“Do you think he could recognize me?” she whispered.
“No. He was drunk when he saw you at the saloon that one time, remember?”
“Yes, very drunk. Disgustingly drunk.”
Clarissa tipped her head down to hide her face. Surely Caleb wouldn’t remember her; he hadn’t known who she was that night she sang at the saloon. He had known that she would be arriving in Smoke River, but maybe he had been too drunk even to remember that.
After a long minute Gray brought his head close to hers. “It’s not Arness, Clarissa, but if you’re uncomfortable I’ll take you home. Maria and Ramon can watch over Emily.”
She nodded, and without another word he spoke to Ramon and went to fetch the wagon. “I’m takin’ Clarissa back to the ranch,” he announced when he returned. “Too much potato salad.”
The ranch hands grinned but didn’t stop their card game. Ramon took over Gray’s hand, and Emily was so engrossed she scarcely looked up.
Gray walked Clarissa across the grass to the wagon and lifted her up onto the bench. “You’re shaking.”
“I know. I’m frightened.”
“Some reason, other than Arness?”
“N-no. I just feel safer at the ranch house.”
He said nothing as he climbed up beside her and lifted the reins. All the way out to the Bar H, she didn’t say a word, and when a roadrunner blundered into the wagon wheel, she didn’t even look up.
It bothered him that she was frightened. All of a sudden he wanted to protect her, keep her safe. Aw, hell, he wanted to make her smile at him, like she had an hour ago when he taught her to flip a jackknife into the ground and she beat him at mumblety-peg. The look she’d sent him still made his stomach flip over like a drunken kite.
The minute the wagon rattled through the Bar H gate and across the cattle guard, Clarissa let out a relieved breath. Life in Oregon was fraught with risks and dangers, especially now that Caleb Arness was lurking about. But she did appreciate Gray’s solidly built ranch house with its sturdy beam ceiling and cozy kitchen, the gracious verandah across the front and the tiny bedroom at the top of the attic stairs. She felt safe here. She liked the pink climbing rose that rambled over the porch post, and she was growing fond of kind, down-to-earth Maria. And she appreciated Ramon, who took extra time every day with Emily, answering her incessant questions about cows and horses and dragonflies and saddles and the horse trough where she floated her toy boats.
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