Wolf Heart jutted his chin. “I watch. My men watch. Not do you harm. You do good. You make family. You keep boy more winters. But one moon when older, I come for him, show him way of his people.”
Ben straightened. “I’m taking my family inside our home. You and your men leave. And next time you want to visit your nephew, knock at the gate.”
Wolf Heart chuckled. “You talk big.” He waved toward the house. “Woman, take care your warrior. Bleeding.”
Cora blinked at him.
Before she could react, Ben took her by the arm and motioned Charlie to his side as he limped toward the house. “We’ll figure it out later,” he whispered as he led his family onto the porch.
Marry Cora? Be a father to Charlie. His mind reeled. Stay in Texas? Break his engagement. Give up the newspaper? The back of his lower ribs throbbed. And bile from the punches to his gut burned his throat. Not to mention the cacophony of aches that pulsated throughout his face and head.
But as Cora lowered the bar across the now-shut door and clicked the lock, he pivoted and pulled her into his arms with no intention of letting go. He could have lost her and Charlie.
Cora sank against Ben’s chest like parched earth soaking up rain, her body trembling almost as much as Ben’s battered one. He could have been killed. A chill swept over her body. Her hands dug into the back of Ben’s rumpled undershirt and held on tight. Thank God, Ben was alive, standing, and breathing. Thank God, they hadn’t taken Charlie. That they were all still here safe.
Charlie came alongside and hugged them both.
Ben slipped one hand from Cora and wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders.
Jack scurried around their feet, panting.
Safe. Cora bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. She choked back a sob. She wouldn’t cry. Strong and steady beneath the hard wall of his chest, Ben’s heart pounded against her cheek. His warmth permeated the dirty linen of his shirt and the thin cotton of her chemise, drawing her like a hummingbird to nectar.
Moisture dropped onto the back of her head. A metallic smell. Blood.
Her breath caught. What was she thinking? Releasing her hold, she pulled back a few inches, her hands still lingering on his sides as if they belonged there. “You’re bleeding.” Every inch of her wobbled.
“I’ll be all right.” His words slurred across his swollen lip, an open wound. Another cut marred his cheek just below his puffed-up eye.
Her fingers trembled to brush the hair from his brow, but would such a touch cross a line? “You need looking after.” She tugged him toward the parlor.
He hesitated in the doorway. “The kitchen. I’m too dirty for your fancy furniture.”
“It’s the parlor or my bed. I’m not sitting you down in any hardback kitchen chair.” She led him to the sofa, navigating by the hallway light, which filtered into the dark room. “Charlie, fetch me a pan of water and some rags.”
Ben groaned as he eased down onto the cushion and settled back, resting his head against the wall.
She grabbed her shawl from the stuffed chair where she’d left it. Draping it over her shoulders, she tied it in a knot across her chest before lighting a lamp and turning back to him.
How badly had he been hurt? Her gaze trailed over his dirt-smeared undershirt and trousers to his bare feet. “You didn’t even put your shoes on.”
He swiped his sleeve across a trickle of blood on his chin. “Can’t take time for shoes when a boy’s life is at stake.”
If this man didn’t hush, she was going to have to kiss him. Instead, she grabbed a doily and gently touched it to his cut mouth
A crevice formed across his brow. “The doily will never be the same.”
Neither would she. “I don’t care about the doily.” She sat beside him. The fold of her chemise brushed against his trouser leg.
“In the morning, you might.”
“Taking care of you is more important than a scrap of crochet or linen.”
His good eye widened. “I’m still the same man I was at dinner, Cora.”
“I didn’t quite know what I was talking about at dinner.”
His eyebrows shot up, along with a corner of his mouth.
