Miss Huxley tied a bonnet around her hair, the straight long locks fanned out upon her shoulders. If ever there was a beautiful mess, it was those dark strands catching the breeze.
Enough, Cort.
Where in the world had his reason gone?
Miss Huxley returned to her brother. Kneeling down, she held her hand high above his face, seemingly blocking out the sun. A whimper bleated from her lips, and her tiny figure began to tremble. She was crying. He steeled himself. He did not need to be a hero right now by rushing to her side to console her. Besides the fact that every fiber in his being told him to do just that and he couldn’t trust himself, he was tired of what she did to him when she was close. To see those large brown eyes swimming with tears? Well, that would be the end of him.
“Miss Huxley, I’ll get some water for him,” he offered and didn’t wait for her answer before heading toward the creek. When he returned, Miss Huxley approached him with her own canteen in hand. A crude tent made from a quilt draped over an upright shovel and her unused stake shaded the injured man.
“Here.” He handed her his canteen.
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “I’ll go fill mine for good measure.”
“Here, I’ll do that. You stay with him.”
Miss Huxley swiped her moistened forehead with the back of her hand. Tilting her head to one side, she examined his face. “That’s kind of you.” Lowering her focus to the canteen, she reluctantly gave it to him.
He hesitated, wondering how they’d ended up in this predicament. “Miss Huxley, did you run by foot? You said your horse was taken.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Your father didn’t sell your horse, did he?” The thought of that sleeping man with the crumpled-up letter at his feet frayed Cort’s nerves.
Aubrey cocked her head, her lips parted in a slight smile. “No, he did not. But I lost my horse to another thief.” She glanced over at her brother. “Chased him through the night. The horse ran off before I got him.”
“Wait—you ran early?” Cort asked.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. Tried to get my horse back,” she said. “Doesn’t matter, though. Should’ve stayed put.”
“That’s a long run for coming up empty-handed,” he muttered.
Her lip trembled. “This is not how I expected to end up, I promise you that.”
His insensitive remark surely prodded her next sob. Cort didn’t hesitate to gather her in his arms. Her shaking body was warm against his chest. She melded into him, prompting a powerful instinct to tighten his grip and assure her that he’d protect her. His cheek rested on her bonnet while she cried. Lavender mixed with the dry prairie air filled his nostrils. That strange storm of hope brewed again, filling him with a boost of life.
Oh, Lord, give me strength.
Miss Huxley began to quiet, and as she did, her body stiffened. She pulled away. “All I care about right now is that my brother heals. I didn’t expect to take care of anyone but myself out here.” Her eyes were red, just like her flushed cheeks. “But I was also planning on having land of my own.” Her mouth turned downward.
Cort remembered the letter she’d written. This woman was trying to escape her past, just like he was. A twinge of sorrow plucked his heart. “You mean, you were going to run by yourself today?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, having a horse would have been nice.” She rolled her eyes then sighed. “I know plenty about working the land and caring for horses in a proper way. Not like my pa. This was my chance to get away from him once and for all.”
Cort swallowed away his guilt. It was not his fault that he got there first. “You should’ve claimed it, then.”
Her eyes flashed with frustration. “And I planned to, after the race had started. Fair and square.” She pouted. “If you don’t mind, my brother and I will stay here until he recovers. Then we’ll get off your land, Mr. Stanton.” Her dress rippled behind her as she took brisk strides to her brother. She offered him a drink from the canteen.
Fine. Stubborn woman could throw a fit about not getting her way. He couldn’t allow his heart to soften toward her anymore. What did she expect? For him to pull out his flag and give her one hundred and sixty acres out of sympathy?
When he returned with a second canteen, Miss Huxley was leaning against a lone tree, facing the sunny prairie just to the north. He set the canteen by her brother, who was asleep beneath the quilt.
A horse appeared upon the horizon to the north, barreling their way. Cort grabbed his holster. Would he have to ward off another person from his land?
“Miss Huxley, why don’t you come beside your brother. I’ll take care of this.”
“You forget, Mr. Stanton, I can take care of myself.” She walked over to her bag, pulled out a small pistol and shoved it in her pocket.
“Fine. You can help guard my land if you’d like.” He smirked. She glared at him in response.
The rider slowed to a trot. When he was on the edge of the western tree line, he waved above his head.
Miss Huxley shaded her eyes with her hand. “It’s a soldier.”
Cort’s stomach fell. The law. He tried to maintain his confidence. He couldn’t help but consider the fact that anyone dressed in a uniform might be his doomsayer. A part of him knew he was being irrational. The man couldn’t have known who he was—yet. Cort was different without his beard. And it was not as if he had his name written on his forehead.
But he couldn’t hide forever. If anyone knew how small this part of the world was—no matter its million acres of prairie—it was Cort Stanton. He’d seen firsthand how quickly familiar faces popped up when you least expected them. Wasn’t Aubrey Huxley proving this to be true right in the middle of the Cherokee Strip? He would take it as a warning to be more careful.
“Hello there.” The soldier stilled his horse just a few yards away from them. His attention fell on Miss Huxley’s brother. “Is that man okay there?”
She stepped forward. “His leg appears to be broken. Do you know if there’s a doctor nearby?”
“I sure don’t. But I’ll keep my ears open for one. I’m riding around informing everyone that a land office is set up about two miles west of here, near the Alva depot. The quicker you get there the better.”
Cort rubbed his hands on his trousers. Why was he sweating so badly? This wasn’t Texas.
“I’ll get there soon. Thank you, Officer.” Cort pulled at his collar.
The scout tipped his flat-brimmed hat. “I’ll be sure to send a doctor over if I come across one.” He nodded at Aubrey. “As quick as everything’s happening, there’s bound to be one around here soon. They’ve already brought in a land surveyor from Amarillo. Y’all will have a town quicker than you can say ‘Alva.’” He galloped away.
A land surveyor from Amarillo? This wasn’t Texas, but it sounded like Texas was coming here. Cort would’ve never expected to see someone from his hometown in the Cherokee Strip. He began to head over to his horse, praying that his weak legs would carry him that far.
I just wanted more time.
If he risked showing