Outlaw Hunter. Carol Arens

she finally looked up, she saw Libby standing in the buckboard, hugging Seth to her chest and clutching Pansy’s hand tight.

      Joe bent over the coyote, the marshal beside him.

      “Got him straight between the eyes!” Joe said.

      “Poor beast.” Marshal Prentis put his hand on Joe’s shoulder.

      Hattie heard him talking to the boy while they returned to the wagon. “We’ll need to be on our way, and in a hurry. Coyotes stay in their packs even when they’re mad. Could be more of them.”

      “Yes, sir. I’ll do the driving so Hattie can tend to the little ones.”

      Joe scrambled into the wagon.

      Marshal Prentis slipped his wide hand under her elbow to help her up.

      “We’ll need to travel late, get as far clear of here as we can,” he told her. Behind his back the sun had begun to set. “It’ll be rough travel for a while. We’ll have to sleep in the wagon tonight.”

      That suited her fine. She was not about to allow any of the children on the ground until they were far away from this horrible, barren of anything gentle, land.

      The marshal turned toward his horse. She tapped the shoulder of his buckskin shirt, halting him. He looked back, and up. For the first time she noticed how handsome he was, with a bold, square jaw dimpled with a slight cleft.

      He clutched his hat in his hand, showing off hair that was very dark. Nearly but not quite black, it grew in close-cropped waves about his face.

      In another lifetime she would have flirted with him. The young woman she had been before Ram would be dreaming of his kiss.

      It was just as well that Ram had laid that girl to rest. She was a mother of two now...a guardian for three more. There was scarcely enough time to breathe, let alone go soft over a handsome face.

      * * *

      Hattie had been asleep in the wagon bed for only an hour when she woke suddenly. She tried to stifle her gasp but it escaped before she could call it back.

      She willed her heartbeat to still. By breathing slowly, she pushed back the panic.

      The jab to her back had been inadvertent, only someone’s knee. Sudden movements in the night still terrified her. How long, she wondered, would it take before she could truly put her memories behind her?

      Fortunately, her outburst hadn’t wakened the children. Carefully, she moved Flynn away from where he had curled his small self against her bosom. She sat up slowly, dislodging Libby’s knee from her spine.

      She groaned under her breath, stretching and easing the aches from her muscles. Sleeping on the hard wagon bed without enough room to turn was difficult.

      But it was a difficulty she blessed with every heartbeat.

      Anyplace, no matter how barren or dangerous, was preferable to the Broken Brand.

      “Mrs. Travers, is something wrong?”

      The marshal appeared at the side of the wagon, a frown creasing his brow and his breath puffing white in the cold. She couldn’t see lower than his chest, but from the position of his right arm, she guessed that he had his hand on his gun.

      It alarmed her that he slept wearing his weapon. Perhaps he expected another mad animal to appear out of the dark. If so, he should not be sleeping on the ground under the wagon.

      “I just need to get up and walk for a few minutes.”

      “I’d advise against it, ma’am.”

      So would she, but just the same she stood, careful not to wake anyone with her stiff-jointed maneuvers.

      The marshal helped her down from the wagon with one hand under her elbow and another at her waist. She forced herself not to cringe.

      A man’s touch was not something that she welcomed. Sadly, that was one more thing that Ram had ruined for her.

      Perhaps with time that aversion would ease. She prayed that her dead husband had not cursed her soul forever.

      He let go of her as soon as her feet were solid on the ground, and she took a quick step away.

      She looked up at him. He hadn’t been sleeping with his hat on. The moon shone full on his face.

      As handsome as it was, it made her nervous to make eye contact. It was just the two of them with the night so dark and still...and he was such a large man.

      She walked in a circle about the wagon, stretching and breathing deeply. Her footsteps crunched soil and broke dried twigs. The marshal walked beside her with one hand at his waist.

      As much as he tried to disguise his stance, he was ready to reach for his gun at the slightest sign of danger. It was kind of him not to want to frighten her by touching the weapon directly.

      Kindness in a man was not something she was used to. She wished she could relax and trust that a man of the law would behave with honor.

      He had certainly given her no reason to believe that he would not. He had saved her son’s life at the risk of his own. What further proof did she need of his high standards?

      Unfortunately, what she believed and what she felt were not in alignment.

      Curse you, Ram, she thought, but then, no... She cursed herself for allowing him into her life.

      “Are you hungry?” Marshal Prentis asked. “I’ve got a bit of jerky in my saddle.”

      Yes, she was! Hungry for food and hungry for a new life.

      “No, but thank you. I’ll do.” The last thing she would do is take food that the children might eat.

      “Come with me, but walk close, Mrs. Travers.”

      Because he touched his gun while staring into the shadows, she did. Danger lay beyond the wagon.

      Safety, she reminded herself, lay with the marshal.

      He led her to where the horses were tethered. His saddle packs lay on the ground beside them. He lifted a leather flap, drew something out.

      He escorted her back to the wagon, then with a nod of his head he indicated that she should sit under it. Because she was not ready to climb back into the cramped confines of the wagon bed, she did.

      After a long, hard look at the surrounding area, the marshal crawled under and sat down across from her, his feet crossed at the ankle and his knees spread.

      The fringe on the arms of his buckskin shirt swayed in the wind that shot up suddenly from the south.

      “You need to eat,” he stated and pressed a slice of dried meat into her hand.

      To satisfy him she took a bite. It was tough but surprisingly tasty.

      “I’ll save the rest for the children.”

      “No need...I’ll hunt some game in the morning.” In the dark shadow under the wagon he frowned. “I won’t let the young ones go hungry. Trust me, Mrs. Travers.”

      And didn’t she want to? If ever she’d met someone who deserved trust, it was this man.

      Perhaps her hungry days were over. Because of the marshal, she was going home. Once she got there she would never be hungry again...and neither would anyone who belonged to her.

      She chewed on another bite of the jerky. The marshal sat silently watching her.

      Strangely, she didn’t mind.

      * * *

      On the morning of the third day, Hattie spotted a tree in the distance. It grew alone on the top of a hill, its bare branches reaching toward the bright blue sky.

      She had always loved trees, and it had been three years since she had seen one. It didn’t matter that this one’s leaves had gone for the winter. They would come back