It made her uneasy to see the men in her sanctuary. But even though Hen made her more nervous than all the rest, she was pleased to have him near. She had given up trying to pretend she didn't like him, that she didn't think about him nearly all the time. She had stopped pretending she hoped he didn't care about her. She had stopped saying he was a terrible model for Adam. She had stopped pretending she wasn't on the verge of falling in love with him.

  But she wasn't foolish enough to think he was in love with her.

  Adam ran by. Laurel grabbed him by the collar. "It's time to get back to work," she said. "We still have a lot of clothes to get done today."

  "Can't I watch?"

  "You've seen enough. After you've done your chores, maybe you can ride your horse with Jordy."

  "Okay."

  He gave in too easily. Something was bothering him. She didn't know what. Half the time she thought she was imagining things, but every once in a while he would look withdrawn and remote, like he was puzzling over something. He looked like that now.

  "Do you think Pa would want me to help his brothers against the sheriff?" Adam asked.

  The question was so unexpected Laurel had no ready answer. What on earth could have gotten him to thinking about something like that? "Your father wasn't like his brothers," Laurel said.

  "Wouldn't he want me to help my uncles?"

  "It's wrong to help anyone who hurts other people, even if he is your uncle."

  Laurel was relieved to see her answer seemed to have answered Adam's question. His expression lightened, and he ran on ahead.

  "It won't take me a minute to fill the tubs," he shouted as he entered the wash. "I'll be done before you can make it up the canyon."

  Laurel laughed, her mood lighter.

  * * * * *

  Hen noticed Adam watching from among the sycamores. "You want to come down where you can see?" he asked, surprised the boy hadn't been at his elbow all morning.

  Adam shook his head. "Ma said I was to stay out of the way."

  Hen wasn't surprised at Laurel's order, but he was surprised Adam obeyed. "She won't mind as long as you stick with me."

  Adam stayed among the sycamores.

  Hen gathered some lumber, put it on a small hand cart, and started up the trail.

  "Ma said you weren't going to build it in the canyon," Adam said.

  "This is something special."

  "What is it?" Adam asked, unable to control his curiosity now.

  "Come with me, and I'll show you."

  Adam followed without a backward glance.

  Laurel looked up, startled, when Hen pushed the cart of lumber into the clearing. She felt her heart leap into her throat. She never saw Hen any more without feeling that rush of excitement, the dizzying sensation which made it hard to breathe. He looked the same as always, white shirt, black vest and pants, and flat-crowned hat. Devastating. Laurel didn't know how she had ever thought she could ignore him, how she could have ever imagined going through the rest of her life and never seeing him again. He was already part of it.

  Her brow knitted as she realized the cart was loaded with lumber. They weren't supposed to do any building here. She glanced down the trail, but no one followed Hen. What was he meaning to do?

  "We started building the chute today," he said as he set the cart down. "You shouldn't be bothered by the hammering once they move away from the mouth of the canyon."

  Laurel could head a steady rat-a-tat-tat of several hammers, but the sound was muffled.

  "What are you going to do with that lumber?" she asked.

  "Build a chute from the creek."

  Laurel had never thought of asking for a chute of her own. It certainly never occurred to her to ask Hen to build it. He was a gunfighter. What did he know about building?

  "I don't need a chute."

  "I'll bet Adam would appreciate not having to carry all that water day after day."

  "Let him, Ma," Adam begged.

  "I'm afraid I can't afford to pay for it."

  "It won't cost you anything. Consider it a goodwill gesture."

  "But they're already paying me for the water."

  "This is for offering. You want to help?" Hen asked Adam.

  Once more Laurel was aware of a change in Adam's attitude toward Hen. He didn't seem at all anxious to help, and Laurel knew it wasn't because he was lazy. Whatever had been said about helping the sheriff against his father's brothers had upset him. Laurel wondered if Shorty Baker had said it. She knew it wasn't Jordy. He worshiped Hen.

  "I really don't need a chute."

  "I'm going to build it anyway."

  Laurel smiled in spite of herself. Hen smiled back. "I knew you would. You've never done a single thing I asked you."

  Hen looked startled by that remark. "I'm just doing--"

  "You're just doing what you think is best for me," Laurel finished for him. "Every man I ever knew did the same. I survived the rest, so I suppose I'll survive you."

  "I was hoping we could get along a little better than that."

  Why did he have to look at her with just a trace of a teasing smile on his lips. It made her want to do something extremely foolish, like throw her arms around his neck and kiss him hard and fast. She wouldn't, but she'd been wanting to for days. Ever since he came back from hunting rustlers.

  She tried to ignore that feeling, but it wouldn't go away. "Maybe we can. I'll try very hard not to mind having my wishes ignored."

  "And I'll try not to remember I'm a bad influence."

  Laurel flushed. "I'm sorry I said that. I was wrong."

  "You approve of gunfighters?" Hen asked in apparent disbelief.

  "No. But when you brought in those rustlers, I realized there's a difference between gunmen and an officer of the law. Somebody has to do your job, and I'm glad it's you." She could tell he wanted to explore the issue further, but she didn't feel on firm ground. "I've got to get back to work. If you're going to build Adam's chute, you'd better get started."

