Bounty Hunter (3 page)

She could have sworn it sounded like a horse. Not all that uncommon in this area of
northern
Idaho, but considering the nearest ranch was over the next ridge, it
was
a bit surprising. The horse whinnied again, and without thinking, Elizabeth set the
bucket down and headed toward the front of the small, four-room ranch house.

Beside the rusty old pickup truck she’d gone to unbelievable lengths to purchase,
was a huge bay mare with white spots splashed across her rump. She walked over to
her, pulled off one glove, and held up her hand. The horse nuzzled her bare palm.
“Sorry, girl, I don’t have anything for you.”

Someone, and she had to assume it was Kane, since there was no other car around, had
tied the horse to her porch and slung the saddle over the remaining section of railing
that hadn’t dry-rotted or fallen apart from neglect.

She stroked the lush black mane. “No wonder I didn’t hear him coming.”

A dark forearm snaked past her shoulder, a hand much larger than hers ran down the
mare’s neck.

“I should have mentioned her earlier.”

Elizabeth jumped, then stilled, barely swallowing the shriek that had risen in her
throat. She told herself it was his bad habit of sneaking up on her, not his deep
baritone voice, that did unnatural things to her blood pressure. “Yes, you should
have,” she managed at length.

“She won’t be any trouble, I take full responsibility for her maintenance.”

“Fine.” She didn’t doubt he’d be true to his
word. The horse probably wouldn’t be any trouble. But considering the way her heart
pounded every time Kane got within three feet of her, she had to wonder if the same
could be said of the mare’s owner.

TWO

“I cleared out a place in the barn for her. Hope you don’t mind.”

Unsettled by his nearness, Elizabeth simply nodded.

Kane didn’t say anything else. He slipped the lead from the railing and hefted the
saddle to his shoulder. He’d led the mare halfway to the side of the house before
she found her voice.

“I’m making vegetable stew tonight.”

He paused, but didn’t look back right away. She took the moment to admire how straight
his back was, how wide his shoulders, how nicely his jeans—
Whoa.
Maybe Kane had hit a little too close to home with his comment about her loneliness.
She’d admit that her prolonged isolation was a part of why she’d accepted his offer,
even when she knew the risks outweighed the benefits. But that didn’t mean she was
foolish enough to let herself think about Kane
in any way other than as a capable pair of hands helping her in a time of need.

He turned slightly, and even from a distance she felt the impact of his gaze. “I’d
like to get a few more things done before it gets too dark. If that suits your plans,
then I’d appreciate the meal.”

Again all she could do was nod. He nodded in return, and she stared after him until
he disappeared around the side of the house. She started to climb the stairs to the
sagging porch but remembered she’d forgotten her bucket.

She scanned the field beyond the barn as she crossed the backyard, but found no sign
of Kane or his horse. She shrugged off the vague sense of disappointment and retrieved
the berries. It was getting a bit late, and she decided to forgo rinsing them in the
spring. She’d use some of the water from the tank in the house.

She picked up speed as she crossed the yard and went through the back door into the
small antiquated kitchen. She pulled down a colander from a hook on the wall, gently
dumped the berries inside, and pumped enough water to half fill the bucket. After
carefully rinsing them, she wiped her hands on a towel and set about quickly chopping
vegetables and tossing them into the iron kettle on the propane stove. It wasn’t until
she’d dumped in some herbs and turned to lift a handful of berries that she realized
she was rushing so she’d have time to make dessert before Kane arrived.

She rationalized that she’d more than earned the
treat as she gathered the ingredients for cobbler. She certainly wasn’t trying to
impress her newly hired hand. But she’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t looking
forward to sharing a meal. The novelty of cooking for one—of cooking at all—had worn
off after her first week here.

Her smile faltered as thoughts of Sam entered her mind. He’d hated finding her in
the kitchen the few times she’d ventured into that gleaming chrome room in his posh
home. He said the job of a bank president’s wife was to be the hostess, not the chef,
even if they were the only two dining.

Elizabeth shivered for the third time that afternoon, only this time the reason was
pure dread. It seemed so clear to her now. It made her stomach churn when she thought
of how flattered she’d felt by Sam’s constant attention. After her initial panic had
receded and she’d fled Matthew’s apartment for the Lazy F, she’d spent long hours
trying to convince herself that any woman would have responded to Sam’s lavish care
that way, would have taken his small, but constant suggestions about everything from
her clothing to cosmetics as a sign of his devotion, as she had. Instead of as the
early warning signals they really were; signs that something wasn’t quite right.

The back screen door slapped against the wood frame, and Kane Hawthorne stepped into
the tiny kitchen.

“Sorry if I startled you. I knocked but I guess you didn’t hear.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure why this man, a dark stranger with the most compelling eyes
she’d ever seen, made her suddenly feel safer than she’d felt in a long time. She
didn’t bother to analyze it, not wanting to ruin her first shared meal in months.
“You seem to have a talent for catching me with my head in the clouds. If you need
to wash up—”

“Done. I found a spring up the slope behind the barn. I let the mare loose on the
far side of the barn. There were no bramble thickets around, so your crop should be
safe.”

“Thanks, that was very considerate of you. Everything’s just about ready, if you want
to have a seat.” She gestured to the small wooden table. It canted a bit on one side,
but it was scrubbed clean and otherwise was serviceable enough.

“Smells good in here.” His large frame dwarfed the wooden chair.

She turned back to the stove, unable to keep the small triumphant smile from creeping
across her face. “After being in that musty barn, I imagine anything would smell better.”

