“I ought to see to the horses,” he said.
“And I’ll clean the dishes as best I can,” she said, the worry falling from her face with a purpose for the moment.
Cade nodded. He took his time with the horses, but Miss Taylor remained on his mind the entire time. How could he send his brother’s bride-to-be back to town to fend for herself? But then again, what was he to do with her? He couldn’t even offer her a chair or civilized place to lay her head for the night.
But he could offer her safety. And friendly conversation.
He smiled, thinking back on all he’d discovered about her. Miss Taylor was intelligent and sharp, resilient, capable, and beautiful. Lucas would have been a lucky man if he were here. But Cade didn’t want to think on that last fact very long.
After ensuring the horses were safe in the corral for the evening, he returned to the little camp they’d created to find that Miss Taylor had laid out the blankets from his bedroll. He eyed them, hoping she wouldn’t be too cold overnight. The temperature in this valley between two mountain ranges lowered considerably after dark.
She bid him goodnight, and Cade laid on the opposite side of the fire from her, pistol at arm’s length and entirely unable to fall asleep. Miss Taylor’s light breathing reassured him that she was warm enough, but what if she awoke shivering?
Enough was enough. Cade stood, removed his blanket, and laid it atop her. Then he sat back down by the fire, feeding it more of the wood he’d scavenged from around the house and barn. Finally, when he could keep his eyes open no longer, he laid down and fell asleep.
And when he awoke, an idea—perhaps the most wild one he’d ever imagined—had formed fully in his mind.
Chapter Five
Streaksofpink,purple,and orange in the sky greeted Jolie when she awoke. She shivered at the sting of the cold air on her face and burrowed deeper into the blankets.
Blankets?She’d had one beneath her and one over her when she went to sleep. She sat up, gasping slightly as the morning air rushed over her.
Mr. Harris was crouched by the fire, coaxing it back to life. Behind him, one blanket lay folded neatly where he’d slept.
He’d given her his second blanket.
Her heart warming despite the frigid air around her, Jolie smiled at him. “Thank you for the blanket.”
His head jerked up, as if he’d been so intent on the fire he hadn’t noticed she was awake. “You’re welcome. I hope you slept well?”
“I did.” She’d been surprised at how quickly she’d fallen asleep, and she’d barely woken throughout the night. Yesterday had taken quite the toll on her nerves and left her exhausted.
Mr. Harris excused himself to fetch more water, and Jolie took the opportunity to explore. She visited the livery horse in the corral, and then walked around the structure she supposed was meant to be the barn. Would Mr. Harris finish these buildings? She’d been so consumed with her own plight last night that she hadn’t asked him about what he planned to do with this land.
The house was further along than the barn, and it was easy to see that the man she’d planned to marry had set out a simple two-room home. Jolie leaned against one of the wooden beams and imagined what it might have looked like if he’d finished it. It would be cozy, but warm, with a crackling fire in the hearth, the lingering scent of baking bread, and comfortable seating. She would have placed her favorite books—the ones that currently sat in a trunk along with her clothing, sketchbook, and other personal items in the depot office back in Crest Stone—on a shelf beside the photograph she’d kept of her parents.
It would have been a nice life. And now that was not meant to be.
Heaviness settled deep within her, and Jolie still had no answers about what to do once she returned to town.
A flutter of wings caught her eye, and she eagerly cast aside those worries to follow the path of a butterfly. The creature had a lovely pattern, one she wasn’t familiar with. Perhaps this was a butterfly unique to the area.
Jolie’s heart lifted for a moment, and she wished she could stay. She missed Mama fiercely, but the thought of discovering so many new plants and insects and animals she’d never seen before was a captivating motivation to remain in Colorado. Her fingers itched for the sketchbook and watercolors in her trunk.
She was crouched down, studying the butterfly and trying to commit its markings to memory when Cade reappeared with the water.
“Did you lose something?” he asked as he dismounted his horse.
The butterfly floated away, and Jolie rose. “I was studying the most interesting butterfly. It reminded me of the Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, but its wings were somewhat narrower and the coloring was slightly different.”
He looked at her as if she were quoting Shakespeare. It was the same look she’d received from gentlemen back home after they’d found her intriguing at a social function and had come to call. They rarely returned for a second visit. “I brought water.” He held out one of the canteens.
Jolie took it, eager to begin making breakfast. He strode around the partially finished buildings as she had, and she glanced up at him then and again while she attempted to make the cornmeal into something edible with just the boiled water and the grease from the beef they’d eaten the night before. He was an interesting sort of fellow—and rather handsome with that strong jaw and gold-streaked brown hair.
Jolie’s face warmed, and she turned her attention back to the pan on the fire. But she couldn’t help wondering if the man she should have married had borne much resemblance to his brother. Her heart ached at her loss—and for Mr. Harris’s loss as well. This could have been a good life for her, and now everything was so uncertain. And thinking just of herself made her feel terrible. Mr. Harris had lost his brother, someone it was clear he cared about deeply.
Mr. Harris was quiet when he returned to the campfire. They ate quietly, Jolie filled with anxiety about how she’d make her way in Crest Stone with nothing to her name. When they finished, she reached for the cooled pan, intending to clean it, but Mr. Harris caught her wrist.
