tethered to the nearest tree, Petra turned her head and let out a welcoming bawl.

“Walt?”

Where could he be? Surely not with Gideon. To a shy kid like him, the man must seem like a giant. A big, brawny, intimidating giant. Clutching her housecoat lapels, she strode across the field, dewdrops wiping away yesterday’s dust from her boots.

The steel-swathed-in-velvet voice slowed her steps. Patience marked Gideon’s words as he explained the safest way to wield a hammer. Amazing how soothing and, yes, even pleasant, he could sound when he wasn’t defensive or tense or angry as he was around her.

Edging to the doorway, she caught sight of man and boy crouched close together. Walt had a tight grip on the handle, a look of intense concentration on his face, lower lip tucked in tight. The cowboy’s capable-looking hands gently covered his, mimicking the movements.

Oh, Walt. Evelyn’s throat constricted. Anyone could see he was soaking up the attention.

She must’ve made a sound, because Gideon’s head whipped up, the force of his gray gaze slamming into her. While his voice and expression were easy, his eyes told a different story. Misery was reflected there. Desolation. Whatever had happened to this man had come close to destroying him, had robbed him of hope and life and trust.

Blinking, he severed eye contact, then dipped his head. “Look who’s here.”

Walt’s blinding grin sidetracked her train of thought. How long had it been since he’d been this animated? Silently animated, she amended, drawn farther into the sunny space. This time when Gideon looked at her, his eyes were clear of turmoil as they did a slow inspection of her hair, her clothing and her unlaced boots.

Heat traveled to her cheeks. They were practically strangers, and here she was in her nightclothes, her hair arranged in a haphazard, sleep-tousled braid.

Tightly bunching the material at her neck, she held out her hand to her son. “Let’s leave Mr. Thornton to his work, sweetheart.”

This suggestion did not sit well with Walt, who jutted his chin at a stubborn angle.

“I don’t mind if he stays a little longer,” Gideon said, surprising her. “We’re not quite finished with our lesson.”

Finished or not, Evelyn had to stamp out the adoration taking root in Walt’s eyes. He could not be allowed to become attached to her family’s sworn enemy.

“You’ll have to finish it later.”

Pushing to his feet, Gideon approached, a defensive slope to his broad shoulders. “What’s the problem, Evelyn?” He spoke quietly. “Surely you don’t believe a few minutes in my company will sully your son?”

She fought the urge to take a step back. He was too close, his manly scent—a combination of campfire and leather—luring her closer. The wide, solid planes of his chest looked like the perfect place of refuge, a place to rest her head and, for a brief moment, give up control. Lean on someone else’s strength. The sweetness of that prospect had her swaying toward him.

His sleek brows furrowed in response.

“I—” She scrambled for something sensible to say, stunned at herself. Gideon Thornton was the last person on earth she should be seeking support from.

Liar. Thief. Adversary.

Gentle. Patient. Kind.

Before she could unravel her thoughts, he clamped his jaw. “No need to say anything else. Your opinion of me is quite clear.” He motioned for Walt. “Breakfast time, kiddo. Go help your ma.”

The joy leached from Walt’s face. Small shoulders drooping, he trudged across the dirt floor. Indecision knotted her insides. Was she wrong to interrupt? Of course she didn’t actually think Gideon posed a threat to her son, but a lifetime of warnings could not easily be brushed aside.

Hunkering down to Walt’s level, she took his hand and caressed a thumb over his soft skin. “How would you like to help me make flapjacks?”

He kicked up a shoulder. Dug the rounded toe of his boot in the reddish dirt.

“I found our crock of maple syrup. That would taste good on top, don’t you think?”

He nodded, but no smile appeared. He didn’t want to leave Gideon. Swallowing a sigh, she shot the cowboy a parting look, which he missed because he’d already turned away to tidy up the space. Judging from his ruler-straight spine and careful movements, he wasn’t any happier than Walt was.

On the walk back to the campsite, one disconcerting question drummed through her mind. How could someone so distasteful, so despicable—according to her brothers—treat her son better than his own father had?

