Runaway
“Do you have a piece of string I could use?”
“You can leave it hang, honey. I don’t mind seein’ the curls.” His gaze moved from stilled fingers, still holding the end of her hastily fashioned braid, to meet her own, wary and dark with apprehension.
With a short oath, born of aggravation but heartfelt nonetheless, he reached into the depths of his pack once more. His fingers snatched at a short length of twine, filched from the seemingly bottomless bundle of supplies he was raiding for her benefit, and handed it to her.
She wrapped it in a familiar gesture around the end of her braid and tossed the braid over her shoulder, letting it hang down her back.
“When was the last time you ate?” He glanced at her as he spoke, making a quick survey, taking in the weariness she took pains to conceal. The sleep she’d snatched beside the stream had done little to freshen her, if the circles beneath her eyes were anything to go by.
“Yesterday.” She eyed him defensively as he pursed his lips. “Maybe the day before,” she added grudgingly, leaning once more toward the warmth of the fire.
He dished up a plateful from his skillet and held it out in her direction. Her eagerness stifled by good manners, she took it from him and snatched up a piece of bacon dangling from the edge of the metal dish. Delicately she bit off a mouthful, her eyes closing as she chewed.
“I reckon you were hungry, all right,” he said, scraping the rest of the food onto another plate. Handing her a fork, he watched as she set to with a will, almost neglecting his own meal as he watched her. And then he ate slowly, lest she’d make her way through the food he’d allotted her and still be looking for more. It went against his grain to see a woman go hungry.
The last bite disappeared past her lips and she sighed, savoring the flavor. “Thanks, Tolliver. That was good.” She straightened, her blue eyes focusing on him. “Do you have an extra cup? That coffee smells wonderful.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Dig one outta that bundle.” Motioning with his thumb, he sent her in the direction of his mule, where another pack lay open on the ground, having yielded cooking utensils and matches for the fire.
She rose gingerly, as if various aches and pains had made themselves known, and stepped to where his supplies were stashed. Squatting, she sorted carefully through his belongings, as if she would touch only what he had given permission for. A metal cup filled her hand and she turned back to where he sat. He’d filled his own cup to the brim and waited, coffeepot in hand, for her return.
“Thanks.” She lowered herself to the ground, watching carefully lest she spill the steaming brew, as if unwilling to waste a drop of it. Her hands curled around the cup, shifting from the heat as she sipped, then she placed it on the ground beside her.
“Where’d you come from?” He’d leaned back, tilting his hat forward a bit, his eyes in shadow.
“Does it matter?” she asked, her lashes fluttering as she lowered her gaze to the fire.
“Nope, I reckon not” Sipping once more at his coffee, he narrowed his eyes, silently assessing her appearance. She was young, probably not yet twenty.
Her clothing had been well made, but the dress had undergone a heap of wear and tear. And then there was the matter of a lack of shoes. Her feet were dirty and bruised up a bit, now that he took a good look at them. Maybe she had walked barefoot after all. At least ten miles, if he had it figured right.
“Loco Junction.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she offered the information. “But I’m not going back there.”
“Your choice.” His shrug signified his uninterest. And then his next words belied the gesture. “Looks to me like you’re on the run, honey.”
“Maybe.” She glanced up at him, catching his sardonic grin, and she flushed, her chin tilting defensively. “I’m on the run.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not going back.”
“Somebody after you?”
She looked up quickly, peering to see his eyes beneath the wide brim of his hat. “I hope not. But I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
“You steal anything?” Withdrawing a narrow-bladed knife from its sheath inside his boot, he inspected his fingernails, then cleaned them as she watched.
“I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” She lifted her cup and drank the dregs of coffee, savoring the last drops.
“You in bad trouble?” Glancing up, he caught the quickly indrawn breath, the telltale flaring of her nostrils as she searched for an answer to his query.
“You can just go on and leave me here if you want to. I’ll be fine.” Her mouth was set in a thin line, her jaw firm, her eyes trained on his left shoulder.
His laugh was rasping as he considered her chances, adrift in this country. Northern Texas was raw, rough territory, not fit for a woman alone.
