because he didn’t even like the girl. She was just one more barrier slowing him down in his quest for the Goliad treasure Vince had sworn was just waiting for them. If Wes hadn’t seen her in the cage, he’d probably have the gold in his hands by now. Gold that reminded him of her hair at dawn.
He turned away from her and closed his eyes. She was a long ride from normal and she was driving him to the same destination. They were a fine match. No woman had ever loved him, and no man would ever get close enough to love her. He fell asleep listening to a wind that sounded almost as lonely as he was.
Deep into the night, the fire in the tiny corner fireplace burned itself out, and the temperature dropped so low that rain froze against the window. Wes rolled over and saw her still curled in the chair, hugging the cape around her to keep warm.
He could feel her chill as though it were his own. Slowly, he stood and lifted a blanket from his bed. As silently as he could, Wes crossed to her chair and draped the quilt over her.
The memory of how she’d fought him was thick in his mind, as he looked down at her huddled between the arms of a wooden chair. Carefully, he wrapped the blanket around her and lifted her. Ignoring the pain that shot through his back, he carried her to the bed and placed her where his body had already warmed a place. Then, very carefully, he stretched out beside her and pulled the remaining covers over them both.
Wes lay still, expecting her to bolt at any moment. But she didn’t. After a few minutes, she stretched beneath the warmth and curled against him in sleep.
‘‘I promise,’’ he whispered as her hair brushed his cheek, ‘‘I promise I’ll never hurt you, Allie.’’
EIGHT
ALLIE PRESSED HER BACK ALONG THE WALL BEHINDthe door to the kitchen and listened. In the days since she’d been at the doctor’s house, the rhythm of their words had become natural to her once more. She knew what they were talking about most of the time. Sometimes, when she knew no one could see her, she’d mouth the words, practicing the patterns.
She was still firmly convinced the entire McLain tribe was a full measure short of normal sense. Her best plan would be to escape as soon as possible. At first, she waited because of the weather, but now, a curiosity held her here.
‘‘The telegrams went out to every lawman in the state,’’ the doctor’s wife was saying. ‘‘We may get answers for weeks as the word passes.’’
Allie leaned closer to the door, trying to see through the crack.
‘‘We’ve had several replies.’’ Nichole sounded pleased. ‘‘Some people are already on their way to see her.’’
Allie could see Wes at the end of the table. He held his coffee cup in both hands. As always his face looked like it was trying to mock a thunderstorm, all dark and angry. ‘‘I don’t want people gawking at her like she’s a freak. I’ll not have people just dropping in to see her like she’s a sideshow.’’
‘‘She’s starting to matter to you.’’ The woman’s voice drifted to Allie.
‘‘Nonsense,’’ Wes answered. ‘‘I’m not the kind of man who knows how to make a woman care. Men like me were meant to be alone. I’ve learned that lesson plain enough. I’ll never love a woman the way Daniel loved May or Adam loves you. I can’t see myself settling down and forcing some poor woman to look across the table at me every morning.’’
‘‘Of course you will,’’ Nichole started. ‘‘That scar-’’
‘‘No,’’ he interrupted. ‘‘It’s not meant to be. Daniel swore he’d never marry again after May died delivering the twins. And I know the closest I’ll ever come to marriage is this farce we’re playing to protect Allie.’’ He sat his coffee mug down with a thud. ‘‘Or whoever she is.’’
A knock at the door echoed the sound of his cup. Allie jumped and darted to Adam’s study before anyone could come from the kitchen to answer the summons.
A few minutes later when the guests were ushered into the room, Allie tried to melt into the wall space between the curtains. Her dark brown dress and hair seemed to blend with the mahogany as she found herself in the presence of strangers.
‘‘I’m Marvel Pickett,’’ a stout woman announced. She walked straight to the fire and began warming herself as though the blaze were hot enough to penetrate her multiple layers of long clothing. ‘‘This is my husband, Harold Pickett. We’ve come all the way from Tyler to look the savage girl over.’’