Even if her husband were around to defend himself, he wouldn’t see the need to answer to her or anyone else. Drake had been the center of his own universe. His goals and his comforts were all that had mattered. Whenever she’d asked him to pay more attention to their son, he’d shrugged her off. A toddler isn’t worth my time. When he’s old enough to understand grown-up stuff, then I’ll take him under my wing. Infuriating, foolish man. He died not knowing the treasure he’d rejected.

Sitting on a low stool at Petra’s side, she situated Walt between her knees and showed him how to direct the milk into the pail at their feet. His initial hesitation gradually faded, and when the cow’s tail swished against his ear, he giggled. The carefree laughter, like a bubbling spring, made her yearn for more. To hear him say “Mama” and “I love you.” To hear him sing again in his pure, lighter-than-air voice.

Theo had warned her not to push him, and she’d taken his advice. It hadn’t been easy. Living with this unnatural silence, wondering if he’d ever speak again, had filled her with troubling anger. This was Drake’s fault. She wanted to rant and rave and vent her frustration at a dead man. What did that say about her as a person?

“All done,” she said, masking the unpleasantness boiling inside. “Good job, sweetie. Now let’s go make flapjacks. I’m hungry as a bear, aren’t you?”

By the time the fluffy cakes were stacked in trenchers with a hefty slathering of syrup, Walt’s earlier unhappiness was forgotten. He dug into the meal with gusto. With logs for seats and no table to speak of, they ate with the trenchers in their laps, the great outdoors their dining room. Couldn’t ask for a nicer view. The birds whistling overhead and the rush of water were nice touches. However, she could do without the pesky flies.

Her gaze drifted to the stable, where Gideon had his head bent to an unknown task. He hadn’t worked on the walls so far this morning, despite the fact there was a pile of logs behind the structure ready for use. Unusual that he’d chosen to erect the animals’ shelter before his own. If his cabin had already been built, would he have given up his living quarters for them? Not for her, but for Walt? The question was an unnecessary one but interesting. If not for his purchase of Petra, she would’ve said outright that Gideon Thornton giving up his home for the likes of her was about as likely as a wolf giving up his prey. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Chapter Five

Gideon was in the middle of assembling the pulley system when an unexpected sound mingled with the birdsong, swelling above the horses’ nickers and the breeze rippling through the high grass. Evelyn. Singing. Her smoky voice belted out a lively tune, one he didn’t recognize, in a language he didn’t understand. Her playful tone told him this was a happy song, maybe even a silly one.

Unable to resist a peek, he set aside the rope coil and wheel and, standing, went to lean against the half wall. At the stream cleaning their breakfast dishes, she serenaded the boy in an attempt to draw him out. And although Walt smiled and bobbed his head, he didn’t join in.

Yearning for what he could never have captured him in its torturous grip, and he wished them far from there. Resentment curdled his stomach. Why did they have to intrude upon his much-needed solitude?

“I see you have company,” an accented voice said from the doorway.

Gideon half turned, not surprised his friend had managed to approach without his realizing it. Lars Brinkerhoff might have been Danish by birth, but his years with the Cheyenne had molded him into an adept hunter and trapper, able to blend in with his surroundings.

“You spoke to Elijah and Clint, I take it.”

“Ja, that I did.” The big Dane nodded, cornflower-blue eyes bright with concern in his tanned face. “I am sorry to hear about this complication.”

Lars joined him at the wall, his arms poised along the roughened edge. He tipped his head in Evelyn’s direction. “Beautiful song.”

Gideon didn’t comment.

“Is the widow Russian?”

“Her ancestors are.” He dragged his gaze from her animated form to the man at his side. “Do you understand what she’s saying?”

“She is singing about a cat and mouse who, though natural enemies, have become the best of friends.”

Enemies who became friends. He’d been right. It was a ridiculous song.

“Any news on the cause of the Ramsey fire?” He sought to get his mind off the intriguing widow and onto more neutral matters.

Lars frowned deeply. “Clint and I sifted through the debris and found a kerosene container. Someone set that fire, no doubt about that.”

It was beginning to look as if the recent string of accidents weren’t accidents at all. They must be connected somehow. “Who would do this and why?”

His friend’s beefy hand settled heavily on his shoulder. “We are going to get to the bottom of this mystery. In the meantime, be on your guard. We have not been able to establish a pattern, which means any one of us is a potential target.”

