A Match of Sorts Read online

  “What condition?”

  “You’re wounded, and I expect that knock against your head gave you a mild concussion.”

  The hearty aroma penetrated her senses, and she glanced at the tray just as her stomach cramped. It would be dandy if he could leave her in peace to eat. Another pang in her belly would bend her over. Unless he wasn’t done interrogating her.

  He started to set the tray in her lap and hesitated, his grip remaining on it. “Can you manage?”

  “Yup.”

  He sat in the rocker. Jewel pounced up, her front paws landing in his lap. Caleb grinned and scratched Jewel’s ears.

  Ignoring the spoon, Grace lifted the bowl to her lips and took a tentative sip of the broth, found it too hot and lowered it to her lap. “Sorry. She’s normally better mannered than that.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.” He met her gaze, the smile warming his brilliant blue eyes. “I still don’t know your name.”

  “Why do you want to know my name?” Suspicion laced her words.

  He jerked back his head.

  Yeah, she caused that reaction wherever she went.

  “Don’t you think it’s the least I deserve to know? I did haul your freezing carcass in from the storm.”

  Deserve? So he felt like he deserved something for his goodwill. Even preachers didn’t do anything out of the goodness of their hearts. She tightened her grip on the bowl. She could hurl it at him and hobble out of here. She didn’t need his brand of kindness. The one that answered tit for tat. Didn’t need his charity. Didn’t want it, either. All that stopped her was her lack of pants and the food taunting her hunger. That and she didn’t have a gun or a penny to her name. What kind of bounty hunter didn’t have a gun? A forced breath exited her lungs. “Grace. Blackwell.”

  The ease of his smile was unnerving. It had been awhile since she was in the company of a decent person. Especially a man. In her line of work, she steered clear of the prim and proper folks. They appreciated it. And so did she.

  “You look like a Grace.”

  She glared at him. Was he mocking her? Dressed in her getup, she looked anything but what her name signified. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Easy. Snapping at the poor man every time he opened his mouth wouldn’t change anything.

  “Nothing. It’s a pretty name, that’s all.”

  A pretty name?

  “Of course I thought you might've been Henry or Daniel in that get-up.” He propped his elbows on his knees and narrowed his eyes at her.

  So he made the misconception. What did he want from her? She didn’t owe him an explanation. Grace cradled the chipped porcelain bowl in her lap. “It’s a little white lie. What should I call you?”

  “Caleb will do.”

  “But you’re a preacher, I saw the collar.”

  “No need for the title.”

  “Isn’t that improper?”

  He nodded at the quilt clamped around her neck. “You worried about propriety?”

  “Not necessarily.” It was years too late to worry about morals, but she clung to a pinch of etiquette. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Drying in the kitchen. Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “After you undressed me, I don’t think I’ll mind a simple question.”

  He actually blushed and dipped his chin. Odd man.

  “Why were you disguised as a boy?” He brushed his palms together.

  “Women don’t generally do my kind of job.”

  “Mind to clarify?”

  She willed herself to meet his gaze. First it was the interest, and then the questions followed. The assumptions stung the most. People assumed so easily and judged with fervor. After so many years, it still churned her gut. “I’m a bounty hunter.”

  He frowned. Then he must’ve realized she was serious because he sat a little straighter. “I’ve never met a woman bounty hunter before.” He rubbed the leg he favored.

  “It puts food on the table.” Her determination buckling, Grace took the first bite of stew and bit back a moan as the flavor burst on her tongue. After cooking for years, she’d never quite mastered it. “Who made this?”

  “I did.”

  She heaped a bigger bite into her mouth and pointed her spoon at him. “Really?”

  “Are you saying because I’m a man I can’t cook?”

  “I expected a man like you to be married. A pretty wife cooking your meals with a passel of little ones clutching her skirts.” She emptied the bowl in a few hearty bites, her hunger and the richness of the meaty gravy spurring her on. It’d been too long since she’d enjoyed anything quite like this. Most of the food she prepared was staple items, serving to fill her belly.

