Nora Roberts: Lawless

In the rocks not far away, Jake bedded down.

Soon after sunrise, Sarah awoke, stiff and sore and hungry. She rolled over, wanting to cling to sleep until Lucilla’s maid brought the morning chocolate. She’d had the most awful dream about some gray-eyed man carrying her off to a hot, desolate place. He’d been handsome, the way men in dreams were supposed to be, but in a rugged, almost uncivilized way. His skin had been like bronze, taut over his face. He’d had high, almost exotic cheekbones, and the dark shadow of a beard. His hair had been untidy and as black as coal-but thick, quite thick, as it had swept down past his collar. She’d wondered, even in the dream, what it would be like to run her hands through it.

There had been something familiar about him, almost as if she’d known him. In fact, when he’d forced her to kiss him, a name had run through her mind. Then he hadn’t had to force her any longer.

Drowsy, Sarah smiled. She would have to tell Lucilla about the dream. They would both laugh about it before they dressed for the day. Lazily she opened her eyes.

This wasn’t the rose-and-white room she used whenever she visited Lucilla and her family. Nor was it the familiar bedroom she had had for years at school. Her father’s house, she thought, as everything came back to her. This was her father’s house, but her father was dead. She was alone. With an effort, she resisted the urge to bury her face in the pillow and weep again. She had to decide what to do, and in order to decide she had to think clearly.

For some time last night she’d been certain the best thing would be for her to return to town and use the money she had found to book passage east again. At best, Lucilla’s family would welcome her. At worst, she could return to the convent. But that had been before she’d begun reading her father’s journal. It had taken only the first two pages, the only two she’d allowed herself, to make her doubt.

He’d begun the journal on the day he’d left her to come west. The love and the hope he’d felt had been in every word. And the sadness. He’d still been raw with grief over the death of Sarah’s mother.

For the first time she fully understood how devastated he had been by the loss of the woman they’d both shared so briefly. And how inadequate he’d felt at finding himself alone with a little girl. He’d made a promise to his wife on her deathbed that he would see that their daughter was well cared for.

She remembered the words her father had written on the yellowed paper.

She was leaving me. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Toward the end there was so much pain I prayed for God to take her quickly. My Ellen, my tiny, delicate Ellen. Her thoughts were all for me, and our sweet Sarah. I promised her. The only comfort I could give was my promise.

Our daughter would have everything Ellen wanted for her. Proper schooling and church on Sunday. She would be raised the way my Ellen would have raised her. Like a lady. One day she’d have a fine house and a father she could be proud of.

He’d come here to try, Sarah thought as she tossed back the thin blanket. And she supposed he’d done as well as he could. Now she had to figure what was best. And if she was going to think, first she needed to eat.

After she’d dressed in her oldest skirt and blouse, she took stock of the-cupboard again. She could not, under any circumstances, face another meal of cold beans. Perhaps he had a storage cellar somewhere, a smokehouse, anything. Sarah pushed open the door and blinked in the blinding sunlight.

At first she thought it was a mirage. But mirages didn’t carry a scent, did they? This one smelled of meat roasting and coffee brewing. And what she saw was Jake Redman sitting cross-legged by a fire ringed with stones. Gathering up her skirt, she forgot her hunger long enough to stride over to him.

“What are you doing here?”

He glanced up and gave her the briefest of nods. He poured coffee from a small pot into a dented tin cup. “Having breakfast.”

“You rode all the way out here to have breakfast?”

She didn’t know what it was he was turning on the spit, but her stomach was ready for just about anything. “Nope.” He tested the meat and judged it done. “Never left.” He jerked his head in the direction of the rocks. “Bedded down over there.”

“There?” Sarah eyed the rocks with some amazement.

“Whatever for?”

He looked up again. The look in his eyes made her hands flutter nervously. It made her feel, though it was foolish, that he knew how she looked stripped down to her chemise, “Let’s say it was a long ride back to town.”

“I hardly expect you to watch over me, Mr. Redman.

I explained that I could take… What is that?” Jake was eating with his fingers and with obvious enjoyment. “Rabbit.”

“Rabbit?” Sarah wrinkled her nose at the idea, but her stomach betrayed her. “I suppose you trapped it on my property.”

So it was her property already. “Might’ve.”

“If that’s the case, the least you could do is offer to share.”

Jake obligingly pulled off a hunk of meat. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t you have any… Never mind.” When in Rome, Sarah decided. Taking the meat and the coffee he offered, she sat down on a rock.

“Get yourself some supper last night?”

“Yes, thank you.” Never, never in her life, had she tasted anything better than this roast rabbit in the already-sweltering morning. “You’re an excellent cook, Mr. Redman.”

“I get by.” He offered her another hunk. This time she didn’t hesitate.

“No, really.” She caught herself talking with her mouth full, and she didn’t care. “This is delightful.” Because she doubted that his saddlebags held any linens, she licked her fingers.

“Better than a can of cold beans, anyway.”

She glanced up sharply, but he wasn’t even looking at her. “I suppose.” She’d never had breakfast with a man before, and she decided it would be proper to engage in light conversation. “Tell me, Mr. Redman, what is your profession?”

“Never gave it much thought.”

“But surely you must have some line of work.”

“Nope.” He leaned back against a rock and, taking out his pouch of tobacco, proceeded to roll a cigarette. She looked as fresh and neat as a daisy, he thought. You’d have thought she’d spent the night in some high-priced hotel instead of a mud hut.

Apparently making conversation over a breakfast of roasted rabbit took some skill. Patiently she smoothed her skirts and tried again. “Have you lived in Arizona long?”

“Why?”

“I-” The cool, flat look he sent her had her fumbling.

“Simple curiosity.”

“I don’t know about back in Philadelphia.” Jake took out a match, scraped it on the rock and twisted the end of his cigarette, studying her while “But around here people don’t take kindly to questions.”

“I see.” Her back had stiffened. She’d never encountered anyone to whom rudeness came so easily.

“In a civilized society, a casual question is merely a way to begin a conversation.”

“Around here it’s a way to start a fight.” He drew on the cigarette. “You want to fight with me, Duchess?” “I’ll thank you to stop referring to me by that name.”

He grinned at her again, but lazily, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes. “You look like one, especially when you’re riled.”

Her chin came up. She couldn’t help it. But she answered him in calm, even tones. “I assure you, I’m not at all riled. Although you have, on several occasions already, been rude and difficult and annoying.

Where I come from, Mr. Redman, a woman is entitled to a bit more charm and gallantry from a man.”