Gideon ground his back teeth together. His future was already being threatened by Mrs. Evelyn Montgomery. Now he had an unknown menace to worry about?

“There is nothing to be done in this moment, but there is plenty we can do about your animals’ shelter. Winona is not expecting me for her language lesson until midafternoon. I will help you, but first, why not introduce me to your land mate?”

Land mate? While Lars’s English was very good, he had a funny way of phrasing things.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, leading the way to her tent site.

The dishes already cleaned and put away, she was now reciting the alphabet. As they drew closer, he saw that Walt was tracing letters in the dirt with a stick.

Evelyn lifted her head, her eyes going wide at the sight of his companion. He recalled his first impression of Lars, who, with his shoulder-length blond hair, fringed buckskin clothing and moccasin-style boots, looked like no one he’d ever seen.

Swiftly rising, she stepped in front of her son, blocking him from view. The protective lioness guarding her cub.

“Evelyn, this is Lars Brinkerhoff, a good friend of mine.” His only friend in Brave Rock, as Gideon wasn’t one to seek out relationships. From their first meeting shortly after their arrival in this unsettled slice of Oklahoma territory, Lars had gone out of his way to strike up a friendship. “Lars, meet Mrs. Evelyn Chaucer Montgomery.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d inserted her maiden name. His brothers would’ve told Lars about her connection to the Chaucer men, who’d made it their mission to poison the townsfolk’s minds against them.

The Dane extended his hand. Evelyn reluctantly allowed hers to be swallowed by his oversize grip, apprehension snaking across her features. Of course she would be uncertain. She was a woman alone with her enemy and his friend.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Montgomery.”

Her dark eyes shot to Gideon. The flash of vulnerability made him want to reassure her that she had nothing to fear. A pointless exercise, since she insisted on suspecting him of nefarious motives.

“Lars and his sister, Katrine, came over from Denmark ten years ago. They attend Elijah’s church.”

“’Tis true.” The blond smiled broadly and, still clasping her hand, patted it reassuringly. “We would be honored if you and your little one would join us for services.”

“I—I appreciate the invitation.” Evelyn tugged her hand free. “I’ll give it some thought.”

Lars addressed him. “Gideon, you must promise to accompany Mrs. Montgomery if she wishes to attend.”

He scowled. The Dane knew perfectly well Gideon hadn’t once stepped foot in Lije’s tent chapel. How could he, when doing so would only prod to life the latent rage inside him? God could’ve spared his daughter. That He hadn’t still hurt so deeply Gideon couldn’t even begin to process it. Instead, he boxed up his feelings and locked them up tight, hidden from the daylight, left to fester and spoil in the black caverns of his soul.

A suspicion wormed its way into his thoughts. Evelyn Montgomery was a beautiful woman, an exotic orchid among commonplace daisies. And she was available. Could Lars be interested in her?

So what if he is? A marriage between the two would solve your problem. She wouldn’t be after his land anymore.

But what about Winona Eaglefeather? When the Cheyenne woman came to Brave Rock in search of her runaway nephew, Dakota, Lars was able to communicate with her and help her locate the boy. And now that she and Dakota had decided to stay, he was teaching her English. To anyone watching the two adults interact, it was clear they’d grown close. Gideon got the impression his friend possessed deep feelings for the Native American beauty, but their differences held him back.

“Gideon?” Lars prompted, expression expectant.

Do the right thing.

“I suppose I could. If she makes up her mind to attend.”

While Lars smiled with satisfaction and Evelyn stared as if he’d suggested something scandalous, Gideon wanted to call the words back. What in the world had possessed him to agree? He absolutely could not go. If Evelyn surprised him by agreeing to Lars’s invitation, he’d deliver her to the church and wait outside to escort her home.

He knew his continued absence bothered Elijah, and he hated to cause him grief. But he couldn’t go for his brother. And he certainly wouldn’t go for her.

* * *

Evelyn handed the frog back to Walt with a distracted smile. She’d joined him in the stream while the rabbit stew she’d prepared for lunch simmered over hot coals. The cool water washing over her feet and ankles felt delicious in this sweltering heat. Modesty wasn’t an issue since Gideon and his unusual friend were engrossed in their work half a field away. Besides, she didn’t care what they thought about her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of Mr. Brinkerhoff mounting his horse and lifting a hand in wordless goodbye. They’d accomplished a lot in a short amount of time. The stable walls now reached Gideon’s shoulders.