“You got any idea how long you’d last out here by yourself?” he asked, his long, elegant fingers precise as he slid the knife back inside his boot. He looked up quickly, hoping to catch a stray emotion, perhaps a sign of indecision on that sunburned face. She’d tightened her lips, hiding behind a sullen countenance.
“What are my choices?”
“How old are you, girl?” She made him feel a hundred and one, this child masquerading in a woman’s body. She’d offered no payment for his protection, asked no favors but for the food she’d eaten, leaving herself wide open to the perils inherent to the situation she was in. That he could have had any answers he wanted with a few probing questions, or a threatening movement in her direction, was a fact, he figured.
“What’s your name?” He threw the question in, then felt a twinge of compassion as she frowned at him. The arrogance had not suited her, the indecision did. She’d not lived long enough to build a protective shield, not played poker with men like Will Tolliver.
“Cassie. My name’s Cassie Phillips.” She’d decided to trust him with that much, the indecision fading from her eyes. Her mouth pouted for just a few seconds, and then she told him what he wanted to know. “I’m eighteen…almost.”
“Damn! You’re just a kid. Who turned you loose out here? He needs to be hung by his—” He tugged his hat from his head, his strong fingers plowing through his hair, furrowing the dark, straight length of it.
“I’m not a child. I don’t need anyone.” She delivered the ultimatum in a terse undertone, her teeth gritting on the final words, and he was unwillingly touched by the stalwart strength of her.
“Well, I’m headin’ north.” He’d made her an offer. If she took it, so be it If she wanted to dillydally around in this godforsaken spot between two hellholes, he’d—
“Are you saying you’ll take me along?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. I’ll take you along till we can find a place for you to stay. Maybe some preacher and his wife somewhere along the way will give you a home, let you work for your keep.” He latched on to the thought. It sounded respectable, plausible even.
She considered it, her eyes calculating, and once more he was amused by the transparency of her features. “I’m not overly fond of preachers.”
“One of ‘em chase you out of town?”
Her flush was indignant. “Hardly. Loco Junction didn’t welcome decent ministers. The only one I’ve seen lately was the one who came knocking on our door late one night, hoping to find my mother home alone.” Her mouth tightened and she closed her eyes, as if that particular memory still rankled.
He nodded. “All right. We’ll figure something else out. Maybe a farmer. Maybe you could work in a store.” Cassie looked doubtful, and Will shook his head. He’d about run out of ideas, and the ones he’d proposed hadn’t been much to speak of. But he added, “Since we’ll be traveling together, you’d better call me Will.”
She sure was a piece of work, with that long hair and curvy backside. His mouth drew down as he forced that thought from his head. Clearly the girl was an innocent, yet he was hard put to rid his mind of the memory of a softly rounded breast and long slender legs, wrapped in a sopping wet dress.
She was a temptation, all right. But one he had no business dwelling on, if he planned to carry her with him. And it looked as if he was about to do that very thing.
Chapter Two
She’d awakened twice during the night from the same nightmare, her heart pounding, her eyes searching the darkness. He’d been there both times, his hands firm as they pressed against her shoulders, his voice ragged but soothing as he murmured phrases of comfort.
Cassie’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked them from existence. Crying was a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. She wasn’t about to allow the hands and voice of a stranger to reduce her to childish behavior.
For just a moment she remembered the warmth of those long fingers as they’d clasped her, their gentle strength penetrating the worn cotton of the shirt she wore. He’d shaken her, just enough to get her attention, to pull her mind from the enveloping horror of the dream. And she’d reached for him.
Her face hot with shame, she remembered groping in the dark, grasping the front of his shirt, burying her face against his masculine form. He’d held her there, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other across her shoulders. Just for a moment, until she’d realized where she was, that the bosom she rested against bore no resemblance to that of her mother.
She’d pulled away then, and he’d let her go. He’d delivered one final grunt of instruction as he rose to his feet, a growling admonition to go back to sleep, and then he’d stretched out on his blanket and turned his back.
Men were cunning creatures, she’d decided just months after her mother had married Remus Chandler. He’d been all sweetness and light until the first time her mother had not done his bidding to his exact standards. His hands had been weapons, used often, and Cassie had been safe from him only because of her mother.
