“We’ll soon be warm, son.”Please, God, don’t let him get sick.
A clearing opened up before them. Besides the log cabin, there were two outbuildings. A horse watched her before one of them. A fur was stretched on the other’s wall. An ax was half buried in a nearby wooden stump, the sight sending a shiver through her that had less to do with the cold of her son and more to do with fearful caution. She’d heard plenty of tales about menwho retreated to the woods. Men who didn’t value human life. Didn’t care for company. They were often described as mad. What sort of person—presumably a man—lived here? Though it could be a woman. Like the story shared on the stagecoach about Crazy Jane, that’s what they called her. Crazy as a loon. Mad as a rabid dog. She’d been accused of murdering her husband in his sleep. No one dared venture close enough to her hovel to arrest her. Those who had tried were buried in the nearest cemetery. Or were never heard from again.
She gulped back an inadequate breath.
“Mama?” Eddie’s pitiful cry and his need for warmth overcame all else.
“I’ll find us shelter.” She crossed to the ax, yanked it from the wood, and thus armed, strode toward the cabin. With no free hand to knock with, she banged the ax on the door.
It opened before she could land a second blow.
It wasn’t Crazy Jane.
Broad of shoulder, the man towered over her. She sucked back her lips. A strong man. His blue eyes were steady, unblinking, and demanding. The paler skin rimming his blond hairline suggested it’d been recently trimmed. His mouth pulled into a frown that furrowed lines away from his eyes.
“You’ve got my ax.” He tipped his head toward the item.
“In case I need it.” Warning hardened her words.
They stared at each other, neither relenting an inch.
“I saw the smoke.”
He nodded.
“My son needs to be warmed up.”
The man’s gaze slid toward Eddie. “His lips are blue.”
“He’s cold. I need to borrow your fire.” She left off studying the man to indicate the fireplace.
“Be my guest.” The man stepped aside and waved them past.
“Thank you.” She eased forward and set Eddie on the floor before the blaze. The ax rested by her knee as shestripped him of his wet clothing and hung each item from hooks on the mantel where they dripped and steamed.
She spied a knit blanket on the nearby comfy-looking chair and swept it up to wrap around Eddie.
“What happened to him?” Her host’s deep voice drew her attention.
“He fell into the river.” She nudged the ax, reminding both of them that she was prepared to defend herself.
“Weren’t you watching him?”
“There’s no need to use that accusatory tone. I turned my back on him for a minute, and he was gone.” What did a man living alone in the woods know about inquisitive little boys? She refocused on Eddie. “Son, you know better than to run off like that. You almost—” She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t bring the word to her mouth. What would she do if he drowned?
“Sorry, Mama.”
At the quiver in his voice, she hugged him. “I’m glad you’re safe and sound.”
The man of the house sat on the nearby wooden armchair from which she’d plucked the knit blanket.
Dianne ignored him, though she shifted closer to the trusty ax. Lest either of them forget she was armed and dangerous.
She needed Eddie warmed up so they could return to the way station. No doubt the stagecoach had long since departed, but another would come along sooner or later.
“I have to ask, where did you come from, and how did you end up here?”
She bristled at his faintly critical curiosity. Not that she blamed him. She never should’ve let Eddie out of her sight. Not even to use the outhouse. “I’m on my way to Golden Valley.”
