Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The fool dog was off across the field like a shot, barking and prancing and escorting her in like she was the Empress of Russia. It didn’t matter a lick that Bear was his dog. The animal only had eyes for her, as if Sheila were his long-traveling owner come home.
Caleb started to walk over to help her down from her horse, but Henry stepped in front of him and got to her first.
That fella had no idea how close he came to taking a beating.
Sheila, as always, had a mind of her own, and she tossed Henry the reins. Then, graceful as a hawk in flight, she swung her leg over and slid off the saddle in one fluid motion. Her boots hit the ground before anyone could help her.
“A very good day to you, Miss Sheila,” Henry said, sounding like some Wyoming Don Juan.
The boys added to the general enthusiasm of the welcome.
It was as if they hadn’t seen her for months, never mind yesterday.
Bear was not to be outdone, however, affectionately butting her backward with his head before jumping up and placing his giant paws on her shoulders, nearly knocking her down.
“Down, you beast,” Caleb barked, stepping between Henry and Sheila. “You too, Bear.”
The dog paid no attention to him, and he doubted that Henry would either.
She took hold of the ruff of fur around Bear’s neck, greeting him before pushing him down.
She tipped her hat back and glanced up at Caleb. “I’m happy to see him too. It’s been so long since I’ve been out here and seen this big old pup.”
Far too long, he thought. Her smiling eyes were a brighter blue than the Colorado sky above them, and he felt a tightening in his chest and a knot form in his throat. Thinking of her pretty face and golden-brown hair was getting to be a regular pastime for him.
The dog bumped her hard, rubbing his body against her legs, determined to push her over.
“Sit.” Caleb’s sharp command got Bear’s attention. The animal sat and leaned against her, mooning up at her with his tongue hanging idiotically out the side of his mouth.
Caleb hoped he didn’t have the same look on his face. At least, he knew his damn tongue was still in his head. Unlike Henry.
He nodded to her. “Sheila.”
“Marlowe.”
Their relationship had changed over the summer. Somewhere between gunfights, long rides, shared dinners at Doc Burnett's table, and quiet evenings that seemed to end far too quickly, Sheila had become part of his life.
Caleb wasn't entirely sure when it happened exactly. He only knew the ranch felt different when she wasn’t there.
So much had changed over the past five months.
For the first time in his life, he found himself dreaming and planning.
The wanderlust and wildness that had once driven him faded like wisps of morning mist on a mountain lake.
The dinners with Doc and Sheila gave him a glimpse of something he'd never known—a home, a family, a place where he belonged.
And somehow, without him quite noticing when it happened, every future he imagined seemed to include her.
All because of her.
Without a doubt, Sheila Burnett possessed gifts that drew people to her.
She was beautiful and intelligent, but it went deeper than that.
She saw the best in people, even when they struggled to see it in themselves.
She had courage enough to stand up to killers and tenderness enough to comfort a frightened child.
Somehow, she made the world around her better simply by being in it.
His whole life had seemed to be falling into place like one of the chess games he played at the Burnett house.
He had land and a deed with his name on it.
He had cattle that needed tending and a ranch that needed building.
For the first time in his life, Caleb found himself standing on solid ground.
He was building something permanent.
And when he thought about what he wanted waiting for him at the end of all that work, it was never the ranch he pictured first.
It was Sheila.
But there in the back of his mind—like a worm in an apple—was that nagging thought that wouldn’t go away.
Caleb was a gunslinger and a killer. The way he’d always lived, he never thought twice about taking a life when the situation called for it.
To survive on the frontier, one couldn’t dwell on ‘sanctity of life’, as Henry put it.
A man had to act…and the difference between living and dying often meant the faster draw and the deadlier aim.
On the other hand, Sheila Burnett was her father’s daughter. Doc would save a life regardless of how despicable the crime his patient committed.
Caleb and Sheila were cut from different cloth. Sheila saw the best in people. Caleb never had. She believed most folks could be saved. Caleb had spent half his life meeting men who needed stopping.
Sometimes, he wondered how two people so different had managed to find each other at all. Then she would smile at him and the question stopped mattering.
