The Outlaw's Second Chance. Angie Dicken

of such courage and tenderness would only be destroyed in the long run if he pursued her. He shouldn’t wait for the authorities to come looking. He should leave now while he had her complete confidence in his unreliability.

      Then again, she may not know it, but she was a woman in need of immediate assistance. No woman, or man, could care for a brother with a broken limb and build a dwelling in good time. In the heat of this drought, Aubrey and Ben Huxley would not find much relief beneath a rudimentary tent for more than another day.

      The only way he knew how to begin to make up for Ben’s circumstance was in a way that he’d always done well. He’d work.

      Cort bade her good-night and headed back to his bag. He settled down again and managed to sleep on and off. Finally, at daybreak, he stretched his arms to the gray morning sky then headed to the creek.

      After splashing his face with the lukewarm water, he clambered back up to higher ground. Aubrey was sleeping, curled up next to Ben. He fought the urge to peek in at her and, instead, explored the wide plains around them. In the near distance, their neighbors had already started on a soddie. While he’d stayed with Ben yesterday, it’d seemed that every time he glanced over that way, there was a growing stack of sod bricks.

      A moan came from beneath the tent. Cort winced, remembering the gnawing pain of a broken bone. He was only eleven when he’d broken his wrist, but the undulating ache was seared in his memory. An urgency to ease Aubrey’s burdens swelled up inside. Mostly because Ben’s condition was his doing, and it was the only compensation he might offer. But there was something else, and no matter how much Cort tried to shove it away, it clung on like a cocoon in the shade of a broad leaf.

      What were the chances that the very woman he’d prayed for back at camp would be the first woman he’d meet on this expanse of land?

      Now they were tied to each other in a way. Their destinies were bound together because of a desperate bargain to work the land she longed to own. If only he could offer her a future based on more than a “maybe.”

      Settling by his pack, he read a couple of Psalms while eating leftover corn cakes he’d carried from camp in his bag. Once he inspected the steep embankment of the creek bed, he decided he would at least make a dugout home for the Huxleys until they’d purchased or borrowed the supplies for a proper home. If he had time, he’d get started on his own down the creek a ways. No reason to live right next door.

      “Good morning, Cort.” Aubrey startled him as he unstrapped his shovel from his pack. “Mind if I take your horse to the church service in Alva?”

      He stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Of course not.”

      Her face was pallid, a troublesome color compared to its usual creamy ivory. “Ben and I just ate. He’s trying his best to keep his leg still. Told him you were nearby if he needed anything.”

      “I’ll keep my ears open.”

      Weariness cloaked the woman. Her shoulders drooped, and her eyes were red. If he could gather her up in another embrace like yesterday, he’d beg her forgiveness for this mess. Forget any strength of his own. He clenched his teeth and pushed away his spiraling thoughts. He knew the woman beneath the worrisome shell. She was strong, adamant and not to be pitied. At least, that was what she would demand. It had only been a couple of days, and Cort was pretty sure his impression of Aubrey Huxley was correct.

      So instead of an embrace, he helped her prepare his horse, saw her off, then got to work.

      At first, the dry, packed earth resisted his shovel’s blade. Cort leaned his whole body against the handle. It was nothing like the moist soil of northern Wyoming. He fought against the memory, but his mind had already stumbled backward. He may as well have been digging post holes for the south fence along John Buford’s small cattle operation. John had been a good boss. One who had given Cort the chance to escape the Texas heat and the family name—or at least to live as a Stanton with no recognition by any townsmen in Buffalo, Wyoming.

      Cort wiped away the sweat dripping down his nose with his sleeve and grunted at his next plunge into the earth.

      John Buford had spoken on salvation many times as they worked his cattle. Cort had even attended church with the Buford family. But it seemed like family loyalty had caught up with him just as he surrendered to the Gospel as truth.

      He’d seen much adversity growing up in Texas and had played along when his brother wormed his way out of trouble time and again. Could Cort truly see the goodness in this life without being pinned down by his cumbersome roots? How did a redeemed man truly find forgiveness on this side of Heaven?

      A faint rumble came from above as Cort stepped back and examined the four-foot-wide hole he’d dug. A couple more feet were needed on each side. And then there was the problem of a good front wall. He’d start cutting sod with his spade tomorrow. Aubrey could string up her quilt until then.

      He left his shovel and climbed up the embankment. Aubrey had ridden up with a man on a black horse following behind. They tied the horses to the only two trees that seemed secure enough.

      “Dr. Mills, this is Mr. Stanton, my tenant,” Aubrey said.

      Cort tipped his hat then followed in step behind the doctor, praying that God would redeem this situation and at least take away this most recent guilt.

      * * *

      “You appear to have a fracture below the knee.” Dr. Mills looked over his spectacles at Ben, then turned to Aubrey. “Might take a couple months to heal.”

      Her spirit dimmed. Shame swarmed her like fierce mosquitoes. She’d yelled for him to go fight for her land. She’d pushed him into it. Just like Pa dragged him into his schemes.

      She was no better.

      Aubrey fluttered her lashes to ward off tears. “Will he be able to walk normally again?” The thought knifed her. She knew what it meant to break a leg. Mama’s best friend, Maureen, was never the same after falling off a horse.

      Ben’s eyes widened.

      “I think he’ll be able to, eventually. But it will take time to heal. I’m going to give him a splint for now. Hoping to get some plaster in the next shipment so I can make him a cast.” Dr. Mills adjusted his hat and placed his spectacles in his front pocket. “The heat is unrelenting. I’m more worried about him dehydrating out here than dealing with a broken bone. It’s crucial to get him to shelter before another day of this heat.” He gave a quick glance to the pile of their recent shelter. They’d taken down the quilt for Ben’s examination.

      “Yes, sir,” Aubrey mumbled, feeling as small as a mouse. There was no way she could build shelter that quickly. Cort gave her an assured nod. Even with his extra help, surely a shelter wouldn’t be possible so quickly.

      Cort came up beside her, gently cupping her elbow. “Don’t you worry about shelter, Miss Huxley.”

      Before Aubrey could question him, Ben growled, “What’s he still doing here?” He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, his brown eyes lit with anger.

      “Ben, you need to calm down—”

      “That’s the man who did this to me!” He curled his sweaty lip against white teeth and glared at Cort.

      “Son, you must calm yourself.” The doctor rushed over, placing a hand on his shoulder.

      “Doc, wonder how my leg broke? That’s the cowboy who did it.” Ben’s knuckles bulged as he held them in tight fists. His glare remained fixed on Cort.

      “I tried to stop you... I didn’t want any trouble.” Cort removed his hat, wiping his hands through dampened curls.

      Aubrey placed a hand on Cort’s arm. “Let’s discuss this later.” She glared at Ben, who just narrowed his eyes. The doctor didn’t need to witness this dispute. Her skin crawled with the memory of every outburst she’d witnessed from the Huxley men over the years. Some men walked away from conflict and others, like the Huxley men, tended to barrel