Page 25 of A Dangerous Heart
“Jump up there and push that barrel to the tailgate.”
Eli did as he was told but with too much force—if not for Isaac’s catching it, the barrel would have flown off the wagon. They eyed each other across the barrel’s top. The challenge in Eli’s expression reminded him of Ed when they were boys. The competition between them had been fierce at times, showing up in the little things—who could muck the stalls faster or who could round up the most cows in a single day. Isaac may have put a little more muscle behind pushing an empty barrel at Ed, but not a full one.
“Let this be a lesson to you. You can push things too far.”
“I don’t need you to teach me any lessons,” Eli muttered back.
“If I hadn’t been quick to react, the barrel could have slipped away and cracked open,” Isaac said. “We need the grain inside. Worse, you could have taken a nasty fall and bloodied up your face or broken a bone.”
Eli lowered his eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said darkly.
Isaac’s gut contorted. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you or Ben or your aunt. Not on my watch.”
Eli shot him a venomous look. “You don’t want us here. I heard you say it this morning.”
Isaac’s shoulders tensed, guilt gnawing at him as he met Eli’s gaze. “You didn’t hear the rest of what I said. It’s too dangerous in town, so that’s why we’re here at my cabin, where I can keep a close eye on you, protect all of you. So do your aunt a favor and get those quilts into the cabin.”
Isaac lifted the barrel down and rolled it over to the lean-to while Eli hauled the bundle of blankets from the wagon bed and into the cabin. Isaac took several steadying breaths. What had he gotten himself into? He didn’t really know anything about this makeshift family. He tightened his grip on the last load—a box of mismatched plates, cups, and utensils Kaitlyn had sent—and reassured himself.
This was just a temporary fix. They wouldn’t be here forever.
Clare moved onto the stoop to hold the door for them. Eli slipped inside.
Isaac nodded, walked into the cabin, and set the box on the table. He headed out again to unhitch Bullet from the wagon.
Ben met him by the lean-to. “Can I help you feed Bullet?”
“Sure. I’ll open the sack of oats. You scoop some into the bucket.”
Isaac tossed his bedroll to the ground and settled the horse next to the outer plank wall of the lean-to. The slanted roof was plenty tall for both him and Bullet to stand, but Isaac moved the chest containing remnants from his days with the Marshals near where his head would rest and stacked a couple of bales of hay between him and his horse. He didn’t need his sleep interrupted by a horse hoof to his backside.
Through the wall, he could hear Clare humming a hymn.
Ben watched him rearranging, the kid’s interest caught on the chest and its contents. Maybe he should put a lock on it since he stored his pistols inside.
“You sleepin’ out here?” Ben eyed him.
Isaac nodded, a weariness settling over him. He motioned for Ben to give Bullet the bucket of oats he was carrying
“Why?” Ben wouldn’t let it go. He stood hugging the bucket to his chest, waiting for an answer.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Isaac said.
“Why?” Ben persisted. The kid was full of questions.
With a heavy sigh Isaac said, “Because your aunt and I are not married. It’s not appropriate for us to sleep in the same house.” His face went hot. And got hotter when he remembered what it’d felt like back in town when he’d tucked her close to his side.
Ben set the bucket in front of Bullet and watched as the horse eagerly dug into his feed. The boy’s gaze lifted again to meet Isaac’s, his expression filled with the innocence and simple sincerity only a child could muster.
“You should marry Aunt Clare. Then you could sleep with us.”
Isaac almost smiled at the boy’s innocence. He wasn’t going to marry Clare and didn’t want to think about sharing a bed with…anyone. Clare wanted his protection not?—
Beyond the wall, the humming stopped.
“Time to head in for supper,” he said.
Clare had spread her cheerfulness to the cabin. She’d unpacked supplies and set things neatly on the shelves and pie safe. Steam rose from a boiling pot on the stove. The dark oak table gleamed, reflecting the jar of wildflowers sitting atop it.
