tiny pairs of black eyes shimmered in the ambient kitchen light.
“Babies.” Tilly’s lips parted in a gasp, and her warm exhale puffed against his neck. “Now what?”
The mother hissed and they both sprang back. Tilly teetered and he automatically caught her around the waist. His breath hitched. She was soft and yielding and undeniably feminine. Once she was steady, he swiftly released his hold.
“It’s up to you,” Nolan said. “If you really want, I can relocate them, but there’s a good chance the mother will reject the babies if they’re moved.”
“No!” Caroline called from the doorway. “You can’t kill them, Aunt Tilly. They’re just babies.”
“You’re awake!” Tilly exclaimed. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better.”
“That’s wonderful.” The relief in Tilly’s voice was obvious. “We’ll be able to leave on Thursday.”
Clearly she wanted out of Pyrite as much as he wanted them to go. The thought should have relieved him. Instead, her words left a deep, hollow ache in his chest. He’d lost his tolerance for people, though he hadn’t entirely lost the need for human connection. Yet the longer they stayed, the more he risked revealing his eccentricities. He couldn’t stomach watching their regard turn to disgust, or, worse yet, feel their ridicule.
Tilly took the broom from him. “If you don’t want them harmed, Caroline, then we’ll leave them be. It’s almost suppertime—we should go anyway.”
As they emerged into the dining room, a shadow passed before the front window. The five of them paused. The outline of a rider trotted down Main Street. The hollow thud of hoofbeats drifted through the partially open door.
An icy knot of fear settled in the pit of Nolan’s stomach. A lone rider around these parts was unusual. Most folks traveled in pairs or groups through Indian country. There was safety in numbers.
Tilly squinted through the filthy glass. “I didn’t think the cavalry would be on patrol again this soon.”
“That isn’t the cavalry,” Nolan replied, his expression grim.
Tilly scrubbed at the grubby pane. Two more riders trotted past. Beside her, Nolan’s posture grew rigid and his expression was tense.
He urged her away from the window and held his index finger before his lips. “Stay inside,” he said. “Don’t come out unless I call for you.”
“But Captain Ronald said the outlaws couldn’t cross the river without being seen,” she whispered. “That must be someone else, right?”
“The captain says a lot of things.” Nolan yanked his gun from his holster, spun the chamber, then squinted along the barrel before replacing the weapon. “There’s more than one rider. Stay out of sight. No matter what happens to me, stay hidden.”
“You sound worried.” Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her chest. “Why are you worried?”
“It’s probably nothing, but follow my orders, just in case.”
Yesterday when the cavalry officer had warned her of danger, she’d been frightened. His assurances of safety had been confident, but he’d unleashed a nagging concern. When the stagecoach was moving, she felt safer, more secure. Stranded in this lonely town, they were vulnerable.
Nolan touched her sleeve and she stared at the spot where his fingers grazed the material. Though they’d only been in Pyrite for twenty-four hours, some things had become obvious immediately. More often than not, he kept his distance, moving out of her reach and avoiding her at every turn.
He kept a physical distance, but she sensed his protectiveness, his awareness of them. When she’d been startled by the raccoon, he’d been at her side in an instant. Yet she sensed his annoyance. As with Eleanor and her father, he seemed to find her inquisitiveness irritating. Despite the contradictions in his character, he inspired a curious reaction within her.
When he gazed at her with those intriguing hazel eyes, she was instantly tongue-tied.
“Don’t come out of hiding until those men are gone,” he said. “There’s another gun in a box under the bed at the relay station. If anything happens to me, wait for them to leave, then lock yourselves up tight and wait for the next stagecoach. There are plenty of supplies.”
Her knees turned watery. Surely he was exaggerating. There was no reason to assume the men outside meant them any harm. Captain Ronald’s regiment was keeping a watch out for the outlaws. They’d know if something had happened. She glanced at the girls and quickly masked her expression. They had an alarming ability to read her moods.
“Let’s keep an eye on the raccoon.” Tilly urged the girls back toward the kitchen once more. “We should be extra-special quiet. We don’t want to frighten her.”
Victoria took Elizabeth’s pudgy hand. “We’ll be quiet. But what about the riders? What if they make noise?”
The girl’s curious expression, so like Eleanor’s, betrayed her skepticism. Victoria knew the distraction was about more than keeping an eye on the raccoon.
“Mr. West will take care of everything,” Tilly said. “Don’t worry.”
His terse orders reminded her of her father, but she didn’t doubt his ability. He had the bearing of a soldier and a hard edge to his eyes. She’d seen plenty of men with that same sharpness after the war. He was shielding them until he knew for certain the riders meant no harm, and for that she was thankful. He was the last bastion of safety in this untamed wilderness, and she clung to his unwavering self-assurance.
The girls scrounged chairs from the dining room and set up a horseshoe at the far end of the kitchen, safe from the riders and the mama raccoon, which, thankfully, had retreated deeper into the shadows.
“Keep your distance from the mama,” Tilly ordered. “Don’t touch her. Be as quiet as church mice. Stay here, and I’ll be right back.”
Unable to contain her curiosity, Tilly returned to the dining room. The warped door hadn’t shut fully behind Nolan. Her pulse thumping, she pressed her ear near the opening. Nolan met the three riders in the center of the street. The strangers were dressed in rough canvas jackets with their hats pulled low over their eyes. Foam flecked the sides of their horses, indicating a grueling ride.
Tilly fisted a hand against the dread settling in her chest. She didn’t like the look of the men. An air of menace hung thickly over them. There was something off-putting about the way they carried themselves—a desperation in the bedraggled cut of their clothing and the ribs showing on the sides of their horses.
Nolan propped one hand on his gun belt. “Where are you headed?”
One of the men tipped back his hat with his index finger. “We’re on our way south.”
“You’re going in the right direction.”
The second man chuckled. “Is this the route for the Pioneer Stagecoach line?”
“Yep.”
The man crowded his roan horse nearer to Nolan. Unease skittered along Tilly’s spine.
Nolan tensed, and he hooked his fingers around the barrel of the gun. He glanced over his shoulder with a piercing stare, and she scooted out of sight. He’d obviously sensed her scrutiny. Once again she marveled at his intuition. At home, her father rarely paid her any mind. He always had his nose in a law book. He rarely looked up except to scold her for interrupting him, or to admonish her for not being more like Eleanor. In contrast, Nolan was always aware of her movements. Not in a cloying, overbearing manner—but a watchful, comforting sort of a way.
The