Christie giggled. “I’ve seen the way Logan looks at you. You could sing the contents of an entire hymnal, and I don’t think he would care.”
Evangeline ducked her head, but she couldn’t stop the pleased smile stretching wide across her face. Was Christie right? Had Logan come to care for her enough over the last few weeks to overlook her idiosyncrasies?
Or more importantly, her snooping?
A knock on the door scattered her thoughts.
“Supper’s ready, ladies,” Seth announced.
Evangeline released Christie’s hand and pushed to her feet. “Be right there.”
Christie caught on immediately and stood. She crossed to the mirror above Evangeline’s bureau to check her hair and smooth her bodice a final time before following Evangeline to the kitchen.
When they entered the room, Seth’s eyes immediately found Christie, even though his gaze had to dodge around his sister to find his intended target. Only when Zach’s gruff voice broke the silence to ask if Evangeline was feeling better did Seth’s attention shift guiltily to his sister.
“Yes, Evie. How are the hands?” he asked as he jerked into motion after having frozen mid-ladle when the girls had entered. Well, when Christie had entered. He dipped the ladle into the stockpot on the stove and dished out a healthy portion of vegetable soup into a bowl.
Evangeline grinned as she moved to the table. “Much better, thank you. Christie has a gentle touch.”
The ladle slipped from Seth’s hand and banged against the side of the pot. Evangeline stifled a giggle.
“Here, let me help.” Christie glided over to the stove and retrieved the next bowl from the pile stacked on the cabinet beside Seth. His neck reddened, but he quickly shifted sideways to make room for her.
Evangeline turned to share a teasing grin with Zach only to find him scowling. She rounded the table and slid her left arm through his right.
“What has you so out of sorts? I think it’s nice to see the two of them getting along so well.”
His scowl softened, but his eyes glowed with an intensity that made her stomach cramp with foreboding. “You know I’ve only ever wanted you and Seth to be happy, right?”
“Of course.” She peered into his face, distressed by the shadows in his eyes. “What are you trying to tell me, Zach?”
He let out a breath and glanced toward the window. “Nothing, I just . . .” He pulled his arm from her loose hold and stepped closer to the table, grasping the back of the chair in front of him. His knuckles whitened. “Things are changin’ around here, is all.” He pitched his voice low to ensure it didn’t carry farther than Evangeline’s ears. “And I want to make sure they’re changin’ for the better.”
Always the protector. Zach might try to hide his big heart behind growls and scowls and curmudgeonly antics, but it drove every decision he made and every action he took, whether he’d admit it or not.
Evangeline slid her arm back through his and laid her head on his sturdy shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, big brother, but Seth and I aren’t kids anymore. We don’t need you to protect us from the world and all the possible problems it might send our way. You’ve taught us how to stand on our own. Perhaps it’s time you let us do that.”
He stiffened and didn’t respond for a long minute. Worried she’d somehow hurt his feelings, Evangeline lifted her head and peered at his face. But before she could ask him anything, he released the chair back and straightened away from her.
“You might be right.”
At the hiss of boiling water, Logan wadded a bandana in his hand and moved the coffeepot from the rack atop the campfire. He pulled the lid open, dumped a heaping scoop of coffee grounds into the steaming water, swirled it around a bit to stir, then set it aside to brew. Next he collected the cast iron skillet he’d layered with bacon slices earlier and moved it onto the fire. Bacon, a tin of beans, and coffee. A man’s meal. Rustic. Rugged. And bland as could be.
Thank heavens he’d found the corn bread muffins and honey Eva had left behind when her brothers snatched her away. He’d already eaten two. Only extreme self-discipline had allowed him to set the remaining two aside until after he’d cooked up his rations for the night. But he knew they were there. He could hear them calling to him from the basket, begging to be devoured. But he’d waited this long; he could wait a little longer. He’d use one to soak up the bacon grease and crumble it into the beans. Then he’d slather the last one with honey and savor it for dessert.
