Chapter 8 #3
Stubbs reined in hard enough to make his horse toss its head. He was thick through the chest and belly, with a red face and mean little eyes sunk deep beneath a battered hat.
“You boys!” Stubbs shouted. “I told you to keep off my land.”
“They weren’t on your land,” Caleb said.
Stubbs swung his gaze to him. “This ain’t your quarrel, Marlowe.”
“It is if you come onto my ranch yelling at boys.”
“They was trespassing.”
“We was fishing,” Paddy said.
Gabe elbowed him hard enough to shut him up.
Stubbs leaned forward in the saddle. “You mouth me again, boy, and I’ll teach you manners.”
Sheila moved before Caleb did. Not toward Stubbs, but toward the boys. She stepped between Paddy and the rider as naturally as drawing breath.
Caleb noticed.
So did Stubbs. The miner’s eyes ran over her. “And who might you be?”
“Miss Burnett,” she said.
“Doc’s girl?”
“Doctor Burnett’s daughter.”
Stubbs smiled without warmth. “Then you best take yourself back to town.”
“I don’t believe I asked for your advice.”
Caleb almost smiled. Almost.
Stubbs’s face darkened. He turned his attention back to Caleb. “The ridge is mine. The creek is mine. Anything that comes off it is mine.”
Caleb took one slow step forward. “The deed says different.”
“The deed don’t know what’s under that ground.”
Stubbs looked past him toward the ridge. “There’s silver up there. Maybe on your side. Maybe mine. But if them boys go poking around my claim again, I’ll take it out of their hides.”
Paddy went pale. Gabe stiffened.
Sheila’s hand closed around the handle of the hammer she still held.
Caleb saw it and said quietly, “Sheila.”
She looked at him, and he gave the smallest shake of his head.
For a heartbeat, something passed between them. Warning. Trust. Understanding.
She set the hammer down. Then her gaze shifted toward the cabin porch.
Caleb’s Greener shotgun stood beside the open door, where he’d left it after cleaning it that morning.
He watched as she marched calmly to the porch, picked up the shotgun, and returned to stand beside him. She didn’t point it at anyone. She didn’t need to.
Stubbs scoffed. “You planning to use that thing, missy?”
“Only if necessary.”
The answer seemed to take him aback.
Caleb was not surprised at all.
“Stubbs,” Caleb said, his voice low, “you’ve said what you came to say. Now ride on.”
“This ain’t finished.”
“It is for now.”
For a moment, the only sound was the creak of the man’s saddle and the wind moving through the grass.
Then Stubbs jerked his horse around.
“You keep them boys off that ridge,” he shouted over his shoulder. “And you keep your cattle from wandering east. Next time I won’t come talking.”
He rode away hard, dust rising behind him.
The boys immediately began talking at once.
“Did you see his face?”
“He thought Miss Burnett was gonna shoot him.”
“She looked like she might.”
“I did not,” Sheila said.
Paddy grinned. “Yes, ma’am, you did.”
Caleb barely heard them. His attention was on Sheila.
She was still standing beside him, the Greener held carefully in both hands, her chin lifted, her eyes fixed on the direction Stubbs had gone.
For one brief moment, Caleb could see it as plain as if it already existed—the finished barn, cattle in the meadow, smoke rising from the cabin chimney, boys laughing near the creek.
And Sheila standing beside him.
The thought arrived so fast and settled so deep that he shoved it aside almost violently.
“You can put that down now,” he said.
She glanced at the shotgun as if she had forgotten she was holding it. Then she handed it to him. Their fingers brushed.
It was nothing. It was only skin touching skin for less than a second, but Caleb felt it all the way up his arm.
Sheila must have felt something too, because her eyes lifted to his.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Paddy ruined it. “Miss Burnett, you ever shoot a gun?”
Sheila didn’t answer.
Paddy’s eyes lit. “Mr. Marlowe could teach you.”
Caleb looked at the boy.
“Couldn’t you?”
“She don’t need teaching.”
“I disagree,” Sheila said.
Caleb turned to her. “You do?”
“I can become more proficient. And if men like Frank Stubbs are going to ride onto ranches making threats, then I believe a woman ought to know how to defend herself.”
“You planning to make a habit of riding onto ranches?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
Her eyes met his. “On whether I’m welcome.”
The boys went silent. Even Bear seemed to stop panting.
Caleb looked at Sheila Burnett, standing in the sunlight with dust on her skirt and stubbornness in every line of her face.
He should have said something light. Something careless. Something that put distance back where it belonged.
Instead, he heard himself say, “You’re welcome.”
The words hung there longer than they should have.
Then Gabe cleared his throat. “Mr. Marlowe?”
Caleb looked away. “What?”
“You still want this barn raised before snow flies?”
Caleb picked up his hat and jammed it back on his head.
“Get to work,” he said.
Paddy laughed and grabbed his chisel.
Sheila smiled as she turned back toward the tools.
And Caleb, against his better judgment, watched her get to work.