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He let the dead body fall away, and it hit the cold dirt with a thud. Garth dropped the blade next to his victim and examined his hand from every angle. Difficult to see in the murky darkness, but still it was a hand that had killed the enemy. A hand that had now killed a friend.
Wetness drenched his neck. He reached toward the moisture with his other hand. Red, oozing. His own throat had been slit. No! No!
Garth sat up in bed, his heart thundering. He slowly reached for his throat. Always did. So many times the nightmare had disturbed his sleep. Yet when he awoke, he always checked his neck.
At least he’d stopped yelling in his sleep. That had scared Mary Alice something awful. Back when Lizzie was alive, she’d felt his agitation and awakened him before he screamed. Once she was gone, though, the bellowing had begun. After a few nights of waking up to Mary Alice shaking him, her petrified little face glowing in the moonlight streaming through his window, he’d willed himself to wake before the yelling started.
If only he could will away the nightmares altogether.
He turned in his bed and gazed out his window. Sunrise. Time to get up anyway. He had morning chores, and then a teacher to visit.
* * *
Land sakes, the schoolhouse was stifling, even today, when a cool morning breeze was blowing. Ruth’s morning drive had been pleasant. The crisp wind had drifted over her body like a sweet embrace.
She set her reticule on her desk and then walked back outside to raise the flag. Once done, she sat down on the wooden steps and breathed deeply. Might as well enjoy the breeze outside while it lasted. Her students wouldn’t arrive for another hour, and by then the temperature would be rising. She leaned back against the solid brick building and closed her eyes. Ah, morning. Her favorite time of the day. Especially in Dakota spring heat. Only two more weeks of school.
Ruth looked forward to summer. Church picnic socials, sneaking to the swimming hole adjacent to her pa’s land, lazy walks in the evening after the sun had set. No papers to mark. She smiled. If only a nice man—would it be too much to ask that he be taller than she?—would come courting.
“Miss Blackburn?”
She opened her eyes with a jolt. Garth Mackenzie, in all his raw male glory, stood at the bottom of the steps. Where on earth had he come from? She hadn’t heard him drive up.
“Goodness, Mr. Mackenzie, you scared the daylights out of me. May I help you with something?”
“As a matter of fact, ma’am, you can.”
Ruth stood and straightened her brown calico skirt. Lord above, he was a fine looking man. His blond curls were moist against his chiseled cheeks. He’d bathed this morning no doubt, most likely in a cool creek on his land. She warmed in spite of the waning dawn breeze. Inhaling, she cleared her throat. “What might that be?”
He didn’t come closer. “I’ll thank you to leave the care of my house and my child to me in the future.”
Glory, he couldn’t be angry that she’d fixed his supper last evening, could he? Why, she’d done him and Mary Alice a favor. Probably the first decent meal they’d had in months. Years, even.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, sir.”
“I’m certain that you do, ma’am.” Still he did not walk up the steps. “You had no business barging into my home and doing Mary Alice’s chores for her. Her work is her responsibility.”
Ruth’s dander rose. Icy prickles bit the back of her neck. Responsibility? The nerve of him. “Mr. Mackenzie, your daughter is eleven years old. I understand she has responsibilities, but my goodness, it’s not a crime to avail herself of some help when it’s offered.”
“The house and cookin’ are her responsibility.”
“And she is your responsibility, sir. A responsibility that—I’m sorry to say—you’ve been neglecting.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t stutter, sir. You heard me.”
Now, he did take the steps—slowly and calmly. As each step brought him closer, her body tingled with awareness. She steadied herself, determined to keep calm and not let his nearness intimidate her.
If only she could stop the inner trembling.
When he reached the top step, he stood only inches from her. She drew in a deep breath.
“It’s customary for a gentleman to remove his hat when conversing with a lady, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“For corn’s sake.”
His husky voice speared into her, chilling her skin underneath her dress and petticoats. But he did remove his hat.