Logan swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth and used a fork to turn the bacon. The grease sizzled and popped, and a droplet jumped from the pan onto his wrist. He jerked his arm back and rubbed the scalded spot against his pants.
Eva wasn’t even here, and he was still off his game.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d relived the kiss they’d shared in the cellar. The feel of her in his arms. The sweetness of her lips. Not even the honey could compare.
Yet there was bitter to go with the sweet. She’d found the letter from the land office. Had seen his full name. Could even now be sharing what she’d learned with her brothers.
Logan reached for the coffeepot, gave it another swirling stir, then turned the bacon. For seven years he’d been working toward finding justice for his family. Promises made to his mother might never be fulfilled because he’d let himself get distracted by a pretty face and sunny disposition.
His gaze drifted from the bright orange of the fire to the gray outline of his cabin. His cabin? Ha! It was hers. All hers. The layout, the design, even the stupid ladder to the cellar he’d spent the last two hours installing instead of eating supper like a normal person. The entire thing was for her.
Everywhere he looked, he recalled her delight, from the first day when he’d cleared the foundation and she’d danced around, building imaginary porches and parlors. Porches and parlors he’d constructed into reality. The wooden studs seemed to have absorbed her warmth, her joyous nature, because every room conjured a memory of her smile. So much so that he found himself lingering within the unfinished walls at the end of the day in order to feel closer to her. To ease the loneliness in his soul. He’d even set up his bedroll in the front room and fell asleep each night dreaming of her beside him.
Logan’s jaw clenched as he pulled the skillet from the fire. He opened the coffeepot and added a dash of cold water from his canteen to settle the grounds.
That was what he needed. To settle. To focus on the business of serving up justice before the woman under his skin served him up to her brothers on a silver platter.
Snatching a strip of bacon, he shoved half the length into his mouth and chewed as if the act could somehow banish Eva from his mind. It didn’t work, of course, because the salty bacon drippings reminded him of her corn muffins. Before he knew what he was about, he had the bread crumbled into the pan and spooned into his mouth. He was a sorry case, all right.
Then Shamgar nickered and accomplished what Logan had been helpless to do all evening—focus his mind.
Hooves plodded against earth, leather creaked, and a lantern bobbed in the dinge of twilight. Somewhat blinded by the fire, Logan stepped out of its glow and into the darker recesses of the unfinished cabin. Slowly, he slid his pistol from the holster at his side and took aim at the approaching horse and rider. The glare of the lantern masked the rider’s identity, but Logan could think of only one man with reason to challenge him tonight.
“If that’s you, Hamilton,” he shouted, “you better declare yourself before my trigger finger gets twitchy.”
21
“Easy, Logan. It’s just me.”
“Seth?” Not the Hamilton Logan had expected. He lowered his weapon and stepped out of the shadows. “What are you doing here? It’s near dark.” A terrifying thought jabbed his brain. “Is it Eva?” He surged forward, his long strides consuming the distance between him and his visitor. His heart pounded. “Was she hurt worse than we thought?”
Seth batted away hi
s concern with a wave of his hand. “Evie’s fine.”
Thank heaven. Logan’s pulse calmed, and his pace slowed as he reached Seth.
“She and Christie turned in early.” The wind shifted, and some of the smoke from Logan’s campfire wafted over. Seth lifted a hand to his mouth and coughed. “Christie’s the reason”—cough—“I’m here.”
Logan took the reins of Seth’s horse. “There’s a path behind the house that leads to a creek. Head that way while I tend your horse and douse the fire.” The last thing he needed was for Eva’s brother to die of a lung seizure on his watch.
Seth managed a nod between coughs and swung down to the ground. “Thanks.”
Logan led the roan gelding over to where Shamgar was tethered, then rescued his coffeepot and skillet before kicking dirt onto his cook fire. He considered dumping the contents of his canteen on the coals, but he’d need to reignite the fire after his guest departed. Having a few embers banked beneath the sand would save time.
