Page 10 of More Than Meets the Eye

Evangeline bent slightly and patted the hog’s bristly black hide. “That’s because he knows his mama loves him. Don’t you, Hezzy? Such a good boy.”

“Please.” Thick sarcasm flavored Seth’s tone as he pushed past her, grabbed a wet dish towel, and immediately mopped the section of floor where the hog had lain.

Evangeline wasn’t offended by his need to wipe away any residue Hezzy might have left behind. After years of experimenting, they’d finally figured out that keeping the house free of as much dust and dirt as possible helped keep Seth’s lungs from getting inflamed. So they had no rugs in any of the main rooms and no bric-a-brac to collect dust, just flat surfaces they could run a rag over every morning.

“Hezzy and I are going to explore the east woods again today over by the creek bed,” she said as she fastened the wide red bow to the leather strap Zach had fashioned as a collar for the hog.

There was a strict family rule—she never went anywhere without first telling either Zach or Seth where she was headed. The boys didn’t think it necessary to keep her informed of their every move, so it was a bit of a double standard, but there had been that one time she’d snuck away from school during recess and gotten lost for two days after Mary Lou Edison had pulled her hair and called her a freak. Some stranger had eventually found her huddled by an oak tree and taken her to the local church to wait to be claimed. Never had Evie been so frightened. Or seen Zach so angry. If she hadn’t caught him secretly wiping his eyes while Seth hugged her, she might’ve thought he didn’t love her anymore, with all the yelling and lecturing he did. But then she realized he’d been scared, too. Scared he’d let his family down.

That was why she didn’t fight the family rule even now that she was a woman grown. She wanted to spare her brothers the worry. It was the least she could do after all they’d done for her over the last fifteen years.

What she didn’t tell them was exactly what she planned to do when she went out on one of her excursions. A woman of nineteen deserved a few secrets, after all. And lately there had been evidence of suspicious goings-on near the eastern property line. Evidence of human activity. An extinguished campfire. Boot prints. Horse tracks.

It was a mystery that needed sorting out, and she loved a good mystery. Truth be told, she loved anything that broke up the monotony of her usual routine. If she were a normal girl, she’d simply stroll to town to meet up with friends. Maybe do a little shopping. Buy some penny candy or a ribbon for her hair. Laugh and play and talk about how to gain the favor of a handsome young man.

But she wasn’t normal. And going to town brought only heartache.

Stares. Whispers. Not from everyone, but from enough to make her want to fold in on herself. Some of the bolder ones even spat when she walked by or crossed the street to avoid coming too close, as if her eyes might be catching. Of course, none of that happened when her brothers accompanied her. No one would dare treat her disrespectfully when Zach was around. His black stare could inspire more fear than her mixed-colored one. But when children dared each other to hit the witch with a slingshot missile or look her in the eyes to see if they’d turn to stone, a gal learned to avoid town. Her heart could only take so many hits before the bruises became permanent.

So she sang songs to sweet potatoes, rambled with pigs, and made her own happiness wherever she could find it. And today, finding it entailed an adventure to ascertain the identity of a mysterious visitor.

Was he friend or foe? Only one way to find out.

Spying.

Her pulse raced a bit at the prospect. Stealth. Danger. The risk of discovery. Oh, she’d take precautions. She wasn’t one of those heedless dime-novel ninnies who ran headlong into trouble without once considering the consequences, then fainted at the first sign of trouble. No wonder those damsels needed a man to swoop in and save the day. They failed to utilize the brains the good Lord had given them.

Evangeline, on the other hand, treasured her fully functioning cerebellum and planned to use it. She’d scout from a distance. Stay hidden in the trees. Collect clues, yet not directly engage anyone she might find.

Whoever this interloper was, he wouldn’t know the terrain like she did. That gave her an edge. One she intended to use to full advantage.

3

Seven years might have passed, but Logan remembered every detail of this terrain. His youthful explorations had left indelible marks in his mind, as if printed there by a mapmaker. Rather handy when one wanted to get around unseen.

He wound down a sloping creek bed, using an elm tree to steady his descent. Low ground made the best cover due to the dense vegetation of the area, and since the prickle that had been shivering against his nape for the last ten minutes warned he wasn’t alone out here, cover seemed a wise idea.

At the base of the hill, a set of tracks caught Logan’s eye. He squatted near a bramble that had grown up in the dry creek bed. The dual ovals imprinted in the damp soil indicated a four-legged critter instead of a two-legged one. Could be a deer, but the more likely culprit was a pig.

Feral hogs. He shivered. Nasty creatures. Logan had gotten between a sow and her piglets once. He still bore a scar on his right calf where the enraged female had slashed him open with her tusks. There only seemed to be one set of tracks here, though, so he probably wasn’t about to stumble upon a sounder again. Thank the Lord for small favors.

Logan brushed his hand against his thigh to wipe away the dirt as he stood. A single boar posed no problem. Loners were more apt to run away from people than attack.

As he followed the creek bed east, a noise caught his ear. A horse whinny. Logan dropped into a crouch. Shamgar. He’d left his mount secured inside a corral fashioned by tying rope around a set of trees on the outskirts of his camp. An ex-cavalry horse, Shamgar had been trained for silence. He only whinnied when someone approached with a treat. Apples and carrots in particular. But who would be out in the wild armed with a treat for his horse?

Reaching across his body, he eased his revolver from its holster and crept toward his campsite. It couldn’t be Zacharias. Logan had left his nemesis slaving away in a sorghum field less than an hour ago. And from what he’d observed this past week, the other Hamilton male didn’t venture far from the house. Some kind of namby-pamby who preferred woman’s work to a man’s labor. That left the female. She was harder to monitor. Always flitting about. Inside. Outside. He only seemed to find her when she started singing.

Arabelle at the Lucky Lady had nothing on the Hamilton gal. The saloon singer’s husky tones were probably supposed to pass for sultry, though the little Logan had overheard brought a mournful hound dog to mind more than an enticing siren. Zacharias’s sister, on the other hand, spewed tunes like a geyser, full tilt, with no care as to who might be listening. Even a trespassing scoundrel determined to rain justice down on her family.

Logan rolled his shoulders against the tightening in his neck as he climbed the slope leading to his camp. What happened to the girl as a result of the coming confrontation was not his concern. Hamilton hadn’t cared about repercussions to his opponent’s wife and son when he’d lured Logan’s father into deep play, then cheated him out of his home. Logan could be equally callous. He had to be. It was the only way to set things right.

His head inched above the embankment near his camp, and his gaze immediately sought out Shamgar.

Logan blinked. Twice. What in the world?

His highly trained cavalry mount was prancing around like a colt. Tossing his head and showing off like an adolescent youth trying to impress a pretty girl. And the girl was pretty. At least from what Logan could see from this distance. Rich, auburn hair glinting red in the sunlight. Slim figure. And a smile that punched him in the gut even from here. She laughed at Shamgar’s antics, then held her hand out to the horse. An empty hand.

Logan frowned at the old boy’s susceptibility to the female’s wiles. Apparently no treat had been needed. Fool critter. Did he remember none of his cavalry training?