Leaving the water, she quickly pulled on her stockings and boots, worked the large knot in her skirt free, and waited until the cotton cascaded to the ground to go and check the stew. When she lifted the lid, the thick broth’s succulent aroma teased her nose. Again her gaze drifted to the stable where Gideon was still hard at work. The man had no time to prepare a decent meal. And she hadn’t properly thanked him for Petra....

Acting before she could talk herself out of it, she procured a pewter bowl from her kitchenware trunk and ladled a large portion of the stew into it. “Walt.” She waited for him to look over at her. “I’m going to speak with Mr. Thornton. Don’t wander off, okay?”

Nodding, he returned his attention to the frog cradled in his palm.

The closer she got to her destination, the harder her heart worked to keep up with the blood tumbling through her veins. Calming and refreshing were not words she associated with their interactions. Gideon Thornton possessed the singular ability to irritate her with a mere look. Was it too much to hope this visit would proceed differently than their previous ones?

When she entered the rectangular structure through the double-wide opening, he was in the midst of hoisting a log onto the eastern side wall. Biceps bulging, forearms stiff with tension, he tugged a thick rope toward the floor, thereby lifting the log up into the air. His walnut-colored hair stuck to his temples and nape. Sweat trickled down the side of his neck and disappeared beneath the navy blue shirt collar. Scuffed boots planted far apart in the dirt, his muscled thighs strained the worn-in denim.

Evelyn stood mesmerized by this extraordinary display of strength. Breath locked in her lungs. She remained motionless, afraid to break his concentration lest the log come crashing down on him. It took about five minutes to complete the task. In between testing both ends to check the sturdiness, he flicked her a hooded glance, and she realized he’d been aware of her presence from the second she arrived.

The pewter warm against her palms, she raised her hands to draw attention to her offering. “I brought lunch. Do you like rabbit stew?”

Stepping down from the low stool on which he stood, he whipped off the deerskin gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. His gaze zeroed in on the bowl, then rose to her face. “I’m not a picky eater.”

When he made no move toward her, she chose to go to him. Up close, his gray eyes contained a startling wariness. What had he to fear from her? “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe to eat. I don’t make it a habit of slipping poison in my food.”

Those refined eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How about we test that theory?” Taking the bowl and spoon, he scooped up meat, onion and broth and brought it to her lips.

Stunned, her lips parted automatically, which he no doubt took as a sign of compliance.

Not a single part of him touched her, yet disturbing awareness danced along her nerve endings, resurrecting a longing for connection, for companionship and, yes, that dirty word, romance. One would’ve thought living with three brothers and, later, a husband who despised her would’ve put such naive notions to death. But there it was. Deep down where she guarded her most vulnerable secrets, she yearned to be wooed and courted, dreamed of being that one special person in a man’s life. She wanted to be loved. Truly loved for the person she was inside.

Drake had admired her physical appearance, but the attraction had faded soon after the reality of married life set in.

She swallowed with difficulty.

Gideon’s gaze was locked on her mouth, uneasiness marring his brow. Taking the spoon and bowl with him, he executed a swift turn and crossed to the corner, where he lowered himself on the stool and concentrated on the stew.

Sucking in a balancing breath, Evelyn moved in the opposite direction, knowing it was unwise to linger. The logical thing to do would be to return to her tent and leave the taciturn cowboy to his own company. But while he didn’t seem to mind solitude—indeed, seemed to prefer it—she missed teasing and debating with her brothers. Talking to herself wasn’t entertaining in the slightest.

Surveying the neatly stacked walls, she touched a hand to the wood, careful not to get a splinter. A rather long structure, the stable would be big enough for six or seven stalls. Four horses currently occupied the corral.

“You aren’t planning a typical homestead here, are you? Most settlers get seeds in the ground before starting on shelters, yet I’ve seen no sign of turned earth.” She pivoted toward him.

Head bent, he said between bites, “My plans are for a horse ranch. Ranching is all I know.”

“How do you plan to feed yourself? Don’t you like vegetables?”

