The Stranger. Elizabeth Lane

gazed at her numbly, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the face. Lord, why hadn’t he walked away while he had the chance? If she’d run him off the ranch with the shotgun, he’d have been fine with it. But her declaration of trust, however reluctant, had undone him. Guilt knotted his innards with a pain so physical that he wanted to double over and groan.

      Part of him wanted to know more. Had Laura been able to get help? Had she gone to the law with descriptions of the three men? Were he and his brothers wanted for the crime? But this was no time to ask. He’d pushed her far enough.

      “I’m right sorry for what happened,” he muttered, taking a bite of food that had lost its taste. “I’ll be glad to stay, and grateful for the work. But if I do anything to make you nervous, just say so. I’ll be gone in the time it takes to saddle my horse. Understood?”

      “Yes, and thank you.” She nibbled at a biscuit, then set it back on her plate. Both of them, it seemed, had lost their appetites.

      The silence in the darkening room grew long and heavy. Caleb was relieved when Robbie woke up in the bedroom and began to whimper. Laura flitted away from the table. Moments later he could hear her through the open doorway, crooning a velvety lullaby to her son. Caleb forced himself to finish the stew and biscuits on his plate. He had a hard day’s work ahead tomorrow, he reminded himself. And he certainly didn’t want Laura to think there was anything wrong with her cooking.

      He was sopping up the last of the gravy when she came back into the kitchen. By now it was almost dark. She paused to light the lamp on the counter. The match flickered in the gloom; then the golden light flooded her face, making her look as softly beautiful as the Madonna Caleb had once seen in an old Spanish church.

      “Just a bad dream,” she murmured. “I got him into his nightshirt, and he went back to sleep. There’s pie if you’re still hungry.” When Caleb shook his head, she added, “You must be tired. Will you need a lantern to lay out your bedroll?”

      It was a clear dismissal. Caleb slid back his chair and rose to his feet. “I cleared away a spot in the toolshed before I came in,” he said. “I’ll be fine. But let me put the milk and butter back in the springhouse for you. It’s getting dark out there. Might not be safe for a woman alone.”

      The words were out of his mouth before he remembered. He’d made the same offer on that long-ago day when Zeke had cornered her in the springhouse. If she’d accepted his help then, the tragedy might never have happened.

      This time she nodded and fumbled in her apron pocket. “Thanks. I’ll give you the key to the padlock. You can leave it on the nail by the back door when you’re finished.”

      Again those firm words of dismissal, making sure he knew that she didn’t want him coming back inside. Caleb understood her reasons all too well. Still, it pained him that she felt the need to speak.

      The miniature brass key glimmered as she drew it out of her pocket. Caleb reached out to take it from her. For the barest instant, his fingers touched hers.

      Her fingertips were as callused and rough as his own. But the warmth of her flesh went through Caleb like a flash flood of raw need. He had touched her before—surely he had—when they were tending to Robbie’s arm. But this time the awareness of her, of every sweet, womanly part of her, left him dry-mouthed and dizzy.

      For that instant, the only thing on his mind was wanting more.

      The clatter of the key, dropping to the tiles, brought him back to his senses. With a muttered curse, Caleb dropped to his knees and fumbled in the darkness under the table. Laura bent close with the lantern. He could hear the silky rasp of her breathing behind him. Lord help him if he didn’t find that key—

      “Got it!” His hand touched metal. He clambered to his feet, his fingers gripping the key, pressing its small, cold shape into his palm. Laura’s eyes were smoky in the lamplight. She took a step backward, widening the distance between them.

      “Sorry,” he muttered, jamming the key into his own pocket. “Are you sure you want to trust these hands with your precious milk and butter?”

      She forced a weary smile as she thrust the milk jug and the covered butter jar into his hands. He’d be all right now, Caleb told himself. He wouldn’t be tempted to brush his knuckle along her cheek as he left, or to lay a too-casual hand across her shoulder. He couldn’t allow himself to touch her again; that much he knew.

      “Have a good night’s rest,” she said, opening the kitchen door for him. “When I see you up in the morning, I’ll call you in to breakfast.”

      “That’s right kind of you. I’m looking forward to more of your good food.” Caleb moved out into the twilight. The door closed behind him, then jerked open again, flooding the stoop with light.

      “Close the door of the shed before you go to sleep,” she said. “We get skunks in the yard, looking for eggs and food scraps. One morning I even found a rattler in the corral. I killed it with the shotgun. They like warm places where they can crawl in and hide. Believe me, you don’t want one of those for a bed partner.”

      Caleb gave her a nod. “Thanks for the warning. We had skunks and rattlers back in Texas, too. Some of them were the two-legged kind. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And you’ll be safe with me here.”

      This time, when she closed the door behind him he heard the sharp, metallic click of the bolt.

      Enough light remained for Caleb to see his way to the springhouse, but night was falling fast. He balanced his burden against the wall while he fumbled with the lock, turned the key and released the hasp. The door creaked inward and he stepped into the shadows.

      The hair rose on the back of his neck as the nightmare memories crept around him. Laura’s anguished screams echoed off the walls, ripping through his senses. He felt the awful snap of bone and his own sick helplessness as Zeke’s blade opened her beautiful face. His eyes recoiled from the glint of light on Mark Shafton’s rifle and from Noah’s dark bulk in the glare of the sunlit doorway. The air was thick and smothering like a foul hand clamped over his face, shutting off his breath. It was as if the fear and evil born in that dank place had taken on a life of its own. All Caleb wanted was to get out of there.

      His hands shook as he replaced the milk and butter in the cool box and stumbled out into the night. His mother had warned him about the spirits that lingered in places where some awful event had occurred. As a man, Caleb had chalked her stories up to Comanche superstition—until now.

      Laura went in and out of the springhouse every day, he reminded himself. Did the horror of the place haunt her as it had haunted him? Or had she managed to wall it off into some forbidden corner of her mind? Caleb’s jaw clenched at the thought of what she must have suffered and the courage it must have taken for her to stay here alone.

      Filling his lungs with the cool evening air, he closed the padlock and hung the key on the nail beside the back door. Lamplight flickered through the window as Laura went about her work in the kitchen. Caleb pictured her small, quick hands, washing, wiping, putting everything in order for tomorrow. What would it feel like, he wondered, to stand behind her, wrap his arms around her shoulders and cradle her gently against him? He wouldn’t ask heaven for more—just holding her would be enough, feeling her warmth and smelling the sweet, clean aroma of her hair. That was what he’d missed most in the past five years. In most any town there were whores who could be had for a few dollars, but simple tenderness was beyond any price he could pay.

      Frustrated, he turned away from the house and walked toward the shed where he’d laid out his bedroll. In the east a waning teardrop of a moon hung above the horizon. Clouds floated across its pitted face. The moon was scarred, and yet it was the most beautiful object in the sky. What would Laura say if he told her that?

      But what was he thinking? He was a half-breed and an ex-convict. Even if his family’s crime could be rubbed out and forgotten, a woman like Laura wouldn’t be caught walking down the street with him.

      He crossed the yard, keeping an eye out for skunks and rattlesnakes. His horse