The Stranger

“Don’t you have anyone who looks in on you, Laura?” he asked. “Neighbors? Friends?”

Caleb saw her eyes widen and he realized that once more he’d put his foot in it. A strange man, asking if she was alone. No wonder she looked as if she were about to bolt for the shotgun. Swiftly he changed the subject.

“My mother used to make jerked venison—salted and dried. I could show you how. That way, if you get another deer, the meat won’t go to waste.”

“I’d like that.” She paused to swallow a bit of stew. “Is that how they preserve meat in Texas?”

Texas again. Caleb’s throat tightened. “My mother was Comanche. Her people always made jerky. When I was a boy, I used to eat it like candy. Robbie will, too. It’s good, and you can take it in your pocket.”

She studied him with doe-like eyes. Caleb wondered how she felt about half-breeds. “Is your mother still alive?” she asked.

Caleb shook his head. “She died when I was twelve. My father’s gone, too.”

“Any other family? Brothers or sisters?”

“None that I’ve seen in a long time—or want to see.” Caleb’s mouth had gone dry. Her curiosity was cutting dangerously close to the truth. But he could not lie to those eyes—eyes like silvery crystal that seemed able to look right through him.

“I just got out of prison,” he blurted, seizing on a different truth. “I did five years in Yuma for my part in a bank robbery.”

Laura’s spoon clattered to the table. She was staring at him in horror, her eyes huge in her pale face. Maybe she’d throw him out now. That would make everything easier.

“Just so you’ll know, I didn’t hurt anybody,” he said. “And I didn’t take any money—never even laid eyes on it. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong people. I’ve paid my debt, and now I’m going straight.” He pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet. “I’d never hurt you or your boy, Laura. But if you don’t feel safe with me around, just say the word and I’ll leave now. It’s up to you.”

Caleb waited, forcing himself to meet those fathomless gray eyes. His innards crawled with self-loathing. What he’d told her was bad enough. But what he hadn’t told her was a hundred times worse. Using one truth to cover another was more heinous than a lie. It was a crime against innocence and trust.

Her silence lay heavy and cold in the room. Caleb could hear the slow ticking of the pendulum clock in the parlor, counting the empty seconds, and still she did not move or speak.

At last, when he could stand it no longer, he cleared his throat. “Well, I guess that says it,” he muttered. “I’ll be going now, as soon as I can saddle up. Much obliged for your hospitality and the good food.”

Tearing his eyes away from her he strode out of the kitchen and across the parlor. It was for the best, Caleb told himself. The longer he stayed, the deeper the lie and the greater the risk that Laura would discover the truth. He had the answer to the question that had brought him here. Wasn’t that enough?

He had reached the front door when he heard her voice.

“Come back here, Caleb McCurdy. You haven’t finished your supper.”

He froze with his hand on the doorknob. Open the door and walk out of her life, that would be the smart thing to do. But Caleb knew that wasn’t going to happen. With a sigh, he turned around and ambled back into the kitchen.

Laura was sitting where he’d left her, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. The fading light caught windblown tendrils of hair, framing her face in a soft, golden halo.

“Please sit down,” she said. “There’s something you need to understand.”

Caleb lowered himself onto his chair, waiting in silence. Even before she spoke, he knew what he was about to hear.

“Five years ago I thought my life was perfect. I had everything I wanted—a home, a loving husband and a baby on the way. Then one afternoon three rough-looking men rode in through the gate. Just the sight of them made my flesh crawl. I begged Mark to send them on their way, but he was a man who lived by the Golden Rule. We welcomed them, even gave them a meal. Then, just as they were getting ready to leave, things got ugly.” She stared down at the table for a long moment. “One of them caught me alone in the springhouse. He gave me this when I fought him.” Her fingers brushed the scar as she flashed Caleb a view of her left profile, then turned full face once more. “When my husband came rushing in and tried to save me, they shot him and rode off. He died in my arms.”

She made an odd little strangled sound, closing her eyes and clasping her hands until the knuckles went white. Then the breath went out of her in a long exhalation. She opened her eyes, composed once more. “I’m telling you this so you’ll understand how I feel about strangers. It hasn’t been easy for me, having you around the place today. But you’ve been honest about your past, Caleb. You’re a hard worker and you were here when I needed help with Robbie. You’re welcome to stay—until the work is done and you’re ready to move on, of course.”

Caleb gazed at her numbly, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the face. Lord, why hadn’t he walked away while he had the chance? If she’d run him off the ranch with the shotgun, he’d have been fine with it. But her declaration of trust, however reluctant, had undone him. Guilt knotted his innards with a pain so physical that he wanted to double over and groan.

Part of him wanted to know more. Had Laura been able to get help? Had she gone to the law with descriptions of the three men? Were he and his brothers wanted for the crime? But this was no time to ask. He’d pushed her far enough.

“I’m right sorry for what happened,” he muttered, taking a bite of food that had lost its taste. “I’ll be glad to stay, and grateful for the work. But if I do anything to make you nervous, just say so. I’ll be gone in the time it takes to saddle my horse. Understood?”

