Page 11 of Her Gentle Protector
The young girl shook her head. “No.”
“Bow and arrow?”
“No.”
“Slingshot?”
Petunia shook her head.
“Then how do you hunt?”
“I could do it if’n I had one of those things.”
“Let’s get this inside to your sister.” He handed the bird to Petunia, who took it by the legs and disappeared inside. Midge met him at the door, offering him a frayed towel. “Here, you can use this to dry off.”
Baxter took the towel and dried his face. “Thank you.”
“Would you like to have supper with us?”
“No. I don’t want to take food away from you. I’ll show you how you can prepare the chicken and you’ll have another meal tomorrow.”
“Midge just boils it until all the flavor is out of it,” the youngest boy said.
“Behave now, Josiah,” Midge warned, who stared wide-eyed at Baxter. “And say thank you when he’s done fixing our supper.”
“I don’t trust him,” the oldest boy muttered under his breath, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood by the door, as if prepared to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
“Me either,” said another one.
“Peter, not now, and you behave too, Ira,” Midge scolded, though her gaze lingered on Baxter for a moment longer than necessary.
Baxter couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he watched the makeshift family huddle together like frightened rabbits. It was clear they’d been through a lot already, and while he still resented being stolen from, something in Midge’s desperate determination stirred a reluctant sense of compassion within him.
“Here,” he said gruffly, taking the cleaned bird that Petunia set on the table. “I’ll show you how to cook it properly, so it’ll feed y’all better.”
“Thank you,” Midge murmured, her voice barely audible.
As she moved closer, Baxter caught the faint scent of lavender clinging to her damp hair. His thoughts flickered back to his own sister, Annamae, and the lengths he would go to protect her. What would he do if he found himself in Midge’s shoes?
“First, you’ll want to season it,” he instructed. “Do you have any herbs? They will help stretch the flavor.”
“No, we don’t,” Midge shook her head.
“Salt? Pepper?” When she didn’t respond, he looked at the hungry faces. “How about any vegetables if you’ve got ‘em,” Baxter continued, more gently than before. “Potatoes, carrots, onions... anything hearty will do.”
“We ain’t got those either,” Peter blurted. “We ain’t got nothing.”
“Peter!”
Baxter watched as the color rushed to Midge’s cheeks. “Don’t worry about it,” he offered. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Just boil this tonight and be sure to save the broth.”
“Thank you.” Midge placed her hand on his arm, her voice stronger now. “For everything.”
“Yer welcome,” Baxter grumbled, unable to meet her gaze. He busied himself with gathering his coat and hat, preparing to leave them be.
“Wait,” she called out softly, hesitating just a moment. “Will you... will you come back?”
Baxter paused, considering her question. There was something about Midge that intrigued him. She had a spark of resilience that refused to be snuffed out. And while he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, he knew there was more to her story than met the eye.
