The Gallows' Bounty (West of Second Chances) (7 page)

His attempt at humor eased her worries.  Willow took the bundle and opened it.  Inside rested two new dresses and a couple of undergarments. “I can see why they wouldn’t work for you.”

She smiled up at him and watched his eyes softened briefly. 
So, his eyes are the key to his feelings
, Willow thought.

“I would have given them to you earlier and saved myself a few pin pricks, but I just found them stashed away with some of the other supplies we brought home.  Kern must have snuck them into my goods.”

“Thank you,” she replied, distracted by his use of the word home.  Would this ever be her home?

“Well, now you won’t have to wear the red dress,” Boden said.  “Supper’s ready, so come on out when you’re dressed.”

Willow waited for him to leave before changing into the new garments.  The dress she chose to wear was a blue gingham, simple and well-fitting.  How had Kern known?

She didn’t contemplate the shopkeeper’s kindness for long.  The scent of supper wafted under the bedroom door, and her stomach growled.  If she didn’t miss her guess, it was beef stew.

Her stomach propelled her to the door, but her feet stopped her in front of it.  Suddenly she knew the door’s slamming had awakened her.  He’d been in here, seen her in the tub.

Well, most likely he got worried when you didn’t come out for supper
, she thought, but pushed the idea aside. No one had worried about her for a long time.

Once in the kitchen, she hesitated, uncertain what to do.  Boden stood at the stove pulling biscuits from the oven.  Really, who was this man?

“Here, let me help you,” Willow said.

She hastened around the table, realizing as she did so that quick movements weren’t such a good idea. By the time she made it to his side, the black dots were dancing in her vision again.  They were coming together and forming a black wall when an arm snaked around her waist.

“Hang on there. No need to worry about the cookin’.  I’ve got it handled,” Boden assured her.

Willow
decided he did have it handled, too.  He steadied her with one powerful hand and held a pan of golden biscuits with the other.  She fought to regain charge of her senses.  The sooner she gained control, the sooner he’d remove his hand.  She hoped.

“Let’s sit you down,” he said, easing her into a chair.  “I’m surprised you can even walk at all.  You haven’t eaten for a while.”

And she hadn’t.  She’d stolen her last meal from Boden’s saddlebags.

He guided her to a chair, and she breathed easy once his hand let loose of her, yet her waist remained warm where he’d held her.  Strange, that.

The food he placed before her was indeed beef stew.  He set a well-buttered biscuit on the edge of the bowl.  Her mouth watered, but she waited for him to sit.  If she ate before he did, he might become angry with her.

However, he didn’t eat immediately upon sitting, instead he tentatively took her hand in his and bowed his head.  “Thank you for the food, Lord, and for keepin’
Willow safe.  Amen.”

It was the first prayer Willow had heard since she’d sat around the table with her family.  A lump formed in her throat, and she shakily put her hand back in her lap when he released it.

“How was your bath?” he asked before taking a bite of his own steaming stew.

“I fell asleep in it,” she said.  She picked up her spoon.  Despite her emotions, she really was hungry.  “You slammed the door?”

The spoon he had been carrying to his mouth stopped in transit.  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

She smiled timidly at him.  “A bit, but you could have made me a lot more uncomfortable had you chosen to shake me awake.”

She looked down at her bowl and picked at her biscuit.  What she hadn’t said bothered her the most.  Most men would have done more than simply wake her.  Others would have–

“Hey, are you all right?”  Boden’s deep, concerned voice interrupted her thoughts.

She thanked God for his interruption.  Thinking of what others had done to her wasn’t a mental road she wanted to travel right now.

“My thoughts were wandering.  That’s all.” She shrugged off her discomfort and took another bite. She felt him studying her for a second before he returned to eating his own meal.  Silence ensued.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable for Willow and that surprised her.  When Roberts had been silent, it had meant he was sober and in a foul mood.  Boden’s silence gave her space. 

Her spoon clinked the bowl. Boden broke the quiet.

“Would you like some more, Mrs. Roberts?” he asked as he half stood up from the table.

“I’ll get it,” she said half-standing and thinking she should ask him to stop calling her by Roberts’ name.

He came around the table and placed his large hands on her thin shoulders, pushing her gently back into her chair.  She braced herself.  Would he end the simple touch with a slimy caress?

He didn’t.  Rather, his touch offered only firm pressure and gentle indifference.  She decided to broach the subject of her name.

“Mr. Boden?”

“Mr. Boden?  We’re married. You can call me Ezra or Boden, whatever suits you.”

“Well, actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you, too.  Mrs. Roberts has never been my name, and I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”  She waited for his response, half-expecting him to become temperamental at her request.

“I was under the impression you and Roberts were married,” he asked, puzzlement apparent on his face.

She blushed to the roots of her hair.  “Brett Roberts and I were never married.  And even if we had been, I’d be Mrs. Boden now anyway.  I’d really appreciate being called Willow.”

Willow
could tell he harbored questions about her, about her life with Roberts, but he held them in check.  For that, she was glad.  She had no desire to discuss her life with anyone at the moment.

“Willow it is, then,” he conceded.  “I reckon you are Mrs. Boden now, anyway.  I’m not much used to the idea of being a married man.”

The last part of his statement seemed to preoccupy him, and Willow surmised he found their marriage as strange as she did.

They resumed their eating and their silence after that.  When the meal was finished,
Willow began clearing their plates.  She reached for his, but his large hand settled over hers, stopping her.

“Do you want more?” she asked, puzzled at his interference.  It was her place to clear the dishes.

He drew his hand off hers.