“Yes, and thank you.” She nibbled at a biscuit, then set it back on her plate. Both of them, it seemed, had lost their appetites.

The silence in the darkening room grew long and heavy. Caleb was relieved when Robbie woke up in the bedroom and began to whimper. Laura flitted away from the table. Moments later he could hear her through the open doorway, crooning a velvety lullaby to her son. Caleb forced himself to finish the stew and biscuits on his plate. He had a hard day’s work ahead tomorrow, he reminded himself. And he certainly didn’t want Laura to think there was anything wrong with her cooking.

He was sopping up the last of the gravy when she came back into the kitchen. By now it was almost dark. She paused to light the lamp on the counter. The match flickered in the gloom; then the golden light flooded her face, making her look as softly beautiful as the Madonna Caleb had once seen in an old Spanish church.

“Just a bad dream,” she murmured. “I got him into his nightshirt, and he went back to sleep. There’s pie if you’re still hungry.” When Caleb shook his head, she added, “You must be tired. Will you need a lantern to lay out your bedroll?”

It was a clear dismissal. Caleb slid back his chair and rose to his feet. “I cleared away a spot in the toolshed before I came in,” he said. “I’ll be fine. But let me put the milk and butter back in the springhouse for you. It’s getting dark out there. Might not be safe for a woman alone.”

The words were out of his mouth before he remembered. He’d made the same offer on that long-ago day when Zeke had cornered her in the springhouse. If she’d accepted his help then, the tragedy might never have happened.

This time she nodded and fumbled in her apron pocket. “Thanks. I’ll give you the key to the padlock. You can leave it on the nail by the back door when you’re finished.”

Again those firm words of dismissal, making sure he knew that she didn’t want him coming back inside. Caleb understood her reasons all too well. Still, it pained him that she felt the need to speak.

The miniature brass key glimmered as she drew it out of her pocket. Caleb reached out to take it from her. For the barest instant, his fingers touched hers.

Her fingertips were as callused and rough as his own. But the warmth of her flesh went through Caleb like a flash flood of raw need. He had touched her before—surely he had—when they were tending to Robbie’s arm. But this time the awareness of her, of every sweet, womanly part of her, left him dry-mouthed and dizzy.

For that instant, the only thing on his mind was wanting more.

The clatter of the key, dropping to the tiles, brought him back to his senses. With a muttered curse, Caleb dropped to his knees and fumbled in the darkness under the table. Laura bent close with the lantern. He could hear the silky rasp of her breathing behind him. Lord help him if he didn’t find that key—

“Got it!” His hand touched metal. He clambered to his feet, his fingers gripping the key, pressing its small, cold shape into his palm. Laura’s eyes were smoky in the lamplight. She took a step backward, widening the distance between them.

“Sorry,” he muttered, jamming the key into his own pocket. “Are you sure you want to trust these hands with your precious milk and butter?”

She forced a weary smile as she thrust the milk jug and the covered butter jar into his hands. He’d be all right now, Caleb told himself. He wouldn’t be tempted to brush his knuckle along her cheek as he left, or to lay a too-casual hand across her shoulder. He couldn’t allow himself to touch her again; that much he knew.

“Have a good night’s rest,” she said, opening the kitchen door for him. “When I see you up in the morning, I’ll call you in to breakfast.”

“That’s right kind of you. I’m looking forward to more of your good food.” Caleb moved out into the twilight. The door closed behind him, then jerked open again, flooding the stoop with light.

“Close the door of the shed before you go to sleep,” she said. “We get skunks in the yard, looking for eggs and food scraps. One morning I even found a rattler in the corral. I killed it with the shotgun. They like warm places where they can crawl in and hide. Believe me, you don’t want one of those for a bed partner.”

Caleb gave her a nod. “Thanks for the warning. We had skunks and rattlers back in Texas, too. Some of them were the two-legged kind. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And you’ll be safe with me here.”

This time, when she closed the door behind him he heard the sharp, metallic click of the bolt.

Enough light remained for Caleb to see his way to the springhouse, but night was falling fast. He balanced his burden against the wall while he fumbled with the lock, turned the key and released the hasp. The door creaked inward and he stepped into the shadows.

The hair rose on the back of his neck as the nightmare memories crept around him. Laura’s anguished screams echoed off the walls, ripping through his senses. He felt the awful snap of bone and his own sick helplessness as Zeke’s blade opened her beautiful face. His eyes recoiled from the glint of light on Mark Shafton’s rifle and from Noah’s dark bulk in the glare of the sunlit doorway. The air was thick and smothering like a foul hand clamped over his face, shutting off his breath. It was as if the fear and evil born in that dank place had taken on a life of its own. All Caleb wanted was to get out of there.

His hands shook as he replaced the milk and butter in the cool box and stumbled out into the night. His mother had warned him about the spirits that lingered in places where some awful event had occurred. As a man, Caleb had chalked her stories up to Comanche superstition—until now.