Chapter 3

He let his future wife fall asleep in his arms, her rest heavy after the outpouring of grief. She didn’t cry from the whipping. He had enough sense to know she was too stubborn for that, no matter that she’d apologized. It had been a grudging apology at best, but he’d take what he could get.

Hell and damnation, he didn’t even know her name and he’d whipped her bare bottom. He’d count himself lucky if he didn’t find himself on the wrong end of that Winchester come morning. He’d wake her in a few hours so they could discuss things.

The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. The parcel next to theirs wouldn’t get a claim stake. It was a flooded-out marsh, but he was sure they could drain it. She could set her stake on this one and he would take the marsh, giving them a double homestead. And after they got their claims filed, he’d make an honest woman of his mysterious widow. He settled her down in the hollow under a walnut tree and dealt with the evening chores while she rested. Once both horses were unsaddled and watered, he spread out their bedrolls, making a comfortable nest for them to share next to a quickly laid fire.

He sure hoped she knew her way around a campfire. He was tired of eating trail rations and his mouth watered for fried chicken cooked by a good woman. Careful to avoid waking her, he moved her into his bedroll and curled around her lush body, enjoying the feel of her rounded bottom against his cock.

Deep breathy snores woke her. Ignoring the pain in her backside, she wriggled out from under the hairy arms pinning her to the ground. The sun was just setting, and the glare from the reddened sky irritated her swollen eyes. She scowled down at the unconscious man, wishing for a brief second that she had the nerve to kick him.

She tossed a few pieces of wood on the fire. It would stay lit until she could scare up something for supper. Choosing a long stick from the wood he’d gathered, she fetched her fishing line and hooks from her saddlebag. With the tip of her knife, she dug up a handful of night crawlers and set herself to fishing for her evening meal.

The creek was chock full of fat sunfish, and before the sun went down, she had several on a stringer. There would be enough for supper tonight, plus breakfast tomorrow if the stranger didn’t gorge himself.

He was a big man, muscular and strong. She might have enjoyed his company if she was inclined to courting, and if he hadn’t scorched her bottom, or seen her cry all those ugly tears. He had pretty brown eyes, and she liked that he was clean shaven. It showed off that handsome dimple in the middle of his chin. Thick hair the color of chocolate curled below his collar and hung in his eyes. He could do with some time in a barber’s chair.

She’d cook him a meal and be on her way. She had no time for overbearing strangers. There was a lot of land out there for the taking, and she could find another parcel to set her stake.

“Any luck?”

She stiffened and tried not to show her surprise as she cussed herself for her inattention. “One more and you’ll have enough for breakfast tomorrow.” Something twitched her line and she set the hook with a sharp jerk before pulling another fish to shore. It flopped and gave her a baleful stare as she threaded the stringer through its gills.

“There’s grouse out here.”

“I know.” She finished with the stringer and handed her catch over. “If you don’t mind helping clean them, we can roast them over the fire.” She rinsed her hands in the creek and walked away, wishing he’d stayed asleep.

“Doesn’t one sound good about now?” He dropped the stringer into the creek and caught up easily. She didn’t want conversation, but as late as it had gotten, she couldn’t leave until morning.

“Sure, but the fish were biting.”

He laid a hand on her arm, squeezing gently to stop her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“The grouse are nesting. Wait until fall when they’re fat and have winter feathers. It also takes too long to pluck and cook them. Fish is easier and I don’t waste a bullet I might need later.” She shook his hand away and continued toward the fire. “I’ll get some stones in the fire to heat while you get started.”

His mouth fell open then shut with a snap. Her soft voice and elegant speech were at odds with her obvious capability and he felt foolish for questioning her. “I apologize for doubting you, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She found a few flat rocks and laid them out in the coals before heading back to the stream for the fish. Tugging one free of the stringer, she got started on the messy job of cleaning them. Grabbing one of his own, he sat down beside her, watching her deft movements.

“My name is Caleb Walsh. I was a cow hand on the Lazy R in Texas before coming north to stake a claim.”

“Mrs. Matthew Hartford.” She offered nothing else and he scowled in annoyance.

“What’s your given name, honey?”

She set her fish aside and reached for another. She hadn’t replaced her hat and he could see her lips thin with annoyance. “Mr. Walsh, I’m leaving at first light. I’m sure my life story will hold no interest for you.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m fair interested in everything about you.”

She shot him a look of surprise, but looked down so quickly he thought he missed it. “At least tell me your name.”

“Very well. It’s Abby.”

“Pretty name for a pretty lady. Care to tell me why you’re traipsing across the territories?”

“I was chasing a homestead, same as you.”

“No other reason? You’re not running away from a jilted suitor?”