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Texas, 1878
Grace Marshall thought she was alone.
Her brothers and sisters had left for school hours before. Her
mother had taken the wagon to town for supplies. And Pa? He was
somewhere on the far side of the empty cornfield knee-deep in
muck.
A hot breeze tickled the damp curls sticking to her neck. It
wasn't enough to dry the sweat. It never was. Swelter in the
summer; freeze in the winter. Work and toil. Everyday. All day.
The circle of life…or death. Like a hangman's noose.
She bent to haul yet another piece of laundry from the basket.
Lord, how her back ached! Barely kissing twenty and her body was
failing her. She tossed the long johns over the line and stabbed
them in place with the wooden pin.
There it is again. That feeling that she wasn't alone.
Shielding her eyes against the afternoon sun, she scanned the
horizon. She didn't have to look far.
A lone rider watched her from the knoll. Broad, dusty,
bedraggled. His black horse looked in better shape than he.
Despite the distance, she felt their gazes lock. It was then he
moved, urging his mount forward. He was coming her way, stepping
into her world, and somehow Grace sensed her life would never be
the same again.
This time the creak of leather reached her. His saddle, the
holster strapped to his thigh, those dusty cowboy boots in the
stirrups. The stubble of a beard darkened his sun-tanned face. A
bedroll was perched on the horse's rear. This man looked like
he'd been on the road for a while.
Closer still, other details hit her. The red kerchief tied
around his neck. The Colt .45 glinting from his well-used
holster, the hilt of a bowie knife in a scabbard behind that,
and the butt of a Winchester rifle rocking along with the stride
of the horse.
Grace's heart quickened. What if he were a bank robber or a
gunslinger? He had come to their home to steal what little they
had. To take advantage of the womenfolk. Why, just the thought
of being ravished was enough to make her scream, even if she
wasn't quite sure what that meant. All she knew was that it was
different than what normally happened between a man and his
wife. It was horrible to be ravished. Ma said so. And this man
looked like he could crush her with one of those big, powerful
hands. He'd haul her to the nearest pile of hay, lift her dress,
and…and…
She fanned the heat from her cheeks and reined her thoughts to a
standstill. Ma was right. Grace spent too much time reading
those blasted dime novels Pa brought home. A waste of precious
time and money, Ma said. But Grace had caught Ma devouring the
contents on more than one occasion.
Nearly to her, the man tipped the brim of his gray cowboy hat in
greeting. "Ma'am. I'm looking for Damon Marshall."
Grace looked up. Eyes a shade darker than the sky studied her.
Rider and horse guarded her from the sun. "That'd be my
pa."
"Name's Jake Tanner. Mind telling me where I can find
him?"
Her gaze fell to the gun in his holster.
"I've been on the road for two days, Miz Marshall. A smart
man doesn't travel unarmed. I've just come to collect on a note
he gave my brother."
She narrowed her eyes. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Tanner,
but you look a little worse for wear for having been on the road
only two days."
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He
scratched at his whiskers to cover it. "Sorry, ma'am. I was
out with the herd before heading this way. Didn't think to clean
up first."
"You look more like a gunman than a cowboy."
He glanced around the Marshalls' dilapidated farm, then crossed
his forearms over the saddle horn and leaned forward. "And
what kind of notorious act could your farmer father have done to
bring a gunman to this place?"
Point taken, even if his tone mocked her. Grace pointed to the
sprawling field beyond the house. "You'll find him on the
far side of the field."
He flicked the brim of his hat once more and nudged his horse in
that direction.
Grace pulled a bed sheet from the basket and draped it over the
line. Peeking around the edge, she watched Jake move away. He
looked as good leaving as he did coming.
The breeze caught the line of clothes and tangled the sheet
around her. Grace slapped it down and shoved a pin over the
line. The sheet curled around her again. Grace grabbed a fistful
and tugged. The line snapped. A full morning's work lay on the
grass. Now she'd have to start all over again.
She glanced around. Still alone. No one would know the
difference. It was grass, for crying out loud, and she had a lot
more work to do.
She plucked the heavy cording from the ground. Weighed down with
wet wash, it took two hands to haul it over her shoulder.
Stretching on tiptoe, Grace tried to thread the end into the
hole on the wooden brace. It might as well have been a needle.
The line was too heavy. She was wasting as much time trying to
tie the dagblasted thing than she would if she'd taken the wash
down in the first place.
A pair of hands covered hers. Dark, long-fingered, callused.
Startled, she jumped, then craned her neck backward. Jake
Tanner. He tied the cord off with nary a blink, standing so
close Grace could count the whiskers in his growing beard.
"Ma'am." He tugged the brim of his hat her way, and
swung back into the saddle.
He was almost out of hearing range when Grace finally remembered
her manners and hollered a thank you. Without turning, he raised
his hand in response.
Grace allowed herself a smile. He was just about the best thing
she'd seen in Sleepy Eye…ever. She'd be thinking about him for
a long time to come. Oh, yes…a long time.
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Catherine
Snodgrass