Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(43)

“It’s your house.”

“I’ll bunk out in the barn.” He stretched, his long limbs dwarfing the narrow cot.

“I can’t have you—”

“If it’s my place, I’m guessing I can pretty much sleep where I want, don’t you agree?”

She pursed her lips, the reminder of her precarious living situation hitting home once again.

“Fine. Sleep in the barn.” She stood up, suddenly conscious of how little she had on. The thin nightdress left little to the imagination. She reached down and grabbed her coat off the floor, wrapping it around her shoulders. His gaze traveled over her, starting at her toes and slowly making its way up until their eyes met.

Perhaps the barn wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I’ll get dressed and start breakfast.”

He nodded and looked away, making a hard study of the far wall. “I’ll go get myself a shave.”



“Thought you might be hungry.”

Caleb glanced over his shoulder to find Freedom’s tall frame silhouetted in the doorway of the kitchen, a well-stocked plate in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other. The aroma from both wafted into the newly constructed room, competing with the strong scents of pine and cedar. His stomach rumbled.

“You thought correctly.” He set down his tools and approached her, suppressing the wave of disappointment that washed over him. Rachel usually delivered his noon meal, but she’d taken to avoiding him since the night of the rainstorm. Just as well. He was finding it exceedingly difficult to put the kiss they’d shared out of his mind. Nor could he budge the memory of how good it felt waking up with her body nestled into his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly or woken up feeling so content.

Freedom placed the food on the same bench Rachel had a few days earlier.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He picked up the plate and took a bite of tender fried chicken.

“Don’t you be ma’am-ing me. You’s call me Freedom, jus’ like the rest.”

Caleb swallowed and smiled. He’d call her whatever she wanted if she kept bringing him tasty fare like this. “Yes, ma’am. Freedom.”

“Mmm.” Freedom’s sharp eyes studied him. She didn’t look in a hurry to get back to the kitchen and he sensed he was about to have company with his meal.

“Care to sit?” He’d constructed a makeshift table to lay out his hand-drawn plans of the addition. He’d wanted to show them to Rachel, in the hope she would be pleased, before he realized that doing so was like rubbing salt in a wound. She didn’t believe she would be here to enjoy the extra space, and Caleb couldn’t figure yet if she was right or not. If she wouldn’t let him pay off Kirkpatrick, maybe the best course of action would be to send her away. Lord knew the two of them couldn’t stay living here on this ranch together for a whole lot longer without another incident occurring. The atmosphere between them was combustible, and he for one did not care to get burned.

Freedom pulled out one of the stools he’d brought in and plunked her ample form on the small seat. She remained silent while he scooped in a few more bites, but Caleb knew he was on borrowed time. Freedom Jones was working up to say something and he suspected he’d have no choice but to listen when it came.

He didn’t bother trying to stop her. Maybe it would help divert his thoughts from continually straying to Rachel’s sweet taste.

“It was a good thing you done, bringin’ Miss Rachel’s husband home.”

Caleb nodded. There wasn’t anything good about it and he knew it. The man should have come back of his own accord, not stuffed in a pine box and dropped in the ground the day after he arrived.

“Can’t say he’ll be sorely missed ’round here, but a man deserves to be buried near his kin jus’ the same.” She waved a hand at Caleb as if he had been about to speak past the mouthful of biscuit he’d just taken. “And don’t go tellin’ me I should be respectin’ the man now ’cause he got hisself shot dead. That man don’t deserve my respect no how after treatin’ Miss Rachel like he did.”

“Treating her how?” Caleb’s guts clenched around the food he’d just swallowed. Had the man abused her?

Freedom scrutinized him from head to toe, as if judging how much she could trust him. “Turns out he wasn’t wantin’ a wife when he married Miss Rachel, jus’ her land. Wanted to make hisself up like Mr. Kirkpatrick with his high-falutin’ attitude and fancy clothes, ’cept Mr. Robert didn’t have the gumption to get off his sorry behind and do the work required. Thought he could gamble his way to riches. And he treated Miss Rachel like an afterthought while he was doin’ it, like she wasn’t worth his attention. Broke her heart, though she’d never admit it. Had all these romantic ideas in her head ’bout bein’ a happy family. Guess she was tryin’ to make up for how hers had ended up.”