help, she'd be on the next boat from New Orleans trying to take the twins away. She'd made it plain more than once that she wasn't interested in helping him raise them, she was interested in having them as her own. She must have sent this strange woman to check on things.
“Have you heard from Gerilyn lately?” he asked casually without answering Karlee's question.
“No,” she answered, leaning her head a little to the side. “Should I have? I only met your wife, May, and her sister once when we were about eight. I stayed with their family for a month. But as you know they already had their hands full of girls and didn't need me moving in.”
Before he could answer, gunshots rang from just outside and the sound of horses' hooves gave rhythm to the night.
Karlee's green eyes sparkled with sudden fear, but she didn't move.
“We're only half a block from the docks. Trouble always rattles after dark. But tonight it sounds like it's headed straight for us. Grab the blankets!” Daniel signaled with his head toward a pile of quilts as he tucked a twin beneath each arm. “And run, Spinster Karlee.”
She didn't question, but followed as he hurried through the small house almost void of furniture. He not only didn't have time to name his children, he obviously didn't bother with shopping. No extra chairs, no rugs, no curtains. Only the basic furniture needed to function.
They entered the wide entry hall built in the center of the house. With one mighty shove of his shoulder, Daniel slid a panel along one side of the foyer. A row of rifles lined the once-hidden section of wall and a hastily cut trap door scarred the floor. For a man of the cloth, he seemed ready for anything.
Daniel lifted the lid. “Climb inside! You and the twins will be safe. I made this hiding place yesterday, just in case it was ever needed.”
Karlee glanced down at the hole that looked little more than four feet deep and coffin width. She was in no hurry to be locked away again.
“What about you?”
“I'll face the men. There's a group of troublemakers looking for a reason to act. I've dealt with them before. If they're not too liquored up, I should be able to send them on their way.”
“I'll face them with you, Reverend.”
“Get in there and be safe, Spinster Whitworth!”
The sternness in his voice sounded like an old man. He couldn't be much older than her, Karlee thought. But he obviously was a man not given to bending.
“I think not,” she challenged.
As always when emotion rose within him, Daniel's throat closed. He couldn't force the angry word out.
Karlee had no such problem. “I wouldn't climb in there if it were the only way to Heaven. And you're not putting your no-name daughters in that hole while I've strength left to fight. We'll face the drunks together, for I'll not be boxed again. And that's my final word, Reverend.”
Daniel almost laughed in amazement. He might be a preacher by calling, but he'd spent most of his life being a blacksmith by necessity. He could easily send her to meet her Maker with one mighty blow, if he were a man given to violence. She might not be a thin woman, but he was well twice her size.
“You have no idea what's going on in this town. The preacher who built this house was shot in the streets.”
Karlee raised her chin. “Well, if they've come down to murdering women and children, I might as well go now and avoid the dread of dying.”
Daniel took a deep breath and reminded himself he was a man of peace as he handed over his daughters to a woman he felt sure could fight off a war party. “Stay out of sight,” he ordered trying to gain back a few degrees of control.
The spinster nodded once and was wise enough not to smile at her victory. She hurried back to the kitchen with the twins in tow as Daniel slid the panel closed once more and moved to the front door.
Before the kitchen door completely closed, Karlee heard boots stomping across what had to be a long front porch. She leaned her back against the hallway door, but angry shouts from the front of the house rattled it.
She had to think of something fast without frightening the twins. With a forced laugh, she grabbed the corner of a quilt she carried and waved it across the clean end of the table. “Would you like to live in a tent?”
The twins forgot about anyone beyond the kitchen and ran to crawl beneath the homemade tent.
Karlee arranged the blankets around the table. “Now if you'll both be real quiet, I'll give you a surprise.”
She heard them laugh and knew she'd found a game. They'd be safe beneath the table.
A sudden rattling at the back door reminded her that she might not be so secure. Frantically, Karlee searched for something to use as a weapon. She wouldn't go quietly to her death in this nowhere town, and no one would hurt her little cousins as long as she breathed.
Karlee scanned the L-shaped kitchen. In a corner furthermost from the door was a fireplace, but no tools to use for weapons. The large room was furnished with a rocking chair, four chairs and a table long enough to seat ten. Nothing more.
Just as the door creaked open, Karlee grabbed the still-warm skillet dotted with burned pancake dough. She stepped behind the door as an enormous, hairy man poked his head through the opening like some huge bear checking a new den.
Karlee raised the iron skillet and swung with all her might, figuring a skillet was like a gun. She wouldn't have picked it up if she hadn't planned on using it.
The bearded man took the blow to the side of his head without even time for surprise to register on his face. For a moment, he just stood still, like a mighty oak unaware of a final ax cut.
Karlee lifted the skillet, prepared to hit him again. But slowly, he crumbled, open-eyed and out cold.
She moved around him, her weapon ready, pride straightening her shoulders.
Two blonde heads popped out from beneath the blanket, their eyes curious at the sound.
“Our surprise!” they both shouted as they crawled from the blanket tent. “Uncle Wolf!”
“Uncle Wolf?” A sickness settled over Karlee thick as cold molasses.
The girls jumped on what they thought was their sleeping uncle.
A fine brew, Karlee thought, another great idea soured into a half-baked scheme. The curse of her life had followed her to Texas.
THREE
DANIEL TOOK ONE LOOK AT WOLF HAYWARD sprawled across his kitchen floor like some bear rug children had dressed up to resemble a man. Without hesitation, he knew who was to blame. The Spinster Whitworth. Daniel had faced a dozen drunks on the porch without striking a blow. She'd managed to clobber his best friend.
Without looking in Karlee's direction, he knelt to check Wolf for a pulse. Daniel needed no explanation. The skillet in her hand and Wolf on the floor said all that needed saying.
Daniel let out a long-held breath. At least the huge man was still alive. Blood pounded beneath the layer of skin and hair at his throat.
As Daniel walked to the pump, Karlee followed like a orphan pup, but he didn't say a word to her. Wolf was the one person he could trust in this town. Daniel had come to Jefferson at the hairy ranger's request. She'd probably scrambled the man's brains.
The more he saw of this old maid, the more he believed she must have been stuffed in the trunk by his wife's aunts and put on the first boat. But he couldn't remember them disliking him so.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered from behind him. “I didn't mean to kill Uncle Wolf, whoever he is.”
Daniel drew water and fought the urge to keep an eye on her and the weapon. He was starting to fear what she might do next even more than he worried about the mob forming outside. She was a woman whose only talent seemed to be unpredictability.
“Is he your brother?” She leaned over the counter at his side.
Her action tightened her dress over her ample chest, forcing him to concentrate on not looking. “No,” Daniel
