no matter which way he turned his horse.
He caught her glancing out the window from time to time as if she didn’t quite believe his tale. The tapping grew louder as the rain turned to hail. The tiny balls of ice hit the ground and bounced almost like popcorn jumping in a skillet. Within seconds the ground was white as snow.
Hugging herself, Aggie asked, “Should I light the fire in the main room?”
“No.” Hank chose his words carefully, knowing there might be a long way between what he wanted and what was about to happen. “We’ll be warm enough under the covers.” He kept every word level, without emotion, as if he’d said the same words many times before.
She nodded, and to his surprise picked up the flannel shirt. “I’ll wash up in the kitchen and change.”
As soon as she left, Hank grabbed the stick that Blue had left to serve as a cane. Slowly, he moved off the bed. Without putting any of his weight on the broken leg, he crossed the few feet to the washstand and chamber pot.
Aggie might be his wife, but there were some things Hank had no intention of asking her to help with. By the time he was washed up and back to the bed, sweat covered his forehead. He sat down with his back resting against all the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chest. He wished he’d had the sense to buy a nightshirt sometime in his life. Having lived all these years alone, he’d seen no need. But Aggie might find his bare chest shocking.
Hank smiled suddenly. She hadn’t commented on it earlier. Maybe she didn’t notice. One leg of his long handled underwear had been cut off at the knee just above where the splint started. The other leg was spotted with dried blood, but he’d wait until morning to put on a clean pair. He wasn’t sure he had the energy tonight.
Aggie appeared wearing his shirt. “I washed my gown earlier,” she began, “but it didn’t get dry.”
“You look fine,” he said, and then wished he’d thought to say something more. In truth, she looked adorable.
She sat on the end of the bed and folded her legs beneath her. “I was hoping, if you’re not too tired, that we could talk a while.”
Hank didn’t move. Bedtime conversations were totally new to him and he had no idea what to talk about. She, on the other hand, looked like this was part of her nightly routine, and with four sisters it may very well have been.
She placed her elbows on her flannel-covered knees and rested her chin in her hands.
He swore she looked twelve years old.
“Blue and I have been talking and we don’t think the attack on you was an accident. No one would be just riding by this place. It’s too far off the road.”
“So, what are you saying?” Hank watched her as he tried to follow the conversation. She had shifted and now the soft roundness of her left breast molded against the shirt. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed childlike. There was no doubt she was all woman.
“I’m saying…” She moved again and Hank closed his eyes so his ears would work. “I’m saying,” she repeated, “that someone wants you hurt…or dead.”
Hank shook his head then regretted the action. “I don’t think so. I don’t make a habit of crossing folks if I can help it, and it’s been years since I even had a heated discussion with anyone.”
“Try and think,” she coached. “Who lately would benefit from your being hurt or dead? Who has threatened you?”
“Nobody but Potter Stockton on the way back to town the other night. He told me I’d be wise to get on the train and forget about you, because I must know you’d never come.” Hank told the account in passing, nothing important, he thought…until he saw Aggie’s face. “You can’t believe Stockton would send someone to hurt me? Sure, he was probably disappointed when he learned you left with me, maybe even mad. But mad enough to try and kill me?”
Aggie nodded. “On the way to the station, Charlie told me he was glad I didn’t pick Potter even though Dolly thought he was the best choice. Charlie said he heard Potter beat a man near to death one night after losing a few dollars in a poker game. He said the railroad man had gunfighter eyes-cold and hard as casket wood.”
Hank raised a doubtful eyebrow. “But Charlie still invited him to dinner?”
Aggie shook her head. “He only invited the banker and told him that if he knew a man looking for a wife, to bring a friend along.”
That explained Charlie’s coldness to Potter Stockton, but Hank still found it hard to believe any man would try to kill another over a woman he’d just met.
Then he looked at Aggie with her beautiful hair and shining eyes and he knew it must be true.
“When did the man insist on having a drink with you?” she asked.
Hank tried to remember exactly the order. “He was standing behind me when I bought our two tickets.”
Aggie frowned. “So he knew you were expecting me?”
“He also knew I didn’t have time to wander over to the saloon.”
She leaned closer. “Do you think, when the offer for drinks didn’t work, that he pulled the knife thinking one way or the other he’d make sure you missed the train?”
Hank didn’t want to admit it, but she made sense. The fellow hadn’t acted all that drunk at first, then as soon as he’d slipped the knife over Hank’s arm, he’d run away. “Maybe,” Hank admitted. “He knew if I wasn’t at the station you wouldn’t be going anywhere that night.”
Aggie finished the thought. “And if you weren’t there, I would have turned around and gone back to Dolly and Charlie’s place.”
Their eyes met. Hank felt like he could read her thoughts. There was no need to continue piecing the puzzle; they’d both seen the picture it made.
Lacing her fingers together, she leaned an inch closer and whispered as if saying her words too loud might make them come true. “Do you think the hired gun might come back?”
Hank wished he could say no, but he didn’t want to lie to her. “He might,” was the best he could do.
Aggie swallowed and nodded. “Then, would you mind if I slept in next to you? I’d planned on making a pallet in the kitchen, but I’d feel safer here.”
Hank wouldn’t have trusted any words. He simple lifted the covers beside him.
She smiled and joined him.
When he stretched and turned out the light, she whispered, “Thank you, dear.” As if he’d done her a favor.
Hank wouldn’t have been surprised if lightning came through the second floor and struck him any moment. He wasn’t worried about anyone trying to kill him; his shy little wife was going to give him a heart attack by doing something as simple as trusting him.
This time she didn’t wait for him to pull her next to him. She snuggled against him and laid her hand on his bare chest.
Then, before he could think to breathe, she laughed.
He covered her hand with his. “What’s so funny?”
“Your chest hair tickles.”
“Aggie?” His fingers stilled her hand.
“Yes, dear?” she answered.
“Kiss me good night,” he whispered as she looked up.
This time, when his mouth covered hers, he couldn’t hold back. He had to kiss her the way a man kisses a woman…the way a man kisses his wife.
His arm pulled her against him. The thin layer of flannel did little to mask the feel of her. He kissed her long and hard, drinking her in, needing to end the drought in his life, needing to need another.
When he finally let her go, Hank rolled an inch away and tried to think of something, anything to say, but no words would come.
He could feel her tugging at the covers, pulling a blanket over her shoulders, snuggling into her own pillow. “Good night, dear,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Good night?” he answered. “Don’t you have anything else to say after what just happened?”
She rose to one elbow. “What just happened?”
Hank closed his eyes and swore beneath his breath. She was going to make him say it, then there would be no doubt what he was apologizing for. “About the way I kissed you. I didn’t plan it, but I’ll not say I’m sorry.”
