The Husband Hunt. Karen Kirst
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above Abram’s Creek with your eyes closed?” He scowled. “Thought for sure my heart was going to give out that time.”
Sophie resisted the urge to squirm. Why couldn’t he conveniently forget her past shenanigans like a true gentleman? “If you’ll remember, I made it across just fine.” She brushed past him and headed for the cabin. “And that was a dog, not a wolf,” she corrected, tossing the words over her shoulder.
“And what about the falls?” His challenging tone stopped her.
She turned around. “What about it?”
He prowled toward her, residual anger churning in his stormy eyes, reminding her of that long-ago summer day and the frothy, forceful water that had sucked her under, stealing her breath until she’d thought her lungs might burst. And then strong arms had wrapped around her waist, pulling her to safety. How well she recalled him frantically calling her name. His hands cradling her with a tenderness she hadn’t known since she was a little girl, since before her mother died. How amazing...how sweetly wonderful it had felt to be held in his arms!
It was in that moment that she’d realized she was in love with Nathan O’Malley. And, as his concern had morphed into a familiar lecture, she had known he would never love her back.
His features were set in an obstinate expression. “You nearly died, Sophie.”
“That was four years ago. Why are you so angry all of a sudden?”
“I’m not angry, exactly.” He paused, a tiny crease between his brows as he mulled over his next words. “I just want you to take your own advice. Think before you act. Exercise caution.”
In other words, think like he did. Frustration over her own shortcomings and the futility of trying to please him sharpened her voice. “Is this about the skunk? Because I’m not sure what else you expect me to say—”
“No, it’s not that.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Let’s just drop it, okay? I’m going inside.”
This time, it was he who brushed past her. Why did she suddenly feel as if she’d been dismissed?
* * *
The inside of the Tanners’ cabin looked much the same as it had when he was a young boy. Plain. Austere. The small glass windows were clean but bare. No pictures adorned the thick log walls. There was only one rug, faded and worn and situated close to the stone fireplace opposite the cast-iron stove. A simple square table with four chairs, a brown sofa that had obviously seen better days and two rocking chairs were the only furnishings. Tobias slept in the single bedroom beside the kitchen while Sophie and Will shared the loft space overhead.
What the place lacked was a feminine touch.
As he passed the fireplace, his gaze lit on a small tintype of Sophie and Will’s parents, Lester and Jeanine Tanner. He barely remembered Sophie’s mother. Not surprising considering he’d been thirteen when she died giving birth to Will. A quiet woman, she’d hovered in the background like a shadow as if to blend in. Perhaps to avoid attracting her husband’s attention?
Unfortunately, Nathan remembered Lester Tanner all too well. The man was hateful, lazy and in possession of an explosive temper that all the local kids feared and tried their best to avoid. The family was well rid of him.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Sophie might have turned out differently had she had a mother’s tender hand to guide her instead of being thrust into the role of caretaker at eight years old.
He tapped lightly on the door standing ajar. “Tobias?”
A breathy voice beckoned him in. He moved deeper into the shadows where a single kerosene lamp on the bedside table cast the elderly man’s face in sharp relief. Nathan sucked in a startled breath, alarmed at Tobias’s frailty and the changes wrought in the one week since he’d last seen his neighbor. Knowing Tobias wouldn’t appreciate his pity, he carefully schooled his features.
Easing into the straight-backed chair beside the bed, he folded his hands in his lap. “How are you today?”
“Not so good.” The cloudy blue eyes staring back at him were filled with resignation.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Your granddaughter tells me you don’t have much of an appetite. How about I bring some soup tomorrow?”
Bringing one gnarled hand up to cover a cough, the gray-headed man shook his head, panted to catch his breath. “I appreciate the offer, son, but not even Mary’s cooking sounds good these days.”
Nathan swallowed against sudden sorrow. He sensed Sophie’s grandfather had given up.
“I’m glad you’re here. Need to talk to you about Sophie and Will.” Sadness tugged at Tobias’s craggy face. “I’m worried more about my granddaughter than I am about the boy. Can I count on you to watch out for her after I’m gone? She may act tough but inside she’s as sensitive as her mother.” His chest rattled as he pulled in more air. “She needs someone to take care of her for a change.”
“My family and I will always be here for them. But you’re strong, sir. I have faith you can beat this.”
“No, son, I’m ready to meet my Lord and Savior face-to-face. And I long to see my sweet Anne and Jeanine again. It’s time.”
Throat working to contain the tide of emotion, Nathan surged to his feet and stepped over to the window. Beyond the warped glass, Sophie unpinned laundry from the line and placed it in the basket at her feet. The sight of her pensive expression made his heart weigh like a stone in his chest. Losing Tobias, the closest thing to a parent she’d ever known, would devastate her. How in the world was he supposed to help her deal with that?
Chapter Three
Sophie bolted upright in bed. What was that awful racket?
Her hens’ hysterical squawking shattered the quiet. Her heart sank. At this time of night, it could only mean one thing—predator.
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she shoved the quilt aside and sank her tired feet into her boots without bothering to lace them. In the bed opposite hers, only the top of Will’s head was visible above his blanket. Thankful his slumber hadn’t been disturbed, she made her way to the ladder in the inky darkness, rushed to light the lamp on the table below.
“Sophie?” Somehow her grandfather’s breathless voice reached her above the din.
“I’m here.” She wished he’d been able to sleep through this as easily as Will. He desperately needed his rest if he was going to recover. “I’m going outside to investigate.”
“Watch yourself, ya hear?”
A grim frown touched her mouth at his labored effort to speak. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
White cotton nightgown swishing around her ankles, she lifted her trusty Winchester from its place above the mantel and headed into the sticky night.
The barn loomed large in the semidarkness, the brittle structure and surrounding trees washed with weak moonlight. Adrenaline pumping, she rounded the corner of the cabin and stopped dead at the sight that greeted her. Her fingers went slack on the gun handle.
Her too-tall henhouse was no more. It had been tipped over and smashed into a hundred bits and pieces by an enormous black bear that was even now pawing one of her hens with the intent to devour it. Those who had managed to escape the beast’s jaws were running around in endless circles.
“What have you done to my chickens?” Outrage choked any fear she might have had. They needed those birds and the precious eggs they produced.
Hefting the rifle up, she found the trigger and aimed for the air directly above his head. She should kill him. Considering his size, the meat would likely sustain them for a month or more. Not to mention the hide sure would make a nice rug for the living room.
But she wouldn’t. Killing animals