He raised his head at that, and his cool gray eyes were flat. “I don’t have a family to worry about. It’s just me. I could care less what I eat, as long as it’s filling.”

Evelyn was suddenly curious why he didn’t have a wife. Why there weren’t smaller versions of Gideon Thornton running around. She knew better than to ask such a personal question. Even if she hadn’t glimpsed pain in him, she recognized his desire for privacy.

“I will say,” he continued as his spoon scraped the bowl, “this is one fine stew. You’re a good cook.”

Despite the fact he’d already established his low standards where food was concerned, Evelyn couldn’t ignore the pleasure his simple praise evoked. Such compliments were rare. Sure, her brothers grunted their thanks as they dug into the meals she prepared, but actual words of affirmation were few and far between.

Smoothing damp palms along her skirt front, she lowered her gaze to the reddish dirt at her feet. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for sharing with me.”

He rose and walked toward her, every step a warning striking her brain. Danger. Keep away. Any kind word at this point in her life was a heady thing. Coming from this man, it had the power to generate traitorous thoughts. His rugged appeal, the restrained energy rippling along his muscles, the scent of leather and campfire clinging to his skin and hair drew her.

Gideon Thornton is off-limits.

As he transferred the empty bowl to her hands, his warm, calloused fingers skimmed her knuckles. Sizzling heat penetrated bone and flesh. When she imagined what those hands would feel like cradling her face, she knew she had to act fast.

“You’ve done a remarkable job here. It’s good to know my animals will have a solid shelter once you’re gone.”

Breath hissed between his teeth. His jaw hardened to stone.

Bull’s-eye. She was safe.

“I’m not the one who’ll be leaving,” he said, his eyes narrowing to slits. “This is my land. I’ll do whatever it takes to hold on to it.”

“Whatever it takes? Even if that means circumventing the law?”

His hands fisted at his sides, he closed his eyes. His lips moved silently, as if he were ordering himself to be calm. Then his eyes bored into her. “You and your brothers can spread all the poisonous lies you want about me, but I know I’m no liar. I’m not a thief. And I don’t have to prove myself to you or anyone else in this town. The judge’s opinion is the only one that matters.”

Evelyn attempted to absorb his words. Passion rang in his voice. Sincerity blazed in his eyes. He was either an adept actor...or he was telling the truth. And if he wasn’t lying, then someone else was.

Chapter Six

Long after darkness had descended and Walt had drifted off to sleep, Evelyn reclined beside the fire, gazing up at a blue-black sky studded with brilliant stars, her thoughts unsettled. Conflicted. If Gideon was telling the truth, that meant someone in her family was lying.

While she couldn’t discount his conviction, the man was a complete stranger. She knew next to nothing about him. What she did know came secondhand, and none of it was positive. She loved and trusted her brothers. And Drake... Well, he wasn’t around to tell his story, was he?

Above the sound of the wood crackling and spitting came a soft thwack, thwack. Easing to a sitting position, she cast about for the source. What was that noise? It came again from the direction of Gideon’s tent. She stood and, tucking her blouse into her waistband, peeked in on Walt. He looked peaceful as he slept, his hands nestled underneath his cheek. She wavered in the doorway. Should she ignore the sound?

Thwack.

Now that her curiosity was roused, there would be no rest until she discovered whether the cause was man or beast. Preferably not beast.

On her right moonlight glinted off the ribbon of trickling water. On the far side of the stream, impenetrable blackness cloaked the rolling fields. Up ahead the fire cast orange fingers on the elms and cottonwoods towering over his tent. There was no sign of him.

“Gideon?” She spoke quietly, praying he wasn’t already asleep. Tiptoeing closer, she noticed the tent flaps were still up. His pallet was empty.

When the sounds came again in rapid succession, she ventured past the copse a little ways. A kerosene lamp swinging from a low branch outlined Gideon’s unmistakable form. Slung across his back was a quiver of arrows, and in his hand he held a sleek bow. The ankle-high grass swallowed up her footfalls as she approached him. She watched wide-eyed as he brought the bow up and, anchoring it against his shoulder, fired off a shot at the paper target attached to the trunk twenty yards away. The tip sank into the wood like a knife sinking into butter. It joined five others in the black circle.