Karlee swallowed. She'd sound like an absolute fool if she said she had never been so close to a man without a shirt. After all, she was twenty-three years old, not some child. “Of course I have,” she lied. “Only they weren't as broad.”
Daniel continued to wash. “When I first came to Texas, I worked as a blacksmith. I still work sometimes at night when I can't sleep.”
Without asking, he reached for her hand still stained in blood and washed it in the dribble of water from the pump. There was nothing caring or caressing in his touch, only practical, but Karlee could feel her face warm from the way his rough fingers moved across her palm and threaded through her hand.
As he released her, he tossed the wet shirt toward her and turned away. “Is there blood on my back?”
Karlee accepted the shirt as he braced himself against the counter and waited.
“Hurry,” he prompted. “I may have only minutes.”
She couldn't breathe as she wiped the wet cotton across his muscular frame. Gently, she placed her free hand on his shoulder, as if she needed to balance herself. His flesh was hard and warm, unlike anything she'd ever touched.
He turned and took the garment from her hand. “I know I have no right to ask more of you, but I've no time to explain. A man's life depends on your trusting me.”
He was so near she could feel the warmth of him.
“No matter what happens, follow my orders as close as you can and above all, protect the twins. I'll explain later.”
She nodded.
“Thanks.” He leaned the few inches between them and planted a light kiss on her cheek. “I don't know what I'd have done without you today. Despite all else happening, I knew my daughters were safe.”
She watched him hurry from the room, grabbing a shirt off the stack of pressed laundry beside the pantry.
Without really thinking about what she was doing, she began washing the bloody clothes. Within minutes, the stains were gone, but the memory of his skin against her hand lingered.
Trying to ignore the sounds from the parlor, Karlee cleaned the kitchen. When she finally slipped up to bed, she glanced into the downstairs rooms as she tiptoed by. Only one body, the dead one, lay on the table.
She dressed for bed but couldn't sleep. Daniel's words, “I don't know what I'd have done without you,” kept rolling around in her mind. She felt useful, truly useful. She couldn't remember a day while she lived with her aunts that she hadn't done something wrong. They were always watching, waiting until she made a mistake, then the aunts had their tale of the day to pass on.
At first light, she slipped silently into her clothes. After checking on the sleeping twins, she hurried downstairs. The Buchanan men and the body wearing Jesse's clothes were gone. In fact, except for Daniel's shirt in the kitchen there was no sign anything unusual had happened yesterday.
There was also no sign of the preacher.
It was time for her to explore. She'd learned early on, being passed from place to place, that the sooner she memorized every detail of a house, the better.
This house seemed a simple plan. Four rooms downstairs, a kitchen, parlor, dining room and small study. Since she knew the wall in the hallway slid open to reveal an arsenal, Karlee watched for other such doors. She took her time, running her hand along the walls as if it were a divining rod. She'd discovered long ago that houses, like people, hold secrets discovered only by the patient.
The study was packed with books and notebooks written in a clear hand. The room was large enough for a desk, one comfortable chair. A chest, like one her father used to have with latches on each drawer for travel, served as a table and footstool. The room was interesting, but held no secrets unless they lay within the pages of books. Karlee moved on.
The parlor was so sparsely furnished Karlee decided she'd seen hotel lobbies with more hominess. One short couch, one chair and a small round table.
Finally, in the dining room, she found what she'd been looking for. A slight pause in the wood. A secret passage, she guessed, or another panel to hide weapons. Or maybe only an imperfection in the building of the room.
Just as she pressed to open the hidden portal, a knock pounded at the kitchen door. Karlee jumped as if she'd been caught in the act of some great crime. She ran into the kitchen and had her hand on the bolt before she hesitated.
“Who is it?” she called, deciding she'd let no one in but Daniel. Frantically, her gaze searched the kitchen for a weapon.
“I'm Valerie, Miss,” came a voice spiced with a hint of an accent. “My madre owns the bakery. She sends me every Monday and Thursday to deliver bread.”
Karlee waited, afraid. She moved to the window and peered through the shutters. A young girl, almost ready to turn into a woman, stood alone. Her midnight hair hung long past her waist and a huge basket rested against her hip.
“Let me in, Miss. I promised I'd deliver bread to the preacher's house first.”
Karlee took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Thank you.” The young girl hurried in. “The basket was getting heavy.” She sat it on the table and began unloading sacks. “I came over early because my madre said you'd be needing to know a few things. The reverend's already been by telling us you were here and you were now in charge of his house.”
She smiled at Karlee without giving her time to say a word. “Milk and butter are delivered on Tuesday and Friday. Madre said she'll tell Jenson you want the same as usual 'til you tell him different. There's vegetables and fruit a block over sold out of wagons every Friday. Madre says to tell you to get there early or the pickings will be slim this time of year. She says she thinks the reverend buys his meat from the Buchanan's place.”
“Thank you for all the information.” Karlee finally managed to get a few words in.
“I'm Karlee Whitworth,” Karlee rushed to say before the girl continued.
Valerie laughed. “Everyone says I never give folks a chance to get in a word edgewise. I figure it's because I speak so many languages. Around my house you had to if you wanted everyone to understand. My madre was born in Spain, my Papa's people were from France and my grandfather only spoke Apache from the time his mind started to go.”
“Interesting,” Karlee had never met anyone quite like Valerie. In a few years she would be a great beauty, but the most attractive thing about her wasn't her high cheekbones and warm sun-kissed skin. Her beauty was in her laughter.
“It's quite a story, how my folks met, but I've no time to tell you today. I've got tons to deliver. I'll come at the end of my rounds Thursday and we can visit.”
“I'd like that.” Karlee watched the girl pick up the huge basket.
“One more thing,” Valerie whispered as she moved to the door. “Be very careful today. You're wise to keep the door locked. My madre says trouble is in the air so thick it almost caused the yeast not to rise.”
Karlee smiled and nodded a thank you. She didn't put much stock in old cooks' warnings, but her Aunt Violet did, and so did this girl. “I'll be careful. I'll toss salt over my left shoulder and shake the flour flat before noon.”
Valerie's face brightened again. “You stop by the bakery if you need anything, Miss Karlee. We're real glad you're here. The preacher is a good friend but he is lonely.”
“I promise,” Karlee said as she slowly closed the door and threw the bolt. “Thanks.”
She returned to the dining room but Valerie's warning kept drifting across her thoughts. Instead of looking for any more secret panels, she went to the foyer and made sure she could slide the false wall open.
As before the rifles were displayed against what must have once been the real foyer wall. Why would a preacher have such a collection of weapons? Why would he need so many? Unless he wasn't exactly what he appeared to be.