Hands in his pockets and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, he pivoted at the corral gate and strode halfway to the stable door before turning and retracing his steps. Pacing back and forth. Agitated.
Her swallow stuck in her throat. What if he was thinking about riding into town for laudanum? It’d be her fault, or at least she’d share the blame with his own weakness. Weakness? Was that what it was? What if Jeb had returned home the same way?
She wouldn’t blame Ben if he rode out of here and never returned.
A coyote howl echoed through the dark. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. What if it wasn’t a coyote, but a signal instead? She’d told Ben to stay inside at night.
She grabbed her shawl and hurried outside.
The dew-kissed grass dampened her stocking feet as she strode across the yard, glancing at the cedar picket palisade. The Comanche had only breached it once. With the cabin and the stable barricaded and secure, the only casualties had been a pig, a dog, and a horse. With much care, the horse had survived. Over her mother’s objections, she’d slept in the stable with Charlie watching over it for days while her father rode with a posse to pursue the raiders. It was the last time her father had gotten his blood up about anything, except retreating to town.
Pebbles crunched beneath her feet.
Ben turned toward her and halted by the corral gate. No smile, but his gaze scoured her from head to toe.
Breathless, she hugged her long red shawl, a gift from Jeb before he left home, tight across her chest. The long fringes hung down to her knees.
Ben’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” A shadow of stubble darkened his face. It must have been there at dinner. She’d hardly noticed then, but now, it gave him an air of roughness that caused her knees to wobble.
“You shouldn’t—”Be out here.It’s not safe.She bit back the words. After the way she’d treated him, he’d probably scoff at her concern.
“Shouldn’t what?” He folded his arms and leaned back against the post, but he was a long while tugging his gaze back to her face.
Heat rose up her neck. Why hadn’t she had the sense to put on her dress before she marched out the door? “I heard you out here, and I was worried.”
He snorted. “Afraid I might ride off with one of your horses?”
She gnawed her lip. “Afraid there could be a Comanche raiding party somewhere out there.” She fingered the fringe. “Afraid you might decide to leave.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Other than the part about the raiding party, it seems like my leaving would suit you just fine.”
Breath leaked out of her lungs. “I’m sorry.”
He cocked his eyebrows. “For what?” The breeze rippled a lock of his hair.
“For everything.” She latched onto the top rail of the corral, new and firm beneath her hands, part of Ben’s repair work. “I deserve to have my mouth washed out with soap.”
He snorted. “I could find a bar in my room with a little extra lye.”
She quirked her mouth to the side. “I was wrong about what I said at dinner. I need your help. So does Charlie.”
He stared at her. “Do you mean it, or is this your way of feeling sorry for me? I’m not standing on a street corner begging for alms, you know.”
“It’s painfully obvious that Charlie and I could use all the assistance we can get. It’s just that my father?—”
“I am not that man.” His voice rang loud enough to bounce off a canyon if there’d been one nearby.
A coyote howled.
Cora shuddered. What if there were raiders within hearing distance? “It isn’t safe for you to be out here at night. Not safe for either of us.”
He frowned. Didn’t he believe her? Didn’t he care?
What would it take to make this man listen to her? “The Comanche killed my uncle.” The words scratched her throat.
His eyes widened. “Jeb never said anything about that.”
“There’s probably a lot of things Jeb never told you.” She rubbed her hands over her arms.