Will seemed to be a different sort, gruff and not given to gentle behavior, though she couldn’t fault his actions in the middle of the night. That she’d been held in his arms was a wonder. That she’d tolerated his touch was almost a miracle, given her dread of most men.
They’d traveled for several hours yesterday, she perched on the broad back of his stallion, clinging to the leather of his saddle. He’d lifted her in place and hoisted himself into the saddle with care, with only a cursory glance at her stocking feet and a muttered curse as his horse danced in place, protesting the double load.
She’d been almost asleep, her head nodding against his broad back, when he’d stopped for the night. Grateful for the blanket he’d handed her, she’d slumped to the ground without a murmur.
She blinked, the call of a bird shrill in her ears. It was the piercing, territorial warning of a blue jay, and she scrunched her eyes against the brilliant hues of sunrise. Her gaze flew to the blanket on the other side of the clearing, the empty space where Will Tolliver had spent the night.
And then she heard him, heard the same gruff tones he’d used against her ear, speaking morning greetings to his animals. She sat up, the better to locate his direction, and found that he was behind her, not more than twenty feet distant. Twisting around, she met his gaze.
“Morning.” His nod accompanied the brief greeting, and she responded in kind.
Her body rebelled as she arose, her legs and feet aching a protest. The walking she’d done had been off the beaten path—her instincts had told her to stay clear of the trail—and her feet had borne the brunt of it. Unable to stand with any degree of comfort, she lowered herself to the ground once more, gingerly rolling her borrowed stockings down to uncover her toes, bending to inspect them. She frowned as her fingers traced the bruising from multiple scrapes she’d managed to inflict.
“Think if you washed them they’d look a little better?”
Her eyes narrowed as she heard the dry humor behind his suggestion. “Not a whole lot,” she allowed, rising with a muffled groan, stepping gingerly as she passed him by.
“There’s a pond just beyond those trees,” he told her, pointing the way. “It won’t hurt to dangle your feet in the water a bit. Might make them feel better.”
“Thanks.” She limped past, following his direction. Leaving her shoes behind had been a mistake of major proportions, one she’d regretted more than once during the hike she’d undertaken. And then there was another regret. Her conscience had been sorely pierced by the memory of her mother’s body, and her not seeing to a decent burial. Although the best she could have done was barely fit to mention.
Besides, Mama’s soul was surely in heaven, far removed from the man who’d made her life a torment.
Lastly, there was the small matter of Remus Chandler. Her landing in jail if she’d hung around was almost a certainty. Whether or not she was being pursued by the law was the thing she needed to consider.
Cassie sat on the bank of the shallow pond, gingerly breaking the surface of the water with her toes. Chilly, but not icy, she decided, scooting forward until her feet were covered by the water.
“Want some soap?”
He’d come up behind her, and she jerked in response to his query. “You could let a body know you’re prowling around,” she said sharply. His boots moved beside her and he squatted inches away, his hand holding the narrow piece of hard soap.
She took it, glancing up into dark eyes that pierced her with silent reproach. Their hands brushed, her fingers curling around his offering, and then she relented.
“Thanks for waking me up during the night. I don’t usually have bad dreams.” It was a gruff acknowledgment of his kindness, about the best she could come up with.
He rocked on the balls of his feet, balancing beside her. “We all take a turn with nightmares sometime in our lives, Cassie. I’ve had my share.” He dropped a dingy towel into her lap, rising to his feet. “I’ll take a look at your feet after you clean ‘em up a little. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
“Thank you.” She’d dreaded seeing him in the daylight, but he’d made it easy on her. Of course, she still hadn’t actually faced him, other than that one glance. She bent over, lifted one foot and set to work. Maybe the soap would help. Maybe there was more dirt than bruises.
“Damn, you sure beat up these poor feet of yours. You’re not used to goin’ barefoot, are you?” Will lifted her foot for his appraisal and shook his head at the sight She’d suffered numerous small cuts from stones, and what skin wasn’t scratched up by the rough ground was nicked by bushes she’d tramped through. Already healing, her feet had responded well to the soap and water.
