Carolyn Davidson - The Outlaw's Bride

His voice broke on the words, and Debra’s hand touched his, the warmth flowing from her bringing him back from the scene that haunted him still. He turned his hand to grasp her fingers and held them tightly within his own.

“He would have killed me,” Tyler said, “but I was quicker than he’d expected. I shot the gun from his hand and then fired again. I didn’t miss.”

“How long ago?” she asked, and he looked beyond her, as if his eyes saw the past clearly.

“Almost two years ago. I was put in jail, and when there was a general jailbreak, I took advantage of the fact and escaped. The rest of the prisoners stayed together and were caught.”

“You kept to yourself?” she asked, knowing already that he would not have relied on others to protect him.

“I ran as far and as fast as I could. Climbed into the first boxcar I saw at the train station and set off on my own. Been traveling alone ever since.”

She felt herself leaning toward him, not physically, but somehow able to see within his actions to the man who still felt the pain of his loss, who didn’t regret the life he’d taken in revenge.

He stood before her, tall, muscular, yet slim, as though his meals had been sparse of late, and she could not fault the man. That he might be telling her a tall tale was a possibility, but Debra Nightsong was no fool, and she’d long been able to see the truth when it appeared before her.

Today was no exception. The man might be running from the law, but in his own mind, he’d done no wrong, only avenged two deaths. That his actions had brought the law down on him was perhaps not fair, but nevertheless a fact. Could she turn him away, believing his story as she did?

“You can stay here,” she said. “I’ll not turn you in, Tyler, even if I get the chance. Whether or not you killed in cold blood, I suspect you felt you had the right to avenge your wife and son’s deaths. I’m not fit to judge you. I won’t even try.”

He loosed her fingers from his own and stood tall before her. His dark eyes met hers with a gaze that promised the truth, and she was prone to believe him.

“I’ll not play false with you,” he said. “I’ll stay here and help you.” His eyes measured her and he smiled. “I don’t know how far I can trust you to keep silent about me should the occasion arise, but for now I’ll have to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Her hand was warmed by his, her flesh still aware of his touch, and she thrust it into her apron pocket, where her fingers curled in upon themselves. He was strong, a man taller than most, his shoulders wider than the men of her mother’s tribe, his ability to force her to his will not an issue, for she was wise enough to gauge the muscle beneath his skin, smart enough to recognize a man with the ability to hold his own.

The sun shone down brightly on the meadow behind her shed, the horses and her cow grazed peacefully at the end of their tethers and the man beside her had made his position clear. Debra looked beyond the animals and the lush pasture where they grazed, to where the hayfield lay, awaiting the scythe and the men who would reap its worth.

“Will you help me put up enough hay before I allow the neighbor to take his share?” It was not what she had planned on saying to the man beside her, but the knowledge that he was strong and capable of helping her hold her own, of lending his strength to hers for a time, made her seek out his promise.

“Where is your scythe?” he asked. So simply he agreed to her plan, so readily he acceded to her need.

“Hanging on the wall. I keep all my tools inside the shed,” she said. “If you’ll use the scythe, I’ll rake the hay. A day or so in the sun will dry it enough so I can bring it to the barn for storage.”

“We have a deal, Debra Nightsong.” His hand reached for hers again, and she slid it from her pocket, allowing him to grasp it in his own, warming it with the heat of his flesh. His eyes narrowed as he looked past the pasture before them, his sights on the same hayfield she’d measured with her own gaze. The hay was ready to be mowed, the sun promised to shine, probably for several days, for no rain clouds threatened in the west.

Debra felt a surge of satisfaction at the deal they’d formed. For a week she would have the help she needed. Her loft would be full, her animals would have their needs supplied for the winter to come. Perhaps the garden might thrive under a man’s touch, for she was not able to plow up the soil as she should. Her strength was not enough to turn over the earth for the space she required.

As if he knew her thoughts, Tyler leaned against the wall of the shed and mulled over the needs of her farm. She turned her gaze to him as he spoke, pleased that he seemed to so readily fall into the role she had set for him.

“I’ll use one of your horses to plow more space for a garden, Debra. Have any of them been broken to harness? Have you used them for plowing?”

“I’ve only used a shovel,” she said. “I don’t have the strength to hold a plow steady. It takes a man’s muscles to force the blade into the ground. And using the shovel takes me forever to prepare the ground for my garden.”

“I can handle that for you,” he said. “I’ll add to the space you’ve already set aside if you like.”

“I’ll plant corn if you prepare the ground for me,” she said quickly. “I only have room now for beans and tomatoes and such. I’ve got peas and carrots coming up, almost ready to pick.”

He looked back through the shed to where the chickens had strayed into the yard, pecking at the bits and pieces of food they found there. “Corn makes good feed for chickens through the winter. Can you have it ground at the gristmill in town?”

She nodded, feeling her spirits lift as she thought of the crop she might plant and then sow in late summer. If she could trust this man… And why shouldn’t she be able to? He was as good a prospect as the neighbor who had taken her wheat and left her the straw. As willing to help as the man who had mowed her hayfield and taken his greater share for granted.

“Can we work together for a while, Debra?” He asked the question softly, his voice falling on her hearing as a temptation, perhaps luring her into believing that he could be trusted, that his help would be hers for a time.

“Yes.” She accepted him so readily it shocked her. So easily did she acquiesce to his offer. “Yes,” she repeated. He was behind her now, looking over her shoulder at the animals in her pasture, his chore of putting up a corral for her well under way and she was comforted by the knowledge that for now, for these few days, she was not alone.

THE FENCE POSTS stood straight, the boards joining them nailed in place, each level with the next. Debra crossed her arms on the top rail, looking beyond the boundaries of her newly built corral to where her animals grazed in the sun. Another horse had joined her stable, a bay mare already with foal, purchased from a neighbor who needed ready cash. Already broken to the saddle, the mare would provide cash income if Debra chose to sell her after the birth of her foal. For unless she had a stud available on a regular basis, she would not be able to breed her mares at the right times.

Her resources sorely strained by the additional purchase, Debra consoled herself with the idea of a second colt or filly in the spring when the mare would deliver the first addition to her newly formed stable of animals. Her bank account was down to rock bottom, but the purchase was sound, Tyler had said, and she felt able to trust his judgment.

One dark night, astride one of her mares, he’d returned the gelding he’d confiscated as his own to its owner’s field, not divulging its origins to her, only saying that it had probably not been missed by its owner. Showing no guilt for his misdeed, he’d made her smile with his simplistic notion that his theft had only amounted to a loan from the farmer.