Their presence should have made her feel safe. Should have, but didn’t. If the cabin creaked, as all houses often did, her heart would skitter with alarm. She also found that she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder constantly. Somehow, she had to stop this. It was like a sickness had taken root in her mind, and nothing could eradicate it.
In the time she’d been alone, she had gotten down on her hands and knees three times to check under the bed. As if someone might have slipped into the cabin through a hairline crack? There couldn’t possibly be an intruder. Rationally, she knew that. Yet she found herself pacing, looking in the trunk next to the wall, peering behind the wood stove, and then returning to the bed again to look underneath it.
The funny part was, she had no idea what she might do if she actually found someone. A fair-size man could hide under the bed, she supposed. But if she were to look under there and see one, her heart would stop from sheer shock. So why bother?
As for the trunk, it might have been large enough to accommodate a smallish midget. That wasn’t to mention that the space behind the wood stove wasn’t exactly roomy either. Her fear made no sense. She knew that. So why wasn’t she able to put it from her mind?
Despite Race’s reassurances that her nervousness was normal and would pass, Rebecca was beginning to think she might never get over it. Even here, in the cabin, she’d become breathless several times. It was the most horrible sensation, suddenly suffocating as if the air had been stripped of oxygen, her heart slamming so violently that she felt as if she might faint. She could sense it coming on—a strange, fluttery feeling in her chest, sweat filming her skin, her breath beginning to come more quickly. And then, wham, it would hit her. So far, she hadn’t passed out, but she’d seen black spots a few times and felt as if her legs had turned to water.
Was she going mad? The thought terrified her almost as much as the spells.
The heat from the fire bathed her in warmth, making the cotton of her gown feel almost hot against her shins. She wished she could take a nap. After soaking in a hot tub of water for nearly an hour, she should feel deliciously relaxed, but she didn’t.
She pushed up from the chair, tossing her hair away from her face as she took a turn around the room. She held the hairbrush clenched in her fist like a club as she leaned around to peek behind the wood stove one more time. If a man jumped out, she would brush him to death.
A hysterical laugh came up her throat, and tears filled her eyes. She spun away from the stove, determined to make herself stop this. Insane. It was insane. And if she knew that, why did she allow herself to do it?
Intending to return to the rocker, her bare feet seemed to stick to the floor planks. She stared at the trunk along the opposite wall. Inside it, Race stored clothing, an extra pair of boots, some handguns and ammunition. There were perhaps six inches of empty space beneath the closed lid. In addition to that, the length of the trunk was no more than four feet. No man could possibly hide in there. A half-grown boy wouldn’t fit in there. She was not going to lift the lid again. She absolutely was not. To do so would be absurd.
All her life, she’d been “so levelheaded.” Everyone had commented on it, from the time she was small. “Have Rebecca go with the other children. She’ll watch after them.” Or, “That Rebecca is so mature for her age.” Or, “That daughter of yours is such a responsible child.” Or, “That Rebecca! She hasn’t a flighty bone in her whole body.”
She’d never been one to snivel, as so many young girls and women were given to do. Tears, Papa had always told her, were a waste of time. Better to tackle the problem and correct it than to whine. Crying only made one’s head ache. And it was true. Rebecca had no patience with weepers. Never had and never would. But now she’d become one.
Since the massacre in the arroyo, she had wept bathtubs full of tears. Not only because she was grieving. She might have made more allowances for herself if that had been the case. But, oh, no. She got tears in her eyes if the wind blew the wrong way or the leaves of a tree rustled suddenly. In fact, she had tears in her eyes right now. It was as if a dam had burst inside of her, releasing all her emotions. Self-pity, anger, fear.
Foolishness!
She strode angrily to the trunk, her breath coming in short pants, tears streaming down her cheeks. For an endless moment, she simply stood there, shaking violently, telling herself that this time she would maintain control. This time she would not indulge her idiotic imaginings. Then, despite her resolve, she sobbed and jerked the trunk open.