Allie watched Nichole stiffen and step between the new arrivals and the windows. ‘‘You think our Allie might be your relative?’’ Nichole’s voice hardened slightly as the stocky woman helped herself to a muffin on a tray that had been set for Allie’s breakfast.
Wes followed Harold into the room. As Harold joined his wife, Wes leaned against the corner of the desk in the center of the room. Only a slight limp showed he favored his side. He pulled the top drawer of Adam’s desk open a few inches. Between them, Nichole and Wes formed a blockade to Allie.
‘‘We think we might be her kin,’’ the woman mumbled as she chewed. ‘‘She’s about the right age. My sister and her husband had a bushel of brats. When he died, she loaded them up and planned to come live off of us. Their wagon was ambushed about the Arkansas-Texas border. She never made it. An express rider found her dead, but not one body of a child. They must have all been taken to live with the savages.’’
‘‘What were your nieces’ names?’’ Nichole glanced at Wes and shook her head slightly.
The chubby woman frowned and wiped her mouth with the tips of her fingers for a duster. ‘‘I don’t remember. Never having children of my own, I thought learning their names didn’t seem all that important. All I know is if this girl is likely one of them, we’ll take her off your hands. Me and Harold ain’t getting any younger, and we could use the help around the place.’’
Allie saw Nichole’s fingers open and close as she asked the woman, ‘‘Would you describe your sister and the girls? Hair color, eye color, general build?’’
The large woman placed her hands on her side-shelf hips. ‘‘What does it matter? Just show me the girl. I’ll tell you if she’s the right one.’’
Harold crushed his hat with big work-worn hands. He didn’t look directly at anyone as he asked, ‘‘She is in good condition, ain’t she? Not sickly or anything?’’
‘‘Why?’’ Nichole glanced again at Wes. But Wes was stone silent.
Harold remolded his hat with greater speed. ‘‘We’re worried since she’s here at a doctor’s house. Thought she might have some problems.’’
‘‘If she’s sickly, she ain’t my niece,’’ Marvel added. ‘‘I’m from sturdy stock. I ain’t paying no bills for some sickly captive who can’t remember who she is. Now if she’s healthy, she might be my kin.’’
‘‘She’s not the one you’re looking for,’’ Wes’s voice was hard, with an edge Allie hadn’t heard before. ‘‘See them to the door, Nichole. They’re wasting our time and theirs.’’
Marvel Pickett bristled like a wild hog and headed straight toward him. ‘‘And what makes you know that? I ain’t saying the creature ain’t mine until I see her with my own eyes. I figure I’ll know my own.’’
‘‘Is she or is she not healthy?’’ Harold asked. ‘‘The sheriff said she was.’’
‘‘She is,’’ Nichole answered. ‘‘But she doesn’t talk. Do you have anything, a tintype, a drawing that might show us she could be your niece?’’
‘‘We don’t have to prove nothing,’’ Marvel puffed up. ‘‘We’re her relatives if we says we are, and that’s all you nosy do-gooders need to know. There is plenty of women and children left to starve on the streets since the war. We just want to do right by our kin and take her in. She’ll have her three meals a day and a place to sleep if she earns her keep.’’
As Marvel finished, she spotted Allie between the curtains and yelled, ‘‘There she is!’’
Both the Picketts moved toward Allie like seasoned cowhands closing in on a mustang.
‘‘She seems healthy enough!’’ Marvel pointed with her head for Harold to cover the other side of the girl and not let her get away.
‘‘But wild,’’ Harold held back a little, letting his wife take the lead. ‘‘Look at her eyes.’’
‘‘Don’t worry about that.’’ Marvel tried to step around Nichole. ‘‘After a few weeks on the farm, we’ll settle her down-even if we have to keep a rope on her.’’
Allie felt panic rise in her blood. Just before she tried to fight her way around the weak Mr. Pickett, Wes
