Her chin went high. “I’m telling you.”
Their gazes locked.
Jack swung to his feet. “I have game to see to.”
She grabbed his arm. “Jack, I want a gun.”
He looked at her. “What for?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t like being here alone.”
“What happened, Candice?” he demanded.
“A cowboy on the street made some lewd suggestions, that’s all.”
Jack grabbed her arm. “Tell me all of it—in exact detail.”
“He wanted me to go in the alley with him for a dollar,” Candice said.
“Who was he?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Candice said. “I took care of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I kicked him in the groin.”
Jack stared. “He touched you?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“What was his name?”
“Abe.”
“I’ll get you a gun,” Jack said, dressing. “From now on, don’t go out without it.”
As he buckled on his gunbelt, Candice took his arm. “Don’t do anything, Jack. There’s been enough trouble and talk with your shooting Kincaid.”
His gray gaze pierced her. “I can’t let him get away with it,” he said levelly.
At the door he paused. “After today, no man in this town will dare even talk to you.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Five days later, Candice was outside in their yard doing wash. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and the top three buttons of her shirtwaist were undone, a kerchief wrapped around her head. Her face was flushed from the steam rising from the boiling water. Her hands were red and chapped.
It wasn’t their wash. She was taking in laundry from outside to help make ends meet. Soldiers from Fort Bliss in Magoffinsville would be her best customers. This was only her second load, and when she’d decided on this as the only way of raising some cash, she hadn’t realized just what hard work it would be. She’d never done laundry before in her life.
She stopped what she was doing with relief, straightening and pressing her hands against her back as she saw Jack walk into the yard carrying something big and white and made of shiny wood. She squinted.
He carefully opened the door with his back and disappeared into the house.
“What is that?” Candice mused, starting for the house.
In the doorway, she froze. Jack had been carrying the object upside down, and now he’d placed it in one corner of the room, on its four delicately wrought legs. It was a cradle.
A magnificent, ornately sculpted, intricately hand-painted cradle. Designs of birds, butterflies, flowers, and vines were etched along the legs, the sides, and head and footboard. “Jack! It’s beautiful!”