Rebecca, the levelheaded one, was dead. The sniveling coward she had become closed the trunk and went to look under the bed, even though she knew she would find only Race’s saddlebags, stuffed to bursting with the church’s money.
When she returned to the fire, she felt immensely better. That she was disgusted with herself seemed beside the point. She could relax now. Feel safe for a few minutes. When she felt the need, she would circle the cabin again, peeking in all the hidey-holes. As long as no one actually saw her doing it, perhaps she could go quietly mad without anyone else realizing it.
The sturdy, store-bought rocking chair she’d been surprised to find in the cramped cabin creaked as she sat back. She rested her elbows on the chair arms, the hairbrush dangling from one hand. Leaning her head against the back rail, she trailed her gaze over that end of the room, taking in the stone fireplace, the laden gun rack above the mantel, the log walls, the exposed ceiling rafters, and the bare plank floors. It was a sturdily built house. By all rights, she should have felt secure.
Perhaps, in time, she would.
Race had done nothing to pretty the place up, but considering that he had lived alone and probably worked long hours outdoors, the one-room cabin was remarkably clean. So as not to interfere with the window shutters, isinglass had been stretched over wooden frames and fitted inside all of the window casings, each frame secured with only wing locks for easy removal. On warm days next summer, she would be able to let in fresh air—if she weren’t crazier than a loon by then and hiding in that trunk.
Stop it, Rebecca. Think cheerful thoughts.
Pushing to her feet, she turned to trail her gaze over the rest of the room, trying to imagine herself in the kitchen area, bustling about as she did household chores, kneading bread or baking a pie. She pictured Race coming in of an evening to sit at a table laden with good food she had prepared.
Just behind the rocker, Blue lay sprawled on the floor, loose jowls resting on his front paws. As if sensing her gaze, he opened his droopy eyes to look at her, then sighed and went back to sleep. Even the dog thought she was crazy.
She began brushing her hair again, her attention drifting from the handmade plank table at the center of the room to the antiquated wood stove on its left, which flanked a long section of work counter, over which were suspended open shelves, some filled with dishes and cooking pans, others with food. In Rebecca’s opinion, the water pump, which Race had mounted over the dry sink, was the nicest feature in the cabin, a luxury she was unaccustomed to and hadn’t expected. It had been incredibly easy to heat water for her bath. Having water at hand inside the house would also save her from having to venture outdoors to the well when Race was gone.
Hating herself for doing it, she circled the cabin once more, wishing he would come back soon.
A misty twilight blanketed the forested hillside in a blue-gray gloaming. Wind whipped over the ridge, swaying the evergreen boughs and making the huge trees creak. Crouching to see in the poor light, Race touched his fingertips to the dead ash and embers of the abandoned campfire, then glanced up at Pete, still astride his bay.
“They was here a couple of days. Broke camp this mornin’.”
Race pushed to his feet to gaze across the valley. At the opposite end of the bowl sat the cabin. He imagined the men who had gathered by this fire twelve hours before, could picture them standing exactly where he did, seeing exactly what he saw.
“They’ll strike soon,” Race said. “Warn
all the men. I want ’em pullin’ shifts to watch the cabin tonight.”
“Should we ride guard as best we can to watch over the cows, too?”
Race shook his head. “With ’em loose on open range? The ones we brought in today will be broke up into large bunches now, some here, some there. If someone wants to do ’em mischief, we can’t protect ’em all. We gotta concentrate on the house, to hell with the cows.”
The leather of Pete’s saddle protested as he swung his weight onto one stirrup to follow Race’s gaze. “How’n hell you reckon they knew we was headin’ here?”
Race unfastened his holster tabs, curled a finger under the handle of each Colt, and lifted to check for leather grab. If the moment came when he had to draw, he wanted no surprises. In the past, only his life had depended on his speed. Now Rebecca’s would as well.
“They probably scouted up ahead of us,” Race replied. “Ain’t that many ranches in these parts. The trail we was on led here. Stands to reason.”
