Karen Kirst - The Horseman's Frontier Family

“I’m listening.”

“You almost lost it just now, didn’t you? I could tell you wanted to plant your fist in my brother’s face. Well, I’m warning you right now I won’t stand for violence. Not in front of my son.”

Shame flooded him. Not once had he lost his temper in front of a woman. Not even his wife. Whenever he and Susannah had quarreled, he’d gone off alone to sort through his feelings. He wouldn’t dream of doing so in front of a child.

“I won’t do anything to worry Walt. You have my word.”

One thick brow arched in disbelief. “According to my brothers, that’s not worth much.”

The nerve of her. Spine rigid, Gideon turned his back on her as his ire stirred anew. He’d taken quite enough from this mouthy female. She’d questioned his honor at every turn.

Like a dog worrying a bone, she darted around him, forcing him to hear her out. “Until our case goes to court, my brothers will be coming out here regularly to check on us. How can I trust you won’t resort to violence?”

“Maybe you should revisit what just happened here. It’s your brother you should be lecturing, not me.”

She batted at a stray curl that had escaped the pins holding her shiny locks in place. She wasn’t wearing mourning black, he noted. The pure white blouse lit her skin with a healthy glow, accentuating her waist where it tucked into her billowing navy skirt.

“Look, I know you don’t give a fig about me or my family. I know that we’re on opposite sides of a feud that began many, many years ago, and when it comes to this land, we both want it for ourselves. But I’m begging you—” her husky voice wavered as she flung a hand toward the field where her son played “—have compassion on that little boy out there. He’s been through a lot in his short lifetime, more than any child should have to endure. All I want is for him to be happy and free of worry.”

The sheen of tears in her expressive eyes startled him. This was the first sign of vulnerable emotion he’d glimpsed in the fierce widow. Walt had recently lost his father. To what else was she referring?

He opened his mouth to question her, recalling in the nick of time that it wasn’t his concern. Their past was their business, not his. Soon they would be out of his hair. An unfortunate reminder of a troublesome time.

Anxiety pinched her features.

As a father, he had no trouble identifying with what she was feeling. Good parents desired the best for their children, instinctively strove to protect and nurture.

Attempting to soothe her unease, he spoke quietly and surely, injected confidence in his stance. “The boy has nothing to do with our troubles. I won’t do anything to traumatize him.”

Lips compressing, she studied him, gauging his sincerity. Finally, she nodded.

“I will warn you, however. I won’t stand idly by if provoked beyond reason. I will defend myself. I suggest you make sure your brothers understand that.”

Spinning on his heel, he left her there with her mouth hanging open. He mentally shrugged. Wasn’t his fault if she caught a fly.

* * *

Gideon stirred awake to the sound of the stream trickling past on its course to the Cimarron River. The tent stretching above him was washed in orangey-pink, evidence of dawn’s arrival. Woodpeckers scouted for breakfast in the elms stationed midway between his tent and the stable, and a frog chirruped a throaty greeting.

Easing to a sitting position, he leaned forward and parted the tent flaps to soak in the prairie’s serene beauty. Buttery light gilded each individual blade of grass, every wildflower tilting its face eastward, every glossy leaf dangling from the trees, so that it seemed to him a vista of pure golden goodness. He’d grown accustomed to this. The thought of leaving it—and the dreams it nursed like a greedy infant—made his insides seize up something terrible.

There was nothing else to do but continue his work and, when the time came, present his case and attempt to convince the judge of his rightful ownership.

Dressing quickly in denims and a blue-and-white-striped shirt, he straightened his pallet and pillow and retrieved the bulging laundry sack from the corner. These were his last pair of clean trousers, which meant he couldn’t put off a trip into town any longer. He tried to space them out as much as possible. In general, people drained the life out of him. Their nosiness and frivolous chatter gave him a headache. He was an oddity, he knew. A lone wolf who craved solitude and space to think. Does not get along with others, his teacher had once observed to his ward, Cousin Obadiah. Possesses a superior attitude. Gideon grimaced. That had earned him twenty lashes and a week of bread and water for supper.

Elijah and Clint were the only ones who really understood him. They accepted him. Didn’t try to change him like Susannah—

Shoving to his feet, he strode to the stream and splashed his face and neck and wet his collar-length hair. Tying on a neckerchief, his fingers brushed the scruff on the underside of his chin. Time for a shave and haircut.

As he stirred the fire and set the scuffed tin pot to boil, he kept a watchful eye on the other tent, hoping she’d prove to be a late riser. Conversation anytime was a stretch. Before breakfast bordered on criminal. What was more, he couldn’t fudge his way through. Evelyn Montgomery required all the focus and concentration he could muster.

Low on provisions, he made due with corn mush that was about as tasteless as tree bark but filled his belly. He carried his coffee with him to the stable, stopping to greet Star and Snowball, a three-year-old gray he’d bought shortly after his arrival in Boomer Town. Their friendly greetings never failed to soothe him. Horses didn’t judge him or push him to be something he wasn’t. He understood animals better than he did most people. Actually preferred their company, if truth be told.

Star nudged his shoulder.

“Searching for treats, huh?” he ran a hand through her mane. “You’re outta luck. But I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up a carrot or two in town. How about that?”

She dipped her head, seeming to agree with him. A fleeting smile lifted his lips.

“Gotta go.” He pushed away from the fence. “The faster I get this stable up, the sooner you’ll have a roof over your heads.”

Inside the structure, he surveyed his progress. The walls reached his waist. Since he couldn’t physically lift the logs any higher without help, he’d have to rig a pulley system.

The sound of feet shuffling in the dirt behind him had him spinning about, hot coffee sloshing over the mug’s rim. His heart settled back into a somewhat normal rhythm when he spied his pint-size visitor.

“Walt.”

The boy hovered just inside the opening, his hands twisting behind his back, large, dark eyes surveying the interior with interest. His shirt buttons were off-center, the wrinkled hems uneven, and his wavy hair hadn’t yet seen a comb this day.

Gideon searched the field beyond the opening, suddenly desperate for Evelyn’s presence. He did not want to be here alone with a walking reminder of his dead child.

“Where’s your ma?” he croaked, throat muddy with trepidation.

Pointless question. He hadn’t heard Walt Montgomery emit a squeak, let alone an intelligible response. Not that the child was slow-witted. Far from it. Intelligence shone in those Chaucer eyes.

He pointed a chubby finger in the tent’s direction.

“Is she making breakfast?”

Walt shook his head, folded his hands and pressed them against his cheek.

“She’s still asleep?”

When he nodded and wandered over to the neat piles of tack—saddles, blankets, bridles and more—Gideon tamped down panic. “Uh, maybe you should go back to your tent. Your ma will worry if she wakes and finds you gone.”