Carolyn Davidson - The Outlaw's Bride

“What do you think, sweetheart? Just claiming my kiss, and about half a hug.”

“Half a hug? How do you figure that?” She brushed at her dress, unable to meet his gaze, and he laughed.

“I hugged you, but you didn’t hug me back. That’s half a hug in my book, lady. Can you do better?”

She shook her head. “Would you settle for a cup of coffee and fresh coffee cake? I’ve got a pot brewing on the stove and the cinnamon cakes are still warm.”

He grimaced. “Better than nothing, I suspect. But I’m not letting you off the hook, sweetie. I’ll get you another time.”

And that was exactly what she feared, she decided, climbing hastily down from the loft and heading for the house, as far and fast as she could march from his arrogant grin.

And yet, all of his teasing aside, it was a good feeling, she thought, pouring his coffee and cutting the cake, knowing that she was at least halfway prepared for the winter months, knowing that her stock would be fed. And wondering who would be pitching the hay from the loft?

THE FARMER WHO HAD CUT her crop last year was notified to come and take his share, and Tyler spoke with him about the price he should pay for the crop. Apparently surprised that Debra had a champion in residence, Samuel Shane agreed on a price for the hay, and bartered part of his butchering in the fall, plus apples from his orchard for his share of the harvest. If Mr. Shane was curious about Tyler’s place here on her farm, he did not speak of it, only nodded as he agreed with the conditions set out by Debra’s hired man.

Debra was pleased, cautious about expressing her thanks to Tyler, but aware that having a man standing in her stead was indeed a thing to be pleased with. In fact, she found herself thinking about his presence in her home and wishing fervently and silently that his time with her would not soon come to an end.

It was almost as if they shared the farm, she thought, pulling carrots from the garden, plucking beans from their stems. He, with the hammer and his greater strength forming the fences she needed, she with her skills in the kitchen, and throughout the house, making a comfortable place for them to live.

He appealed to her senses, his clean scent, his habits of cleanliness matching so closely her own. He swam nightly in the pool in the pasture, sharing the water with the animals that drank there after dark. His clothing was washed and hung on the clothesline, his trousers and shirts side by side with her own dresses and undergarments. She wondered sometimes what the neighbors thought of the man who lived on her farm with her, but had not sought out their opinion.

That there was talk in town was a given, but she could not bring herself to worry overmuch about gossip. What she did was her own concern, and not fit for speculation by anyone else.

With whom she chose to make her life was private business, and she chose for now to allow Tyler access to her farm and to the house she lived in. They seldom spoke of his past, only living with the knowledge that he might one day take flight from her life.

She had not offered him any glimpse into her own past, living in the present and walking a fine line in his presence. He slept on the floor in her bedroom, changing his mind apparently after the third night of sleeping beside her.

He’d spread his quilt on the rug beside the bed, and without a word had gone to sleep there. Unwilling to question his decision, lest he repent his change of mind, Debra had crawled into her bed each night and slept peacefully, knowing he was nearby, yet not fearful of his presence.

He rose early, stoked the wood-burning cookstove and went out to do chores while she cooked breakfast. Her privacy was not invaded by his presence, for he used the parlor in which to dress, storing his clothing in a drawer in her dresser, but keeping himself apart from her.

It was a strange arrangement, she knew, but it suited them both, and she found comfort in the companionship he offered. They spoke but little, only words that related to the work they did, he with his building, she with the gardening, and only when she sat on the porch in the evening and watched the sun dip beneath the horizon did she feel the need for more from him.

That he might fill a permanent place in her life was not considered, for she knew he would not linger longer than it would take for him to plot out his future. He had a horse now, and a bit of money set aside, due to his work on the neighboring farm. Soon he would surely be on his way, leaving her alone again.

But better off than before, for he had laid out the fencing for the pasture and by the time the second cutting of hay approached, he had completed the job. Her horses and the milk cow roamed at will beneath the trees, spending their days with heads lowered to the ground, where the meadow grass grew in abundance. The sides of her bay mare rounded more each week it seemed, and it seemed that by the end of winter she would see her own golden mare producing an offspring of her own.

Whether the mare had been covered by a wild mustang or perhaps the neighbor’s stud, a stallion who had frequently escaped confinement and roamed the far pastures and meadows, was a moot question. That her golden mare had had an encounter with the stud was a probability, she knew, and she spoke of it to Tyler.

“If she drops another golden foal, it will have been from the sorrel stud,” she said, watching the horses one day. He stood beside her, and his nod agreed with her prediction.

“I’ve heard that a mare such as yours only breeds true if a sorrel is the sire.”

“It’s what my mother’s people said. And they were experts at the art of raising horses.”

He turned to her, a question alive on his lips. “Did you have any problems in town yesterday?” She’d gone in to the general store with her supply of eggs and butter, and made the trip alone, Tyler remaining at the farm.

“The storekeeper asked if I had a man living with me.” Her voice was quiet, but he sensed the pain behind her reply. “He wanted to know if you had serious intentions where I was concerned. I suppose it was a backhanded way of asking if you were going to marry me.”

“Did he give you a bad time? Or didn’t you tell him the truth?”

“It was none of his business, but he knew already. My neighbor no doubt told about your working for him. And I made it clear that you were a hired hand, and not a permanent fixture here.

“At any rate, he was reluctant to sell supplies to me, but he needed my butter and eggs, so he had no choice. The townsfolk who don’t have animals of their own depend on farmers to supply their needs, and my butter is always rich from the Jersey’s cream.” Her smile smacked of the victory she’d known, there in town, where she had attained a degree of respect.

“So they talk about me being here. Has anyone asked you who I am?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have offered anything anyway. I’m not known for being talkative. One of the ladies was curious about you, wondered if I’d known you sometime in the past, and was curious about your living here. She suggested that it didn’t look good for me to have you living here, what with me being a woman alone, but I made it clear that it wasn’t her concern. She only smiled at that and I suspect that there’s talk that we’re…” Her pause was long and he felt a pang of regret that she should be considered the less for his presence in her life.

“Have you ever thought of marriage? Has anyone ever approached you and asked to court you?”

She offered him a look of such surprise he almost laughed aloud. “What’s so strange about such a thing, Debra? You’re a beautiful woman, with a thriving farm, and surely there are men about who would want to possess both you and your property.”