  He blinked and looked to the empty kitchen. Caleb drew an audible breath. “I’m a widower.” Using the armrests of the rocker for support, he stood.

  “I’m sorry.” With her lack of social charms, she’d turned even the most basic of interactions uncomfortable. Always had. Raised with four older brothers, they influenced and shaped her to forever be awkward around ordinary folk.

  He nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire.

  A log burned through. When it broke into pieces, it sent a burst of sparks up the chimney.

  “I have two daughters. Abby and Libby. They’re staying at my brother’s house at the moment.”

  “The sheriff?” She swiped her finger along the side of the bowl and thrust it into her mouth. His lopsided grin would’ve disarmed her, if she’d continued to study him. Instead she dropped her gaze to the rug on the floor.

  “You remember.”

  “You look an awful lot alike.” She arched her brow at him.

  “He’s my twin.”

  “Ah.” That explained the striking similarities.

  “I’m the better looking one.” His mouth quirked up again.

  She lowered her lashes. At twenty-five, she was a spinster in the eyes of civilization, of men like him. Aside from her occupation, that alone said a great deal about her. Of course, a woman had to be blind not to notice how well everything in his face blended together. He certainly didn’t look like a preacher. His hair was thick, unruly, and on the longer side, curling at his ears and the collar of his shirt. A full but neat beard and mustache covered the lower part of his face. He had a rather prominent nose, but it added to his masculinity. Grace almost choked. Good gravy. That knock to her head had to be more serious than a mere concussion. She’d never studied an everyday man—a preacher, nonetheless—as if his face was on a wanted poster.

  Caleb nodded in her direction. “What about the wound in your arm?”

  “What about it?”

  “How did you get it?”

  “A scrape with my last charge.”

  “I’ll need to change your bandage when you’re done eating.”

  “I can manage. I’ve been taking care of the wound since I was shot.”

  “I beg to differ, Miss Blackwell. It was festered.”

  “I’m a bounty hunter. Not a doctor.” She swiped her finger in the porcelain bowl again.

  “Would you like some more?” He pointed at the dish. “There’s more than enough.”

  “I don’t think I have anything for you as payment.” And he’d best not think she was promiscuous because of the life she’d led.

  Caleb shook his head as he took the dish from her. “I don’t want your money.”

  “Oh, right. You’re doing this because you’re being neighborly.”

  “Right.” He retreated to the kitchen, quickly returning with a refill.

  Urgh. The man saved her life, and she just goaded him. Grace rubbed the throb at her temple. “Was there anything with me when you found me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nothing?” Her voice quivered. Dadgum! Her saddlebags held every earthly possession she owned. As well as several dollars.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His expression was so sincere that for a moment, Grace felt tempted to believe him. Only ‘sorry’ wouldn’t help
her now. She needed to get better as soon as possible and track down Pratt. Make him pay for double-crossing her.

  4

  Caleb dried the bowl, returned it to the shelf, and then ambled back to the parlor to check on his patient. Miss Blackwell slept on the sofa. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms. The sight of a sleeping woman in his home gnawed at the ache in his chest, fidgeting with the rawness he preferred to ignore. He missed his wife and her closeness. Though, why Miss Blackwell’s presence would remind him of Margaret, he didn’t know. They were as different as the bluebonnets Margaret loved to the black-eyed Susans that dotted the churchyard in summer. Margaret had a timeless, softer beauty to her, one that most people failed to appreciate. She was also shorter and more petite than Miss Blackwell.

  Without the risk of being caught, he studied her, ignoring the heat that stole up his spine. Thick hair curtained one side of her face. Sleep softened the hardness in her expression, mellowed the suspicion in her form. How exactly had he ever considered her a boy?

  She rolled to her side, and the quilt slipped, revealing the cream skin of her calf.