Now he added the benefit of alcohol to the treatment he’d prescribed. His bottle of whiskey, wrapped in another shirt, had been at the bottom of his saddlebag and he’d poured out a small measure into his cup.
“That burns!” she cried, curling her fingers into fists, drawing her shoulders high, watching as he scrubbed at each scratch with a whiskey-soaked cloth.
“It’ll burn worse if these start to fester up.” He held one foot high, her heel resting in his palm. “I’m usin’ my good whiskey on you, girl. Don’t give me any grief.”
She bit her lip, holding back the remark she’d been about to make. As far as she was concerned, whiskey wasn’t good for much, other than washing out wounds and making hot toddies. It certainly hadn’t improved Remus Chandler’s disposition any. Rotgut was what her mother had called it, that vile stuff Remus had swigged down with great regularity. Cassie shuddered at the memory.
“Cold?” Will Tolliver asked. “You’d better toughen up. It’s still pretty chilly up north.”
Cassie lifted her foot from his grasp, placing it cautiously on the blanket where she sat. She eyed it carefully. Another day of healing and it would be fit to walk on, she figured. “I’m not cold, just took a chill.” She met his gaze. “Are you going home? That where you’re from?”
“Not lately. Not since I was just a kid, settin’ out to see the country.”
“Did you? See the country, I mean?” She leaned forward and took the stockings from him, then carefully covered her feet with them. One more thing she’d be owing him for.
“Saw Texas and parts west,” he told her, shifting to one knee. “‘Course, I don’t think anybody’s ever seen all of Texas. It just goes on beyond what most folks consider civilization, right down to the border.”
“Now you’re going home?” She tugged the stockings up, then covered them with the rolled-up cuffs of his trousers. His eyes had been on her movements, and she flushed as she recognized his interest in the pale flesh of her calves and ankles. His fingers had been gentle on her feet, their touch sending slivers of fire on a race through her that had little to do with the whiskey’s potency. It seemed she was not immune to his style of doctoring, nor the gruff tenderness he dispensed.
“Yeah, I’m headed home.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it,” she said quietly, squinting against the sun’s rays as she looked up at him.
His smile was a grimace. “I’ve been happier, like when I faced a whippin’ from my pa, or had to split a cord of firewood before breakfast” He rose quickly, offering her his hand. “Come on, we’re wastin’ time talkin’ and the day’s half-gone.”
“Half-gone?” She eyed the sun, barely visible through the trees. “It can’t be more than eight o’clock or so.”
“I’m saddlin’ up, Cassie. If you’re ridin’ along, you’d best be ready to go.”
She looked around the clearing, trees on three sides, beyond them the trail leading back to Loco Junction, now at least thirty miles away.
Crouched beside his belongings, Will delved deeply into the pack holding his personal things, muttering beneath his breath as he sorted through the miscellany of his scant supplies. A grunt signified success and he hoisted himself to his feet, a brown-paper-wrapped package in one hand.
“Here.” He tossed it in her direction as he glared at her, his lowered eyebrows adding a menace to his look. “Bought those for my sister, back down the trail. They oughta fit you. She won’t mind if you borrow them till we can find somethin’ better for you to wear.”
Cassie’s fingers trembled as she unwrapped the soft bundle. A gift was to be enjoyed, even if it was just on loan. A pair of moccasins tumbled into her lap and she touched the supple leather with one finger, then lifted them to her nose to inhale the distinctive scent. He’d picked out pretty ones, beaded and sewn with careful stitches, and for a moment she envied the sister who merited such tender regard.
“Well, go ahead. Try ‘em on.” His tone was impatient and she cast him a glance of apology as she slid her stockinged feet within the soft leather protection of the shoes,
“They fit just fine.” It was all she could manage, her throat filling with a strange tightness she could suppress only with a rapid blinking of her eyes. “Thank you.” Her teeth pressed against her bottom lip as she stuck one foot out before her, displaying the beauty of his purchase to his view.
“They’ll do.”
Gruff and abrupt, his approval pleased her nonetheless, and she tucked away her pleasure at his thoughtfulness.
She watched him as he packed his gear, loading the mule in a systematic fashion, balancing his packs, one on either side, tugging and testing the ropes.
