Chapter 12
Cora threw off her quilts. Three hours of tossing and turning were more than enough. She swung her feet to the rough-hewn floor. Her stomach twinged, as unsettled as her thoughts.
When would she learn to hold her tongue?
There’d been no need to confront Ben about his struggle with laudanum.
Not after all the generosity he’d shown them.
Careful not to bump into the cedar chest at the end of her bed, she crossed to the shuttered window and pressed her forehead against the sash. How could she be so stupid?
It was her father. Anything related to him made her feel like smashing another whiskey jug.
But Ben was not her father. He could not be blamed for her father’s sins.
She didn’t deserve to have Jeb as a brother.
With his dying breaths, Jeb had worked to secure her provision and protection.
And what was she doing? Everything short of pointing a shotgun at the man he’d sent.
Her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth wallpaper that covered the planed logs. A bit of civilization and frivolity, a gift from her father to her mother when this room had been theirs, and he had yet to succumb to the bottle.
The wooden sash pricked her forehead. What did Ben mean when he said he was done? Done fighting or done helping? What if he actually left and didn’t come back?
All he had keeping him here was his promise to Jeb.
Ben had a girl waiting for him back in Pennsylvania.
Cora swallowed hard. She hadn’t imagined him being in love.
And here she’d been worrying he might have his sights on pursuing her.
Foolish thought. Why couldn’t she have just taken him up on his offer to oversee the cattle?
She needed air. This house was like a prison at night, stuffy and too warm, with its locked shutters. She stumbled through the dark to fetch the key from the top of her bureau and returned to the window to shove it upward. The padlock rattled as she twisted it off and thrust the shutters open.
Cool night air smacked her in the face. She inhaled the scents of grass and pine. Cicadas buzzed in the distant trees. Footsteps.
Her muscles snapped taut. Indians? Surely not. Her heart thundering, she leaned over the sill and grabbed a shutter. Something moved by the corral. Not an animal. She stiffened. Not an Indian either. She exhaled. Ben.
Hands in his pockets and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, he pivoted at the corral gate and strode halfway to the stable door before turning and retracing his steps. Pacing back and forth. Agitated.
Her swallow stuck in her throat. What if he was thinking about riding into town for laudanum? It’d be her fault, or at least she’d share the blame with his own weakness. Weakness? Was that what it was? What if Jeb had returned home the same way?
She wouldn’t blame Ben if he rode out of here and never returned.
A coyote howl echoed through the dark. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. What if it wasn’t a coyote, but a signal instead? She’d told Ben to stay inside at night.
She grabbed her shawl and hurried outside.
The dew-kissed grass dampened her stocking feet as she strode across the yard, glancing at the cedar picket palisade.
The Comanche had only breached it once. With the cabin and the stable barricaded and secure, the only casualties had been a pig, a dog, and a horse.
With much care, the horse had survived. Over her mother’s objections, she’d slept in the stable with Charlie watching over it for days while her father rode with a posse to pursue the raiders.
It was the last time her father had gotten his blood up about anything, except retreating to town.
Pebbles crunched beneath her feet.
Ben turned toward her and halted by the corral gate. No smile, but his gaze scoured her from head to toe.
Breathless, she hugged her long red shawl, a gift from Jeb before he left home, tight across her chest. The long fringes hung down to her knees.
Ben’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” A shadow of stubble darkened his face. It must have been there at dinner. She’d hardly noticed then, but now, it gave him an air of roughness that caused her knees to wobble.
“You shouldn’t—” Be out here. It’s not safe. She bit back the words. After the way she’d treated him, he’d probably scoff at her concern.
“Shouldn’t what?” He folded his arms and leaned back against the post, but he was a long while tugging his gaze back to her face.
Heat rose up her neck. Why hadn’t she had the sense to put on her dress before she marched out the door? “I heard you out here, and I was worried.”
He snorted. “Afraid I might ride off with one of your horses?”
