The Horseman's Frontier Family. Karen Kirst
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Heeding her brothers’ warnings or seeing to Walt’s needs?
Easy choice. “I’ll accept your help, Mr. Thornton. This time.”
She’d gone five steps when she noticed he wasn’t following her. Halting, she twisted around. He hadn’t moved. Spine straight, shoulders set and hands at his sides, he watched her with his unnerving gaze.
She quirked a questioning brow.
“It’s Gideon.”
“Fine. Gideon.” She pressed a hand to her bodice, the intricate beadwork digging into her palm. “Evelyn.”
His gaze openly roamed her features, probing, as if attempting to unearth answers to puzzling questions. The intense focus made her skin prickle. While she was accustomed to men’s appraisals of her appearance, this went deeper. To her mind, her very soul. It made her feel exposed.
Turning her back on him, she marched across the field and, with a scant glance at the handsome horses grazing in the expansive corral, began searching for the trunk containing their bedding. He joined her but did not jump in and start rifling through her things. Instead, he hung back, awaiting her direction. Gideon touched only those things she pointed out to him, and she felt a grudging appreciation for the respect he showed her.
The transfer of personal items, as well as cooking essentials and preserved foods, took half an hour. He did the majority of the work. Evelyn tried her best not to be awed by his effortless strength. Tried and failed.
After checking on Walt, who was now knee-deep in the stream searching for bugs, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and, planting her hands on her hips, confronted Gideon.
“Why are you helping me? What’s it to you whether or not we eat? Where we sleep?”
Lowering her portable iron stove to the ground between a small barrel of eggs packed in sawdust and a trunk filled with clothes, he straightened and mirrored her stance, large hands gripping his denim-clad waist. A muscle ticked in his granite jaw.
“What exactly has your family told you about me?”
Refuse to be intimidated. Lifting her chin, she met his smoldering gaze head-on. “I know that right before the war, your father took you and your brothers and, like a coward, fled north in the middle of the night. You betrayed your neighbors, your friends and your state. Indeed, the entire Southern way of life. And yet you prospered, were rewarded for your traitorous actions, while we, despite our loyalty to our traditions, had our home sold out from beneath us by your beloved North.”
His nostrils flared. “You keep saying ‘you.’ You’re forgetting I was a child when the war between the states began and so were you.”
He was right. She didn’t remember wearing expensive frocks or attending parties. Nor did she recall the grand plantation home where she’d been born. All she’d ever known was the reality of living in crowded quarters with other unfortunate relatives, of sitting down to humble meals and wearing cast-off clothing. Oh, but her parents had regaled her and her brothers with stories of their former life, showing them the single remaining photograph of Rose Hill, describing the plantation in such minute detail that it came alive for her.
Her mother’s words echoed through her mind and she spoke them. “The North robbed us. Because of people like you and your father, we lost everything.”
“I’m not to blame for your family’s misfortune,” he bit out.
“You come from a family of traitors.” She found herself repeating Theo’s often-spouted remarks about the hateful Thorntons. “You’re not to be trusted.”
“Hogwash.”
“I know you’re a brawler. I know you broke Theo’s nose.”
Clouds passed over his face. “I will accept the blame for that.”
The minute the Thornton brothers had returned to their defeated Virginia town after the war, the threat of trouble lurked in the shadows, infected conversations and dogged everyone’s thoughts. The once-beloved Thorntons had become hated for their escape of the war’s repercussions while local families loyal to the South had lost everything. They had betrayed the South and had been handsomely rewarded for it, their ancestral home having been restored to them by the Reconstructionist government. The townsfolk had made it plain they weren’t welcome. Two months after their arrival, a brawl had erupted between them and her brothers. While Evelyn hadn’t been told the details of the fight, the Thorntons’ abrupt departure afterward had told her everything she’d needed to know. As had Theodore’s broken nose. They were at fault.
He lifted his chin. “I had trouble controlling my temper when I was younger.”
“And you’re in total control of it now?”
“No.” His face became pinched. “Not entirely.”
He was admitting to a fault? “I—”
Walt ran up and tugged on her skirt. Smoothing his ruffled raven locks, she summoned a smile. “What is it, sweetheart?”
He cupped his throat, a signal he’d devised to express thirst. Oh, how she missed hearing his sweet voice. When would he speak again? What if he never— No. She couldn’t entertain such a horrific thought.
“You want some water?”
Frowning, he shook his head.
“Milk?”
At his firm nod, she shot Gideon a quick glance. He was observing them with a studied frown, confusion wrinkling his brow.
Self-conscious, she knelt to Walt’s level and tried to explain about the milk cow. “We had to leave Mirabelle at Uncle Reid’s, remember?”
His frown turned into a scowl. Of course he would miss having milk on hand. Evelyn hadn’t had time to think through all the ramifications of this move. Now she worried his health might suffer if their case didn’t come to trial in a timely manner. Please, Lord, don’t allow this situation to stretch on interminably. I can’t abide this man. Not after what he did to Drake and what he’s trying to do to us.
Gideon’s measured voice broke the silence. “There are wild strawberries on the other side of the stream. Maybe he’d like to pick some.”
Irrationally perturbed at his intrusion and that the solution was a good one, she watched Walt’s somber expression change to one of eager anticipation.
“I’ll get you a container to put them in.” Straightening, she sent Gideon a “good riddance” look. “Thank you again for your help. I can take it from here.”
“Of course.” Touching the brim of his hat, he gave her a stiff nod and strode off, leaving her to her work. She breathed easier after he’d gone.
Chapter Three
“They accused you of what?” Above the pewter mug suspended halfway to his mouth, the gold flecks in Clint’s brown eyes shimmered with disbelief.
Cradling his mug of steaming coffee, Elijah leaned back in his chair and sighed. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise. We’re all aware of the Chaucers’ opinion of us.” He looked across the table at Gideon. “I’m just sorry that coming to a man’s aid has placed you in this position.”
Gideon traced lazy circles on the coarse tabletop. Even if he could’ve foreseen the outcome, he wouldn’t have left Montgomery to die. His brothers knew that. Still, the situation he found himself in rankled.
Despite his fatigue, he’d passed a restless night, his mind on the occupants of the tent a quarter acre upstream. Visible yet far enough away he couldn’t hear their conversations. They don’t have conversations, though, do they? Not for the first time, he pondered the boy’s continuing silence.
“We don’t know much about Evelyn Montgomery. Is she as disagreeable as her brothers?” Clint asked.
His