He shoved two more bites of bacon-bean-muffin crumble into his mouth, then downed a healthy swig of water from the canteen before striding toward the creek. Halfway there, he stopped, turned, and jogged back to his campsite. Coffee. Seth had downed the stuff as if it were a magical healing elixir the day his asthma attack hit at the homestead. Drinking some now couldn’t hurt. Logan snagged the pot and his tin cup and resumed his march to the creek.
He found Seth crouching at the edge of the water, scooping a handful up to his mouth.
“I brought coffee,” Logan said.
Seth turned, his eyes going straight to the pot. He pushed to his feet. “Great. Thanks.”
Logan filled the tin cup nearly to the brim, then handed it over with a warning. “It’s fresh.”
Seth nodded but still brought it straight to his mouth and downed a swallow that must have scalded his tongue and throat. Logan winced in sympathy as Seth’s jaw tensed and the tendons stood out from his neck. But he went back for seconds and thirds before slowing down.
After the fourth swig, he inhaled a slow, deep breath. When no coughing or wheezing ensued, he lowered the cup to a more relaxed position and focused on Logan.
“What did you learn in Ben Franklin?” Seth demanded. “About Christie?”
Wow. He must really be sweet on the girl. He hadn’t been able to go a full four hours before tracking Logan down and quizzing him about that vague reference he’d made earlier.
Logan grinned. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
Seth raised a brow. “Almost as bad as you.”
That sobered him up. Truth had a tendency to do that to a fellow. Logan’s smile slid from his face as he eyed his companion. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to tell. Not yet, anyway.”
“But you’ve got something, and something’s more than what I’ve got.” Seth blew out a breath, plunked his coffee cup atop a tall, flat rock, then paced down to the creek’s edge and back. “Whoever tried to kill Christie is still out there. For all I know, he’s plotting a second attempt. And I’m trapped inside a box, powerless to do anything to help her beyond keeping her in the box with me. That’s no way to win a war, holing up and waiting for the enemy to charge. Shoot, I don’t even know who my enemy is! He could walk right up to the front door, and I wouldn’t know it was him until it was too late.”
Logan kicked at a loose stone with the toe of his boot. “I don’t know who he is either, but I know who he ain’t.”
Seth stopped mid-pace and whipped his head around. “Who?”
“Her stepfather. Earl.”
Seth frowned. “Explain.”
Logan launched the stone into the creek with a swing of his leg, then set the coffeepot on the same knee-high rock holding Seth’s cup. “I’ve been worried about the girl, too,” he began.
“Her name’s Christie.”
Logan held up a hand in apology. “Right. Christie.” Seth’s scowl didn’t lighten much at Logan’s use of Miss Gilliam’s given name. Sheesh. Logan was starting to see the family resemblance after all. When riled, all three Hamiltons glowered with identical ferocity. “I pulled her from the river, remember? I’ve got a stake in her well-being, too.”
“Just tell me what happened in Ben Franklin.”
“Something about Miss Gilliam’s explanation of what happened that day never sat right with me. I don’t think she lied about anything,” Logan hurried to assure Seth when his brows started dipping into a deep V, “but I think she knows more than she let on. So I decided to do some digging on my own. Subtle digging, of course. Didn’t want to alert anyone of her whereabouts or my connection to her. I focused on the one lead I already had—whiskey.”
Seth’s eyes glittered. “You tracked down the bootlegger.”
Logan nodded. “Spent a couple weeks chumming with the locals at the Seven Ponies until I managed to get myself invited to a jug party behind the livery. The jug they passed around had a brown ribbon tied through the finger hole.”
Seth crossed his arms and gave a grunt of understanding. Color-coded jugs were Earl’s calling card.
Glossing over his hours of poker playing—no need to reveal his skill in that arena just yet—Logan filled Seth in on the rest of the pertinent details. “I mentioned I’d be interested in procuring a jug of my own. The livery owner took my money and arranged a pickup for the next afternoon. Hence my overnight stay.”
“And . . . ?”