“At best, they was still just guessin’, though.”
Race clenched his teeth. They were smart bastards. “Good guess.” He angled a look at his foreman. “You can bet they know the lay of the land around here now like the backs of their hands, and that the sons of bitches went through every buildin’ down there, includin’ the house. When they strike, their every move’ll be figured to a gnat’s ass.”
Pete sighed. “You gonna warn Miss Rebecca to be expectin’ trouble?”
Race walked to his horse. “I ain’t sayin’ a word to her, and I don’t want any of the men to either. She’s got enough on her mind.”
“That’s true enough.”
Race swung up into the saddle and unwrapped Dusty’s reins from around the pommel. “Nothin’ she can do but worry, and I ain’t too sure she can handle that right now. The poor girl’s froggy enough as it is.”
“I can’t much blame her. If anybody ever had call, she does.”
Race met his foreman’s gaze. “This time, Pete, no matter what happens, I want every man to put her safety first, to hell with everything else.”
“You think they know we got the money?”
Race gave a bitter laugh. “They always thought that, even at first, when we really didn’t. That’s why I went and got it.” He shrugged. “Nothin’ to lose. With them already thinkin’ Rebecca had it with her, actually goin’ to get it didn’t put her in any more danger. They’ll still figure she’s got it. That’s why I say she’s our first concern. They’ll try to draw us away from her again, like they done last time. No matter what happens, we can’t fall for it and leave her unguarded.”
“They gotta realize some of the rest of us know where it’s at by now.”
Race smiled. “Pete, that’s the difference atwixt us. I think like an outlaw and you ain’t got it in you. You gotta figure the kind of men they are. One word says it. Greedy. If one of them had that money, you reckon he’d tell anybody else? Hell, no. He’d keep it hid for himself. It’s beyond them that Rebecca might’ve handed that money over to me. In their wildest imaginin’s, they’d never do it. They’re thinkin’ she’s kept it a secret, that it’s either still in the wagon, or that she’s got it with her, or maybe that she hid it somewhere down south. In their minds, she’s the only one who can lead ’em to it.”
“So when they strike, they’ll go after her for sure.”
“That’s right.” Race nudged Dusty into a walk down the decline. “When they try to draw us away from her, we gotta make it look like we fell for it, then circle back.”
Clicking his tongue to his bay, Pete fell in to ride abreast of his employer. “That’s damned risky, ain’t it? What if they get to her while we’re circlin’?”
Race’s chest went cold. “Never knowin’ how or when they might strike is lot riskier, Pete. I’d just go after the bastards, but I’m afraid to leave her to do it for fear some of ’em might double back and get to her. My only other choice is to lure ’em in and kill the sons of bitches.”
“Usin’ her and the money as bait?”
“That’s right.”
Rebecca jumped with a start at a loud thumping sound on the front step. Then loud knocks shook the door. A wave of relief washed over her. She ran the length of the room, grabbed the bolt to lift it, and then froze. She was assuming it was Race. But what if it wasn’t?
“Wh-who’s there?”
“It’s me, darlin’. Open up! It’s colder than a well digger’s ass out here.”
She tucked the brush under her arm, quickly swiped at her cheeks, and lifted the bolt. The cabin door swung open and Race stepped inside, accompanied by a rush of cold evening air.
“Damn, it’s nippy out there tonight!” he said as he dropped the bolt and leaned his Henry against the wall.
Even with the brim of his black Stetson shadowing his face, she saw him run his gaze from her unruly cloud of hair to the tips of her toes, which peeked from beneath the hem of her nightgown. She turned and walked back to the fire, where she stood facing the room to finish brushing her hair dry.
Still regarding her, Race removed his hat, hung it on a hook near the door, then bent to loosen his holster ties. After collecting his Henry, he crossed the room to the bed, leaning the rifle against the wall next to the headboard before unbuckling his gun belt and draping it around the bedpost. As he turned back toward her, he settled his hands at his hips, his gaze trailing the length of her as slowly as warm honey dripping from a spoon. In the flickering fire shine, his freshly shaved jaw glistened like polished teak, and it looked to her as if his hair was slightly damp. She glanced at the tub propped against the wall near the stove.
