The Journey Home

Kody touched his cheek with a brown finger. “I’d like to wash and refill my canteen.” He waited, perhaps expecting her to lead the way.

Why couldn’t the man take a hint? Desperately she sought for a way to persuade him to leave. The gun was out unless she used it as a club, and she didn’t much fancy the idea of attacking him, knew she didn’t stand a chance against his size and strength. She looked about the kitchen, hoping for some solution, finding nothing but emptiness and disappointment. Feeling his patient waiting, she sighed and turned back to face him.

“You could go across to the neighbor’s and get water.” She nodded toward Lother’s place. “I’ll stay here and tidy up a bit.” If he got so much as halfway across the pasture, she’d figure out some way to bar the broken door.

Kody’s eyes narrowed.

She crossed her arms over her chest as if she hoped to protect her thoughts from his piercing gaze.

The man looked at the empty bucket, gave a long, considering study of the useless pump, then stared across the pasture. “How long you been out of water?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing.

Again she shrugged. Her problems were no concern of his.

He nodded toward the path. “Why don’t you go get some?”

Her stomach lurched toward her heart, making her swallow hard to control the way her fear mixed with nausea. She didn’t want Lother to know she was alone and had waited until dark two nights ago to slip over. She reasoned she could fill a pail and hurry away without detection. But his dog set up a din fit to wake the dead. Charlotte had tried to calm him. “It’s me. You know me.” She’d kept her voice low, but the dog wouldn’t let up. Coming around after dark was a strange occurrence, not acceptable to the dog’s sense of guard duty.

Charlotte had been forced to retreat without water in order to avoid being confronted by Lother.

“How long you been here alone?”

She pressed her lips together and jutted out her chin.

Kody adjusted his black cowboy hat and leaned back on worn cowboy boots. His gray shirt, laced at the neck, had seen better days. His pants were equally shabby. “Why ain’t you walked out of this place?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve got the guts to face me with an empty gun, yet you hide in this derelict house without water.”

How dare he? “What gives you the right—”

“Lady, despite the color of my skin—”

Which, Charlotte thought, had nothing to do with this whole conversation.

He continued in the same vein. “And the uncertainty of my heritage—”

One certainty he’d overlooked: this was none of his business. “I don’t recall asking for your help,” she said.

“I’ve been raised to care about the welfare of others.”

That stumped her. How could she argue with something she also believed?

He continued. “You’re out of water. And you’re alone. It just plain ain’t safe for a woman to be alone with so many drifters around.”

“My brother is sending for me to join him.”

“So you’re going to sit here and wait?”

Why did he goad her? His words edged past her patience, her faith that Harry would indeed send for her, and dug cruel, angry fingers into her spine. “No, I’m not waiting.” Why had she sat here for a whole week expecting the Hendersons to deliver a message? She spun on her heel and marched back to the dusty bedroom, threw her few things into the old carpetbag Nellie had left in the closet and rolled up the little bit of bedding. She stomped from the room, paused and grabbed the rifle. Not much good to her, but she’d return it to Harry, and when she did, she’d let him feel the sharp edge of her tongue for leaving her in such a position. Of course, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t risk making him regret opening his home to her.

Ignoring the crunch of dirt under her shoes, she hurried out the door, gave one goodbye glance over her shoulder at the interior of the house and headed down the road. There was nothing for her here and no reason to stay. Besides, surely the Hendersons had a message by now and simply hadn’t had time to deliver it.

Kody trailed after her.

She paused to glower at him. “Why are you following me?”

“Just wondering where you’re going.”

“To the neighbor. They might have a message from my brother, though I fail to see how it’s any of your concern.”

“I’ll see you to this neighbor. My ma would have my hide if I didn’t make sure you were safe.” He pushed his hat farther back on his head and nodded as if she’d agreed.

“I’m quite capable of looking after myself. I don’t need you keeping an eye on me. Go away.” She steamed down the road, dragging her bundles and the rifle.

“I’m going the same direction. Why don’t you let me put your things on Sam?”

She stubbornly plowed onward. When he sighed and fell in step with her, she paused. “Seems a shame to be wasting your time. You might find a job if you hurry to town.”

“I ain’t leaving you until I know you’re safe. Ma would have my—”

“She’d have your hide. So you said.”

“Are you always so contrary?”

“I’m the most compliant of persons.” Except right now. “Normally.”

“So it’s just me.”

“Yup. Now why don’t you get on your horse and ride away?” She had never been sharp with anyone in her life, but this man prodded her the wrong way. “Sorry for being rude,” she mumbled.

“I’m used to it.”

Although he said this in a mild way, his words stopped her in her tracks and she turned to stare at him. His dark eyes gave nothing away. Nor did his blank expression, but she understood he meant he faced unkind comments because of his race.

“Huh,” she finally said, unwilling to point out that not everyone felt the same way. She couldn’t say how she felt about the man, but it had nothing to do with his race and everything to do with the way he got under her skin like a long, unyielding sliver. She hurried on, not surprised when he walked beside her.

“How far to this neighbor?”

“The Hendersons. Three miles. Big Rock is a few miles farther.” She hoped the suggestion he might like to hurry in that direction would be clear.

“Yup.”

The weight of the bag made her shoulder ache. The bedroll kept slipping from her arms and the rifle banged against her shins, but she paid them scant attention. She was used to working hard without complaining.

Kody caught the bedroll just as it threatened to escape her grasp.

“That’s mine,” she protested.

“So it is.” He tied it to the saddle and reached for the rifle.

“That’s Harry’s and I intend to see he gets it back.”