“Austin. How far is it from here?”
“Half a day’s ride on a good horse.” The boy angled his head, the rumpled brim of his hat casting shadows over his face. “Your horse looks to be favoring his right leg.”
The boy’s insight caught Austin off-guard, although he certainly admired it. “Yep. He cut his hoof on a rock. Your folks around?”
The boy gave a brisk nod. “And my brother. I’d feel a sight better if you’d take off the gun.”
Austin untied the strip of leather at his thigh and slowly unbuckled the gunbelt. Cautiously removing the holster, he laid the weapon on the ground, his gaze circling the area. He wondered where the rest of the family was working. He saw no fields that needed tending or cattle that needed watching. The aroma of fresh baked bread and simmering meat wafted through the open door of the house. “Something sure smells good.”
“Son-of-a-gun stew.”
“Think you could sneak me a bowl if I finish chopping that wood for you?”
The boy shifted his gaze to the wood scattered around an old tree stump, then looked back at Austin. “What’s your business in Austin?”
“Looking for someone.”
“You a lawman?”
“Nope. My horse is hurt. I’ve been walking longer than I care to think about. I’m tired, hot, and hungry. I can chop that wood twice as fast as you can, and I’m willing to do it for one bowl of stew. Then I’ll be on my way.”
Slowly, the boy relaxed his fingers and lowered the rifle. “Sounds like a fair trade.”
Rolling his sleeves past his elbows, Austin strode to the tree stump. Ignoring the snarling dog that lumbered in for a closer inspection of his boots, Austin picked up the ax, hefted a log onto the stump, and slammed the ax into the dry wood. He stifled a moan as fiery pain burst across his back. When he reached his destination, his first order of business would be to find a doctor.
“I’m gonna take your gun,” the boy said hesitantly. “And your rifle.”
“Fine. There’s a Bowie knife in the saddlebags.” He didn’t begrudge the boy his cautions, but he longed for the absolute trust he’d once taken for granted. Hearing the boy’s bare feet fall softly over the ground as he walked to the house, Austin glanced over his shoulder. The boy had grabbed his saddlebags as well.
Austin glared at the dog. “Your master ain’t too trusting, is he?”
The dog barked. Austin glanced to his left and spotted a hen house and a three-sided wooden structure that offered protection to a milk cow. He found that odd since the property had a huge barn.
He heaved the ax down into the wood, wondering if he was wasting his time traveling to the capital city. If he had any sense, he’d head home and try to rebuild a life that never should have been torn down. But stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him the luxury of turning back. His family believed he was innocent. Becky knew he was innocent. But the doubts would forever linger in everyone else’s minds.
When he had split and stacked enough wood to last the family a week, he ambled to the house, dropped to the porch, and leaned against the beam that supported the eve running the width of the house. The dog strolled over, stretched, yawned, and worked its way to the ground near Austin’s feet.
“Changed your mind about me, did you?”
Lifting its head, the dog released a small whine before settling back into place. Austin was sorely tempted to curl up beside the dog and sleep. Instead, he looked toward the horizon where the sun was gradually sinking behind the trees. While serving his time, he’d hated to see the sun go down. He had despised the night. Loneliness had always accompanied the darkness.
“Here’s your meal,” the boy said from behind him.
Austin glanced over his shoulder, his outstretched hand stopping halfway to its destination. The air backing up in his lungs, he slowly brought himself to his feet. The britches and bare feet were the same, but everything else had changed. The crumpled hat and shabby jacket were gone. So was the boy.
“What are you staring at?” an indignant voice asked.
Austin could have named a hundred things. The long, thick braid of pale blond hair draped over the narrow shoulder. The starched white apron that cinched the tiniest waist he’d ever seen. Or her eyes. Without the shadow of the hat, they glittered a tawny gold.
He tore his Stetson from his head and backed up a step. “My apologies, ma’am. I thought you were a boy.”
A tentative smile played across her lips. “It’s easier to get the work done when I’m wearing my brother’s britches. Besides no one’s usually around to notice.”
“What about your family?”
A wealth of sadness plunged into the golden depths of her eyes. “Buried out back.”
So they werearoundas she’d told him, but not in a position to help her. She extended the bowl toward him.
