Read Online Heartbreak Creek by Kaki Warner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kaki Warner
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clearing close to the wagon but well away from overhanging tree limbs, then arranged flat rocks in a crude fire ring. That completed, he returned to the wagon.
As he pulled his shotgun from beneath the seat and slipped a handful of shot shells into his pocket, he watched the women work on their cozy little nest, a bit aggravated that he was expected to do all the camp chores by himself when there were two able-bodied women on hand to help. If this was an indication of things to come, it didn’t bode well.
“Think you’ll need all five of those blankets?” he asked tersely, thinking of his own cold bed on the ground.
His wife turned to look at him. A moment later, a wad of coarse, straw-specked wool landed against his chest. “Will that be enough?” she asked through lips as tight as a tailor’s stitch.
Apparently, it would have to be. Ignoring the apologetic smile Prudence Lincoln sent his way, he tossed the blanket under the wagon and straightened to face his wife’s backside as she bent over to flick errant bits of straw from her blanket.
It was a nice butt, despite her thinness. Pear-shaped, with a gentle upward curve to a trim waist. And nice ankles showing beneath the hiked-up hem of her skirt, too, although the boots that encased them were far too flimsy. A snake could easily bite through that fine leather and—
Suddenly aware that Prudence Lincoln was looking at him, he averted his eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”
“What?” His wife bolted upright so fast her frilly bonnet slid down over her forehead. Shoving it back, she said in that high-pitched voice he was learning to dread, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Irritation peaked, spreading along his frayed nerves in a warm rush, awakening old resentments of half-forgotten arguments with another woman in another time. Struggling to rein in his temper, he hooked a thumb toward the junipers and pinyons crowding the clearing. “I think I’m going into those woods. To get supper. That okay with you?”
“Supper?” Her gaze dropped to the gun in his hand, then back up to meet his. She had pretty eyes. Blue and full of life. They didn’t hide much. And what they were showing him now was that she was scared.
Hell. This just got worse and worse. A loon, a shrew, and now a coward. If she wasn’t so easy to look at, she’d be entirely useless. “You’ll be all right,” he assured her. “I won’t be far.”
“You promise?”
He nodded, both surprised by her sudden childlike trust and annoyed at her clinging. If she had been the sturdy farm woman he’d contracted for, instead of dwelling on her fears she would be getting the fire going and setting coffee on to boil. The thought of it made his stomach rumble. “There are sacks of cornmeal and coffee up front,” he offered, hopefully.
His wife blinked at him.
The mulatto filled the lengthening silence with a rush of words, “Thank you, sir. That’ll be just fine. We’ll come up with something, don’t you worry. The pans and utensils are up front, too?”
“In the leather pouch.”
“Thank you, sir.”
His wife continued to blink.
Prudence Lincoln smiled thinly.
“Well, I’ll be off then. Shout if you need me.” With a lingering glance at the unfilled coffeepot sitting on the front bench, he turned toward the woods.
When he returned forty-five minutes later, smoke coiled above the crackling fire, the smell of coffee drifted in the cool air, and Prudence Lincoln was turning johnnycakes on a skillet over the fire.
He quickened his step.
Hearing him approach, she looked up, smiling when she saw the grouse and two squirrels dangling from his hand.
He dropped the dressed carcasses on a rock near the fire. “It’s not much. But it’ll do.”
“It’ll be plenty, sir. Thank you.”
He glanced over at his wife, who sat huddled on a stump near the flames, using the end of a blanket to shield her eyes from the smoke. She didn’t speak or look his way.
Miss
As he pulled his shotgun from beneath the seat and slipped a handful of shot shells into his pocket, he watched the women work on their cozy little nest, a bit aggravated that he was expected to do all the camp chores by himself when there were two able-bodied women on hand to help. If this was an indication of things to come, it didn’t bode well.
“Think you’ll need all five of those blankets?” he asked tersely, thinking of his own cold bed on the ground.
His wife turned to look at him. A moment later, a wad of coarse, straw-specked wool landed against his chest. “Will that be enough?” she asked through lips as tight as a tailor’s stitch.
Apparently, it would have to be. Ignoring the apologetic smile Prudence Lincoln sent his way, he tossed the blanket under the wagon and straightened to face his wife’s backside as she bent over to flick errant bits of straw from her blanket.
It was a nice butt, despite her thinness. Pear-shaped, with a gentle upward curve to a trim waist. And nice ankles showing beneath the hiked-up hem of her skirt, too, although the boots that encased them were far too flimsy. A snake could easily bite through that fine leather and—
Suddenly aware that Prudence Lincoln was looking at him, he averted his eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”
“What?” His wife bolted upright so fast her frilly bonnet slid down over her forehead. Shoving it back, she said in that high-pitched voice he was learning to dread, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Irritation peaked, spreading along his frayed nerves in a warm rush, awakening old resentments of half-forgotten arguments with another woman in another time. Struggling to rein in his temper, he hooked a thumb toward the junipers and pinyons crowding the clearing. “I think I’m going into those woods. To get supper. That okay with you?”
“Supper?” Her gaze dropped to the gun in his hand, then back up to meet his. She had pretty eyes. Blue and full of life. They didn’t hide much. And what they were showing him now was that she was scared.
Hell. This just got worse and worse. A loon, a shrew, and now a coward. If she wasn’t so easy to look at, she’d be entirely useless. “You’ll be all right,” he assured her. “I won’t be far.”
“You promise?”
He nodded, both surprised by her sudden childlike trust and annoyed at her clinging. If she had been the sturdy farm woman he’d contracted for, instead of dwelling on her fears she would be getting the fire going and setting coffee on to boil. The thought of it made his stomach rumble. “There are sacks of cornmeal and coffee up front,” he offered, hopefully.
His wife blinked at him.
The mulatto filled the lengthening silence with a rush of words, “Thank you, sir. That’ll be just fine. We’ll come up with something, don’t you worry. The pans and utensils are up front, too?”
“In the leather pouch.”
“Thank you, sir.”
His wife continued to blink.
Prudence Lincoln smiled thinly.
“Well, I’ll be off then. Shout if you need me.” With a lingering glance at the unfilled coffeepot sitting on the front bench, he turned toward the woods.
When he returned forty-five minutes later, smoke coiled above the crackling fire, the smell of coffee drifted in the cool air, and Prudence Lincoln was turning johnnycakes on a skillet over the fire.
He quickened his step.
Hearing him approach, she looked up, smiling when she saw the grouse and two squirrels dangling from his hand.
He dropped the dressed carcasses on a rock near the fire. “It’s not much. But it’ll do.”
“It’ll be plenty, sir. Thank you.”
He glanced over at his wife, who sat huddled on a stump near the flames, using the end of a blanket to shield her eyes from the smoke. She didn’t speak or look his way.
Miss
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