The Renegade's Redemption. Stacy Henrie

      He eyed the spoon and bowl. “I think I can handle it.” She watched to make sure he got the spoon to his mouth, though her gaze lingered on his face, even after he’d swallowed and dipped into the bowl a second time. If he hadn’t run off eight years ago, if he’d come back for her as he’d promised, he would be her husband and the sight of him and his tussled hair just after he woke every day would be wonderfully familiar.

      Needing air, Ravena crossed to the window. She drew back the curtains and wrenched the sill upward. A nice breeze washed over her flushed cheeks. She could hear Mark, Luke and Fanny laughing below. “You don’t need to worry about your horse,” she said as a way to end the awkward silence.

      “I’m not.” Tex chuckled. “I imagine he’s in good hands.”

      She crossed her arms and leaned her forehead against the glass. “Your sleeping self doesn’t seem to believe it. You keep asking about him.”

      “What do you mean? Was I talking in my sleep?”

      “Yes, you kept mentioning your horse Quincy,” she said, turning around.

      His entire upper body went very still, the spoon pausing halfway to his lips. “My horse Quincy?”

      Ravena rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tex. Your horse named Quincy.”

      He seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he’d been in. “The man at the livery said the horse’s name is Brutus. I kind of figured I’d keep that.”

      “Brutus?” she repeated, confused. “Then who is Quincy?”

      Lowering his gaze to the tray, he sampled some more broth before answering. “He’s a...an acquaintance of mine. You might say we had a disagreement over some property. Not sure how to reconcile it.”

      Something in his words and his neutral expression struck her as odd. “Must have been some disagreement if you keep mumbling about it in your sleep.” She regarded him with a level look, but he only smiled. That slow, boyish smile she used to never tire of seeing.

      “This is delicious, even for broth. But then you always were a good cook.”

      “Is that why you’re back?” The words burst forth as irritation resurrected the heat on her face. He wasn’t being honest with her; she could tell. He probably didn’t think she could remember the signs, but she could. The casual demeanor, the deliberate smile, the shift in the conversation’s topic. What was he keeping from her this time?

      Tex set down his spoon. “You know that isn’t why I’m back.”

      “No, I don’t. You show up after all these years, without sending a single letter the entire time, and you’re injured and you have all this money stashed away inside your saddlebag.” She waved a hand toward the corner. “Did you rob a bank or something, Tex? Why are you here?”

      The little bit of color he’d regained bled away, making his blue eyes stand out starkly. Eyes that were wide with shock. “Wh-what did you say?”

      Was he really that surprised that she’d lose her temper? Surely he knew he had it coming. She threw her arms in the air. “I said why are you here, now, after all this time.”

      His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, though he hadn’t sampled another spoonful of broth. “I went to the old farm, to see if...if Tate...was there.”

      So the two had never reconciled after all. Even in her frustration, Ravena felt a measure of sadness for both of them. “Tate stayed another few months after you left, then he sold the place. Didn’t you write him?”

      Tex shook his head.

      Her sadness deepened at knowing there was still a rift between the brothers. The sorrow was followed by sharp disappointment she didn’t understand. Why should it hurt her that Tex hadn’t come here out of any desire to see her? She should be grateful for that, but she wasn’t.

      “I understand why you’re here,” she said, taking a step toward the door. She wanted an end to this conversation. “You’re injured and you thought Tate would be here to help you.”

      “Ravena.” Tex’s voice sounded as tortured as her heart in that moment. “I didn’t want to impose on you. Not after...everything.”

      “But you did.” He was still making choices that affected her, that hurt her. Even after all these years. She had trouble enough without Tex dredging up the past and confusing her emotions.

      “I needed a place to rest.”

      Rest, yes, that was his real motive for being here. And she would do well to remember that. “As I told you last night, you’re welcome to rest here as long as you need to.” Though she prayed once more that his departure would be soon. Very soon. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a farm to run.”

      * * *

      The creak of the door interrupted Tex’s nap two days later. He jerked awake, wondering how long he’d been asleep this time. He was trying to stay awake whenever he heard Ravena or the children moving about below stairs. That way he wouldn’t unknowingly spill any more information about Quincy, or worse, talk about his career as an outlaw.

      From the bed, he caught sight of Mark slipping into the room, followed closely by Luke. “Mr. Beckett?” the older of the brothers whispered. “Are you awake?”

      Tex fought a smile. “No. I’m fast asleep. So that must mean you’re in my dream.”

      That made the boys pause in their stealthy advance toward the bed. “He’s still sleeping,” Mark hissed.

      “Then how come he’s talking?” Luke questioned with a note of skepticism.

      “Maybe he talks when he’s dreaming.”

      Tex peeked above the blankets at his chin to see them creeping forward again. Promptly shutting his eyes, he held back a chuckle as he waited for them to reach him.

      “Whatdaya think he’s dreaming about that has us in it?” Tex recognized Luke’s voice.

      “Don’t know.”

      “We could ask him.”

      He opened his eyes to find the boys standing right beside him. “Except Miss Ravena might not like that. Or the fact that you’re in here.” Tex had heard her telling the children more than once to leave him be.

      “You ain’t asleep,” Mark protested with a glare.

      Luke grinned. “I knew it.”

      “Did not.”

      “Did too.”

      “What can I do for you, boys?” he asked, hoping to end their argument.

      “We wanna know how you got shot.” Mark leaned close as he lowered his voice. “Did it hurt?”

      Tex shifted carefully up onto his pillow. The slight movement still had him sucking in a hard breath. What could he say that wouldn’t reveal too much? “A very angry man shot me over a misunderstanding. And as far as if it hurt or not. I’d say it hurts like—”

      Luke’s hand shot out and covered Tex’s mouth. “Shh. If you say a curse, Miss Ravena will make you muck the stalls by yourself—for a whole week.”

      Tex burst out laughing at the boy’s warning, then regretted it at once. It felt like his side was splitting in two. Luke lowered his hand, his brow pinched in confusion. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll remember that,” Tex said. “What I was going to say is that getting shot hurts like when you slam your finger in a door, but then doing it about a million times over.”

      Both boys’ eyes widened. “Whoa,” Mark whispered. “But you ain’t dead?”

      “I ain’t dead.”

      Luke solemnly shook his head. “You can’t say that either, Mr. Beckett.”

      Tex