She turned in time to catch him staring at her again. She averted her gaze and set
two small salads and a basket of bread on the table next to the crock of butter. She
watched him stare at his salad for a moment, then at the bread, then finally up at
her again.

“I know it might seem redundant to have a salad
before vegetable stew, but …” She shrugged uncertainly as he continued to stare at
her. It should have made her feel uncomfortable, and in a tingling, warm sort of way,
she guessed it did.

She finally turned her attention to the rolls. “Help yourself. I wish I could say
I made them, but I traded some jam for them at Dobs’s store.”

Kane’s hand reached out and engulfed the small glass jar sitting next to the butter
crock. He lifted it and inspected it. “So, this is the legendary jam everyone’s raving
about?”

She felt the warmth in her cheeks as he looked at her. “I don’t know about raving.
But people seem to like it enough to buy it.”

“It must be something, if you need room to make more. Boundary Gap isn’t exactly overrun
with tourists, or residents in need of jam, for that matter.”

“It was sort of a fluke. I, uh, noticed that the thickets bordering the fields were
a goldmine of berries. So far I’ve found wild raspberries, huckleberries, lingonberries,
even some wild plums—” She stopped short when she realized she was babbling.
The man asks a simple question, and I sound like Peterson’s Guide to Edible Fruit.
“Anyway,” she said, forcing a more casual note, “I scrounged around in here and found
Grandma Fielding’s recipes for preserves. I took some to Dobs to … well, to trade.”
She faltered for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable with just how much her story was
revealing about her predicament.

“Sounds as if I’m not the only one with bartering skills around here.”

He didn’t smile, but his comment sounded sincere and went a long way toward easing
the sudden tension.

“Well, to make a long story short, Dobs sold some to a woman who was traveling in
the area looking for local crafts to sell at some of the fairs farther south, around
Sandpoint and Coeur d’Alene. She liked it and thought it would be a good seller. Dobs
knew I needed … well, he was nice enough to pass the word on to me. Then there’s Kootenai
River Days later this month, and Bonners Ferry has a Boundary County Fair. So now
I have less than a month to come up with as many jars of jam and preserves as I can.”

She realized he had been listening politely to her excited rush of words instead of
eating. Her cheeks colored slightly, and she gestured to the basket of rolls. “Why
don’t you try some and let me know what you think?”

“You going to join me?”

Elizabeth ignored the ridiculous spurt of pleasure his innocent request caused and
lifted the stew to the table. Sitting down across from him, she said, “Yes, of course.”

She noticed he waited for her to take a roll and butter it before he did the same.
He began eating as soon as she’d taken the first bite. She swallowed and said, “Your
mother raised a gentleman, I see.” The words had sort of tumbled out. She wasn’t prepared
for the storm clouds that crossed his face as the fork he was holding paused in midair.
After a moment he continued the motion.

He was silent as he ate, the frown less visible now. He laid his fork down and picked
up a roll, buttering it lightly before spreading on the jam. Elizabeth couldn’t seem
to stop staring at him. She realized she wasn’t even making a pretense of eating.
What had she said to make him tense up? Did she dare come out and ask?

He made short work of the roll. “This is really good,” he said quietly as if nothing
had happened. “I understand the demand.”

“Thank you.” She finally looked away and tried to eat. Maybe she’d imagined his reaction
earlier.

“My grandmother was famous for her dried sweet fruit. It was known on the reservation
that receiving a gift of a fruit basket from Cloud Dancer meant good luck would follow,”
he said.

“Cloud Dancer. Pretty name. Which reservation? Wind River? Duck Valley?”

“Fort Hall. I am half Shoshone on my mother’s side. My father was British Columbian.”

“Was? He’s gone?” she asked, then quickly said, “I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just,
well, my folks died when I was a teenager and so I know how it feels …”

After a long pause, he said, “He’s not dead. Not as far as I know, anyway. He left
my mother before I was born to go work pipeline in Alaska. I’m pretty sure she never
expected him to return.”

“So, you grew up at Fort Hall?”

Now he concentrated on his stew. “For the most part. I left when I was seventeen.”
And never went back.

He hadn’t spoken the last part out loud, but Elizabeth could hear the words so clearly,
he might as well have. “It must have been hard for you on your own.”

“I managed well enough.”

“Still, I don’t know what I’d have done without Matthew after my folks died.”

“Matthew?”

“My older brother.” She smiled as she spoke of him. “He stuck with me, worked so I
could go to school. Now he works for the government. Hush-hush stuff, he calls it.”

“Sounds like you both did okay. Do you see him much?”

“Not as often as I’d like. But he devoted so much of his life to me, I can hardly
complain.”

“Nothing wrong with admitting you miss someone you love.”

She looked up, but his dark eyes were trained on his food. She wondered what he was
seeing, doubting it was her stew. Did he miss someone he loved? “No,” she said softly,
tamping down her sudden interest in him. “I suppose not.”

Her throat burned for a moment as reality came crashing back in around her. Kane’s
sudden arrival in her life pointed out to her just how far she had yet to go in accepting
her forced isolation. She was
undeniably intrigued by him, found herself wanting to ask him questions about his
past, his heritage. But was it Kane, the man, she was interested in, or did she simply
want someone to talk to?

It was a moot point since she wouldn’t have the luxury of finding out. His steady
voice jerked her from her thoughts.

“I checked the barn as thoroughly as I could. I think with some simple repairs, the
front half can be salvaged fairly easily. But the rest is a loss without major work.”

She appreciated his bluntness almost as much as the change of topic. “I won’t need
much room. Fix what you can and I’m sure it’ll be fine.” For some reason she decided
not to tell him that she wasn’t planning on staying long enough to make a complete
overhaul of the barn worthwhile.