  Caleb inhaled and massaged his shoulders. Covering her sure would ease his discomfort, but should she open her eyes and find him hovering over her, he might not be able to walk for a month. The quilt slid another notch and he hurried to the sofa to adjust it. Perhaps Ellen and Luke could come and stay here until Miss Blackwell was well enough to move on. Sure, it might be a tight fit, but at least there wouldn’t be rumors to dowse. He shook his head. Luke and he might be twins, but their ways and mannerisms were as different as a fencepost and a bucket. Poor Ellen would flee to the Rockies if she had to deal with them both.

  He straightened and gripped his hair. A gentleman would’ve offered her the bed, not the lumpy sofa. Margaret made it quite clear that he possessed the manners of a bear on his best days. Should he wake her? He thumped his fingers against his belt. It was early. She’d be up before long. Then he’d offer her his room. And discuss what her plans for the future were, all while he fretted about what to do about Alex Conrad’s arrival.

  

  The aroma of baked goodness and cinnamon, mingled with faint feminine laughter halted Caleb at the back door of his brother’s house. He sucked in a breath and let his hand drop to his side. The familiar pang in his chest jabbed him, and he squeezed his eyes against the stinging sensation. There had been a time, not too long ago, when he’d come home to the aroma of food and his daughters and wife’s laughter greeting him. Margaret possessed the gift to make him smile with her gentle ways regardless of his day. It’d only been by the Lord’s provision that he’d made it through the year without her.

  “What are you doing?” Luke’s voice and the sudden burst of warm light from the open door jolted Caleb to the present.

  Caleb’s breath puffed white in front of him. “I was just about to knock.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Luke stood aside and motioned for Caleb to enter. “Come inside before you catch cold.”

  When Caleb closed the door behind him, Abby’s squeal was enough to burst an eardrum. Before he could even shrug out of his coat, she rushed up to him, with Libby short on her heels.

  “Daddy!”

  He hunkered down as both girls slammed into him. If not for Luke’s support, Caleb would’ve landed flat on his backside. With a grin he scooped both up, despite his burning leg, and rubbed their faces with his whiskered chin, drawing giggles from them both. “How are my girls?”

  Abby launched into reporting her day’s activities as he set her down on her chair at the table. Libby’s grip around his neck tightened, and he squeezed her. She favored Margaret, in looks and nature. The cavity in his chest expanded, and he shot up a quick prayer for strength. He needed to be strong for the sake of his daughters. After a peck on her head, Libby allowed him to set her down.

  He planted a quick kiss on Ellen’s proffered cheek and accepted the coffee she handed to him. “Something smells really good in here.”

  “We made bread pudding.” Abby clapped her hands. “On a week night, Daddy.”

  Ellen mouthed an apology. He waved it off and tested the coffee. When it scalded his lips, he put the cup down on the table.

  “We’ve been helping Aunt Ellen with painting the Christmas props.” Abby rocked on her chair.

  “They’ve both been such a great help.” Ellen smiled.

  “I’m proud of you both.” Caleb tousled Libby’s hair as she tightened her grip on his leg.

  “When can we come home, Daddy?” Abby gripped his hand in both of hers.

  Libby twisted enough to pin her wide-eyed gaze on him.

  “Soon, princess.”

  “We want to come home,” Libby sniffled in a tiny voice, causing Caleb’s throat to prickle.

  “I want you to come home, too, but I need a quick word with your uncle first.”

  Luke nodded and headed to the parlor. He dropped down on the armchair and waited for Caleb to take a seat. “How’s your patient?”

  “Recovering and suffering from a headache.”

  “And? Does she remember anything?”

  “She doesn’t.” Caleb rubbed his thumb across the faded material of the armrest. “Did you happen to go through those wanted posters again?”

  Luke nodded. “Nothing. I sent a wire to the sheriff in Houston as well. Though, a woman outlaw would’ve reached my ears by now. She’d stick out like a rat in a henhouse.”

  “All right.” At least knowing that gave Caleb some sense of safety and assurance. He needn’t fear having his throat slit in his sleep.

  “Seems you’ve made the acquaintance of a rare, female bounty hunter.” Luke wiggled his brows.

