Cindy Holby (11 page)

I should have checked on Pastor Key
, was the last thought that went through her mind before Leah drifted off to sleep.

A
t last. Cade didn’t think they’d ever get to sleep. And he had to go. Bad. He tentatively placed his bare feet on the floor and stood, hoping all the while that the floorboards would not creak. Standing was harder than he thought it would be. He wavered dizzily for a moment, squinted his eyes and willed his head to stop spinning. His gut felt like it had been kicked by a mule. He was so weak that his legs were actually trembling. It took a couple of attempts to pull on his long johns. More for his pants, especially since he was trying to be quiet.

Cade stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, to gather his strength before going outside. He stared dubiously at his shirt, which hung on a hook on the opposite side of the bed. Given that he was doubtful about how long his legs would actually support him, he decided to go without. He didn’t plan on being outside that long.

Dodger met him in the hall. He looked up at him with his mouth open, in a semblance of a grin and his black bushy tail swished back and forth.

“Shhh.” Cade put his finger to his lips. He glanced into the room and saw two lumps in the bed. Leah, and the boy. She lay on her side with her arm flung over her son in a protective gesture that left a strange lump in his throat.

Dodger followed him outside and Cade found he enjoyed the company. After he relieved himself, he leaned against the porch post before he went in. His body shook with the cold; still he looked around. He’d been cold before, plenty of times. So cold he thought he’d never get warm again. There was a door behind him, shelter and heat. He could stand it for a few minutes.

Dodger stood beside him, waiting patiently, in the way that dogs do. Cade rubbed the top of his head. He loved dogs, had always wanted one. The Cheyenne camp they lived in had several and the orphanage his father left him at was a working farm with dogs. Unfortunately his way of life wouldn’t work for a dog. It certainly hadn’t worked for his horse. Dang he hated losing that horse.

How would his life have turned out if the Middletons hadn’t shown up at the orphanage? He’d only had a few years left when they arrived. He was smart and had already finished his schooling. He would have found some sort of job close by, on one of the local ranches, so he could stick around until Brody aged out. They would have had the entire world before them. They could have started their own place with the money he’d earned. Found some nice girls. Gotten married. Started families. Things would have turned out better.

He couldn’t tell how big the town was from the back of her house. Dang, it was cold, but he needed to get the lay of the land. He had to leave, as soon as he got his strength back.

Behind Leah’s house the land faded and dipped; most likely there was a stream back there. On the other side was a copse of evergreens that trailed up into a mountain. From what he could see they were pretty deep in the mountains. Snow-covered peaks glistened in the moonlight in every direction. That would make for hard, slow traveling. He best make sure he had plenty of supplies before he took off. And a gun.

“Let’s go get warm.” Cade turned, expecting Dodger to follow. Instead the dog walked out from under the porch eave and stared at a point to the left of the shed. Cade looked out into the darkness. Dodger took a step and growled. The fur behind his neck stood straight up and he lowered his head.

“What is it?” Cade bent to get on Dodger’s line of sight. He saw a shadow dart behind the shed. Coyote, or possibly a wolf. Nothing to be done about the animal now.

“Come on boy, let’s go inside.” Dodger looked at Cade, then back at the shed. “Come,” Cade said more firmly. Dodger cocked his head, paused for a moment and then with a wag of his tail he followed Cade.

Coming inside made Cade realize how cold he was. He rubbed his arms briskly. His feet were absolutely numb. It felt as if he stood on the stubs of his shinbones with nothing beneath. He went into the kitchen, knelt before the stove and placed a couple of sticks inside, leaving the door open so the heat touched his skin. A lamp sat on the shelf, turned down low, in case someone had to come into the kitchen during the night. Was that a common occurrence, or just the result of his being here? The room was neat. The stove against the inside wall so the stone chimney would heat the room behind it. A cabinet with a sink and a window above, with shelves on either side on the outside wall. A table pushed against the front wall beneath the window with three mismatched chairs around it. A rag rug in the middle.
Curtains pulled against the cold at both windows. An old blanket tucked into the corner by the stove for the dog. All very homey and cozy.

Cade’s feet began to thaw and they burned with a pain so intense that he had to stand to flex them. Moving was the only thing that would help so he hobbled around, crossing from the kitchen into the parlor while trying desperately not to make any noise from the pain. Luckily Cade had a lot of experience at walking silently. The cold seemed to intensify everything and his wound felt as if someone had just poked a red-hot lance through his gut.

Dodger padded into the hall and watched him with bright and curious eyes. The wind stopped its incessant howling for a moment and the sound of a clock ticking filled his ears.

“Doors,” Cade said quietly to Dodger. “What this house needs is some doors.” The house was solidly built and laid out well, but the absence of doors was a problem. It didn’t offer much privacy. Something he’d need if he was going to successfully continue his charade until he could make his escape.

Would Leah notice if he put a few more pieces of wood in the fire? At least she had enough sense to stock up before the blizzard hit. Cade moved the screen and placed another log on the embers. It flared to life and he instantly felt better. The braided rug beneath his feet was thick and warm.

Cade scratched his jaw. His beard felt coarse. How long had it been since he shaved, or even bathed? What he wouldn’t give for a big tub to soak in. To get good and clean and let the heat take the aches away. All the aches. Suddenly he felt so tired, so much weaker, as if the last few moments had sucked away his remaining strength. Yet the thought of climbing back into bed without washing repulsed him.

Dodger followed him back into the kitchen and lay down
in the corner with a huff. Cade stuck another small log in the stove and shut the door. He shouldn’t have left it open in the first place. He didn’t want to repay Leah’s kindness by burning down her house.

