Chapter Three #2
The child’s wailing grew louder, and Maeve felt instinct yank her out of her bedroom and across the sitting room. Bandit or not, she couldn’t stand to hear that crying any further. Her hand moved toward the latches on her door, hesitated, then went back to her gun’s trigger.
“Step off the porch!” Maeve snapped. “I got a barrel trained on the door.”
The silent tension returned. She wondered if the bandit or stranger or whatever he was thought she was as heartless as he was. Who in their right mind would dare fire a shot knowing a child was present?
An uneasy shudder rolled down Maeve’s spine, but she kept the gun ready. It could be a trap. It probably was; a way to force her to lower her guard so they could take everything for themselves. She just couldn’t risk that.
She heard the porch creak under the stranger’s footsteps, his voice tinged with something unexpectedly sturdy. “Listen, miss, I ain’t trying to cause trouble. It’s just that I dunno how long this li’l one’s been out in the elements.”
Maeve’s will wavered slightly.
“I–I’m here fer the ad, miss! The mail-order groom! Ye’re the one who penned it, ain’t yah? That’s what Sheriff Wright told me.”
Joshua? Maeve lowered the gun slightly, her mind whirling from the new information.
A bandit wouldn’t go so far as to be on a named basis with a lawman, would he?
And her ad–it would be a wild leap for him to make, if he was trying to weave some sort of tall tale.
The child’s voice cut through her thoughts once more, and with a grit of her teeth, Maeve undid the locks and swung the door open, her gun poised and ready for any tricks.
The man looked surprised at first, though whether it was from the door actually opening or the gun in his face, Maeve couldn’t be certain.
He seemed to be alone, with only the one lone horse tied off toward the front of the property’s fence.
That didn’t mean others couldn’t be hiding, but…
they’d be awful far away if his intent was to ambush her.
And if he was meant to distract from the cattle, she was certain the bulls or Mossy would have already alerted the night to strangers in the pen.
No, it seemed the stranger was genuinely by himself, save for the sobbing toddler held tightly against his side.
Maeve’s gaze swiveled between the pair, unease still pressing against her chest. “I didn’t mention being no mama to someone else’s baby,” she hissed.
The man’s other arm moved to fully envelop the child. “She ain’t mine, Miss. Found her abandoned on the road over to yer property, an’ I ain’t from around here.”
So going back to Bighorn wasn’t exactly an option for him.
Maeve stared long and hard at the little girl, inhaling sharply as a pair of wide, glittering eyes found hers.
Even in the dark, it was clear she’d been crying for hours.
And the stranger had the heart and patience to ride through the constant racket, all for the chance of finding her somewhere warm to sleep that night.
With a groan, Maeve lowered her gun to the ground completely. “Well, get in here then.”
The stranger gave a grateful nod and carefully stepped past Maeve, hunching to fit through the frame on account of his unusual height.
He immediately moved to the closest armchair, shrugging off his overcoat to cover the little girl.
Even without lamplight, it was clear the man had lived a life of labor.
Dark hair had been cut close to his head to avoid overheating, and as he turned to face Maeve, the hard features of his face reminded her of a granite statue.
“You mind if I get a fire going?” he asked.
Maeve offered a shrug, keeping an eye on the man as she maneuvered toward the kitchen.
It took him no time at all to coax a flame from the hearth, and as she dug out a small bowl and the remainder of Sadie’s rabbit stew, more details about him were illuminated by the firelight.
Her instincts had been correct, as the man’s frame was well-built, and his skin was deeply tanned from time spent under the sun.
His hair remained as dark as it had before, as if he’d stolen a piece of the night sky on the day he was born.
What she hadn’t noticed, however, were his eyes; they were a startling shade of green, like the grass basking underneath the first warm rays of spring sunlight.
The baby girl’s sobbing snapped Maeve out of her staring, and she hastily finished preparing the bowl before bringing it to the hearth.
The man nodded his thanks, gingerly taking the bowl in his well-calloused hands before offering it to the little girl.
She leaned forward eagerly, practically swallowing the spoon itself before begging for more.
“What’s yer name?” Maeve asked.
The man shrugged his shoulders. “She didn’t come with no moniker, miss.”
Maeve blinked, confused.
“Oh. You were asking me.” His fresh, bright eyes met her own, his expression far too serious for someone who was partaking in such a homey task.
“Apologies fer mishearing you, miss. Been a long trip fer me.” He turned back to the little girl, offering her another spoonful of stew that she greedily slurped up.
“The name’s Jed, miss. And if ye’re still looking fer a husband, I’d be obliged to fill the role. ”