  Caleb snorted and ran his hand through his hair. How did a woman end up a bounty hunter? Those bounty hunters he’d seen were as rough as the outlaws they pursued. He’d have expected a woman bounty hunter to be hard looking. Not as feminine and lovely as Grace Blackwell.

  “What will you do with her?”

  “I don’t know.” After the fire last week, Cedar Grove didn’t have a hotel. The humble town never needed a boardinghouse. When Margaret was alive, no one twitched a muscle when they’d lodged strangers. But as a widower, it would cause a stir when Grace’s presence was revealed.

  Luke craned his neck and looked into the kitchen. “She can move in with us.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Caleb shook his head.

  Luke and Ellen’s residence was even smaller than the parsonage. Sheltering the girls for a night or two was one thing, but a grown woman would be uncomfortable.

  “She’s not your responsibility.” Luke drummed his fingers on the armrests of his seat.

  “I know. Still, I can’t pass her on to someone else, as if she’s a crust of bread.”

  “I’m not just someone.”

  “You know what I mean. I’d like to ask you and Ellen if the girls can stay here at least until I can figure out what to do with Miss Blackwell.”

  “Of course. We enjoy having them. I still think it’ll be better if the woman moves here. That way I can keep an eye on her.”

  Caleb gritted his teeth. “I’m capable of protecting myself.”

  “Of course you are. I just don’t like it. I trust bounty hunters as much as I trust the scum they track.” Luke propped his ankle on his opposite knee and crossed his arms.

  “It’s only temporarily.” Caleb stood. “I’d best get back and check on her.”

  Luke frowned. “Did she tell you about her wound?”

  “She said she got involved in a scrape with one of the men she took in.”

  

  Grace lifted the cup to her lips, the steam floating from the coffee warming her chin. Her clothes were finally dry enough for her to wear, and though she’d take it to her grave, she missed the faint scent of strong soap, and of Caleb, that his shirt had held. It’d been a while since someone had shown her a lick of kindness.

  “Don’t l
et Luke intimidate you.” Caleb bit into a piece of bacon with a crunch.

  “I don’t get intimidated.” Her brothers taught her not to let anyone notice it when she did.

  “Good. Because he can get a little pushy.”

  “I can handle him.” After dealing with more than a dozen sheriffs, she’d found them less threatening. She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes. When was the last time she had breakfast in a kitchen? The simple and practical room consisted of a stove, dry sink, and shelves stacked with pots and pans. A narrow cupboard stood against the other wall. A square table, flanked with four chairs sat in the center of the room.

  Silence settled as they finished their breakfast.

  He stood and collected the empty dishes on the table.

  “Let me do it.”

  “You still need to regain your strength. Finish your coffee.” He wiped the dishes with a rag, and then set the plates in the basin. Caleb lifted the kettle from the oven and filled the basin with hot water. He washed, dried, and then stacked the dishes on a shelf.

  The door opened.

  A pretty blonde woman in a dark woolen cloak entered, followed by the sheriff.

  “I brought Ellen with me. Hope you don’t mind.” The sheriff slapped Caleb on his shoulder, his gaze locked on Grace as he swept his cowboy hat, dusted with white, from his head.

  The tiny woman at his side smiled as she removed her cloak and revealed a sensible brown calico dress. Women like that didn’t normally smile at Grace. Poor thing probably hadn’t noticed Grace’s clothes yet.

  “Miss Blackwell, this is my brother and town sheriff, Luke Brennan, and his wife, Ellen.” Caleb kissed Mrs. Brennan’s cheek and then motioned to the chairs as he took the cloak and coat and hung them on pegs behind the door.

  “I left the girls with Mama,” Mrs. Brennan said to Caleb as she offered her hand to Grace. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Grace almost choked on her coffee as she took the woman’s hand and gave it a firm shake. The grip was unexpectedly strong despite Mrs. Brennan’s diminutive build.

  Mrs. Brennan sat down, twisted on the chair, and cocked her head at her husband.