why didn’t he hurt Tally when he had the chance?”
Hurt. Miriam had been “hurt” more than once, and no one had less reason to forgive than she did.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know why Tally trusted him in the first place. But that man is not in this for a few dollars. He’s got too much interest in Miss Tally. Or something else at Cold Creek.”
Miriam rested her cheek against Eli’s arm, and his heart gave a painful thump. “You don’t have enough faith, Elijah. There’s good in every man. And there’s a reason this one was sent to Miss Tally.”
Eli covered her hand with his. He couldn’t deny Miriam the comfort of her faith. He, too, believed in certain supernatural powers that could neither be seen nor touched. “I’ll be watching him until he leaves Cold Creek.”
“Don’t you ever stop being a soldier?”
“A man doesn’t have to be a soldier to protect the folk he cares about.”
They were silent for a time. Coyotes yipped in the hills, and voices whispered in the back of the house.
“Come and help me get supper to the bunkhouse,” Miriam said at last. “I’ve got to make Miss Tally take some food and get a good rest tonight, or she’ll fall apart.”
“She won’t leave André’s side.”
“I’ll sit up with Mr. André so she can sleep.”
Eli bowed to Miriam’s superior will and helped her fill several plates with chicken and biscuits, a special meal she hoped would tempt Tally to eat before the long night was over. He spoke to Federico and Bart about what had happened, left them to their meals and took a lantern to the barn to look in on Kavanagh.
The tracker had laid out his bedroll in the box stall with his stallion, apparently unconcerned that the high-strung animal might trample him in his sleep. His eyes reflected red in the lantern light like those of a night-hunting animal.
“Are you comfortable, Mr. Kavanagh?” Eli asked.
“Very comfortable.” Kavanagh stretched, cracking the joints of his knuckles. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Foreman.”
He knew as well as Eli that no one at Cold Creek was likely to get much sleep. And that Eli’s nights would be troubled for a long time to come.
SIM COULD HAVE GONE to Tally any time he chose. No one would hear him slip in the door to the main house or crawl through a window—no, not even Elijah Patterson, with his soldier’s air and suspicious eyes.
But he had no reason to see her until morning. This peculiar need was like a small cholla spine lodged in the palm of his hand, barely more than annoying for one used to frequent discomfort. Yet he’d been gone only two days, and during those two days Tally had been a constant presence in his thoughts no matter how much he tried to be rid of her.
“Miss Tally.” The way the black man spoke of her, a stranger might think she was some kind of princess from the other side of the world instead of a plainspoken, relatively sensible female who wore men’s britches and a battered slouch hat.
“Ha,” Sim muttered, and rolled a cigarette. He didn’t smoke them anymore, but he still liked to roll them. The habit was hard to break, and it gave his fingers something to do. The taste of tobacco hadn’t set well with him ever since he started Changing and running as a wolf.
Diablo dropped his head and nibbled at Sim’s hair. Sim gently pushed the big head away. “You’re a little frisky after such a long ride,” Sim said. “You smell mare, do you?”
Diablo blew sharply through his nose.
“I knew I should have had you gelded,” Sim said. Diablo shook his head. “You think I should be, too? It don’t work that way, pard.” He kicked off his boots and lay back on his bedroll, the unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth. “The only cure I need is for André to wake up and talk about the treas—”
The faint crunch of feet on gravel silenced him instantly, and he sat up with his hand on his gun before he recognized the tread. He let go of the ivory grip and stood up to meet her.
Tally entered the barn slowly, as if she were afraid she might be intruding. Sim struck a match and held it near his face.
“I’m awake,” he said.
“Elijah told me you refused his offer of a bunk with the other men,” she said.
He blew out the match, leaving the barn in darkness. Sim didn’t need the extra light. He saw her well enough, and what he saw made his voice rough with surprise.
“What else did Elijah tell you?” he asked.
Tally hopped up on the partition of the stall and sat there, perfectly balanced. “He told me he didn’t trust you…but I think you know that already.”
“He’s quick to decide what he doesn’t like.”
“So am I. But when it comes to Cold Creek, I follow my own judgment.”
Sim stared at her bare feet braced on the partition—strong feet, not in the least delicate but strangely fascinating. She still wore britches, but a woman’s unbound breasts pushed against the cloth of her plain farmer’s shirt. And she’d done something to her hair. He’d seen it loose before, as she wore it now, yet he hadn’t imagined it could look so clean and shining, like a field of ripe wheat rippling in the wind. And her face… He didn’t know what she’d changed, but no man in his right mind would ever mistake her for a boy.
Sim bit down so hard on the cigarette that he got a mouthful of tobacco. He spat it out and jammed a piece of straw in his mouth instead. “How’s your brother?”
“The doctor examined him and put on fresh bandages, but there wasn’t much more he could do. André…may or may not recover. He needs rest and quiet…and time.”
Her matter-of-fact tone was meant to hide the grief she must be feeling, just as Sim disguised his own disappointment. Disappointment, hell—this was disaster, if the doc’s worst prediction was right.
“I’m sorry,” he said, amazed at how sincere the words sounded in the mouth of a man who’d seldom had occasion to use them.
“I believe you are.”
He knelt and pretended to examine Diablo’s near foreleg. “You’ll be running the ranch yourself now,” he said. “You’ll be short-handed.”
“Elijah’s a very good range boss—not that we’ve ever had enough men to need one. We’re not a big outfit. Not yet.” Tally brushed her hair out of her face with a casually graceful gesture that pushed Sim’s heart into his throat. “What are your plans after this, Sim? Where are you going? To Esperanza?”
The mention of the name hit Sim like a clenched fist. He hadn’t forgotten about Esperanza. Not for a second. But she seemed very far away in that little town in Sonora, not even knowing he would be coming for her.
When? When are you finally going to do it?
He’d learned long ago that it was better to tell part of the truth than a packful of lies. “I ain’t exactly a rich man,” he said. “I planned on going to Esperanza when I had a little more money saved up, so we could get married.”
“That’s quite understandable. Where is she?”
“Mexico.”
Sim watched Tally out of the corner of his eye, engrossed by the way she bit her lower lip. He remembered the feel of those lips under his. He’d kissed Esperanza only twice, and he had difficulty picturing those distant moments in his mind.
Kissing Tally was supposed to be a cure, an end to the temptation of straying from his dream. Tally must have seen it for what it was. Of course she had.
“I have a proposal for you,