Panic came first and had her spinning around, a cry for help on her lips. The sunbaked dirt and empty rocks mocked her. The Lord helped those who help themselves, she remembered, and raced into the house with the puppy scrambling behind her.
When she came out again her knees were trembling, but she was carrying her father’s rifle in both hands. Jake took one look at her, framed in the doorway, her eyes mirroring fear and fury. It came to him with a kind of dull, painful surprise that she was the kind of woman a man would die for. He slid from his horse. “I’d be obliged, ma’am, if you’d point that someplace else.”
“Oh.” She nearly sagged with relief. “Mr. Redman. I thought you’d gone.” He merely inclined his head and took another meaningful look at the rifle.
“Oh,” she said again, and lowered it. She felt foolish, not because of the gun but because when she’d looked out and seen him all her thoughts about what she wanted and didn’t want had shifted ground. There he was, looking dark and reckless, with guns gleaming at his hip. And there she was, fighting back a driving instinct to run into his arms.
“You…found the horses.”
He took his time tying the team to a post before he approached her. “They hadn’t gone far.” He took the rifle from her and leaned it against the house. The stock was damp from her nervous hands. But he’d seen more than nerves in her eyes. And he wondered. “I’m very grateful.” Because she felt awkward, she leaned down to gather the yapping puppy in her arms. Jake still hadn’t shaved, and she remembered how his face had felt against the palm of her hand. Fighting a blush, she curled her fingers. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with them until I have shelter again.” What was going on in that mind of hers? Jake wondered.
“A lean-to would do well enough for the time being. Just need to rig one over a corner of the paddock.” “A lean-to, yes.” It was a relief to deal with something practical. Her mind,went to work quickly. “Mr. Redman, have you had breakfast?”
He tipped his hat back on his head. “Not to speak of.”
“If you could fashion a temporary shelter for the horses, I’d be more than glad to fix you a meal.” He’d meant to do it anyway, but if she wanted to bargain, he’d bargain. “Can you cook?”
“Naturally. Preparing meals was a very important part of my education.”
He wanted to touch her hair again. And more. Instead, he hooked his thumb in his pocket. “I ain’t worried about you preparing a meal. Can you cook?” She tried not to sigh. “Yes.”
“All right, then.”
When he walked away and didn’t remount his horse, Sarah supposed a deal had been struck. “Mr. Redman?” He stopped to look over his shoulder.
“How do you prefer your eggs?”
“Hot,” he told her, then continued on his way.
She’d give him hot, Sarah decided, rattling pans. She’d give him the best damn breakfast he’d ever eaten. She took a long breath and forced herself to be calm. His way of talking was beginning to rub off on her. That would never do.
Biscuits. Delighted that she’d been given a brand-new recipe only the day before, she went to work.
Thirty minutes later, Jake came in to stand in the doorway. The scents amazed him. He’d expected to find the frying pan smoking with burnt eggs. Instead, he saw a bowl of fresh, golden-topped biscuits wrapped in a clean bandanna. Sarah was busy at the stove, humming to herself. The pup was nosing into corners, looking for trouble.
Jake had never thought much about a home for himself, but if he had it would have been like this. A woman in a pretty dress humming by the stove, the smells of good cooking rising in the air. A man could do almost anything if the right woman was waiting for him.
Then she turned. One look at her face, the elegance of it, was a reminder that a man like him didn’t have a woman like her waiting for him.
“Just in time.” She smiled, pleased with herself. Conquering the cookstove was her biggest accomplishment to date. “There’s fresh water in the bowl, so you can wash up.” She began to scoop eggs onto an ironstone plate. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great deal to offer. I’m thinking of getting some chickens of my own. We had them at school, so I know a bit about them. Fresh eggs are such a comfort, don’t you think?”
He lifted his head from the bowl, and water dripped down from his face. Her cheeks were flushed from cooking, and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, revealing slender, milk-white arms. Comfort was the last thing on his mind. Without speaking, he took his seat.
Sarah wasn’t sure when he made her more nervous, when he spoke to her or when he lapsed into those long silences and just looked. Gamely she tried again.
“Mrs. Cobb gave me the recipe for these biscuits yesterday.
I hope they’re as good as she claimed.”
Jake broke one, and the steam and fragrance poured out. Watching her, he bit into it. “They’re fine.” “Please, Mr. Redman, all this flattery will turn my head.” She scooped up a forkful of eggs. “I was introduced to several ladies yesterday while I was buying supplies. They seem very hospitable.”
“I don’t know much about the ladies in town.” At least not the kind Sarah was speaking of.
“I see.” She took a bite of biscuit herself. It was more than fine, she thought with a pout. It was delicious. “Liza Cody-her family runs the dry goods store. I found her very amiable. She was kind enough to let me have one of their puppies.”
Jake looked down at the dog, who was sniffing at his boot and thumping his tail. “That where you got this thing?”
“Yes. I wanted the company.”
Jake broke off a bite of biscuit and dropped it to the dog, ignoring Sarah’s muttered admonition about feeding animals from the table. “Scrawny now, but he’s going to be a big one.”
“Really?” Intrigued, she leaned over to look.
“How can you tell?”
“His paws. He’s clumsy now because they’re too big for him. He’ll grow into them.”
“I fancy it’s to my advantage to own a large dog.” “Didn’t do you much good last night,” he pointed out, but pleased both the pup and Sarah by scratching between the dog’s floppy ears. “You give him a name yet?”
“Lafitte.”
Jake paused with his fork halfway to his lips.
“What the hell kind of name is that for a dog?” “After the pirate. He had that black marking around his eye, like a patch.”
“Pretty fancy name for a mutt,” Jake said over a mouthful of eggs. “Bandit’s better.”
Sarah lifted a brow. “I’d certainly never give him a name like that.”
“A pirate’s a bandit, isn’t he?” Jake dived into another biscuit.
“Be that as it may, the name stands.”
Chewing, Jake looked down at the puppy, who was groveling a bit, obviously hoping for another handout. “Bet it makes you feel pretty stupid, doesn’t it, fella?”
“Would you care for more coffee, Mr. Redman?”
Frustrated, Sarah rose and, wrapping a cloth around the handle, took the pot from the stove. Without waiting for an answer, she stood beside Jake and poured. She smelled good, he thought. Soft. Kind of subtle, like a field of wildflowers in early spring. At the ends of her stiff white sleeves, her hands were delicate. He remembered the feel of them on his cheek.