Nora Roberts - Lawless

She went out like a light.

When Sarah woke, her head felt as though it had been split open and filled with a drum-and-bugle corps. Moaning, she sat on the edge of the cot and cradled her aching head in her hands. She wished she could believe it had all been a nightmare, but the pounding at the base of her skull, and the rust-colored water in the bowl, said differently.

Gingerly she began to dress. The best she could do for herself at the moment was to see how bad the damage was and pray the horses came back. She doubted she could afford two more on her meager budget. In deference to her throbbing head, she tied her hair back loosely with a ribbon. Even the thought of hairpins made her grimace.

The power of the sun had her gasping. Small red dots danced in front of her eyes and her vision wavered and dimmed. She leaned against the door, gathering her strength, before she stepped out.

The shed was gone. In its place was rubble, a mass of black, charred wood. Determined, Sarah crossed over to it. She could still smell the smoke. If she closed her eyes she could hear the terrifying sound of fire crackling over dry wood. And the heat. She’d never forget the heat-the intensity of it, the meanness of it.

It hadn’t been much of a structure, but it had been hers. In a civilized society a vandal was made to pay for the destruction of property. Arizona Territory or Philadelphia, she meant to see that justice was done here. But for now she was alone.

Alone. She stood in the yard and listened. Never before had she heard such quiet. There was a trace of wind, hot and silent. It lacked the strength to rustle the scrub that pushed its way through the rocks. The only sound she heard was the quick breathing of the puppy, who was sitting on the ground at her feet. The horses had run off. So, Sarah thought as she turned in a circle, had Jake Redman. It was better that way, she decided-because she remembered, all too clearly, the way she had felt when he had sat on the cot in the shadowy lamplight and touched her hair. Foolish. It was hateful to admit it, but she’d felt foolish and weak and, worst of all, willing.

There was no use being ashamed of it, but she considered herself too smart to allow it to happen again.

A man like Jake Redman wasn’t the type a woman could flirt harmlessly with. Perhaps she didn’t have a wide and worldly experience with men, but she recognized a dangerous one when she saw him.

There were some, she had no doubt, who would be drawn to his kind. A man who killed without remorse or regret, who came and went as he pleased. But not her. When she decided to give her heart to a man, it would be to one she understood and respected.

With a sigh, she bent down to soothe the puppy, who was whimpering at her feet. There was a comfort in the way he nuzzled his face against hers. When she fell in love and married, Sarah thought, it would be to a man of dignity and breeding, a man who would cherish her, who would protect her, not with guns and fists but with honor. They would be devoted to each other, and to the family they made between them. He would be educated and strong, respected in the community. Those were the qualities she’d been taught a woman looked for in a husband. Sarah stroked the puppy’s head and wished she could conquer this strange feeling that what she’d been taught wasn’t necessarily true. What did it matter now? As things stood, she had too much to do to think about romance. She had to find a way to rebuild the shed. Then she’d have to bargain for a new wagon and team. She stirred some of the charred wood with the toe of her shoe. She was about to give in to the urge to kick it when she heard horses approaching.

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?”