Page 13 of A Dangerous Heart
“I’ll take care of your horses,” David said, breaking the silence to lead the horses away.
The men shuffled over to the crackling campfire and stretched out weary muscles. Eli and Ben argued softly near the chuck wagon.
Clare met the men with a pot of coffee in hand and a ready smile that turned a little stiff when she served Isaac. He looked away, his eyes settling on the flickering fire.
“Y’all look ready to drop.” Her hair was pinned up so that the delicate curve of her neck was exposed.
Isaac sipped his coffee, telling himself it was the hot brew that warmed him, not his attraction to Clare.
The savory smell of sourdough and herbs had his mouth watering when he took his place in line behind Drew. What was in the cook pot? Nick, who was already seated on a fallen log and stuffing food in his mouth, groaned.
“Mmm. This is delicious.”
Drew received his plate, piled with some kind of stew and biscuits, with a murmured “Thank you.”
Without any other bodies between Clare and him, Isaac had nowhere else to look but at her. As she ladled the stew, he kept his eyes on her hands. They looked even smaller lifting the large ladle. Her sleeve shifted up, exposing a thin white line stretching from her delicate wrist and disappearing into her sleeve. A scar? She caught him looking and wobbled the tin plate. His quick grasp steadied it before it could spill. She twisted her arm away, and his attention jumped to her face, where something he couldn’t name sparked in her eyes. And now she was the one avoiding his gaze.
“Tastes like rabbit,” Drew said as he spooned another bite into his mouth. “One of you shoot a rabbit I didn’t know about?”
Nick scooted down the log to make room for Isaac. Isaac balanced his plate on his knees and shook his head. He glanced at Clare gathering dirty plates in a large tub.
“My ma shot it.” Eli stabbed a long stick into the fire. He’d finished his meal but was hanging near the fire and listening to the conversation. “She couldn’t find any meat or beans packed in the chuck wagon.”
Drew looked to Clare, chewed, and swallowed. In the firelight, his cheeks turned ruddy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”His voice was soft, but his shoulders tensed as he studied Clare across the fire.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Clare hesitated, glancing at Drew. “I hope it’s all right that I used the rifle.”
“I wish I’d known,” Drew said.
Isaac felt her quiet regard, but he kept his eyes on his plate.
“I mentioned it?—”
Isaac lifted his head. She met his eyes across the fire.
Drew’s attention swung to him. Isaac forced himself to take another bite of stew, though his brother’s disapproval made the hearty meal taste bitter.
“Cl—Ma is a crack shot,” Ben announced with pride as he rubbed Patch behind the ears.
“Nobody’s a better shot than Uncle Isaac,” David challenged.
“I don’t know,” Nick teased. “She might be a better shot than Swift Draw McGraw over there.”
That stupid name. Isaac had once relished the moniker. Now he couldn’t stomach hearing it. He wasn’t that man anymore. Couldn’t even wear his gun belt and pistols. Old memories surged, and the piece of sourdough bread he’d just shoved in his mouth turned to ash. He hauled himself to his feet and trudged away from the camp.
What would it take to win over Isaac McGraw?
Clare placed the towels on a flat rock at the bank of the river and carried the pail of dirty dishes down to the water’s edge. Alone in the setting sun, she could let her guard down. Her shoulders slumped.
She drives a wagon like she was born to it, wouldn’t ya say?
Seems to know her way around a chuck wagon. Good with those boys too.
Praise from Nick and Drew had stirred a momentary hope—one that had been dashed by Isaac’s frigid silence.
The water from this little tributary off the river was bitingly cold as she scrubbed the tin plates. She didn’t have to close her eyes to imagine Isaac sitting on the log near the fire with his face turned away. The man’s rangy body might have been hunkered by the fire with his brothers, but his mind and heart had been miles away. Her hasty plan to prove her worth, to convince this McGraw brother to give her a chance, wasn’t working. The man was immune to every smile she’d turned his way. While his brothers had downed heaping plates of her stew and bread, he’d only finished half his dinner.
Clare held the handles of three forks and wiped the water from the tines with a cotton cloth.