She gnawed her lip. “Afraid there could be a Comanche raiding party somewhere out there.” She fingered the fringe. “Afraid you might decide to leave.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Other than the part about the raiding party, it seems like my leaving would suit you just fine.”
Breath leaked out of her lungs. “I’m sorry.”
He cocked his eyebrows. “For what?” The breeze rippled a lock of his hair.
“For everything.” She latched onto the top rail of the corral, new and firm beneath her hands, part of Ben’s repair work. “I deserve to have my mouth washed out with soap.”
He snorted. “I could find a bar in my room with a little extra lye.”
She quirked her mouth to the side. “I was wrong about what I said at dinner. I need your help. So does Charlie.”
He stared at her. “Do you mean it, or is this your way of feeling sorry for me? I’m not standing on a street corner begging for alms, you know.”
“It’s painfully obvious that Charlie and I could use all the assistance we can get. It’s just that my father—”
“I am not that man.” His voice rang loud enough to bounce off a canyon if there’d been one nearby.
A coyote howled.
Cora shuddered. What if there were raiders within hearing distance? “It isn’t safe for you to be out here at night. Not safe for either of us.”
He frowned. Didn’t he believe her? Didn’t he care?
What would it take to make this man listen to her? “The Comanche killed my uncle.” The words scratched her throat.
His eyes widened. “Jeb never said anything about that.”
“There’s probably a lot of things Jeb never told you.” She rubbed her hands over her arms.
His voice softened. “What happened with your uncle?”
She fingered the groove atop the pine railing.
“My uncle migrated here with us. Helped my pa build the cabin and the palisade. We were the only neighbors within twenty-five miles with such fortifications.” Once upon a time, her father had been a hard worker when he put his mind to it.
“We’d been here five years. I was fifteen.
I’d gone to town with Uncle Rick, and we’d been delayed.
It was nearly evening. A Comanche raiding party swooped down on us about five miles from here.
We couldn’t outrun them with the wagon.” Her heart pounded now, all of these years later.
“My uncle drove up to a scattering of boulders and ordered me to hide. He died fighting the warriors.” Her eyes burned.
A stream of air leaked from Ben’s lungs. “I’m sorry.” His brow furrowed. “How did you escape? Didn’t the Indians realize you were there?”
A shiver rolled through her. Her uncle had lain sprawled on the ground, bloodied, scalped.
“I…crawled to another patch of rocks. Scared to death. Shaking. I heard a warrior ride up. I rolled to face him, praying with all of my heart for God’s mercy.
I was certain I’d die that day… But he just stared at me.
Face and chest painted red and black. A scar marred his cheek.
He raised his spear, ready to release it. ”
“And?” Ben’s voice scraped across the quiet.
“He said something in Comanche, then turned his horse and rode away. He said something to the others too. A couple of them glanced in my direction. But in the end, they rode off too.” Her voice broke.
Tears clung to her lashes. She would not cry.
Not here in front of this man. God had spared her.
Why? So she could help her mother, or raise Charlie?
Or was there another purpose she had yet to decipher?
She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, ready to bolt if Ben took a step toward her.
“That’s amazing.” He drove his fingers through his hair. “Is that why Charlie figures the Comanche won’t hurt you? Do you have any idea why the warrior left you unharmed?”
She blew out a slow breath. “I have an idea. But I know at the deeper root of it is that the Lord protected me.”
“Hmmm.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “What a blessing to have such certainty.”
Did Ben not have that? Their gazes connected beneath the moonlight, his eyes dark, mysterious in the shadows, drawing her like magnets. An unexpected twinge stirred in her belly.
Where in the world did that come from? But hadn’t she sensed it all along?
The attraction? All the more reason why she must push him away.
But now the threat had been removed, hadn’t it?
He belonged to someone else. She’d best remember that.
After all, it was good news. He could be a friend or an adopted brother like she’d thought of before.
She could encourage him and be a good influence.
A tree frog trilled nearby, answered by its mate.
