He took great amusement in his own macabre joke, laughing until his belly jiggled. Tilly quivered and burrowed closer to Nolan. When she realized she was clutching the stagecoach man with enough force to crush his ribs, she started and pulled away.
He tightened his grip and spoke near her ear. “Stay close. As long as Charlie is in view, we’re madly affectionate. If he wants my cooperation, he has to know how much you and the girls mean to me.”
His cheeks reddened. “You know what I mean.”
“I know.”
She did understand. Perhaps because the situation had turned dire, she was keenly aware of the stagecoach man. His expression was grave, but she noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest. When had her emotions gone topsy-turvy? She’d always assumed that she was the same person in any given situation, and that her inherent personality would surface under duress.
Yet here she was, cowering in the arms of a near stranger. She felt as though the outlaws had stripped away the thin veneer of her independence and exposed her weakness on a very basic level.
Tilly clamped shut her eyes. What was happening to her? The truth of her nature was disheartening. The woman she wanted to be wouldn’t count on this man for protection—she’d take care of herself. Except she wasn’t the brave person she’d thought herself. She was skittish and vulnerable, trapped between the outlaws and this quiet man.
Nolan’s hands moved in soothing circles over her back, heightening her awareness of him. Shocked by her flare of unwanted longing, she glanced away. She mustn’t read anything personal in his demonstrative actions. His caring was part of the act, nothing more.
As for her unexpected reaction, she was instinctively responding to his protection and his kindness. Wasn’t she?
No matter her own pitiable weakness, she had others to think about. “I have to speak with the girls, make them understand without frightening them.”
“We’ll keep them separated from the outlaws as much as possible,” Nolan said. “You’ll keep them busy.”
“How?” She tossed a glare at the outlaws’ backs. “I suppose we could start by digging our own graves.”
“Don’t even tease about that. No matter what happens, we have to stay focused on surviving.”
“All right then, but this town isn’t exactly teeming with activities. We can’t exactly visit the mercantile and select ribbons from the general store.”
“They’re children. How much entertainment do they need?” The stagecoach man appeared perplexed. “Keep them busy however you keep children busy. They’re your nieces, surely you know them.”
Barely. Even when Walter was away at war, Eleanor had always hovered over the girls. She’d never trusted Tilly alone with them beyond an hour or two here or there. Tilly was never an authority figure to her nieces.
“I’ve only been watching them for a few days,” Tilly explained. “And we’ve been traveling or packing for most of those.”
“You were a child once. What did you do to keep busy?”
Tilly snorted. “Eleanor gave me chores.”
“Then give the girls chores.” He pressed two fingers beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. “Your nieces are counting on you.”
She flashed a half grin. “I’d have them clean the relay station, but you’ve already scrubbed the wood grain from the floor.”
Something flicked in his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t read.
“I suspect they’ll make another mess soon enough.”
“You’re probably right.”
The girls were tidy. They’d grown up beneath Eleanor’s guidance, after all, yet they still managed to create chaos with shockingly little effort.
Eleanor had always striven for perfection, while Tilly had been content with disorder. In her teenage years, her sister had once sent Tilly to bed without supper for failing to put away her stockings properly. Treating the girls in the same manner didn’t seem right considering how much Tilly had chafed under Eleanor’s strict rule.
“Hey,” Dakota Red shouted. “You two quit your whispering.”
Her anger rose up. She wasn’t chattel to be ordered around.
“Get, woman,” the outlaw ordered. “The boys and I are hungry. Until I’m certain you don’t have any guns hidden around the place, the two of you stay together. Snyder will keep watch while you’re cooking.”
Tilly bit her tongue until she tasted blood.
Charlie crossed to his horse, making a deliberate show of brushing against her arm. Her flare of rebellion instantly died. Tilly shuddered and moved closer to the shelter of Nolan’s arms. The mercenary part of her feared being alone with the fugitives—she feared being separated from Nolan’s safety. Though she’d only known the stagecoach man for a day, they were banded together against the outlaws.
Their common enemy created an instant sense of union.
Her make-believe husband touched the spot where Charlie had brushed against her, as though erasing the mark of the outlaw. Their eyes locked and they both faltered for a moment. Her stomach did a little flip.
“Steady on, Miss Hargreaves.” His gaze softened, and one corner of his mouth tilted up. “Wasn’t Matilda called ‘The Good Queen’?”
“You’ve studied your history.”
“Only when forced. I’m certain your education is far more extensive. I grew up on a farm. I only attended school when I wasn’t needed for chores.”
Pressure built behind her eyes. This was the most he’d ever spoken to her. She hadn’t realized until then how very much she missed conversation. In the years since the war, as her employment with her father’s law practice had gradually dwindled, her circle of acquaintances had narrowed. As the men returned home, the ladies’ war-effort committees had gradually disbanded. Her friends had drifted away, moving on with their lives, marrying and starting families.
Everything had happened so slowly, she hadn’t realized until this very moment how isolated she’d become of late. How very lonely.
Nolan was staring at her, and his tiny quirk of a grin faded. “Tilly?”
He cupped her cheek and ran the ball of his thumb beneath her eye. “Don’t give them the satisfaction of your tears. Men like that feed off others’ weakness.”
“I’m afraid of being caught alone with Charlie.”
“I’ll see that you never are.”
“Thank you.”
At the quiver in her voice, his hand glided down her cheek. He stroked the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck. “He won’t touch you again. Not while I’m here.”
A delicate shudder rippled all the way to her toes. He was staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Any hint of his previous cajoling smile had vanished. She couldn’t help but question what he was thinking. She sensed his inner conflict, and wondered at it. Her hand fluttered near his shoulder. She had an insane longing to caress him and comfort him, but she held herself in check.
One of the horses whinnied, and they jolted apart. The moment broken, Tilly glanced away. The wind caught her hair, whipping it across her face and eyes, obscuring her view of his expression. Had he been as affected by the moment as she had?
She’d consider the oddity of her reaction later, when they weren’t in fear