at the dangling feather as if it were a pesky fly biting her. The wind suddenly spun her around so fast she fell to her knees. Gage bolted toward her to help, but she jumped to her feet and shook the dust from her skirt.
The steam of her anger seemed to radiate across the thoroughfare as the downpour came, soaking her from hem to haphazard hat.
The bull of a blacksmith ran out of his quarters and spoke to the woman. Gage halted in his tracks, waiting to see what she would do. The smithy pointed to his home, but she shook her head and elected to disappear inside the livery instead.
Gage’s curiosity got the better of him as he watched the blacksmith dash home. Feather Hat’s stubbornness made him wonder why she refused the better place to wait out the rain. He’d met Bear and his wife not long ago. Both were kind people who seemed to be well liked by everyone. That meant Feather Hat wasn’t from around here. She was a stranger who didn’t know them well enough to trust their hospitality. All the more reason to find out her identity and connection to Hodge, if any.
Soaked to his boot tops, Gage took off at a dead run for the livery. If she questioned his presence there, he would just tell her that he’d taken shelter in the nearest place he could find. That should allow at least some polite conversation between them and maybe he might learn a few things about her.
He stepped out of the rain and shook water from his duster, then tilted his hat to empty its brim. The sound of a match being struck against wood flared his nostrils as the pungent odor of sulfur and hissing kerosene filled the air.
“Ouch, that hurt!” exclaimed a female voice, then, “Oops! No! Oh, please, no, not that!”
Instinct made Gage look for a stove or a lantern, but reality flared in front of him as flames crept up one of the stall walls.
She had dropped the match.
* * *
A low, angry voice cut the air like a whip. “See if there’s water in any of those buckets. Hurry!”
Willow heard the man’s command before she saw him. He didn’t sound like Bear. Not taking time to look at him or wonder who he was, she did as instructed and ran into the first stall ahead of her. Sure enough, one of the water buckets remained half-full.
“Here’s one.” She thrust the pail toward him and assumed he would take it.
“Throw what you’ve got over the flames and grab another,” he ordered. “I’ll beat out what I can with this.”
She heard him beating something against the wall and, with a quick glance backward, realized where he’d come from. He’d taken off the trail coat she’d noticed earlier when she studied him in the alley.
Will Ketchum to the rescue, she thought, wishing this stranger could be the man she dreamed might someday come true.
“I—I broke my nail when I struck the match against the board.” She shook her forefinger, embarrassed that such a small pain had caused all this. “It made me drop the match.”
Horses whinnied in their stalls, their powerful legs dancing to get away from the threat that sent gray vapor spiraling into the air.
The stranger kept beating his coat against the wall. Orders fired in rapid succession. “Find another bucket, lady. Be careful. Don’t go near the horses. They’ll stomp you to death. Got to get this out before it reaches the loft. That hay goes up, we’ll all go up with it.” One glance in her direction told her he wasn’t worried about the finger she still held up.
She hurried, only to find nothing in the next three stalls. All that remained were the feed tins with the horses. Thunder roared overhead and a crack of lightning rent the air, telling her that it had struck close by.
Please, Lord. Don’t let this happen to me. Don’t let me burn down the livery on the first day here. And while it’s raining, at that. If You’re going to let it rain, let it be enough to put this out, please.
“There’s no more. What do I do?” She searched for the blankets Bear had said were stored somewhere and found them on a shelf above where her baggage had been set.
Why hadn’t she just grabbed one of them to keep warm instead of trying to light a lantern so she could see to make a proper fire in the potbellied stove?
She’d made a fire, all right.
Willow grabbed a blanket and shook it open to help him beat out the flames. A daddy longlegs spider ran across her hand. She screamed in fear.
The man raced toward her, swatted the spider away and exchanged his now-charred coat for the blanket.
“That kind of spider isn’t poisonous even if it bites you,” he assured her as he ran back and attacked the flames even harder.
The fire seemed to be climbing faster.
“Take empty buckets,” he insisted. “The trough is outside closer to the blacksmith’s quarters. Bring back what you can carry without spilling. Fast as you can. And don’t worry about your nails.”
Nails were the last things on her mind. Being burned or bitten occupied her every thought. She grabbed the pails and ran, determined to carry both back full and in time. She spotted the trough quickly and the first bucket wasn’t that hard to fill. The second proved almost unmanageable once she was done and tried to lift both.
With every step, the water sloshed over the sides until she had to take slower ones to keep from spilling it. Her pulse raced, thrumming in her ears, lodging in her throat in a dry knot that felt as if it were drumming to her heartbeat.
As she finally reached the livery, she had to set a bucket down to open the door but forgot to move it back far enough to allow her enough space to enter. Not now, she prayed. Please let me prove helpful. I’ve got to save him. The horses, too.
What to do? What to do? Willow took one boot and scooted the bucket backward. It inched away. Another scoot. Too hard this time. The bucket tilted.
“No, don’t spill!” She couldn’t keep her prayer silent. Her boot hurried to sweep around the pail to prevent it from turning over. She misjudged the distance and ended up stepping directly into the tin container, sloshing water everywhere.
Willow grabbed the door and jerked it backward as she removed her foot from the almost empty bucket. One would just have to do for now.
She gathered the remaining pail in hand and ran toward the cowboy, relieved to see his battle with the fire had taken a turn for the better.
He emptied a bucket on the flames.
Where had he gotten that from? One of the horse stalls? How brave!
“Move out of the way,” she shouted, wanting to let him rest a moment while she took over. It was the least she could do.
Instead of stepping aside as she threw the water from her pail, he turned.
A faceful of her helpfulness drenched him just before the liquid hit its true mark, extinguishing the threat of fire.
“Oh, my,” she said, dropping the pail as her hands shot to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that, mister. Honestly. The bucket was so heavy and you didn’t... I mean... I guess my aim was off.”
He sputtered and tipped the brim of his hat so the water could run off. Before he settled it back on his head, he wiped his eyes with his forearm and blinked hard. “Actually, your aim was perfect, pretty lady. Your timing stinks. You could use a little improvement there.”
His admonishment hit her right where she hurt most—her past. Her need of a better future. But she heard the truth in his criticism. Timing was everything. It might just be the one skill she needed to learn in order to improve all the others she wanted to handle better.
After all, learning to do everything right the first time would sure make everything easier and save her lots of embarrassment.
Question was, she wondered as a possibility sparked in her mind, did he