“Do me a favor and keep to yourself for the next few days, okay?” my unlikely instructor requests before he goes, provoking my interest as he swings himself up into the saddle. “Don’t go into town unless you need to.”
“Why? Is something going to happen?”
“Not necessarily,” he answers, dodging my question while calmly reining in his increasingly impatient horse. “But it’s not safe for you to be wandering around here on your own until you know how to defend yourself properly.”
“I know how to—” He looks me in the eyes as his brow lifts, and I look back with my hands on my hips for a few seconds before conceding. “Fine. But what if I have somewhere to be?”
“Have it wait.”
“I have a job.” I think about the gentleman at the boarding house, about his business in town, and I suddenly feel concerned on his behalf despite being quite positive after only one conversation that he can handle himself. “Are you heading to the saloon?”
Dark eyes narrow in my direction. “Why do you ask?”
“I met someone earlier.” I think about the black stallion again and decide he suits that man as much as the mustang in front of me does his own rider. “Maybe you’ve seen him in town?”
“I see a lot of people.”
“This one would stand out,” I say, still not completely sure why I’m asking except that there is something in the back of my mind insisting on it. “Dressed nice. Talks like he’s high society, but there’s something…unusualabout him. You know how I mean?”
Rather than answer, he looks away and adjusts his reins, but it doesn’t completely hide the way the corner of his mouth turns up. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“You answer very few.”
His head tilts as he considers me, then he points at the gun still clutched at my side. “Someone comes calling, you greet them with that pistol, clear?” I nod, and he returns the gesture before urging his horse forward. “Stay out of sight, Cora.”
I don’t turn away until he’s gone, wandering back toward Tess’s stall. That’s when I see the parcel left behind on the bench, same as the one he’d given me the night before. I reach for it, opening it to find a similar offering. An apple, a few pieces of jerky, a few biscuits. My stomach grumbles appreciatively, and later as I stare up at the roof in my makeshift bed, I think about how much I would like to know his name. Along with how, exactly, he already knows mine.
The next morning, I arrive at the boarding house so early that I sit for nearly an hour on the back steps before Mrs. Jensen lets me in, her dour face appearing at the glass as if I were the one keeping her waiting.
This time, she appears to have no reservations about leaving me on my own, staying only long enough to gather up some breakfast to take with her to her daughter’s house. As well as to warn me once again that anything out of place will result in my immediate dismissal.
I don’t mind her much. I am already too busy listening for the sounds of stirring upstairs, which come to pass around ten o’clock, with the exception of one loud thump from above about two hours earlier.
As soon as I finally hear him enter the dining room, I push my way through the kitchen door with his tray. My eyes searching until I find him, once again up and pacing, although this time he turns to give me his full attention without the need for any sortof prompting on my part.
“Cora.” He greets me with that same grin, that same spark in his eyes as he stands in yet another all black suit. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I offer back, setting his tray once more at the head of the table. “Did you sleep well?”
“No, not especially.”
I pause, his latest candid statement already throwing me, and my fingers knit together nervously. “Was your bed not made how you like it? Was the room too warm? Too cold? I could bring up some more blankets.”
He shakes his head with a frown, coming closer so that we are standing only a few feet apart. “Nothing for you to mend, little bird. I’m afraid it’s another personal failing of mine that I am often ill at ease in an environment that is not my own.”
“I see.” I open my mouth to ask where hisenvironmentis, but he draws me up short again when he shifts the tray in front of a side chair and gestures for me to sit.
“Oh, no, that’syourbreakfast,” I tell him quickly, thinking again that he must believe I’m someone important.
“You take this one, and I’ll get my own,” he responds, inclining his head again in the direction of the vacant chair. “You can sit with me for a while?”
“But I’m not—I mean, I would really like to, but—”
“In that case…” He reaches out and gently grasps my hand, giving it a soft tug to get me moving until I am sitting as he asked. My skin tingles where he held my fingers, where I felt his breath fan against the back of my neck when he once again eased the chair up to the table.
“There,” he says, satisfied. “Be back in a moment.”
He walks around the table toward the kitchen with a level of comfort that seems to imply there is nothing at all shocking in what he is doing, which is probably why it takes several stunnedmoments for me to think enough to get up and follow him. By the time I do, he is already heading back. He sets his full plate in the spot across the dining table from mine, much closer now than when we had been at opposite ends yesterday.