In The Sheriff's Protection. Lauri Robinson

were insignificant. “How did you know I was ill?”

      “You fell off the chair when I opened the door,” Billy said. “’Member? I thought it was Pa and you said it wasn’t.”

      She balled her hands into fists to hide how they instantly started shaking at the memories coming forth. Thankful it hadn’t been Hugh riding in, she glanced at the window, the east window where the shining sun showed it was still on the rise, making it no later than midmorning. Confused, she asked, “Was that yesterday? I—I was out all night.”

      “No,” the man said, “that was four days ago.”

      She bolted upright, and the blood rushing to her head had her grasping her forehead.

      “Whoa, there,” the man said, gently forcing her to lie back down.

      Once her head was on the pillow again, and the room stopped spinning, she said, “Surely not four days. You must be mistaken.”

      “I’m not mistaken.”

      Covering her eyes with one hand, hoping that would somehow help her to remember, she shook her head. “I couldn’t have slept for four days.”

      “You were really sick, ma’am,” he said. “Really sick. Would you like to see your leg?”

      She removed the hand from her eyes. “Yes, please.”

      He flipped the bottom corner of the sheet aside and mixed emotions filled her. The swelling was considerably less, as was the pain, but the healing that had clearly taken place confirmed what he’d said. She’d been asleep for four days. Billy had been alone with a stranger for four days. Her skin quivered as she glanced toward her son, who was grinning from ear to ear.

      “It looks much better than the last time I saw it,” she said.

      “Like four days of healing?” the man asked.

      She pinched her lips together. There was a hint of teasing in his tone, but also affirmation that he hadn’t been lying when he said how much time had passed. The yellow color of the bruising confirmed it was old, as did the scabs that now covered her first wound as well as the two slashes that had been made to drain the infection. “Yes,” she admitted. “It looks like it’s been healing for a few days already.”

      “Healing nicely,” he said. “But now that you’re awake, we need to get some food in you.”

      “We have some eggs boiling,” Billy said. “Tom can cook, Ma. Almost as good as you. And we’ve kept the cows milked and skimmed the cream off the top, just like you always do.”

      “I’ll make you some tea to go with your eggs,” the man said. “Do you think you can sit up? Slowly this time?”

      She nodded, and carefully sat up enough for him to put another pillow behind her. Having a man be so caring was uncomfortable, yet she was grateful. Without him, she may not be here. “Thank you.”

      He gave her a nod, and winked one eye that was charming enough it made her heart thud unexpectedly.

      “We’ll be back shortly with that tea and an egg,” he said, laying a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Won’t we, Billy?”

      “Yes, sir. We’ll be right back, Ma.”

      The heartwarming sensation that washed over her was one she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. So long she couldn’t remember the last time. Years. She was still contemplating that when Billy and the man appeared again, along with a tray that the man set down on her lap.

      “I made the tea weak,” he said. “Your stomach might not tolerate much yet.”

      She glanced at the tea and the hard-boiled egg that had been peeled and quartered. No one had ever gone to such lengths for her. Ever. A lump formed in her throat that she had to swallow before admitting, “I’m sorry—I don’t remember what Billy said your name is.”

      “It’s Tom, ma’am. Tom Baniff.”

      “Well, Mr. Baniff, I owe you my deepest gratitude.” The hint of redness that appeared in his cheeks was positively endearing. Once again her heart thudded. “It makes me almost believe in miracles,” she admitted. “How a doctor was traveling through just when one was needed.”

      “I’m not a doctor, ma’am.”

      A hint of a chill had the hair on her arms rising. “You aren’t?”

      “No, I’m...um—traveling. Just traveling through.”

      His expression had changed. His eyes had grown so serious the chill rippling her skin increased. As if he knew that, and knew she’d seen it, he turned toward Billy.

      Once again setting a hand on Billy’s shoulder, he said, “Let’s let your mother eat in peace.”

      A part of her wanted to say that wasn’t necessary, but her throat was swelling. When he’d shifted his stance, the black vest covering his chest had caught in the sunlight shining through the window. The vest was made of leather, and though hardly noticeable, she’d seen two tiny holes. Evenly separated and situated in the exact spot a badge would have been worn. A lawman’s badge.

      A lawman out here meant one thing. He was after Hugh.

      She waited for them to leave the room before letting the air out of her lungs, but even then it caught, making it impossible to breathe.

      Her eyes were watering and her chest burning by the time she found the ability to draw in another breath. Guilt, shame and other emotions she couldn’t name washed over her. Hugh had warned her, more than once, what would happen if she ever went to the law, and she had no doubt he would follow through on those warnings.

      Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she glanced around the room. At the clothes hanging on the hooks, the hand mirror and brush on the dresser, the sewing basket in the corner, the dishes on the tray on her lap. Every item in this house that hadn’t been Uncle Walter’s had been stolen, or bought with stolen money, and she hated that. Hated knowing that, but as Hugh pointed out, she still wore the dresses, used the dishes, ate the food. Therefore, she was as guilty of committing any crime as he was. Had been since the day she met him.

      For eight long years she’d wished she’d never met him, but in all that time, she’d never done anything to change the situation. Other than pray for a miracle.

      She bit her lips together as they started to tremble. Through the open doorway, she could hear Billy talking.

      “I could show ya when we’re done eating,” he said.

      Clara held her breath, waiting to hear the man’s answer. Tom Baniff. She’d never heard the name, but lawmen from as far away as Texas were looking for Hugh. There was no way she could know all of their names.

      Tom didn’t reply. It was Billy’s voice that sounded again.

      “My pa says that’s the most important thing for a man to know. How to be a fast draw. The fastest. You agree, don’t you, Tom?”

      The clank of a cup being set down on a saucer sounded before Tom said, “No, Billy, I don’t.”

      He was speaking so softly she had to hold her breath in order to hear what he was saying.

      “I believe knowing how to use a gun is important, and that a man needs to know how to use it safely. He also needs to know when to use it. But there are lots of other things he needs to know that are more important.”

      “Like what?” Billy asked.

      “Well, like knowing how to chop wood. You did a fine job with the kindling wood that built the fire in the stove so we were able to cook these eggs to eat. Now, that’s important. A man has to eat or he’d starve to death.”

      “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.” After a stilled moment, Billy asked, “What other things are important?”

      “Lots of things,”