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Pulling one of his shirts out of the basket, she shook out the twists from washing. Sarah had made this one for him, and the dusty blue color matched his eyes perfectly.
“Doreena!”
Her heart did a cartwheel at the sound of Clint’s voice. She ducked beneath the shirt. “What?”
“I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Pushing the clothing aside, she stepped forward. “You couldn’t have looked too hard. I’ve been right here.”
A grin formed, but left his face as fast as it had appeared. “Half an hour ago you were in the barn.”
She lifted a brow, mockingly. In reality, her heart sang, knowing he kept such a close eye on her whereabouts. “Yes, I was, and then I told Sarah I’d finish the laundry so she could bake bread. Was there something you needed?”
He brushed the hair off the side of her face. The intimate, gentle touch had her breath fluttering and her blood swirling. The kiss two days ago had left her craving his touch more than ever. She reached up and held his hand against her cheek. His concentrated gaze roamed her face. A tremble lodged in her knees as she caught an intense hesitancy about him.
“Clint?”
“I-I have to tell you something.”
“All right,” she said, while her insides screamed at the cold, dark wave working its way up her body. He was leaving. As sure as the sun was shining overhead, he was leaving. At this moment she hated her instincts—wished this once they were wrong.
Bracing herself by digging her heels deep in the earth, Doreena let her hand fall to her side. A tug-of-war ensued between her heart and mind. She couldn’t make him stay. Not even she had that kind of power.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to give them freedom. She’d lived through pain before, the death of her parents, the loss of cattle, Drake’s interferences. She snapped her gaze up. “This is about Drake, isn’t it?” She hadn’t questioned the hatred she’d seen in Clint’s eyes that day, had assumed it had to do with what she’d told him about the lawman, but now she knew differently.
“Yes, it is,” he admitted.
Like heat lightning on a hot summer night, flashes sparked in her mind. Trains, banks, stagecoaches. She held strong, refusing to let despair take root inside her. “He’s why you really agreed to stay, isn’t he?”
Clint glanced around, looking everywhere except at her.
Tension built in her spine with every second that ticked by. She fought, holding her breath and curling her toes to keep still.
“Let’s sit down—” he pointed toward the woodpile “—over there.”
“No,” she insisted. “Tell me what you have to say, here and now.”
He let out a heavy sigh. The sound was as piercing to her heart as a knife. She grabbed his arm, mindless of how her nails buried into his flesh.
“Drake isn’t his real name,” he said. “It’s Martin Harmon. The deputy is his brother Henderson.” A sneer in his tone said more than the words.
“And you know them.” It sounded like a question, but she already knew the answer.
He nodded. “Their older brother was my mother’s second husband.”
Drake or Harmon, whatever his name was, was the epitome of evil. She’d known that from the moment she’d met him. The fact Clint knew this man iced her chest. Her fingers relaxed the hold they had on his arm, and her hand fell to her side. “They’re the men you rode with, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
Doubt was an evil companion, sneaking in when least wanted, and latching on tighter than the clothespin she’d just stuck on the rope. She didn’t want to doubt herself, question the set and steadfast beliefs she had about Clint, yet, all of sudden, she did. Doubted everything about him, and doubted herself.
“You went to town yesterday to find them, didn’t you?”
Clint looked over her shoulder, as if he couldn’t meet her gaze. “They’re the men I was hired to track down.”
That fact was no better. “Track down, or kill?” She heard the question, knew it was her voice asking it, but she didn’t want to hear the answer.
He took a step back. “That’s what hired guns usually do.”
The stinging in her eyes burned hotter. She thought she could live with his past. An outlaw. A gunslinger. But deep down, inside where it really mattered, could she? Could she go to bed at night knowing the man lying beside her was a killer? “W-was it a fair fight?”
A haunted look hovered in his eyes.
She’d seen him use a gun, knew how quick and precise he was with every bullet. Her heart was slipping downward, would soon be pumping blood from her toes.
