Sherri Shackelford - A Temporary Family

Four plates. An even number. Even numbers symbolized order. With Tilly and the girls staring at him, he couldn’t very well scrub the dusty surfaces. They’d think he’d gone mad for tidying an abandoned building. He’d wind up like his aunt Vicky, who lived near his aunt Edith in Cimarron Springs. Aunt Vicky kept fifteen goats and dressed them up on special occasions. He needed to be alone because hiding his affliction only increased his anxiety.

“I wouldn’t waste time thinking about a bunch of strangers,” he snapped. “I don’t know why you’d want to meet a bunch of fool people who built a town without checking to see if there was actually gold in the river.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said, a thread of hurt weaving through her voice. “Still, they must have loved adventure to go to all this trouble for a chance at gold.”

The adventure hadn’t turned out well for her brother-in-law, but Nolan doubted she’d made the connection. That was the problem with optimists. They ignored the facts that didn’t fit their rosy picture.

“Never mind,” he said. Her wounded eyes had him feeling like a first-rate heel. “Let’s see about this raccoon. I think there’s a reason she’s taken up residence in the kitchen stove.”

“The raccoon is a girl?” Tilly laughed. “I didn’t realize the two of you had met before.”

She leaned over his shoulder, and her cheek brushed against his ear. His pulse thrummed. She must have rinsed her hair in lavender water that morning, and the delicate scent overwhelmed his senses. He’d forgotten how much he missed the simplest pleasures of female companionship: the soft laughter, the swish of skirts, the way they made even the starkest places feel like home.

Home. This wasn’t his home, not permanently, and he didn’t need a bunch of folks crowding up the place.

“Your raccoon is definitely female.” Nolan focused his thoughts and eased the oven door open once more. “Look.”

Four tiny pairs of black eyes shimmered in the ambient kitchen light.

“Babies.” Tilly’s lips parted in a gasp, and her warm exhale puffed against his neck. “Now what?”

The mother hissed and they both sprang back. Tilly teetered and he automatically caught her around the waist. His breath hitched. She was soft and yielding and undeniably feminine. Once she was steady, he swiftly released his hold.

“It’s up to you,” Nolan said. “If you really want, I can relocate them, but there’s a good chance the mother will reject the babies if they’re moved.”

“No!” Caroline called from the doorway. “You can’t kill them, Aunt Tilly. They’re just babies.”

“You’re awake!” Tilly exclaimed. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better.”

“That’s wonderful.” The relief in Tilly’s voice was obvious. “We’ll be able to leave on Thursday.”

Clearly she wanted out of Pyrite as much as he wanted them to go. The thought should have relieved him. Instead, her words left a deep, hollow ache in his chest. He’d lost his tolerance for people, though he hadn’t entirely lost the need for human connection. Yet the longer they stayed, the more he risked revealing his eccentricities. He couldn’t stomach watching their regard turn to disgust, or, worse yet, feel their ridicule.

Tilly took the broom from him. “If you don’t want them harmed, Caroline, then we’ll leave them be. It’s almost suppertime—we should go anyway.”

As they emerged into the dining room, a shadow passed before the front window. The five of them paused. The outline of a rider trotted down Main Street. The hollow thud of hoofbeats drifted through the partially open door.

An icy knot of fear settled in the pit of Nolan’s stomach. A lone rider around these parts was unusual. Most folks traveled in pairs or groups through Indian country. There was safety in numbers.

Tilly squinted through the filthy glass. “I didn’t think the cavalry would be on patrol again this soon.”

“That isn’t the cavalry,” Nolan replied, his expression grim.

Chapter Three

Tilly scrubbed at the grubby pane. Two more riders trotted past. Beside her, Nolan’s posture grew rigid and his expression was tense.

He urged her away from the window and held his index finger before his lips. “Stay inside,” he said. “Don’t come out unless I call for you.”

“But Captain Ronald said the outlaws couldn’t cross the river without being seen,” she whispered. “That must be someone else, right?”

“The captain says a lot of things.” Nolan yanked his gun from his holster, spun the chamber, then squinted along the barrel before replacing the weapon. “There’s more than one rider. Stay out of sight. No matter what happens to me, stay hidden.”

“You sound worried.” Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her chest. “Why are you worried?”

“It’s probably nothing, but follow my orders, just in case.”

Yesterday when the cavalry officer had warned her of danger, she’d been frightened. His assurances of safety had been confident, but he’d unleashed a nagging concern. When the stagecoach was moving, she felt safer, more secure. Stranded in this lonely town, they were vulnerable.

Nolan touched her sleeve and she stared at the spot where his fingers grazed the material. Though they’d only been in Pyrite for twenty-four hours, some things had become obvious immediately. More often than not, he kept his distance, moving out of her reach and avoiding her at every turn.

He kept a physical distance, but she sensed his protectiveness, his awareness of them. When she’d been startled by the raccoon, he’d been at her side in an instant. Yet she sensed his annoyance. As with Eleanor and her father, he seemed to find her inquisitiveness irritating. Despite the contradictions in his character, he inspired a curious reaction within her.

When he gazed at her with those intriguing hazel eyes, she was instantly tongue-tied.

“Don’t come out of hiding until those men are gone,” he said. “There’s another gun in a box under the bed at the relay station. If anything happens to me, wait for them to leave, then lock yourselves up tight and wait for the next stagecoach. There are plenty of supplies.”

Her knees turned watery. Surely he was exaggerating. There was no reason to assume the men outside meant them any harm. Captain Ronald’s regiment was keeping a watch out for the outlaws. They’d know if something had happened. She glanced at the girls and quickly masked her expression. They had an alarming ability to read her moods.

“Let’s keep an eye on the raccoon.” Tilly urged the girls back toward the kitchen once more. “We should be extra-special quiet. We don’t want to frighten her.”

Victoria took Elizabeth’s pudgy hand. “We’ll be quiet. But what about the riders? What if they make noise?”

The girl’s curious expression, so like Eleanor’s, betrayed her skepticism. Victoria knew the distraction was about more than keeping an eye on the raccoon.

“Mr. West will take care of everything,” Tilly said. “Don’t worry.”

His terse orders reminded her of her father, but she didn’t doubt his ability. He had the bearing of a soldier and a hard edge to his eyes. She’d seen plenty of men with that same sharpness after the war. He was shielding them until he knew for certain the riders meant no harm, and for that she was thankful. He was the last bastion of safety in this untamed wilderness, and she clung to his unwavering self-assurance.

The girls scrounged chairs from the dining room and set up a horseshoe at the far end of the kitchen, safe from the riders and the mama raccoon, which, thankfully, had retreated deeper into the shadows.

“Keep your distance from the mama,” Tilly ordered. “Don’t touch her. Be as quiet as church mice. Stay here, and I’ll be right back.”