“Fold up that blanket and bring it here,” Will called impatiently from the other side of his horse.
Cassie folded the rough fabric quickly and limped to where he worked at the cinch, watching as he pulled the stirrup into place. His hands reached for the blanket, and he arranged it behind his saddle, then lifted her with an ease that left her breathless, settling her as he had yesterday, astride the horse’s back.
The animal shifted beneath her and she held the back of his saddle, balancing herself as the blanket slid in place.
“Whoa, there,” he ordered sternly, approaching with the mule’s lead line in hand. He wrapped it around the saddle horn twice, then eased his way up, his foot and leg coming perilously close as he seated himself in front of Cassie. Looking back at her over his shoulder, he scowled. “Hangin’ on all right?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.” Fine or not, it beat walking, and she’d be a fool to complain.
The noon meal was a godsend, as far as Cassie was concerned. Will had caught sight of a fat rabbit just ahead, and his gun had brought down the small game with one shot.
“My pa said you should never turn down a meal when it’s offered,” he said, lifting Cassie from behind his saddle. He pressed the blanket into her hands and led the animals to be tied to a nearby tree.
She spread the blanket and watched as he prepared the rabbit for their meal, his movements quick and knowledgeable. “Looks like you’re an old hand at that,” she said as he readied a fire, lighting the small pieces of kindling with a match from his pack.
His shoulders rose in a shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I was in charge of hunting game back home. If I didn’t bring home a rabbit or squirrel—or better yet, a deer—once in a while, we didn’t eat much meat those first couple of years on the farm. Ma said she wasn’t wastin’ her chickens on the dinner table. The eggs were worth more in town than the hens were, cookin’ in a stew pot We ate up the roosters, soon as they were big enough to fry, then it was back to the wild game.”
“How many of you were there?” Cassie asked, cross-legged on the blanket, feeling useless in the face of his dinner preparations.
“Ma and Pa had four of us. My sister, Josie, and two other boys.” Spitting the rabbit, he settled it over the fire, then mixed cornmeal with water from his metal flask. A small pan from his pack held the mixture, and he placed it on a rock at the edge of the coals.
“Will it cook like that?” She’d baked corn pone in an oven, but trail cooking was beyond her.
“The rock’s pickin’ up heat from the fire.” He tossed a thick flannel pad her way. “Turn the pan once in a while. It oughta be done about the time the rabbit is.”
She nodded agreeably. Will Tolliver was turning out to be the best thing that had happened to her in a long while. Whether he tired of her company in day or so, or if he took her as far north as he was heading, anything was better than her stepfather’s shack in Loco Junction.
It had been a long slide downhill the past three years. Her flesh crawled as she thought again of the man her mother had married. She shivered, remembering the feel of the knife in her hand, shuddered as she recalled the flow of blood that had stained her fingers, pooling beneath Remus as he slumped to the floor.
I killed him. Cassie’s eyes closed, then flew open as she beheld the vision of death she’d left behind. Lips pressed together tightly, she breathed the fresh air, the scent of meat roasting over the fire, the clean smell of freedom.
“We’ve got company.” Will stood, a casual gesture, stepping a few feet from where she sat to stand next to his rifle, which was snugged against his pack.
Cassie felt the hair rise on the back of her neck, and turned her head to view the approaching horseman. Tall, rugged and riding as if he were a part of the animal he straddled, the man neared. His hat shielding his face, both hands visible on the reins, he rode in from the south, as if he had followed their trail.
“Howdy there, folks.” He was within hailing distance and he slowed his horse to a walk. The animal nickered, and Will’s big stallion responded, a shrill challenge, jerking on the reins that held him fast to a tree.
“Behave yourself, horse,” Will growled, impatience tingeing his words, then he thumbed his hat back, calling out to the approaching horseman, “Hello yourself, stranger. You lost your way?”
The horse halted several yards away and the visitor lifted a hand to push aside his coat, revealing a silver star pinned to his shirt. “Nope, just takin’ a look around.” His gaze swept the area, a wide open space, only a few trees for shade and a sparsely grassed field. “You folks from here-abouts?”