  She watched them go down to the creek, Adam acting much like his old self again, full of questions and dancing around Hen like he was the center of the universe. That made Laurel feel better. Already she was coming to depend on Hen to help with Adam. It hurt her to know he could do things with her son she couldn't, but she told herself to stop wasting time complaining about what couldn't be changed. Instead she ought to be glad Adam had someone like Hen to model himself on.

  She didn't want to admit it, but she was becoming too dependent on Hen, too. Their need scared her.

  I hope he's going to stay. If he's not, I wish he would leave right now.

  As she watched him work, she reminded herself he hadn't said a word about liking her. She could be reading too much into his actions. Yet there was something different about the way he did things. She could feel it. Something very personal, like he was doing it especially for her.

  Laurel liked that feeling. He might be rude and overbearing and ignore her wishes, but he could be kind and thoughtful. He worried about her, cared about the way people treated her. He worried about her safety. She loved the feeling so much she was even jealous of the time he spent with Adam, the attention he lavished on him. She had only herself to blame. She pushed him away every time he came around.

  She picked up a dress and pushed it into the hot, soapy water. As the material soaked up the water, making the dress almost too heavy to be lifted out again, she made up her mind not to drive Hen away anymore. She would allow Adam to go down to Sycamore Flats to see Hen any time he chose. She wanted her son to be as much like this strange man as possible.

  She watched in surprise as the chute began to take shape. Hen may be a gunfighter, but he obviously knew how to handle a hammer as well as a gun. She hoped he knew how to handle her heart. She feared it was permanently in his keeping.

  * * * * *

  Hen was surprised neither Laurel nor Adam was at the house when he arrived the next day. They must have finished their work for the day and gone off together. He hoped they hadn't gone far. He headed toward the meadow. He didn't consider going back to the men working below. The chute was progressing rapidly. It was still a long way from town, but once they left the rocky part of the canyon, they could practically build the chute on the ground.

  A little voice in the back of his mind whispered he'd better make the most of his time while he had an excuse to come here so often. Hen responded with a shrug of annoyance. He didn't need an excuse. He could damned well go anywhere he pleased without explanations to anyone. He always had.

  That explanation didn't satisfy him. He was just being bullheaded not to admit he had come because he wanted to see Laurel. But that didn't satisfy him either. The most important question was why it was so important to see her. He couldn't answer that. He didn't know if it was because he didn't know or was afraid to find out.

  Adam was riding Sandy when Hen reached the meadow. He was proud of the boy's progress. Hen had to look harder before he saw Laurel. She had found a depression in the rock that formed a shallow cave. It allowed her to remain out of the sun and have a complete view of the meadow at the same time.

  "Mind if I join you?" he called out as he climbed up the jumble of rocks which gave access to the cave.

  "If you think the men can get along without you."

  "They prefer it," Hen said, as he reached the rock shelf that formed the base of the cave. "I'm still an outsider here."

  "Come join two more. Are you hungry?"

  Laurel had spread a blanket over the rough, cold surface of the rock. From a small hamper she offered him bread and cold ham.

  "No, thank you" Hen said. "Hope did her best to fatten me up already."

  "She didn't succeed."

  Laurel looked away, but not before Hen glimpsed a look in her eyes that caused excitement to leap within him. Gone were anger, disdain, disapproval, disgust, irritation, annoyance or any other look that said she wished he would go away. Instead this was a look of such longing, such need, such naked hunger, Hen couldn't be certain he had interpreted it correctly. He had never thought of Laurel as a cold woman, but until now he had felt only her cold shoulder of rejection.

  He had never understood why some man hadn't marched his way into the canyon and into Laurel's heart. She was a beautiful woman. The stunning contrast of her black hair and clear, white skin was dominated by her luminous dark brown eyes. Surely someone had longed to caress her cheek and run his fingers through the silky luxuriance of her hair. Surely at least one man had wanted to lose himself in the depths of those eyes. There must have been at least one who could see she was a woman to be cherished.

  Hen dropped down next to Laurel. Her gaze was fixed on Adam. She didn't move away. He felt the tension escalate inside him, felt a stinging heat slowly eddy into every part of his body. He hadn't touched Laurel since that first day. His fingers itched to touch her again.

  Laurel turned to him. "Where were you before you came here?" she asked unexpectedly. "You don't belong in this place. I'd swear you've never been a sheriff before." Her expression showed nothing of what she might be feeling. Even her eyes were shuttered.

  "Am I that bad?"

  "No. You're just not like the other sheriffs. You've got a reputation as a gunfighter, but you haven't killed anyone. You're rude, almost brutal to people, yet you've taken Jordy into you own house. Everybody in town knows you don't drink, gamble or womanize."

  "Is it so important to understand me?"

  He shouldn't have asked that question. As long as he didn't care what anyone thought, he was in control of his life. Yet even though he felt uneasy -- like a man stepping on ground that might prove to be quicksand -- he couldn't turn back.

  "Yes, it is important."

