The Stranger. Elizabeth Lane
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was part of the nightmare that had scarred her face and driven her wild with terror? If he had any sense, he would turn around, ride away and never look back.
But her lips were moving now, opening like soft pink petals. “Come in,” she said in a taut little whisper. “Your supper’s on the table.”
“It smells mighty fine.” He took a tentative step inside, letting the aromas of meat, onions, and fresh biscuits shimmer through his senses. He was tired and hungry. The food smelled damned good, and he’d earned every bite.
“How’s your boy?” Remembering his manners, Caleb pulled out her chair and waited until she’d seated herself before taking his own place—Mark Shafton’s place—at the head of the table.
“Better. He ate an hour ago and went to sleep.” She ladled the stew into big bowls with her small, chapped hands. It would have been easier with the boy here, Caleb thought. Alone with Laura, he would have to make conversation for the length of the meal. He’d never been good at talking to women, and five years in prison hadn’t helped that any.
“I…hope you like rabbit stew,” she said, passing him a plate of flaky, golden biscuits.
“I was raised on it back in Texas. But my ma’s rabbit stew never smelled this good.” He dipped a bit of biscuit in the broth, wondering if it was the proper thing to do. “Or tasted this good,” he added after savoring the morsel on his tongue. “Did you shoot the rabbit yourself?”
As soon as it was out of his mouth, the question struck him as inane. And Texas. Noah had mentioned Texas on that day, five years ago. Even the word could spark Laura’s memory. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?
“I didn’t exactly shoot it.” She buttered a chunk of her own biscuit. “Bullets are expensive. Snares are cheap. When I first came west, I couldn’t imagine harming helpless little wild animals. But when you’re raising a child, and you have to put meat on the table every day…” She shrugged. “It’s amazing what necessity can make you do. I did shoot the grouse you had for lunch. Early this spring, I even brought down a deer that wandered into the yard. Butchered it myself. We ate like royalty until the weather warmed up and the meat went bad.”
Caleb studied her over his mug, trying to imagine how she’d managed to survive the past five years, out here alone with a small child. In the fading light she looked as delicate as a rose and just as beautiful. Her eyes were the color of clouds before a storm, and her tawny hair clung in tendrils to her blooming cheeks. The neck of her gown was open to the heat, revealing the creamy skin of her throat and the slight swelling at the top of one breast.
He drank her in, filling his senses with the sight of her.
She shifted in her chair, turning the scarred side of her face away from him. He burned to tell her that the damned scar didn’t matter—that it wouldn’t matter to any man in his right mind. But that, he sensed, would only make her more self-conscious.
“Don’t you have anyone who looks in on you, Laura?” he asked. “Neighbors? Friends?”
Caleb saw her eyes widen and he realized that once more he’d put his foot in it. A strange man, asking if she was alone. No wonder she looked as if she were about to bolt for the shotgun. Swiftly he changed the subject.
“My mother used to make jerked venison—salted and dried. I could show you how. That way, if you get another deer, the meat won’t go to waste.”
“I’d like that.” She paused to swallow a bit of stew. “Is that how they preserve meat in Texas?”
Texas again. Caleb’s throat tightened. “My mother was Comanche. Her people always made jerky. When I was a boy, I used to eat it like candy. Robbie will, too. It’s good, and you can take it in your pocket.”
She studied him with doe-like eyes. Caleb wondered how she felt about half-breeds. “Is your mother still alive?” she asked.
Caleb shook his head. “She died when I was twelve. My father’s gone, too.”
“Any other family? Brothers or sisters?”
“None that I’ve seen in a long time—or want to see.” Caleb’s mouth had gone dry. Her curiosity was cutting dangerously close to the truth. But he could not lie to those eyes—eyes like silvery crystal that seemed able to look right through him.
“I just got out of prison,” he blurted, seizing on a different truth. “I did five years in Yuma for my part in a bank robbery.”
Laura’s spoon clattered to the table. She was staring at him in horror, her eyes huge in her pale face. Maybe she’d throw him out now. That would make everything easier.
“Just so you’ll know, I didn’t hurt anybody,” he said. “And I didn’t take any money—never even laid eyes on it. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong people. I’ve paid my debt, and now I’m going straight.” He pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet. “I’d never hurt you or your boy, Laura. But if you don’t feel safe with me around, just say the word and I’ll leave now. It’s up to you.”
Caleb waited, forcing himself to meet those fathomless gray eyes. His innards crawled with self-loathing. What he’d told her was bad enough. But what he hadn’t told her was a hundred times worse. Using one truth to cover another was more heinous than a lie. It was a crime against innocence and trust.
Her silence lay heavy and cold in the room. Caleb could hear the slow ticking of the pendulum clock in the parlor, counting the empty seconds, and still she did not move or speak.
At last, when he could stand it no longer, he cleared his throat. “Well, I guess that says it,” he muttered. “I’ll be going now, as soon as I can saddle up. Much obliged for your hospitality and the good food.”
Tearing his eyes away from her he strode out of the kitchen and across the parlor. It was for the best, Caleb told himself. The longer he stayed, the deeper the lie and the greater the risk that Laura would discover the truth. He had the answer to the question that had brought him here. Wasn’t that enough?
He had reached the front door when he heard her voice.
“Come back here, Caleb McCurdy. You haven’t finished your supper.”
He froze with his hand on the doorknob. Open the door and walk out of her life, that would be the smart thing to do. But Caleb knew that wasn’t going to happen. With a sigh, he turned around and ambled back into the kitchen.
Laura was sitting where he’d left her, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. The fading light caught windblown tendrils of hair, framing her face in a soft, golden halo.
“Please sit down,” she said. “There’s something you need to understand.”
Caleb lowered himself onto his chair, waiting in silence. Even before she spoke, he knew what he was about to hear.
“Five years ago I thought my life was perfect. I had everything I wanted—a home, a loving husband and a baby on the way. Then one afternoon three rough-looking men rode in through the gate. Just the sight of them made my flesh crawl. I begged Mark to send them on their way, but he was a man who lived by the Golden Rule. We welcomed them, even gave them a meal. Then, just as they were getting ready to leave, things got ugly.” She stared down at the table for a long moment. “One of them caught me alone in the springhouse. He gave me this when I fought him.” Her fingers brushed the scar as she flashed Caleb a view of her left profile, then turned full face once more. “When my husband came rushing in and tried to save me, they shot him and rode off. He died in my arms.”
She made an odd little strangled sound, closing her eyes and clasping her hands until the knuckles went white. Then the breath went out of her in a long exhalation. She opened her eyes, composed once more. “I’m telling you this so you’ll understand how I feel about strangers. It hasn’t been easy for me, having you around the place today. But you’ve been honest about your past, Caleb. You’re a hard worker and you were here