The truth was, Sheila saw something in him that he couldn't always see himself. And that shook him. Because there were parts of his past he could never escape. Things he’d done. Things he’d survived. The kind of memories that stayed with a man long after the gun smoke cleared.
He wanted to believe she was right about him. He wanted it more than he ought to.
But how suddenly the future he’d been building started to unravel when he learned Elijah Starr was still alive.
It was worse when the man came to Elkhorn. All the hopes and plans he'd begun to make vanished in an instant. The old rage came roaring back. The part of Caleb that settled problems with fists and bullets woke up like a prairie fire in August, hungry to consume everything in its path.
But, for the first time in his life, he realized he had something worth losing.
Now, as Caleb looked at Sheila, all thoughts of trouble disappeared the moment she whisked off her hat. Wisps of burnished gold had escaped the long thick braid hanging over one shoulder, and the sunlight seemed determined to find every one of them.
Then she smiled. He simply stared at her and, just like that, the darkness retreated.
Henry’s voice busted up the moment. “Miss Sheila, welcome. You’re like the sunshine, dispelling the rain and gloom of our dull and ordinary lives.”
Henry ‘the love poet’ Jordan had also removed his hat and quickly smoothed down his long curls. Buffalo Bill himself could not have started a show with more flare.
His partner had a way with words. Caleb didn’t.
Sheila’s gaze lingered on his face for the briefest moment. Somehow, that simple look settled him more effectively than any speech ever could.
“Have you two been busy out here?” she asked, turning her attention to the boys.
“We didn't know you was planning to come this way, Miss Sheila,” Paddy replied. “We coulda rode out together.”
Gabe punched Paddy on the arm. “So she could've helped you hang the barn door?”
Paddy scowled at his friend, but said nothing in response. He was clearly on his best behavior.
She shot a quick glance at Caleb before answering. “I didn’t know I was coming until a couple of hours ago.”
Something in her voice caught his attention. The smile was there, but not all the way. A knot tightened in Caleb's stomach. She hadn’t ridden all the way out here simply to admire a barn.
He studied her profile.
A few months ago, the ranch had been a patch of ground and a stubborn dream. Now, whenever Sheila rode across the meadow toward him, it felt a little more like home.
The first time they'd met was here. Sheila had come looking for her missing father. Caleb hadn't believed Doc was in any danger then. That was the last time he’d ignored her instincts.
He watched her carefully, waiting.
The last time she'd stood here, Elijah Starr had held a gun to her head. Men had died only a few steps away. And Caleb had come dangerously close to becoming the very thing he'd spent his life fighting against.
Sheila had seen all of it. More importantly, she'd seen him.
She'd seen the fury. The grief. The darkness he carried. And she’d stayed.
The memory settled heavily in his chest.
Whatever had brought her out here today, he suspected it wasn't good news.
“When I went to get my horse from your father,” she said to Gabe, “he told me you two were out here.”
Her gaze met Caleb’s again for a moment before those blue eyes shifted away. Something was on her mind. He could tell.
“I’d be honored to serve as your humble escort, Miss Sheila, whenever or wherever the need arises,” Henry offered, bowing like some damn knight of the Round Table. Even his language improved. “With the blackguards roaming these mountains, you shouldn’t ride alone, ma’am.”
“I frequently ride alone, Mr. Jordan. I need no escort. I am quite capable of protecting myself.”
Henry didn’t know her as Caleb did. Her pretty looks and polished East Coast manners hid a tough and capable woman.
And she was one quick thinker. Sheila had grit and spunk from the first time Caleb met her, but she was also a far different person today than the woman who arrived in Colorado five months ago.
Gone were the frills and the bows, the silly hats and the form-fitting New York dresses.
In their place were woolen vests and practical skirts, a wide-brimmed hat and a duster.
The fancy umbrella and silk purses had given way to a shotgun and the Colt Gunfighter he’d given her.
The fact that she could bust a plate with it at forty yards was only due in part to a couple of lessons he’d given her in town right after the eclipse.
That duster was still buttoned up, but he had no doubt she was wearing the short-barreled pistol with the rosewood grips in a holster on her hip right now. Doc told him that since the bloodshed at the ranch, she’d started wearing it every time she rode out of town.