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Shocked, Garrett echoed, “She shot your brother?”
“Yes. Mistook him for an outlaw.”
“Do you think she’d let me add that to my story?”
“Only Regan speaks for Regan.”
He was now anxious to meet the doctor and his wife. “That’s quite a tale.”
“My brother will never live it down.”
“Was he seriously injured?”
She shook her head. “She plugged him in the shoulder. He was fine.”
Garrett wanted to know more but knew not to pepper his hostess with the dozens of questions the story had given rise to. He’d learn all, eventually. He hoped.
She began clearing the table. “Thanks for breakfast. How’s your knee?”
“Better.” Where he came from it was considered ill-mannered to discuss bathing in front ofwomen, so he said simply, “Thanks for lighting the boiler.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I can help you clean up in the kitchen. My knee’s strong enough, as long as I don’t stand too long.”
She eyed him dubiously.
“I know how to wash and dry dishes. I live alone and since I can’t afford a housekeeper I do all the cooking and chores myself.”
“Am I going to have to put up with a load of nosy questions?”
He smiled wryly. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t appear pleased. “Come on, then.”
Spring’s kitchen was perfect for one person. For two, it was crowded. Especially with a man as tall and broad as McCray. She washed. He dried. Their shoulders bumped as he placed the dried dishes in the cupboard beside her. Their hands grazed as she handed him dishes to dry. As promised, he asked a wagonload of questions, which she preferred to deal with rather than why their accidental touches kept sending unnerving little sparks up her arms. His questions began with wanting to know the name of the mountain range, then to how long she’d lived in her cabin. “About twelve years now.Place used to belong to Odell. He and his family lived here when Colt and I were growing up.”
She saw him survey the walls and ceiling and she wondered if he was evaluating them with a carpenter’s eye.
“Did he build this himself?”
“Yes, with help from friends like my grandfather. All of the old trappers built their own places.”
“Is your grandfather still living?”
“Yes.” She handed him a wet plate to dry. And if meanness defined the length of a person’s life, Ben would be around until the mountains turned to gravel. “And your grandparents?”
“I don’t know. They’ve probably passed on by now. Never knew them. We were captives.”
That brought her up short. She searched his face. “Really?”
“Yes. In Virginia. Some people are ashamed of their time before the war. I’m not. I ran when I was fourteen and joined the Union Navy.”
“At fourteen? That’s young, isn’t it?”
He gave her a smile. “Yes, but there were some boys even younger.”
When Spring worked for the Ketchums after Ben put her out, she’d felt like a captive, too, but knew her experience and his were worlds apart. “Did you escape with your parents?”
