Karen Kirst - The Husband Hunt

What the place lacked was a feminine touch.

As he passed the fireplace, his gaze lit on a small tintype of Sophie and Will’s parents, Lester and Jeanine Tanner. He barely remembered Sophie’s mother. Not surprising considering he’d been thirteen when she died giving birth to Will. A quiet woman, she’d hovered in the background like a shadow as if to blend in. Perhaps to avoid attracting her husband’s attention?

Unfortunately, Nathan remembered Lester Tanner all too well. The man was hateful, lazy and in possession of an explosive temper that all the local kids feared and tried their best to avoid. The family was well rid of him.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Sophie might have turned out differently had she had a mother’s tender hand to guide her instead of being thrust into the role of caretaker at eight years old.

He tapped lightly on the door standing ajar. “Tobias?”

A breathy voice beckoned him in. He moved deeper into the shadows where a single kerosene lamp on the bedside table cast the elderly man’s face in sharp relief. Nathan sucked in a startled breath, alarmed at Tobias’s frailty and the changes wrought in the one week since he’d last seen his neighbor. Knowing Tobias wouldn’t appreciate his pity, he carefully schooled his features.

Easing into the straight-backed chair beside the bed, he folded his hands in his lap. “How are you today?”

“Not so good.” The cloudy blue eyes staring back at him were filled with resignation.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your granddaughter tells me you don’t have much of an appetite. How about I bring some soup tomorrow?”

Bringing one gnarled hand up to cover a cough, the gray-headed man shook his head, panted to catch his breath. “I appreciate the offer, son, but not even Mary’s cooking sounds good these days.”

Nathan swallowed against sudden sorrow. He sensed Sophie’s grandfather had given up.

“I’m glad you’re here. Need to talk to you about Sophie and Will.” Sadness tugged at Tobias’s craggy face. “I’m worried more about my granddaughter than I am about the boy. Can I count on you to watch out for her after I’m gone? She may act tough but inside she’s as sensitive as her mother.” His chest rattled as he pulled in more air. “She needs someone to take care of her for a change.”

“My family and I will always be here for them. But you’re strong, sir. I have faith you can beat this.”

“No, son, I’m ready to meet my Lord and Savior face-to-face. And I long to see my sweet Anne and Jeanine again. It’s time.”

Throat working to contain the tide of emotion, Nathan surged to his feet and stepped over to the window. Beyond the warped glass, Sophie unpinned laundry from the line and placed it in the basket at her feet. The sight of her pensive expression made his heart weigh like a stone in his chest. Losing Tobias, the closest thing to a parent she’d ever known, would devastate her. How in the world was he supposed to help her deal with that?

Chapter Three

Sophie bolted upright in bed. What was that awful racket?

Her hens’ hysterical squawking shattered the quiet. Her heart sank. At this time of night, it could only mean one thing—predator.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she shoved the quilt aside and sank her tired feet into her boots without bothering to lace them. In the bed opposite hers, only the top of Will’s head was visible above his blanket. Thankful his slumber hadn’t been disturbed, she made her way to the ladder in the inky darkness, rushed to light the lamp on the table below.

“Sophie?” Somehow her grandfather’s breathless voice reached her above the din.

“I’m here.” She wished he’d been able to sleep through this as easily as Will. He desperately needed his rest if he was going to recover. “I’m going outside to investigate.”

“Watch yourself, ya hear?”

A grim frown touched her mouth at his labored effort to speak. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

White cotton nightgown swishing around her ankles, she lifted her trusty Winchester from its place above the mantel and headed into the sticky night.

The barn loomed large in the semidarkness, the brittle structure and surrounding trees washed with weak moonlight. Adrenaline pumping, she rounded the corner of the cabin and stopped dead at the sight that greeted her. Her fingers went slack on the gun handle.

Her too-tall henhouse was no more. It had been tipped over and smashed into a hundred bits and pieces by an enormous black bear that was even now pawing one of her hens with the intent to devour it. Those who had managed to escape the beast’s jaws were running around in endless circles.

“What have you done to my chickens?” Outrage choked any fear she might have had. They needed those birds and the precious eggs they produced.

Hefting the rifle up, she found the trigger and aimed for the air directly above his head. She should kill him. Considering his size, the meat would likely sustain them for a month or more. Not to mention the hide sure would make a nice rug for the living room.

But she wouldn’t. Killing animals for food was a part of mountain life, and she had no issue with that—as long as the animal was a pig or chicken or fish. But bears, well, they fascinated her. Had ever since she was a little girl and she’d happened upon a mama and her three cubs fishing in a stream farther up in the mountains. The cubs had been so cute and playful, the mama tough yet tender and fiercely protective, that Sophie had hidden in the bushes and watched, barely breathing, until they’d moved on.

Focus, Sophie. Anchoring the butt against her shoulder, she fired off a single shot.

A limp hen caught between his teeth, the bear lifted his head and shifted his opaque black eyes to her. Her lungs strained for air. Don’t make me shoot you. He took a step in her direction. Again, she aimed above his head. Fired a second time.

When the lumbering beast casually turned and disappeared into the forest, Sophie released the air in a relieved whoosh and lowered the gun, muscles as limp as soggy corn bread. She surveyed the damage, dreading the job that awaited her come daylight. Weariness settled deep in her bones. They couldn’t afford to purchase lumber for a new henhouse. How was she supposed to find time to chop down trees, strip and saw them into planks when so many other chores awaited her?

Anxiety nipped at her heels as she coaxed the addled hens into the barn for the night. What she really wanted to do was park herself at Granddad’s bedside until she was absolutely certain he was on the mend. A frisson of stark, cold despair worked its way through her body; the possibility of losing him looming like a menacing shadow. How sad that she simply couldn’t spare the time. Not if the animals were to be fed, the vegetable garden tended, the laundry mended and washed, and food placed on the table.

Feeling sorry for yourself won’t get you anywhere, Sophia Lorraine.

Traversing the tomblike yard, words of defeat slipped from her lips. “Lord Jesus, sometimes I just don’t know how I can go on like this.”

Sometimes she wondered what it might be like to have a strong man around to help shoulder the burdens. A partner. A helpmate. Someone like Nathan—strong and valiant and willing and able to meet any challenge. A man who could be both tough and tender. Sort of like that mama bear, she thought as she replaced the Winchester on its hooks.

But while her heart pined for him, in his eyes she was nothing more than an irritating brat. A down-on-her-luck neighbor he was forced to tolerate and occasionally rescue.

“Everything all right?” Tobias called.

Entering his room, she crossed to the narrow bed, straightened the quilts and took his hand between hers, tenderness welling in her chest at the feel of his feeble, knotted fingers.