Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens
now, her spirit felt a hundred years old, but once she was back home, in the circle of her parents’ love, spring might come again for her. The dismal pall that Ram had cast over her life would lift.
“You always told us that trees were green and shady, Hattie.” Sitting beside her on the wagon bench, Joe frowned at the tree on the hill. “That looks like a bunch of sticks.”
“Didn’t you read the books that Great-Aunt Tillie told you to?” Libby asked. “Some were all about trees. They go dormant in the winter.”
“Well, except for the evergreens.” Joe turned to glance at Libby sitting in the back of the wagon. “I miss Aunt Tillie and Granny Rose. Things got worse at the Broken Brand when they went away.”
“They were better off with Colt Wesson,” Hattie reminded them, but Joe was right. Aunt Tillie had kept everyone in line, as much as was possible, with her firm spirit and her cane. She’d taught the ranch children to read even though their parents considered it a waste of time.
Hattie had cried for days when Colt Wesson had come home the first time, to bury Pappy Travers and bring the old ladies to their new home.
Maybe she ought to have asked to go with them, but Colt was a stranger to her, and she had been full-term with Seth.
Well, the past was the past. She would do her best to put it behind her. Ram was dead...and Mama and Papa were getting closer each day.
Soon their comforting arms would fold her up.
“I want to see me a leaf...grass, too.” Joe watched Marshal Prentis sitting tall in the saddle, trotting toward the wagon. “Do your folks really have shade all over the place?”
“Shade and a creek nearby.”
“I reckon I’ll need to learn to swim.”
A memory flashed in her mind and she nearly wept with the joy of it. Daddy, years ago when she wasn’t much older than Flynn, carrying her into the water and showing her how to waggle her arms and legs so that she wouldn’t sink.
It must have grieved him terribly when she ran off without a word. She would die of a broken heart if one of her boys grew up and did the same to her.
Her parents would forgive her—she knew it without a doubt—but how would she ever make it up to them?
Filling their home with children would be a start. At least she was coming home with more than her own sinful self.
“Come summer, you’ll all learn to swim.”
Imagining it, picturing the children in her mind while they splashed and laughed, made her smile.
Joy tickled her heart. She hadn’t felt that optimistic spirit in a good long while. “My daddy will enjoy showing you how.”
“If he takes to an outlaw’s brat.” Joe chewed his bottom lip, staring down at his knees. “He might toss me out.”
“Look at me, Joe.” She tipped his face up, his chin tucked between her fingers. Cold sunshine illuminated a dusting of blond fuzz on his upper lip. “What your daddy was or wasn’t has nothing to do with you. You are a good boy and someday you’ll be a fine man. My daddy will recognize that and be proud to have you in his home.”
Thank the Good Lord that Marshal Prentis had come along before the Travers men had turned Joe into an outlaw. At thirteen years old, he had already become proficient at shooting a gun. Next month he would have been included in a holdup or a bank robbery.
The marshal reached the wagon, then turned his horse to trot beside it.
“There’s a place I’d like you and the children to see. It’s a few hours out of the way but worth it. We’ll stop there for the night. If the weather’s not too cold we won’t have to sleep in the wagon.”
His voice sounded deep and smooth. It made her think of fertile soil, tilled and ready for gardening, or a hearth fire banked low but still sending warmth into the night.
Somehow, with all that had happened over the past few days, she hadn’t noticed the rich timbre of his voice.
She noticed it now because it stirred something in her. A little finger of hope tickled her insides, faintly, as though wondering if it was safe to come out.
When she thought about it, it had not been days, but years since she had felt joy over common things, like a bare tree or a deep, masculine voice.
There had been joy over her babies, of course, along with a great deal of worry about their futures. Loving them, and the fact that they needed her, was what had kept her going during the dismal days at the ranch. For their sakes she had kept on, singing when she wanted to weep and smiling when there was only anxiety behind it.
“I know I’ve said it before, Marshal, but it deserves repeating...I thank you...we all do.”
The marshal didn’t seem to be a man who filled empty space with words. When he said something, though, folks listened.
She listened now, hoping that he wouldn’t answer with only a dip of his hat. Now that she was aware of the husky, virile tone of his voice, she wanted to hear it again.
“No need for thanks, Mrs. Travers.”
Mrs. Travers. She wanted to spit.
Even when spoken in his wonderful voice and delivered with a slightly lopsided, completely handsome smile, she hated that name.
Curse it, if her boys would carry it.
* * *
Steam curled into the frosty night air. After seven hours of camping near the hot spring, Hattie still could not believe that heated water bubbled right out of the earth.
It was as close to a natural miracle as she could imagine.
And all around it, there were woods! Sitting beside the campfire, she peered up through the bare branches, watching the show of stars creep slowly across the sky.
Even though it was cold on the ground, it was a relief to be out of the wagon, where nights had been spent dodging elbows and pushing away invading knees.
The Broken Brand was a world away from this magical place. If only she could bathe in the spring, let the hot water cleanse away the dust clinging to her, she might be able to put the past to rest.
Of course, there hadn’t been time for bathing, or the proper privacy. Truly, she couldn’t possibly strip down to her skin with the marshal close by.
While there was no doubt that he was brave and self-sacrificing, he was still a man. From her own pitiful experience, she had discovered that men took what they wanted. A woman’s body was his to do with as he pleased, especially when the woman was his wife.
Oh, but the simmering water of the spring did call to her.
She glanced over to the far side of the campfire. Libby, wrapped up in a coat with Pansy, slept deep and sound. A foot away, Joe slumbered with his face toward the sky as though he had fallen asleep gazing at the branches scratching against each other in the breeze. Flynn slept in the wagon to insure he wouldn’t wander during the night.
Marshal Prentis sat with his back propped against a tree and his rifle across his lap. She couldn’t see his eyes because his Stetson was tugged over them. Judging by the slow even pace of his breathing, he was asleep, too.
She stood up quietly, tucking the coat around Seth and making sure the pocket of warm air surrounding him didn’t leak out.
After a brief peek into the buckboard to make sure Flynn was covered, she made her way toward the spring.
Fifty feet away from the campfire, she sat down on a large rock beside the water, listening to the peace of the night.
The surface of the water moved with the warm current, the breeze shuffled through the tree branches and the fire crackled. Someone began to snore. She thought it was Joe.
Now