Amos had been dead only five months, and she was flustered by a stranger’s kindness? What was wrong with her?
Loneliness. The long winter months with just her and Toby had affected her more than she wanted to admit.
Then she hardened her heart. No longer was she an impressionable sixteen-year-old who could be ensnared by a man’s charisma. After she married Amos, she discovered he offered little else. She would never again fall for good looks or flattering speech.
As she watched the stranger tend to his horse, she determined that he had better not try charm on her or she would fill his hide with buckshot.
“So are we friends now?” As US Marshal Jesse Cole settled his saddle in one corner of the barn, he spoke to the yellow dog.
With a grunt, Blister rested his head on his front paws like he was apologizing for his earlier hostility.
“’Bout time, after all I did for you.”
Earlier that day, he had come across a howling and frantic animal, tangled in scrub pine in the middle of nowhere. The moment Cole cut him free, the dog took off in a dead run. That should have been the end of the story. But what if the rope snagged on something else? He had followed to make certain Blister reached safety. Foolish decision. In his worry for the dog, he had not stopped when his mare stumbled. Had she stepped in a hole?
Running his hands over Sheba’s fetlock, Cole decided it felt a little swollen. Nothing broken, though.
He straightened as footsteps splashed toward the barn. The woman’s son? The earlier torrent had died down. Now rain tapped the roof in a gentle staccato.
The door creaked open. “Hey, mister. Y’hungry?” Dark hair plastering his forehead, Toby stood just inside. He carried something wrapped in a towel, held close to his chest. Food?
Cole smoothed his hand over the mare’s still-damp rump. “Tobias Joseph, right?”
“Yessir.” The youngster’s chest puffed up. “Named after my ma’s pa.”
When his gaze shot to Blister, he seemed to forget Cole. “Hey, boy. How’re you doing?”
The dog’s tail thumped on the dirt floor as the youngster loosened the cloth and dropped a meaty bone.
Cole grinned. His assumption that the towel-wrapped item was his meal proved unfounded. Or was it? Either way, he was glad he hadn’t agreed to supper. The sooner he sacked out, the earlier he could get started in the morning. This ranch held too many a mystery—starting with the lassoed dog. Although Cole admired his gun-toting hostess, he had already spent too much time dwelling on the endearing way her hair fell across her cheek. And her lips, pursing in fabricated determination.
Did he believe her comment about her husband? Not in the least.
“There ya go, boy.” Toby backed away. After grabbing the bone, the dog retreated to a corner. Despite the sleepy purr of the chickens, Blister kept a wary eye on them.
Cole studied the youngster who looked to be somewhere between nine and twelve. His lean frame took after his mother’s. She appeared to have dark eyes whereas Toby’s were light. Green? Difficult to tell in the shadowy barn. Likely the boy would sprout up and pass her in height, but his shoulders would never be broad. His pensive forehead mirrored the woman’s gentle nature.
Cole cleared his throat. “I was named after my grandpa too.”
Mouth puckering, the boy toed the straw at his feet. “Ma said he died before I was born. Same time as my grandma. Back east a’ways.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Stepping closer, he pointed at the mare. “D’ya mind my asking what kind of horse she is? Never seen a blood bay like her before.”
“You got a sharp eye. Sheba’s a Morgan. I’m hoping she’s the beginning of a great line of horses.”
“Wow.” Without fear, the youngster approached the mare. He let her nose him before stroking her neck. “And she’s pregnant?”
“Yes, but she’s not far along. I expect she’ll foal late August.” Cole again questioned his decision to bring her with him. However, his mare was the perfect cover for his Wyoming Territory mission.
“She sure is a beaut.” Toby studied her with a critical eye.
“What’s different about her?”
The boy stepped back and scratched the top of his head. “Her muscles seem kinda bunched. And the arch in her neck is unlike others I’ve seen.”
“Good. What else?”
He planted fists on his hips. “Her eyes have a look about ’em. I could almost tell what she’s thinking.” He stepped closer to rub her soft nose. “And she’s good-natured. Not like Chuck and Midge’s horse. She was always mean.”
“Who’re Chuck and Midge?”
“Our hired help. Well, not anymore. One day, they just up and left.” The youngster ran his hand over the mare’s shoulder. “I love her dark mane and tail.”
Cole grinned at the boy’s horse sense. Reminded him of his brother, for some reason.
“Sheba,” Toby repeated, smoothing his hand across her. He threw a glance over his shoulder. “So what’s your name, mister?”
“You can call me Cole.”
“Thanks, Mr. Cole.”
“Nah, just Cole. Been that ever since I was your age.” He tilted his head and studied the boy. Something seemed to be weighing him down. Cole knew he didn’t have to pry. Folks volunteered all sorts of information if he remained quiet.
He didn’t have long to wait.
“Thanks for helping Blister. He means the world to me.”
“Glad to.” He paused, yielding to his curiosity about the dog. “You give him that name?”
“Yep.” The boy grinned. “A man in town didn’t want him no more. ’Bout three years ago. Pa said I could have him, if I wanted. I had a blister on my hand that looked the same color as his fur. Seemed only natural to call him that.”
“It’s a good name.” Cole leaned against the stall’s column and crossed his arms. “Tell me, do you know how he ended up with a rope around his neck?”
Had someone tried to hang the dog? Somehow Blister had escaped, only to get tangled up in scrub pine.
Toby’s mouth compressed. “Nope.”
“Y’sure? I can’t abide cruelty to animals.”
The boy wouldn’t meet his gaze as he stroked Sheba. Because his mother had schooled him about what to say? He managed a tight shrug. “Blister’s always roaming. Ma thinks he wandered too far.” He turned. “She would’ve cut the rope off him if you hadn’t come along.”
Should Cole ask about the boy’s father?
When he had first arrived and banged on the door to the house, no one answered. After seeing only the woman and Toby in the barn, he concluded the boy’s father was drunk, dead or absent. Which was it?
Given the woman’s overreaction earlier, he settled on her being a widow. One way to find out for certain.
As Cole spread his bedroll, he chose his words with care. “Wouldn’t your pa have helped?”
The youngster’s expression grew stony, fingers tangling in Sheba’s long mane.