Daniel glanced at Karlee. “It's started,” he whispered. “Don't forget your promise. No matter what.”
SIX
“KARLEE, GET THE TWINS!” DANIEL SHOUTED AS HE carried a wounded man toward their wagon. “We need to get out of here before the Buchanans share our trouble.”
Questions jumped wildly across Karlee's mind, but the stranger-covered in blood and dust-left no time to talk. He couldn't have been more than a skeleton beneath his ragged Confederate jacket. His hair and beard were long and unkempt. When exhausted blue eyes met Karlee's gaze, she realized he wasn't as old as she. And he was frightened, terrified.
“Get the twins!” Daniel snapped. “We've no time.”
As she hurried the girls toward the wagon, Karlee heard Deut Buchanan whisper to Daniel. “This is Cullen Baker's doing, I'd bet on it. Most of the trouble blamed on this boy weren't his fault. I'll take care of the animal. You get Jesse dead and buried deep as soon as you can, Reverend.”
Karlee stared at the pale face of the wounded man. Blood dripped from his chest, soaking into Daniel's black coat. He's not dead yet, she wanted to shout at Deut, but to her surprise, the man nodded a “thank you” to the oldest Buchanan male.
Granny stood on the porch shaking her head as if she'd been predicting a storm and she could hear the thunder. “I ain't known nothing but trouble in this state since I come here twenty years ago. We got too many younguns around for there to be gunplay on my land.” She gestured with her head toward her sons. “Saddle up, and make sure the preacher gets home safely.”
Four Buchanan boys were on horseback before Daniel got the wounded man hidden in the back of his wagon. He tucked the twins just behind the seat and climbed up beside Karlee.
“What's happening?” She gripped the frame as he slapped the horses into action. The power in his movements frightened her. He was a big man, and strong, but until now she'd never thought of him as a warrior. Somehow, in a heartbeat's time, this quiet man of the cloth had donned invisible armor. She feared for anything or anyone who got in his way.
“We'll talk about it later,” he mumbled, taking no polite care to allow the few inches between them as he had earlier.
His leg brushed hers as he braced his weight. Karlee tried not to notice. They had a wagon loaded with trouble; the space between them was of no importance. But each time his arm or leg moved against hers, she stiffened then reminded herself she was acting like a foolish old spinster.
They made it back to the house in half the time it had taken to ride out to the Buchanan farm. Daniel pulled the wagon around to the back door, but the location of the house allowed little privacy from homes surrounded it. The Buchanans stopped out front as though notifying anyone interested that the reverend had company. Karlee couldn't help but notice each man's rifle came with him into the house.
As Daniel lifted the wounded man, he called over his shoulder. “Get the twins inside! Keep them in the kitchen no matter what you hear.”
Karlee had no idea what was going on. All she could do was trust Daniel as she'd promised. And trusting a man whose favorite saying was “we'll talk about it later” wasn't an easy thing to do.
She followed behind Daniel and bolted the door. The girls clung to her skirts. Karlee fought to hide any worry and confusion, knowing the girls were already tired and cranky. They didn't need to be frightened as well. Tension hung in the air as thick as the smell of blood.
After trying everything she could think of to keep the twins busy, she finally gave up the battle and sat in a huge rocker pulled close to a cold fireplace. This corner of the kitchen caught the morning light but now lay in shadows. To her surprise, both girls crawled into her lap and wiggled their way to sleep.
She rocked them slowly, listening to voices somewhere beyond the kitchen door. Men were talking, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. She could hear footsteps but couldn't tell how many there were.
Daniel's words, “promise to stay no matter what you hear,” filled her thoughts. Had he known this would happen, or had he only guessed?
Long shadows criss-crossed the room when she felt one of the twins being lifted from beneath her arm. Karlee looked up at Daniel's large frame hovering above her.
“I'll help you put them to bed,” he whispered as he carefully settled one sleeping girl against a white spot of cotton on a shirt splattered with blood.
Karlee followed him upstairs with the other twin in her arms. The girls' room and hers were the only rooms on the second floor. She'd been here two days now and had no idea where he slept. In truth, she hadn't even had time to learn her way around the house, except for the kitchen and her plain, sparsely furnished room.
Once the girls were tucked in, she moved down the stairs, allowing Daniel a moment to say goodnight to his children.
In the parlor, the three youngest Buchanan men stood facing the windows, their guns drawn and ready. None looked old enough to need to shave regularly, but all held weapons with practiced ease.
One glanced in her direction, then turned back to his post without even bothering to nod a greeting. They might be poor farm folks to most eyes, but Karlee suspected they were men born to this land with an alertness for danger and a strength to act when needed.
Karlee kept her attention on the guards as she silently crossed the hall and slipped into the dining room. She navigated toward the kitchen in shadows. The smell of blood and dirt and dying filled her senses. She slowed, searching the darkness, letting her fingers guide her as her eyes adjusted.
Her hip bumped against the table a moment before her fingers trailed into warm, thick liquid.
Karlee froze as her eyes made out the dark forms before her.
Two men lay on the dining table. One was the wounded man they'd transported from the ranch. Deut Buchanan had called him Jesse. His wound had been treated, but crimson already colored the bandage and the table where he'd curled into a ball like an infant. The Confederate uniform he had worn was replaced by a rough homespun shirt and tattered trousers.
The other man on the table lay straight, as though at attention, and was dressed in Jesse's bloody uniform.
“Karlee, you shouldn't be in here.” Daniel was close behind her. He reached around and lifted her hand from the blood pooled on the table.
The blood seemed to pull at her fingers, not wanting her to withdraw. Daniel's hand closed over hers, gently forcing her to form a fist.
“Karlee, we need to-”
She wasn't listening as she took a step closer to the table and gasped as she saw the second man's face. “He's dead,” she whispered. The stranger's features were already drawn and white.
Daniel gripped her shoulder, guiding her backward against the hard wall of his chest for support. He leaned slightly to say against her ear. “Trust me, Cousin, you've seen nothing here tonight. Nothing!”
One of the men guarding the windows appeared in the doorway. “You better get cleaned up, Preacher. They'll be here any minute. We'll take care of Jesse.”
Daniel nodded and hurried Karlee with him from the room. “I'll explain later.” His hand moved over her shoulder and brushed her arm before he released her.
Karlee followed him into the kitchen light. “No, I think you'll-”
He tossed her his jacket. “See if you can get the blood off this,” he ordered as though she hadn't spoken.
Karlee watched as he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, then jerked it over his head. A trim waist, then the molded muscles of his chest appeared before her, reminding her more of finely carved wood than of flesh.
When she gasped, his head snapped up. For a moment, his gaze searched the room, then he met her stare. A smile touched his lips. “Sorry,” he said without giving any meaning to the word. “I guess you've never seen a man so undressed.” He plunged the shirt into a pan of cold water, then used it for a rag to wash the blood from his chest. “But I've no time to be polite, Spinster Whitworth.”