“I’ll be gettin’ those,” he said, rising.  It took him a beat to stretch to his full height.  From where she sat, he made a rather imposing figure.  Once, again her gaze was drawn to his physique.

He didn’t notice her studying him, so she continued her perusal.  He was broad and muscular and tall.  The type of man she could easily imagine making criminals shake in their boots. He could shatter her.

“You’ve gone pale again,” he said as he turned from the wash basin.  He held a dish in his hand and dried it with the other.  He grinned. “Dinner that bad?”

She shook her head.  “You’re a good cook.”

“That’s one of five meals I can make,” he commented.

“I’m not feeling so well.” Willow fought heavy eyes and dizziness as she carefully stood.  “I’d like to go back to bed if that’s all right.  I’m weaker than I’d thought.”

Boden walked over to her, concern in his eyes.  “Would you like a hand back to the bedroom?”

Willow took a hasty step backward. “No.  I’ll be fine.”

Her new husband offered his hand.  He took another step forward, and Willow backed away once more.  He raised a hand then, and she threw her arms up to block the blow.  So much for beginning to believe this man was better than the rest.  The Butcher was just a bit more patient.

The blow never came.  Large hands circled her wrists instead and drew her arms from in front of her face.  The grip was firm yet painless, almost gentle.  Was she imagining things, or did his hands shake a bit?

“Hear me,
Willow,” he stated and waited for her to look at him before continuing, “I will never hit you.”

The intensity in his eyes nearly convinced her. 
He doesn’t think he will hit you. Even he doesn’t know what men are capable of
, she thought. Aloud she said, “I believe you think you’ll never hit me.”

He sighed, evidently catching on to the phrasing of her response.  Despite her distrust, he offered her his arm again.

Willow’s legs shook, so she looped her arm through his.  A few men had maneuvered her into bad situations by first gaining her trust, then showing their true colors once her defenses were down.  She had been a naïve young woman when she’d last fallen for that trick.

The gun in her dress pocket slapped her thigh reassuringly.  She dropped her right hand to her side before casually placing it in her pocket.  The cold butt of the pistol comforted her.  Her new husband wore no guns.  She held the advantage.

But she wouldn’t need the gun.  He merely walked her to the edge of the bed, nodded a goodnight, and let himself out, closing the door behind himself.

Now alone, she was restless, but as yet too weak to do anything but remove her outer garments and crawl beneath the covers.  But she couldn’t sleep.

She tried sleeping on one side and then the other.  The moonlight streaming through the windows wasn’t helping her plight either.

She tossed again and noticed then what she had failed to observe earlier.  The other side of the bed had been slept in recently.  The sheets were wrinkled and soft, the pillow squashed. Thoughts of a warm presence, a gentle hand stroking her hair raced across her mind.

He had been in bed with her.

Her breath came heavy, her lungs weighed down by the thought of what he could have done to her.  She checked to make sure her gun remained at hand and slept.

THE NEXT MORNING
WILLOW
donned the second of the garments Kern had packed for her and ventured into the kitchen.  It was quiet, and she realized why when she cast a glance into the parlor.  Boden sat in front of the fire a large book in his hands.  A cup rested on a small table next to the chair he occupied, whirls of steam rose from within it.

She turned away, not wanting to interrupt him, but his low voice called out to her, “Willow?”

She stepped fully into the parlor.  “Yes, Boden?”

“Grab yourself a cup of coffee and join me if you’d like,” he said.

“I could start breakfast,” she said instead of acquiescing.

“I’m almost done here and then we can make it together,” he said.  “Grab the coffee.”

Willow nodded and headed back into the kitchen.  She filled a cup and joined him in the chair’s mate in front of the fire.  She sipped the warm brew quietly as he read.  Over the brim of her cup, she tried to determine what it was he was reading.  It looked like a Bible.  Her pa hadn’t been much of a reader, and it surprised her to see a man of Boden’s repute doing so.

“You like to read?” he asked after a moment.  He closed the big book on his lap and turned his attention to her.

She feigned increased interest in her coffee so as not to have to make eye contact with him.  “I used to.  My mother liked to read.”

Wisely, he didn’t press the issue with her.  Instead he gestured to a handmade bookcase with more books than she’d ever seen on it.  “Help yourself anytime you like,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said and meant it.  Perhaps she would find some of the same titles on the shelf that she had enjoyed with her mother.

He stood and set his Bible down on the small table, exchanging it for his coffee cup.  “I’m going to start breakfast now.  Sit a spell and enjoy the fire.”

She watched him walk away and wondered at this strange man.  With a quick glance to the door, she set her coffee cup down and picked up the book he had just set aside.  It was indeed a Bible.  Carefully, she picked a page and began to read.

A little while later, she set it down and headed to the kitchen.  The smell of bacon and eggs had drifted into her and she was hungrier than ever.

Boden turned from the stove and smiled at her.  “You’re looking relaxed.”

She returned his smile.

“Well, sit yourself down,” Boden said, looking over his shoulder a moment before returning his attention to the pancakes on the griddle.  He flipped one and then another onto a plate, and set two slices of bacon beside the stack before setting the meal on the table.

Willow
still hadn’t seated herself.  She looked at the plate then back at him.  “Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like me to do?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”  He brought his own plateful to the table as well as a jar of syrup.

He was waiting on her as he had the evening before.  She decided not to argue and sat.

“Thank you,” she muttered.  “I feel funny not helping you with anything, though.”

“You’re still resting up,” he said.  “When you’re up to it, I’ll gladly hand over the cooking.  This is meal number two, so I only have three more tricks up my sleeve.”