“It looks as if I’m not the only one who took a bath.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Had to get the trail dust off. Cookie had water heated over in the bunkhouse, so I scrubbed up there.” He trailed his gaze the length of her again. “How’d it go, bein’ alone here all afternoon?”
Rebecca began brushing her hair with renewed vigor. “Oh, it went fine! I wasn’t nervous at all.”
He watched her closely. Too closely. She had the awful feeling he knew she was lying. The way she saw it, she had no choice. He had a ranch to run. He couldn’t stay with her constantly, and with men watching the house, there was no reason for him to feel that he should. She wouldn’t tell him how nervous she’d been. The truth would just make him worry the entire time he was away from her, and she didn’t want that. Besides, how could she possibly explain that she’d opened his trunk four times, prepared to bludgeon a midget with her hairbrush?
“Not nervous at all? That’s an improvement.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” She hit a tangle and nearly jerked her hair out by the roots. “I’m much better, and I’m sure I’ll continue to improve. I feel much more secure here than I did out on the trail.” She flashed what she hoped was a convincing smile, even while she heard herself chattering like a magpie. “Having sturdy walls around me makes all the difference, I suppose.”
His mouth twitched. He moved to sit at the end of the plank table, his long, black-clad legs extended and crossed at the ankle, his dark gaze still fixed on her. Unnerved by the way he watched her, Rebecca avoided his gaze and continued brushing her hair.
“Hungry?” he asked, his voice warm and seeming to trail around her like tendrils of smoke.
“I had a bit of the stew Mr. Grigsley gave us.” She’d actually taken only one bite, been unable to swallow it, and given the remainder of the serving to Blue. “Would you care for some?”
“I’m not hungry right now. At least not for food.” He ran his gaze the length of her again, his eyes twinkling warmly as though at some private jest. “Enjoy your bath?”
“It was wonderful.” She truly wished he’d stop looking at her like that. It was starting to give her the whim-whams. “I filled the tub next to the wood stove so I didn’t have to get out to keep adding hot water, and I soaked for nearly an hour.” She deliberately failed to mention that
she’d left the tub once to pad around the room, peeking under and behind things, dripping water every step of the way. She’d had to mop the floor with her towel after she finished bathing. “What a luxury a deep tub is. I’d nearly forgotten.”
“So every inch of you is fresh-scrubbed and sweet as the petals of a rosebud.”
It was more an observation than a question, so she gave no rejoinder.
“I really like that nightgown,” he said huskily.
She glanced down. “It’s just like the other one.”
“Hmm. I never got to enjoy the other one.”
Rebecca ran her fingertips over the buttons to make sure they were all fastened. His mouth twitched again. He drew his watch from his pocket and flipped it open. Smiling slightly, he returned the timepiece to its place and pushed erect.
“I guess I’ll build up the fire before we call it a night.” He snapped his fingers at Blue and went to the front door to let the hound out for a run. “At this altitude, it gets mighty cold before dawn, even at this time of year.”
Rebecca glanced at the nearest window. The twilight was only just now giving way to complete darkness. “It’s awfully early for bed. Isn’t it?”
He moved toward her, his pace slow and soundless. Looking up into his gleaming eyes, she thought of the powerfully muscled mountain lion they had seen on the ridge that afternoon. “It’ll be late before we finally get to sleep,” he told her.
“It’s certainly going to take me a while,” she agreed. “I’m not really tired.”
Instead of stepping around her to get wood from the box next to the hearth, he stopped in front of her, took the brush from her, and began to run the bristles through her long hair. “Your hair shines like spun gold.” With every stroke of the brush, he lifted, releasing the lengthy strands from the bristles with a flick of his wrist so they fell forward in wavy curtains over her shoulders. “Have I ever told you that you’re the prettiest thing I ever clapped eyes on?”