“And I staked out the meeting place and waited for the deliveryman to show.”
Seth uncrossed his arms. “How do you know it was Earl? He could have hired someone else to make the run.”
Logan shook his head. “Don’t think so. He matched Miss Gilliam’s description. Bushy beard, older, lazy demeanor, carried a burlap sack to hide the whiskey. It was Earl. And he isn’t the man I saw at the river. Of that, I’m positive.”
“So we’re no closer to unraveling who wanted her dead.” Seth snatched up his coffee cup and downed the remainder of the brew before slamming the tin vessel back onto the rock.
“Maybe not.”
Seth peered at Logan expectantly, a tiny spark of hope lighting his eyes.
“You’ve spoken to her more than I have, but she gave me the impression that she didn’t go out much. That Earl kept her under his thumb most of the time.”
Seth nodded. “Christie’s never mentioned any friends, but that doesn’t surprise me. Ben Franklin’s not her home. She moved there after her mother married Earl. To keep her deafness secret from her stepfather, she would’ve had to hide it from the townsfolk as well and make everyone believe she’s a simpleton. These last few weeks have been the first days in years that she’s been free to be herself.” He gripped the back of his neck. “I can’t stand to think about what her life must have been like before. I’ve watched her devour books as if she’s starving for knowledge, and she can discuss the most complicated ideology like a trained scholar. Not to mention total a column of numbers in her head faster than I can manage with pencil and paper. She’s brilliant. Going back to that life, being trapped in that lie again—it would destroy her. But she can’t hide away forever, either. I won’t let her trade one prison for another. She deserves to live a rich, full life. And she can’t do that if the man who tried to kill her is free to try again.”
“Well, she needs to stay hidden awhile longer. There are handbills posted in the Seven Ponies about a missing girl. Someone’s looking for her. Might be Earl, might be the man who tried to drown her. Can’t be sure which. Posters say to report information to the town marshal. His is the only name on the flier.”
Seth frowned. “If the man who attacked her went back to check the river, he’d find her gone. He wouldn’t know for sure she wasn’t dead, but he’d have plenty of reason to suspect she survived. If he’s the type to tie up loose ends, he’ll want to discover what happened to her.”
“Exactly. So we need to stay ahead of the game.” Logan paced toward the stream, then pivoted and strode back with purpose. “W
e need to probe Christie for more information. Details about exactly where she was and what she did prior to her attack.” He moved closer to Seth and put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “She trusts you. She’ll open up to you.”
Seth wagged his head and shrugged off Logan’s hand. “I can’t just interrogate her without giving her context,” he groused. “I’ll have to tell her about your investigation. Explain that we want to help her.”
Logan stiffened. “I don’t know if that’s wise. What if she balks? She might get angry about our interference and clam up. Or worse—leave.”
Seth froze, that last threat hitting the mark. He turned slowly, his eyes sad, his face haggard, but his jaw was as firm as the rocks lining the creek bed. “I can’t let my fear of losing her keep me from doing the right thing.” The quiet timbre of his voice heightened the conviction of his words. “Secrets create distance. Just look at Christie’s life before. No friends. No close relationships with anyone. All because of the secrets she kept. I won’t perpetuate that cycle with her. I care about her too much not to be honest with her about everything.” He looked away when he said that last word. Everything. He had other hidden truths he was now willing to bring to light. Because he didn’t want anything to impede the closeness he was building with Miss Gilliam.
A situation uncomfortably similar to Logan’s own relationship with Eva. Maybe her finding that letter in the cellar was a good thing. A chance for him to come clean. To test her trust, her loyalty. Seth was man enough to take the risk. Logan could do no less. Only his risk was infinitely greater, for he wasn’t simply hunting a threat, he was the threat.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
“I think the key to uncovering the man who tried to kill Miss Gilliam lies in the book she found,” Logan said.
Seth’s brow crinkled. “Book?”
“Yes. Remember she said that the only thing different about her deliveries that day was that someone left a book instead of money in exchange for the moonshine.”