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Runaway. Carolyn Davidson
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His fire was ablaze, the dry leaves and kindling he’d set to burning well covered by larger pieces of dead wood, by the time she reappeared. She’d buttoned the shirt partway and was clutching the waistline of his spare pants just beneath the fourth shirt button. His stockings were barely in sight beneath the multiple folds of pant legs, and she took mincing steps as if she feared dislodging the clothing before she reached him.
“Need some help there?” Will offered, crouched next to the fire, his eyes peering from beneath the brim of his hat
“Do you have a piece of rope or a belt, maybe?” Her hair hung down her back, making wet stains on the gray shirt he’d loaned her, and the sleeves were folded several times.
He’d solved one problem. She was more than covered from his view.
“I should have a spare belt.” The bundle of clothing was at hand and he dipped into it once more, coming up with a braided leather length from its depths. “This oughta work. Come here.”
She halted, her eyes wary as she considered his words. “Toss it to me. I’ll figure it out myself.” One hand reached toward him and he shrugged, rolling the leather before he cast it in her direction, across the fire.
She caught it deftly and fed it through the belt loops, tying it in an awkward knot at her middle. One final tug at her handiwork seemed to satisfy her, and she lifted her head to look at him again.
“Do you have any extra food? I’m afraid I can’t pay you any money, but I’ll write you a due note. As soon as I’m able, I’ll make it right with you.” Her tongue touched her top lip and she tilted her head, fussing with the remaining buttons on her shirt. “I’d rather not go back toward Loco Junction, if you don’t mind. Any place north of here will do nicely.”
His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting briefly. “A man never turns down a stranger’s need for food out here, honey. Hard to say when I might be in the same boat. I’ll share what I have.”
She nodded, accepting his offer, then hunkered down by the fire. As if the beckoning heat gathered all of her energy, she slumped where she sat, her head drooping, her arms wrapped about her knees, her eyes closing.
Setting to work with a measure of reluctance, Will put together a meal of sorts, unwrapping biscuits he’d made early in the day by another campfire. He settled a frying pan over the glowing coals, filling it with thick slices of bacon from his pack. As the bacon fried he added chunks of cooked potatoes, left from last night’s supper. He’d baked several in the coals, saving two for today. From the looks of the girl, she’d be more than able to eat her share.
The scent of bacon and the coffee he’d put to boil roused her after a few minutes and she raised her head, sniffing and blinking, her mouth rosy as she warmed finally from her chill. Her hair had begun to dry, curling around her face, and she gathered it together, her slender fingers twisting in its length to braid it quickly.
“Do you have a piece of string I could use?”
“You can leave it hang, honey. I don’t mind seein’ the curls.” His gaze moved from stilled fingers, still holding the end of her hastily fashioned braid, to meet her own, wary and dark with apprehension.
With a short oath, born of aggravation but heartfelt nonetheless, he reached into the depths of his pack once more. His fingers snatched at a short length of twine, filched from the seemingly bottomless bundle of supplies he was raiding for her benefit, and handed it to her.
She wrapped it in a familiar gesture around the end of her braid and tossed the braid over her shoulder, letting it hang down her back.
“When was the last time you ate?” He glanced at her as he spoke, making a quick survey, taking in the weariness she took pains to conceal. The sleep she’d snatched beside the stream had done little to freshen her, if the circles beneath her eyes were anything to go by.
“Yesterday.” She eyed him defensively as he pursed his lips. “Maybe the day before,” she added grudgingly, leaning once more toward the warmth of the fire.
He dished up a plateful from his skillet and held it out in her direction. Her eagerness stifled by good manners, she took it from him and snatched up a piece of bacon dangling from the edge of the metal dish. Delicately she bit off a mouthful, her eyes closing as she chewed.
“I reckon you were hungry, all right,” he said, scraping the rest of the food onto another plate. Handing her a fork, he watched as she set to with a will, almost neglecting his own meal as he watched her. And then he ate slowly, lest she’d make her way through the food he’d allotted her and still be looking for more. It went against his grain to see a woman go hungry.
The last bite disappeared past her lips and she sighed, savoring the flavor. “Thanks, Tolliver. That was good.” She straightened, her blue eyes focusing on him. “Do you have an extra cup? That coffee smells wonderful.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Dig one outta that bundle.” Motioning with his thumb, he sent her in the direction of his mule, where another pack lay open on the ground, having yielded cooking utensils and matches for the fire.
She rose gingerly, as if various aches and pains had made themselves known, and stepped to where his supplies were stashed. Squatting, she sorted carefully through his belongings, as if she would touch only what he had given permission for. A metal cup filled her hand and she turned back to where he sat. He’d filled his own cup to the brim and waited, coffeepot in hand, for her return.
“Thanks.” She lowered herself to the ground, watching carefully lest she spill the steaming brew, as if unwilling to waste a drop of it. Her hands curled around the cup, shifting from the heat as she sipped, then she placed it on the ground beside her.
“Where’d you come from?” He’d leaned back, tilting his hat forward a bit, his eyes in shadow.
“Does it matter?” she asked, her lashes fluttering as she lowered her gaze to the fire.
“Nope, I reckon not” Sipping once more at his coffee, he narrowed his eyes, silently assessing her appearance. She was young, probably not yet twenty.
Her clothing had been well made, but the dress had undergone a heap of wear and tear. And then there was the matter of a lack of shoes. Her feet were dirty and bruised up a bit, now that he took a good look at them. Maybe she had walked barefoot after all. At least ten miles, if he had it figured right.
“Loco Junction.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she offered the information. “But I’m not going back there.”
“Your choice.” His shrug signified his uninterest. And then his next words belied the gesture. “Looks to me like you’re on the run, honey.”
“Maybe.” She glanced up at him, catching his sardonic grin, and she flushed, her chin tilting defensively. “I’m on the run.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not going back.”
“Somebody after you?”
She looked up quickly, peering to see his eyes beneath the wide brim of his hat. “I hope not. But I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
“You steal anything?” Withdrawing a narrow-bladed knife from its sheath inside his boot, he inspected his fingernails, then cleaned them as she watched.
“I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” She lifted her cup and drank the dregs of coffee, savoring the last drops.
“You