Cora cleared her throat. “There was something that happened the year before the attack, too, that my family figured was the reason the warrior spared me.”
“What was it?”
She reached for her pocket handkerchief. No pockets. She must be daft marching out here like this. But when she’d heard the howl… She sniffled. “It’s a story for another day. We’d best get inside.”
An owl hooted.
Ben scanned the horizon. “You know if there were raiders out there, they’d have to get over the palisade or through it to get to us. Besides, you already put the story off once at supper.”
“At supper, I said another day.” She tightened her shawl. “And this is still the same day.”
“Are you sure about that?” His rich voice worked its way inside of her. “I reckon it’s past midnight. New day.”
“Still, I’d prefer not to stand in the open in middle of the night.”
“I’ll walk you to your door.” He motioned toward the cabin.
She fell into step alongside him. Her cheeks warmed at his nearness. What was wrong with her?
“Thank you.” The porch creaked beneath their footfalls. She reached for the door latch. “You’d best get back to the stable and stay put until sunrise.”
“I’m waiting for the story.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb as if they had all the time in the world.
She crossed her arms. Did he have no sense of the night?
But he’d settled down since she’d come outside, no longer pacing, and the sinew-tight grip of his jaw and lower face had eased.
She’d helped with whatever had been troubling him.
Helped? It was likely her fault to begin with.
But she’d managed to make it better. “I saved a Comanche girl.”
“You did what?” He straightened. “How?”
“A year before the attack on my uncle. I was out riding and came across an injured girl in some bushes on the outskirts of the ranch. She was about nine or ten years old. She didn’t speak any English, just Comanche.
I could understand enough to figure out that her horse had come across a rattler and bucked her off.
Her leg was broken. I made a splint, got her onto my horse, and walked them back to our house.
My mother and I cared for her for weeks.
Even taught her some English. She got stronger.
One day, she was gone. There were multiple horse tracks outside the palisade the next day. Her kin must have come for her.”
Ben’s gaze lingered on her face. “The warrior who spared you could have been one of her kin.”
“That’s what we figured.” She leaned against the door. “But as I told Charlie, there are hundreds of Comanche who live within raiding distance of here, and only a few of them might have reason to be kind to us.”
“Duly noted.” He hooked his thumbs around the bottom of his suspenders. “All the more reason why you need protection.”
Provided by him or from him? That was the question. But tonight, the air contained too many howls, too many unknowns. She glanced down at Ben’s boots. “I’d appreciate it if you could negotiate with Mr. Goodnight for me.”
“If that’s what you wish.”
Her gaze drifted up to his, the contact so palpable that it made her head swim.
Too personal, especially here after midnight, and her dressed in her nightgown.
“And if that doesn’t work out, we’ll talk about what to do next.
Only, don’t go telling them you’re a Yankee. That won’t help the negotiating.”
“All I have to do is open my mouth, and they’ll know I’m not from Texas.” He smiled, a warm smile that worked its way inside her. “But I’ll tell them I’m there on behalf of a Texas belle.”
“I’ve never been a belle.”
He shrugged. “Not all belles sit in parlors or ride carriages. Especially in Texas.” His rich voice carried on the breeze as he ambled off the porch.
She called after him, “Lock the stable door behind you. Don’t take chances.”
Already in the yard, he pivoted on his heel. “If I didn’t believe in taking chances, I’d be back in Philadelphia already.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “But I’ll lock the door. Good night, Cora.”
Her pulse quickened. Why did he have to do that?
Make things sound like they were about her, when, of course, they weren’t.
He’d be here insisting on helping out even if she was a ninety-year-old grandma and wrinkly, as long as she was Jeb’s kin.
But still, it seemed as if there had almost been a trace of flirtation in his voice. Silly imagining on her part.
She pushed her way in the door and locked it behind her. Ben was practically betrothed. That was the only thing that made him safe. But how safe was a man who could send her heart to pattering?