The Marshal's Mission

Pushing unpleasant memories away, she concentrated on the man across the yard while she rocked and sewed. Cole had repaired several wobbly fence posts, fixed the chicken coop’s mesh, replaced several boards in the stalls, and who knew what else. Earlier he’d told her that he planned to repair the house’s roof before it sprung a leak during the next heavy rainfall. He pointed out several shingles that appeared loose.

But first, he wanted to finish the barbed-wire fencing around part of the yard to keep roaming cattle from trampling her garden. He asked her if she planned to fence off all her land. Last year, Amos had mentioned that as well, but had never gotten around to it. A lot of ranchers and farmers were doing that since the open ranges were becoming more and more overgrazed.

Perhaps she should buy more fencing materials.

Then she drew herself up short yet again. In a month or two, she hoped that fencing wouldn’t be her problem, but Frank Hopper’s, her neighbor. He said he would give her an answer by May about whether or not he would buy her ranch. Well, it was pert near May, and she had heard nothing. Had he decided against it, but neglected to tell her?

Her gaze strayed again to Cole. What if he stayed? The three of them could handle the ranch’s workload at least until the fall when she could sell off cattle. With the money, she could hire some reliable help. Did she dare ask?

I want him to stay. Lord help me, I don’t want him to go.

When he approached the porch, she bent over her darning, pretending that she hadn’t spent near an hour staring at his strong back and broad shoulders. When he cleared his throat to get her attention, heat climbed into her cheeks.

“How’re you doing?” She looked everywhere but into his deep blue eyes. Or at the dimple that creased one cheek when he smiled.

“Good.” He tossed his hat onto the straight-back chair on the other end of the porch. “I got a good start on repairing the fences.”

“Sweet of you to help out. Are you nearly finished?”

“Yep. Only about ten thousand miles or so to go.”

“That—that sounds great.” She stared past his head and rubbed her ear, nearly jabbing herself with her darning needle.

His grin deepened, as though aware of the reason for her consternation.

Ducking her head, she drew her mending more closely to her face. This repair would require a longer needle than the one she’d been using. She wove the shorter one through her shirt’s collar to keep it handy.

“I was wondering,” Cole began.

“Hmm?” She squinted at the hole in Toby’s sock. Land sakes, that boy could wear them out faster than she could fix them.

“My glove. Got a bit of a tear. Mind sewing it? Would make the fence fixing a little gentler on my hand.”

Tempted to chide him, the teasing died in her throat when she saw blood by the jagged hole. “Oh.” She bolted up, dropping the sock and dumping her sewing basket. Her spool of thread bounded away, unraveling at the speed of lightning. Scissors clattered and other items scattered. Cole bent about the same time, barely avoiding hitting her head with his.

When Lenora overcompensated, she staggered and ended up falling against him. “I beg your—”

“My fault. Sorry.” He grabbed her arms until she stood upright.

For a moment, their faces were mere inches apart.

Cole straightened and stepped back. After scratching his chin, he pointed. “You sit. I’ll get this.”

“But your hand...”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you don’t like the sight of blood.”

“It’s not so much that, it’s just that you’re bleeding.” As soon as she spoke, she clenched her hands and pressed them against her skirt. “What I meant to say—” she spoke with care “—is that you were injured doing me a favor.”

He grinned and held up his palm. “This is hardly an injury.”

Her disquiet grew. No matter what she said, it was wrong.

Finally she gathered her wits. “Well, you should have made a bigger deal of it. When Toby gets hurt, he hollers until I promise him an extra piece of pie.”

Cole threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“In the meantime...” She hastened into the house. “I have some salve that’ll help.”

He pulled on a sandy-colored curl above his forehead as though he were using that instead of his missing hat to salute her. “Much obliged.”

Where was that salve? She grabbed a jar off a shelf in the kitchen area. “It’d heal faster if you wash your hands before I put this on.”

He did as she bade, using a rough rectangle of soap and wiping his hands on a small towel.

After scooping out the creamy ointment with one finger, she cradled his hand and pulled it to her chest. Barbed wire had caught and torn the flesh in the meaty part of his thumb. It had to hurt. She got a better grip, preparing to apply the salve.

Suddenly realizing this wasn’t Toby, she jerked back. Cole didn’t comment about her abrupt movement. With his strong hand resting on hers, she rubbed the healing concoction deep into his skin.

They stood so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her heart began to hammer. Did she imagine it or did his breath quicken too?

“There.” She coughed to clear her throat. Somehow she managed to turn and tighten the lid on the jar without meeting his gaze. Or breaking anything.

“Ow!” His sudden yell made her jump.

She spun. “What’s wrong?”

Grinning, he held up his hand. “You said I might get an extra piece of pie if I hollered. Better late than never?”

Lenora grabbed the towel he’d used and flung the balled-up material at him.

Catching it, he merely laughed, the sound somehow making his blue eyes deepen in color. She lost the war to keep from grinning back at him.

It felt like forever to say something. Finally she found her tongue. “Break time’s over. Get back to work, mister.”

“Anything you say, Lenora.”

She sucked in a slow breath, pleased to hear him call her by name. The way he drawled out the second syllable, like he was caressing the word...

She was the first to look away.

“Thanks for fixing me up.”

After he stepped onto the porch, she called, “Leave your glove, and I’ll tend to it directly.”

By the time she put the salve away, he’d repacked all the contents of her sewing basket. It sat by her rocking chair. Cole’s glove rested on the arm.

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