Read Online Comanche Moon by Catherine Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Anderson
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door. ‘‘You jist be sure my dinner’s ready when I git back. If it ain’t, there’ll be hell to pay.’’
Aware of how fast the sun was disappearing, Loretta crossed the porch and descended the steps. As she walked across the yard, she searched the dust for the hoofprints the Indians had left yesterday. Nothing. The wind had obliterated them. Which explained why Henry had found no evidence of Hunter’s visit last night. Her uncle was many things, but smart wasn’t one of them. Nightmare, my foot. Since when had she been one to raise an alarm over nothing? It infuriated her that Henry thought she was such a dimwit.
Since they had only two buckets in which to haul water, Henry’s offer to accompany her was suspicious. He was the most economical man she knew when it came to work and too big a coward to come along as protection. She sneaked a glance at him. He looked harmless, but Henry was at his most dangerous when he was acting nice. She went out behind the chicken shed to fetch the pails and then returned to fill them with water from the well.
To her surprise, Henry offered to carry one. His loose-hipped gait caused water to slosh over the bucket’s rim as he walked beside her in the wagon ruts that led out behind the barn. Loretta kept her head down and darted glances at him as he opened the gate to the barnyard. Ida, the barrel-bellied mare, whinnied and pushed her nose through the fence rails. Since Henry had been giving her grain each evening, she was far more anxious than usual to be let in from the pasture. The mules, Bessy and Frank, didn’t appear to share in her enthusiasm and continued grazing.
After they had emptied the pails into the trough, Henry said, ‘‘I’ll pack the second round of water by myself. You stay here and start tossin’ the straw.’’
Loretta relinquished her hold on the bucket and gazed after him as he strode out the gate and around the corner of the building. It seemed she had misjudged him. She shivered and rubbed her arms.
One of the mules snorted, and the sound gave Loretta such a start that she jumped. Bessy had both ears thrown forward and was staring at a thicket along the left perimeter of the fence. Loretta made a dive for the pitchfork where it leaned against the hay wagon. She studied the riverbank. To avoid having to haul water out into the fields to the livestock, Henry had fenced the acreage at an angle, the back closer to the river than the front, the grazing pastures bordering the stream. That put the barn less than a stone’s throw from the thick line of trees. In this poor light, she wouldn’t notice someone coming until he was on top of her. With the aid of the pitchfork, she vaulted into the wagon to see better.
There was nothing out of the ordinary lurking in the shadows. With a sigh, she forked some straw and threw it in a wide arc over her shoulder, long practice taking it to her mark inside the lean-to stall. The mules relaxed and lowered their heads to eat again. A moment later Ida ambled over to join them. The sound of their grinding jaws was soothing, but even so the hair on the back of Loretta’s neck tingled. She paused in her work to check the trees again. She felt as if someone were watching her. Detecting no sign of movement, she forced herself to stop dawdling and get back to work.
Henry took so long getting the second load of water that Loretta was nearly finished pitching straw when he returned. He emptied the buckets into the trough, set both on the ground, then stepped into the wagon and smiled at her. Taking off his hat, he dropped it on the tailgate and asked, ‘‘Need a hand?’’
Uneasiness washed over Loretta. As he stepped toward her, his teeth flashed in another broad grin. She angled a puzzled glance at his shadowed face as he took the pitchfork from her. To her surprise, he tossed it over the side of the wagon.
‘‘Sure you need a hand, sweet thing, sure you do.’’
His tone made a shudder run up her spine. He
Aware of how fast the sun was disappearing, Loretta crossed the porch and descended the steps. As she walked across the yard, she searched the dust for the hoofprints the Indians had left yesterday. Nothing. The wind had obliterated them. Which explained why Henry had found no evidence of Hunter’s visit last night. Her uncle was many things, but smart wasn’t one of them. Nightmare, my foot. Since when had she been one to raise an alarm over nothing? It infuriated her that Henry thought she was such a dimwit.
Since they had only two buckets in which to haul water, Henry’s offer to accompany her was suspicious. He was the most economical man she knew when it came to work and too big a coward to come along as protection. She sneaked a glance at him. He looked harmless, but Henry was at his most dangerous when he was acting nice. She went out behind the chicken shed to fetch the pails and then returned to fill them with water from the well.
To her surprise, Henry offered to carry one. His loose-hipped gait caused water to slosh over the bucket’s rim as he walked beside her in the wagon ruts that led out behind the barn. Loretta kept her head down and darted glances at him as he opened the gate to the barnyard. Ida, the barrel-bellied mare, whinnied and pushed her nose through the fence rails. Since Henry had been giving her grain each evening, she was far more anxious than usual to be let in from the pasture. The mules, Bessy and Frank, didn’t appear to share in her enthusiasm and continued grazing.
After they had emptied the pails into the trough, Henry said, ‘‘I’ll pack the second round of water by myself. You stay here and start tossin’ the straw.’’
Loretta relinquished her hold on the bucket and gazed after him as he strode out the gate and around the corner of the building. It seemed she had misjudged him. She shivered and rubbed her arms.
One of the mules snorted, and the sound gave Loretta such a start that she jumped. Bessy had both ears thrown forward and was staring at a thicket along the left perimeter of the fence. Loretta made a dive for the pitchfork where it leaned against the hay wagon. She studied the riverbank. To avoid having to haul water out into the fields to the livestock, Henry had fenced the acreage at an angle, the back closer to the river than the front, the grazing pastures bordering the stream. That put the barn less than a stone’s throw from the thick line of trees. In this poor light, she wouldn’t notice someone coming until he was on top of her. With the aid of the pitchfork, she vaulted into the wagon to see better.
There was nothing out of the ordinary lurking in the shadows. With a sigh, she forked some straw and threw it in a wide arc over her shoulder, long practice taking it to her mark inside the lean-to stall. The mules relaxed and lowered their heads to eat again. A moment later Ida ambled over to join them. The sound of their grinding jaws was soothing, but even so the hair on the back of Loretta’s neck tingled. She paused in her work to check the trees again. She felt as if someone were watching her. Detecting no sign of movement, she forced herself to stop dawdling and get back to work.
Henry took so long getting the second load of water that Loretta was nearly finished pitching straw when he returned. He emptied the buckets into the trough, set both on the ground, then stepped into the wagon and smiled at her. Taking off his hat, he dropped it on the tailgate and asked, ‘‘Need a hand?’’
Uneasiness washed over Loretta. As he stepped toward her, his teeth flashed in another broad grin. She angled a puzzled glance at his shadowed face as he took the pitchfork from her. To her surprise, he tossed it over the side of the wagon.
‘‘Sure you need a hand, sweet thing, sure you do.’’
His tone made a shudder run up her spine. He
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