Page 29 of A Dangerous Heart
Ben whooped.
Over the past several days, Isaac had stepped into the unfamiliar role of teacher. Clare had come through on her promise that she and the boys would help with chores. This meant Isaac had needed to show them how he wanted things done. Just like his pa had shown him and his brothers.
Leading Bullet around a slight bend at the water’s edge, he caught sight of Clare standing in the shallows. The hem of her practical work dress was soaked, her sleeves rolled up and revealing sun-kissed forearms. A soft breeze teased the strands of hair that had escaped from a low bun at the nape of her neck. When she saw him, a happy smile spread across her face.
“Isaac. You’re back.”
His heart kicked up at the warmth in her greeting. He should’ve greeted her back. But his tongue felt too thick to form words, so he just lifted a hand.
A basket of damp laundry sat on the creek bank. He’d caught her in the middle of hauling more water for the wash tub.
She pulled the half-submerged bucket from the river and stepped carefully over the rocky bottom, pausing to reach down and grab something out of the gurgling water. A familiar tube that made his heart drop to his boots—dynamite. He swung down from Bullet and surged toward her, his boots splashing in the shallows.
“Give me that!” he snapped.
His sharp tone must have startled her. She looked up but at the same moment lost her balance, teetering in the current. He was close enough to grasp her shoulder and steady her.
“Give it to me,” he ordered softly.
Clare handed him the stick, brows creased. “There’s no blasting cap. It’s not dangerous. It was just floating downstream.”
He thought her rambling was due to nerves until he saw her eyes flick to the right. Was she hiding something again?
When she glanced up at him again, he saw only genuine concern in her expression. “Who’s blasting with dynamite?”
He didn’t bother to hide his scowl. “The rancher whose land is to the north of us, Heath Quade, is trying to reroute the river. Steal our water.”
He saw the flare of recognition behind her eyes, the wheels turning. Clare was a smart woman. They’d had two run-ins with Quade since she’d arrived.
She tipped her head. “I suppose you’ve already tried to reason with him. Compromise.”
He took the full bucket of water from her and gently gripped her arm with his other hand to steady her as they slogged toward the riverbank. “McGraws tried the neighborly approach years ago. That didn’t work with Quade.” He released her arm as they neared the laundry basket on the riverbank. He held the bucket of water and watched as her gaze flicked to the boys and a wrinkle of worry appeared just above her nose.
“Drew will think of something,” he said. Not sure where the urge to comfort her had come from. He shifted his feet, disconcerted.
This is our legacy.Words his pa had said dozens of times beat inside him to the rhythm of his heart. It was true.
“We won’t give up. You’ll be safe here.”
For now.
He waited for her to react with fear. Instead, those hazel eyes sparked.
She shoved her hands on her hips. “You McGraws are a formidable bunch,” she said with a faint smile. “And you. I didn’t know what to think when I learned you were a marshal.”
Instinctively, he turned away from her.
You killed my boy.
The words of another woman echoed in his ears. A coldness slipped over him with the memory.
The boys came running up the bank, chattering about their catch. Eli carried a bucket and a string of fish. Ben’s homespun shirt stuck to his ribs, and his rolled-up trousers dripped with river water.
“You’re just in time to help me with the rest of the laundry.”
Ben’s face fell.
She stepped into the river, bent to cup some water in her hand, and splashed him. Ben shrieked.