  Hen's reluctance to share any confidence was reinforced by the curb rein of habit. He felt the rusty hinges of his soul scream in protest as the doors swung open, forced ajar by the desire to reach out to someone. With a sigh, he yielded to temptation. "I was born in Virginia, but we moved to Texas when I was eleven. For the last twelve years I've traveled all over. I don't suppose I come from anywhere anymore."

  "Is that all?"

  "You want to know how I got started with a gun." She didn't have to blush or nod her head or even look embarrassed. He knew what she wanted. "I came upon two rustlers about to hang my brother. They already had the rope around his neck. I had about one second to make up my mind."

  "Was that all?"

  "Some squatters tried to wipe out my family so they could steal the gold they thought we had."

  "Why didn't you stop?"

  "People kept wanting what we had, and they were willing to kill to get it. Somebody had to protect the family. It sort of fell to me."

  "So you've got a family." Why was everybody so surprised he had a family.

  "I've got six brothers."

  "No sisters? I suppose that's why you dislike women."

  Hen couldn't have been any more shocked if she had struck him. "I don't dislike women."

  "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of men do."

  He opened his mouth to deny her charge, but let it close again. He didn't dislike women. He had simply distrusted them his whole life. "My mother was blinded by her obsession for my father. She died when he left her. Monty and I were thirteen, Tyler and Zac a lot younger. I never forgave her for that."

  He had never told anyone that. He had never even admitted it to himself. Yet even though he felt guilty for feeling that way, he was relieved. He had hated her for not loving them enough to find the strength to go on living, for their sake if not for her own, and he had taken it out on every woman he had met since. Rose was different, but she hadn't been able to eradicate the anger or teach him how to love.

  "Not all women are like that," Laurel said softly.

  "I know."

  He wanted to make Laurel understand he didn't want to be this way. He just was, and he couldn't do anything about it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Doesn't that make any difference to you?" Laurel asked.

  "Maybe."

  She was leaning on her hand. It was only a few inches from his. He traced a vein with his fingertip. She jumped.

  "Why did you do that?"

  "What?" She was suddenly defensive.

  "Jump like that."

  "It surprised me. You haven't touched me before."

  "You haven't let me."

  Laurel sat up, pulling away from Hen. Hen reached out and took her hand. She felt terribly uncomfortable. She desperately wanted to take her hand back, but couldn't figure out a polite way to do it.

  "Are you afraid of me?" Hen asked.

  "No."

  "You act like it."

  "I guess I don't like being touched very much."

  When she welcomed him to sit with her, she never suspected their conversation would become so personal, nor wander to such painful subjects. She was probably the one to blame. She'd asked him first.

  But as she sat there, Hen holding her hand, waiting, she realized she was a little afraid of him, just as she was of all men. Deep down she was afraid he would be like her stepfather and Carlin. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and moved away.

  "You said you didn't think of me as a gunfighter anymore."

  "I don't."

  "Then why are you afraid to let me touch you?"

  "I'm not."

  "Then don't move away."

  He moved closer, ran his fingers along her arm. Laurel sat still, struggling to decipher the feelings that rushed through her like a herd of stampeding longhorns. There was the chill his touch caused in her. That was easy to identify. It was the same coldness she had felt with Carlin. After he had hit her that first time. There was the same desire to run away she felt when her stepfather started drinking.

  But along with this she felt the warmth she remembered that day when Hen took care of her bruises and cuts. He had such a wonderfully gentle touch. It comforted, reassured her. It was so smooth, like his fingertips were covered with silk. Carlin's touch had been rough.

  She also felt a tingling excitement that radiated all over her body from the point where he touched her. That unfamiliar feeling had begun churning in her belly again. It made her want to move closer to Hen, want to touch him, want him to touch her.

  "What happened?" Hen asked.

  "Nothing."

  "Who hit you?"

  It wasn't the question. He had seen past her defenses. The sound of his voice carried understanding and sympathy. It was like absolution wiping away ten years' accumulation of resentment, the bottled-up rage, the stifling fear that had virtually held her prisoner in her canyon. Her resistance collapsed. She wanted to tell him. She needed to tell somebody. All the years of keeping it to herself had weighed too heavily for too long. The hard core of anger was breaking up. She had to let go.

  "My stepfather used to beat me," she said.

  She pulled away from him. Her hands moved nervously within each other. Hen took them and held them in his hands. She felt some of his calm flow into her.

  "He used to get drunk. I learned to hide. When I got older, I would leave the house. I'd sleep anywhere I could until he sobered up."

  "What about your father?"

  "He was killed when I was five. My mother had to marry somebody. She chose my stepfather."

  "What happened to her?"

  "She died when I was nine."

  She could remember the years she had spent waiting for her stepfather to come home, yet being afraid once he did.

  "I married Carlin to get away from him." She tensed, expecting Hen to say something, but he continued to sit quietly, holding her hands, giving her comfort. "I was sixteen. He was twenty-two. He was so handsome and exciting. He rode a beautiful horse with a silver-mounted saddle and was forever laughing. When he came courting me instead of one of the older girls, I lost my head. After he told my stepfather he'd kill him if he ever touched me again, I'd have followed him to the end of the earth."

  She nearly had. She would never forget the rides from one village to another always looking for fun.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36