Page 145 of Texas Glory
She slammed down the lid and dug her fingers into her thighs. She had no future because the past kept a tight hold on her present.
She rose to her feet, walked to the hearth, and grabbed the lantern off the mantel. Using the flame from the lamp, she lit the lantern. She jerked her slicker off the wall and slipped into it, calling herself a fool even as she did it. Then she walked to the corner and pulled two quilts from the stack of linens. Digger struggled to his feet, his body quivering from his shoulders to his tail.
“Stay!” she ordered. His whine tore at her heart. The dog could get his feelings hurt more easily than the town spinster. Loree softened her voice. “I’ll come back, but there’s no sense in both of us getting wet.” She stepped outside. Lighting streaked across the obsidian sky. Rain pelted the earth. The barn was as black as a tomb. She couldn’t remember if she’d left a lantern in the barn. She shivered as memories assailed her.
Satan had arisen from the bowels of Hell and made their barn his domain. It had been raining that night as well, and the water had washed their blood into the earth.
She pressed back against the door. She hadn’t gone into the barn since. Her mouth grew dry, her flesh cold. So cold. As cold as the death that had almost claimed her.
Austin Leigh wasn’t her worry, but the words rang hollow. Her mother would have invited him into the house, would have provided him with shelter and warmth. Her mother’s innocent words flowed through her, “There are no strangers in this world, Loree. Only friends we haven’t yet met.”
Reaching deep down, she gathered her courage. Clutching the quilts, with the lantern swinging at her side, Loree darted to the barn, hopping over puddles, landing in others. She stumbled to a stop in the doorway of the barn. “Mr. Leigh?”
She raised the lantern. The shadows retreated slightly, hovering just beyond the lantern’s pale glow. With all the holes in the roof, the barn resembled a cavern filled with waterfalls. Bracing herself against the memories, she took a step. “Mr. Leigh?”
She had sold all her animals except for one cow and a few chickens. She heard his horse snort and saw it standing in the distant stall. Using the lantern to light her way, she peered in the stalls she passed until she reached the stallion, secured in the driest area of the barn. How could a man who placed his horse above himself be a murderer?
Holding the lantern higher, she gazed inside the stall. The horse nudged her shoulder. “Where is your owner?”
The animal shook his head.
“You’re a big help.” She turned at the sound of a low moan. The glow from the lantern fanned out to the opposite stall, revealing a man pressed against the corner, lying on his side, knees drawn up, arms pressed in close against his body. She eased toward the stall. “Mr. Leigh? I brought you some quilts.”
His only response was a groan. Stepping inside the stall, she noticed that his clothes were soaked and he was visibly trembling. Hugging the quilts, she knelt beside him. Tiny rivulets of water ran down his face. He had removed the vest that he’d been wearing earlier and tucked it beneath his head. His drenched shirt hugged his body, outlining the curve of his spine, the narrowness of his back. “Mr. Leigh?”
Slowly he opened his eyes. “Miss Grant, I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I realize that.”
“Do you?” He released a short laugh. “You don’t trust me because I’ve been in prison. A man makes choices in his life, and he’s gotta learn to live with them. But he doesn’t always know what those choices are gonna cost. It’d help if we knew the price before we made the decision.”
The anguish reflected on his face, limned by the lantern light, made her want to draw him within her arms, to comfort him as she had her brother when he was a boy. It had never occurred to her that he would be offended if she took his weapons. She wished she could have overlooked them, but he had worn the gun so easily. “I’m sorry.”
His lips curled into a sardonic smile. “You didn’t send me to prison. Did that to myself.” He raised up on an elbow and leaned toward her, the smile easing into oblivion. “You know the worst part? The loneliness. You ever get lonely, Miss Grant?”
“All the time,” she whispered as she set the lantern aside, shook out a quilt, and draped it over his back. Shaking as he was, the warmth of his body surprised her. She pressed her hand against his forehead. “My God, you’re hot. Are you ill?”
“My back. A man didn’t think my five years in prison was a just punishment. He thought I should pay with my life. He cut me. I think it might be festering.”
“We need to get you into the house so I can look at it.”
“Wouldn’t be … proper.”
She was curious at the circumstances that had caused a man who worried about her respectability to commit murder. People appeared to kill with little provocation: a card skimmed from the bottom of the deck instead of the top, a small half truth that blossomed into an ugly lie.
“I thank you for your concern over my reputation, but there’s no one around to notice.” Grabbing his arms, she struggled to get him to his feet. Groaning, he staggered forward before catching his balance. She picked up the lantern. “Lean on me,” she ordered.
“I’ll crush you.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
He slung an arm over her shoulder, and she locked her knees into place.
“I’m heavier than I look,” he said, his voice low, but she almost thought she heard a smile hidden within it.
She slipped her arm around his waist. “Come on.”
The quilt fell off his shoulders, wedged between their bodies, and trailed in the mud as they trudged toward the house. The wind howled, slinging the stinging rain sideways. The porch eaves couldn’t protect them from the merciless storm. She let go of the man and released the latch on the door. The wind shoved the door open, nearly taking her arm with it. She pulled on Austin Leigh. “Get inside!”