The effort of picking up a large pot and setting it in the sink nearly undid him. He wouldn’t survive five minutes if he had to leave now. He wrapped one arm around his abdomen for support and used the other to work the pump. Nothing happened. He gave it a few more attempts but he could tell by the feel of the handle that there was no pressure in the pipes.

Cade propped his arms on the edge of the sink and wearily leaned against them.

“It’s broken.”

If Leah had been one of Fitch’s men, he’d be dead right now. He had not heard her over the noise of the pump. His instincts, usually so finely tuned, had failed him. Cade turned around, and suddenly became more aware of his lack of a shirt.

Leah stood in the door of the kitchen in her flannel gown and woolen socks. Her braid was tossed over her shoulder and covered one of her breasts. The other one peaked with cold and Cade found that he could not tear his eyes away from it.

“Leah,” she said. “Remember?”

He forced himself to focus on her face. Her green eyes were heavy with sleep and her dark lashes shaded them seductively. She was totally unaware of how appealing she looked. She had to be.

Cade cleared his throat. For once things were going his way. His body was too weak to show what she was doing to his insides. “Yes. Leah,” he managed to choke out.

“Are you looking for something to drink?” She crossed to the counter by the sink. “I have cold milk.” She poured
some from a heavy crock into a cup. “I’m sorry, I was so tired, I didn’t check on you before I went to bed.” She stood before him and held out the cup.

Cade blinked. She gazed upward through her thick lashes. Without the light to show them, her eyes were as dark as the evergreens. She was the angel from his dreams, the one who gave him water when he thirsted. Cade wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her hair and hold on. She was so close, just an arm’s length away. There might as well have been a canyon between them.

What was he thinking? Needing people was a sign of weakness. He couldn’t afford to be weak. He’d learned a long time ago that weak only led to one thing and that was dead.
You’re supposed to be a preacher
. What would a preacher do?

He took the cup. “Thank you.” His fingers brushed hers as she released her hold. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.” The milk was soothing on his throat and so cold that a shiver gripped him and goose bumps appeared on his skin. Funny, the cold didn’t usually bother him. He’d gotten immune to it long ago. He had to, to survive. He just didn’t think about it.

She was staring at his chest. He noticed as soon as he lowered the cup. She caught her bottom lip with her perfect teeth as she looked. Cade was suddenly aware that he’d lost weight during his illness. That walking in the snow had dampened the legs of his pants and helped them sag lower on his waist than they should. Apparently she was aware of it too as her cheeks reddened and she turned away.

Cade cleared his throat again. “So what do you do for water since your pump is broken?”

She busied herself with the crock, wiping imaginary drips from the lip, placing the lid back on, and putting it
back in its corner where it would stay cool and fresh. “Luckily we have snow,” she said. “Or I haul it from the stream.” He took advantage of her distraction to hitch up his pants.

“Would it be too much trouble for me to wash up some? And shave?” He smiled at her. “The thought of going back to bed feeling this way…”

She looked at the pot he’d put in the sink. “Oh my goodness, of course not.” She whirled around, grabbed the pot from the sink, then picked up a bucket from beside the stove and dumped the contents in the pot. It was melting snow, no doubt carried in before she went to bed. “Unfortunately the washtub is buried on the porch. I forgot to bring it in when the blizzard hit. But I can heat enough water to give you a quick bath…” The bucket hit the floor with a clang. “Er…” She stumbled over her words. Funny how she must have read his mind. He wouldn’t mind her giving him a bath at all. And then joining him.

Dodger sat up, suddenly interested in the goings-on in the kitchen. Leah quickly ducked to the woodpile, picked up a few sticks to feed the stove and shoved them inside. She caught her fingers in the door as she slammed it shut. “Damn!” she exclaimed as she grabbed her injured fingers with her other hand. “Oh. My. Goodness. I am so sorry, I don’t usually…” Her voice trailed off.

Cade grinned. She stared up at him with her face all flushed and guilt showing at having cussed in front of a preacher. He scooped a handful of snow from the pot, and took her fingers in his hand, wrapping the snow around them. “I think it was warranted, considering the circumstances.” He gently massaged the snow into them and she lowered her eyes to watch their entwined hands. He could see the glint of green and gold through her lashes.

Oh he was
so
going to hell. An evil thought took him. If he was going, he might as well enjoy the journey. Cade closed his eyes, gripped her hand and pulled it up against
his chest. “Lord I ask for healing for Leah’s hand. She injured it trying to do your work Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” she said after him.

Cade resisted the urge to kiss her fingers. He wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get to hell. “There’s no rush,” he said. “I’ve got no place to go at the moment.” He didn’t bother to tell her that God wouldn’t help her fingers because of anything he’d done. He would more than likely have them fall off her hand.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get a towel and washcloth.”

“I don’t suppose you have a razor around?”

“I do. It was my husband’s. Nate’s.” She pulled a chair from the table and moved it to the counter by the sink.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s on the top shelf. I put it up there so Banks couldn’t…”

“Show me where. I’ll get it.”

She pointed to the cupboard on the far left corner next to the stove. Cade opened the door. A shaving brush stuck up from a small wooden box. Cade easily reached it and saw the contents, a brush, razor, soap and a strop. He handed it to Leah and turned to shut the door. There was a shadow on the shelf, behind where the box had sat. A shadow that looked very much like a rolled-up gun belt and the ivory handle of a.45. He shut the door quickly and quietly and gave Leah a perfect smile of contentment.

Her cheeks flamed. His pants were sagging again. Cade casually hitched them up and she turned away to pull out a chair.

“Sit down, please,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute getting the towels.”