cubs fishing in a stream farther up in the mountains. The cubs had been so cute and playful, the mama tough yet tender and fiercely protective, that Sophie had hidden in the bushes and watched, barely breathing, until they’d moved on.
Focus, Sophie. Anchoring the butt against her shoulder, she fired off a single shot.
A limp hen caught between his teeth, the bear lifted his head and shifted his opaque black eyes to her. Her lungs strained for air. Don’t make me shoot you. He took a step in her direction. Again, she aimed above his head. Fired a second time.
When the lumbering beast casually turned and disappeared into the forest, Sophie released the air in a relieved whoosh and lowered the gun, muscles as limp as soggy corn bread. She surveyed the damage, dreading the job that awaited her come daylight. Weariness settled deep in her bones. They couldn’t afford to purchase lumber for a new henhouse. How was she supposed to find time to chop down trees, strip and saw them into planks when so many other chores awaited her?
Anxiety nipped at her heels as she coaxed the addled hens into the barn for the night. What she really wanted to do was park herself at Granddad’s bedside until she was absolutely certain he was on the mend. A frisson of stark, cold despair worked its way through her body; the possibility of losing him looming like a menacing shadow. How sad that she simply couldn’t spare the time. Not if the animals were to be fed, the vegetable garden tended, the laundry mended and washed, and food placed on the table.
Feeling sorry for yourself won’t get you anywhere, Sophia Lorraine.
Traversing the tomblike yard, words of defeat slipped from her lips. “Lord Jesus, sometimes I just don’t know how I can go on like this.”
Sometimes she wondered what it might be like to have a strong man around to help shoulder the burdens. A partner. A helpmate. Someone like Nathan—strong and valiant and willing and able to meet any challenge. A man who could be both tough and tender. Sort of like that mama bear, she thought as she replaced the Winchester on its hooks.
But while her heart pined for him, in his eyes she was nothing more than an irritating brat. A down-on-her-luck neighbor he was forced to tolerate and occasionally rescue.
“Everything all right?” Tobias called.
Entering his room, she crossed to the narrow bed, straightened the quilts and took his hand between hers, tenderness welling in her chest at the feel of his feeble, knotted fingers.
“Everything’s fine. You should go back to sleep.”
“I worry about you.” His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “This farm is too much for one young girl to manage.”
She stroked his hand, determined to put his fears to rest. To ignore her own reservations. “I’m not a little girl anymore, you know,” she gently reminded him. “I may not look like much but I can work as hard as any man.”
“I’m not doubting your abilities, Sophie, but I want more for you and Will. I—” his chest expanded “—don’t want you to struggle—” and deflated “—alone. Maybe it’s time you settled down.”
Her brows shot up, stunned at this first mention of marriage. “Why would I want to get hitched? Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve got you.”
When he didn’t respond, she leaned down and kissed his wrinkled forehead, smoothed his wispy gray hair. “I think we’ll leave this conversation for when we’re both rested and thinking straight. Good night.”
“’Night.” He sighed.
Pausing to grip the doorframe, she turned back, compelled to speak words rarely spoken between them. Not because they didn’t care but because emotional expressions just wasn’t their way. “I love you, Granddad.”
“I love you, too.” Pride and affection thrummed in his voice.
Once again in her bed, with no one around to witness her emotional display, she allowed the tears to fall, slipping silently onto her pillow. Fear, cold and black and relentless, threatened to crush her. The what-ifs, the endless responsibilities, nearly overwhelmed her.
Having a man around full-time would help. But was a husband really the answer? Her father’s temper, his disdain for her mother and contempt for Sophie made her reluctant to hand over her life to just any man.
Their future was too important to gamble on.
* * *
Wiping the moisture from her forehead with her sleeve, Sophie tried once again to lift what used to be the henhouse’s right sidewall. It refused to budge. A gloved hand appeared out of nowhere and covered her own. She jerked back and in the process scraped her palm on the jagged wood.
“Nathan!” She stared as he heaved the wall up as if it weighed nothing, shoulders and biceps straining his white-and-blue pin-striped shirt, and lowered it out of the way onto the grass. “What are you doing here?”
Pink and purple fingers of dawn gradually chased away black sky, lightening the wide expanse above to a pale blue. He should be at home milking his cows, not standing here in front of her with his hair damp and his cheeks smooth and touchable from a recent shave, his beautiful eyes gazing at her with resolute intentions.
“I ran into Will downstream and he mentioned what happened.” His gaze swept the scattered feathers and eggshells, the bucket filled with carcasses and the splintered wood on the ground before zeroing in on her face. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She shrugged off his concern. “I managed to scare him off with two shots.”
“You could’ve killed him.”
“You know how I feel about bears.”
Stepping over the mess, he stopped in front of her, his chest filling her vision as he took the hand she’d been clutching against her midsection in his. He gently unfurled her fingers and lifted her palm up for a better view. Her stupid heart actually fluttered. Wouldn’t he be amused if he knew how he affected her? Amused or horrified, one of the two.
His lips turned down. “This is a pretty bad scrape.” Pulling a red handkerchief from his pants’ pocket, he wound it around her palm and tucked the ends under. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”
She wouldn’t tell him that they were too far gone to provide any sort of protection and she didn’t have the means to buy a new pair. Better he think her foolish than pity her.
She slipped her hand from his grasp. “You’re right, I should have put them on.”
A flicker of understanding warned her that he suspected the truth, but he didn’t voice it. Instead he tugged off his own gloves and handed them to her.
“I can’t take yours.”
“Josh will be here soon. I have another pair in the wagon.” He began to pick up the broken boards and pitch them in a pile.
“Why is Josh coming?” She gingerly pushed her fingers into the large deerskin gloves, the lingering heat from his hands a caress against her skin.
“He’s bringing the lumber we need to rebuild your henhouse.”
“He’s what?”
Nathan tossed another board and arched a brow at her. “Now don’t get all huffy on me. We have plenty to spare.”
“You know I can’t pay you.”
“Don’t expect payment.” Shrugging, he turned his attention back to his task.
Torn, she fiddled with the end of her thick braid. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful—”
“Then just say ‘thank you’ and let us help you.” He was using his extra-patient voice, the one he used to coax her into seeing his side of things.
Frowning, she bent to gather crushed eggshells. For as long as she could remember, the O’Malleys had been there for her family, stepping in to help whenever