The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances (10 page)

She dozed and began to
mumble lightly. Suddenly she was shaken awake by Brock as her screams echoed off the metal bars of the cell.

“Sorry,
” she whispered as people off the street poked their heads in the door to make sure all was well. 

Brock sighed, “I think we should be getting home.”

Home.

What a powerful word and what deep meaning it should hold. Home is where you belong, where you are safe and warm. Where your family is. Where love is. Sabrina refused to cry as she followed Brock out the door, holding her packages tightly to her chest. Yes, she was going home.

Chapter 9

S
till sleepy, Sabrina leaned up against Brock’s back as they rode home. She closed her eyes. She knew she would get no rest tonight. There were too many demons dancing around in her head for her to sleep.

They soon arrived and Brock lifted the sleepy boy down and made sure he was on his feet before climbing down himself. He told Will to go to the house and rest and he would take care of Troy.

Not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts, she followed Brock into the barn anyway. She sat on a bale of hay, deep in thought. Perhaps subconsciously she was not just hiding from Warren. Maybe she was hiding from something else. Something darker, something evil. She shuddered at the thought. She knew she no longer had to hide from Warren. Legally he could not control her. She had questioned herself many times as to why she still kept up the charade. Now she knew why. All this time she knew. She knew someone was looking for her: Sabrina. Nobody was looking for Will. Will was safe. For now.

Brock finished his work and headed out of the barn. He didn’t have to motion for the boy to follow; he was right on his heels. There were biscuits and bacon left over from breakfast but Sabrina did not feel like eating and offered her share to Brock. He looked at her in concern.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Will mumbled.

“Anything that’s on your mind.”

“Okay, how did your parents meet,” she asked, taking him off guard. Had she been in a better mood she would have laughed at the expression on his face. ”Was your mother a captive? You said you would tell me later.”

She was sitting on the floor next to his bed with her back to the wall. She didn’t want to go to bed. She didn’t want to dream.

Brock came over and sat down on his cot. “You have a good memory. Ok, I’ll tell you.” He lay down on his back and put his hands behind his head as he stared off into another time and he told his story.

“My mother is a full blooded Comanche. She was very proud and very strong willed---so strong that the braves called her ‘Sharp tongue.’ Comanches are great horsemen and traders. They are fierce and strong warriors in battle.  They travel a lot, seeking new trade. My father was a trapper; he owned a trading post where all tribes of Indians would gather to trade for goods. He was very skilled at his craft and showed the Comanche how to process the skins to be stronger. Anyway, that is how my parents met.”

Sabrina was intrigued. Brock was a great storyteller; his voice was very smooth and soothing. She was disappointed when he stopped talking.

“Was it love at first sight?” she asked. 

Brock laughed aloud. “No, my mother was very stubborn, very difficult. She was a great annoyance to her father, a Comanche Elder. She somehow ended up running into my father while bathing.  Before either one could react they were spotted by my Grandmother, who took the opportunity to force her to marry. My dad really had no choice in the matter.”

“I doubt that. There are always choices.” She hesitated.  “Are they still alive?”

“Oh yes. They live in a cabin in the mountains. I see them when I can.”

“Do you have an Indian name?” 

Brock hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Eagle Wind.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Brock humphed. “What about your parents?” he asked cautiously. He wanted to find out how the boy knew the outlaw but didn’t want to upset him again.

Sabrina closed her eyes as she thought of her parents. She usually tried not to think of her family---it hurt too much.

He was silent for so long Brock thought that maybe he had fallen asleep. He was surprised when Will started talking. “My mother was traveling with her sister. My
Aunt Betty is very adventurous and loves to travel. She often dragged my mother along for company. My mother was beautiful. She had copper-colored hair and green eyes. Needless to say, I look like my dad.”

“Except for the eyes,” Brock broke in.

“Yes, I’m always told I inherited my father’s looks, my mother’s eyes and my aunt’s spirit. She and my aunt were traveling by stagecoach. It was attacked by outlaws, and they were rescued by my father.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should reveal. “He was a Marshall. It was love at first sight. At least that’s what my mother always told me. I have never seen a man and woman love each other so much. They would have died for each other. And they did,” she added softly.

Brock waited for more of the story but Will didn’t continue. He looked over at the boy, but he was just staring off into space. “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

Sabrina shook her head no. “I don’t want to sleep. I’ll have dreams.”

Brock frowned, remembering the terrified
cries earlier, in town. He wished he could ease his mind. “Do you want to lie down with me?”

Sabrina nodded gratefully, too tired to think of
anything else. Brock scooted over against the wall and she climbed in next to him. Brock whispered good night, but she was already asleep.

Brock awoke at first light. He felt a warm body pressed against him, and it took him a second to remember he had let the boy sleep with him. In sleep, Will had wrapped himself around Brock with his head nestled comfortably on Brock’s chest. Alarmed by his body’s reaction Brock quickly disentangled himself and headed outside to get some fresh air.

Sabrina was disgruntled at her rude awakening. She couldn’t remember ever sleeping so well. Smiling at Brock’s hasty departure, she stood up and stretched. She wished she could sleep as well every night. However, the odd look that Brock gave her when he came back in squashed any hope of a repeat.

Frowning, she headed out to bathe in the creek nearby. She told Brock so he wouldn’t come down to the creek by accident. She took her muddy clothing from yesterday with her to wash out. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. Cleaning them as best she could, she then took the lye soap and scrubbed every inch of herself. The water was very cold but refreshing. Donning her clean clothes she took her wet clothes back to the house to hang on the clothes line out back. There were a couple of
clothespins left on the line and she used them to secure her items.

Her mind wandered as she went about her task. She felt so comfortable and so…safe when in Brock’s arms. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up her charade. She was scared he would hate her if she told him, and she was scared he would hate her if she didn’t. Remembering the look of guilt he gave her this morning---as if
he
had done something wrong---she sighed and went back inside.

Brock was at the stove. “Morning,” she said, coming up behind him to watch. It always amazed her how quickly the thick clear egg whites turned pure white. Brock only nodded to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly almost to herself.

He looked at her quizzically. “Sorry? For what?”

“For being such a nuisance. I would understand if you asked me to leave.”

Brock’s heart ached as he looked down at Will. Maybe he’d overreacted this morning. Now the boy thought he was angry with him when, really, he was angry at himself. He did not want the boy to leave. Hell, he had no place else to go. No, he would just have to be more cautious in the future. Keep himself in check.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Brock muttered, avoiding those eyes as he turned back to breakfast. “I’m sorry if I made you think that. I guess I’m just used to living alone.” 

They went outside to eat and Sabrina felt the best she had felt in a long time. Even before the fire. She felt Brock’s eyes on her and boldly looked up to meet them. He glanced away. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer,” Sabrina said, feeling a sense of dread creep over her.

“The night of the fire. When I grabbed you to pull you out, you called me Samuel.  Who’s Samuel?” The question had been nagging at him lately.

Sabrina frowned; she did not remember that from the night of the fire.  In fact she wished there was a lot more from that night that she could forget.

“Samuel is...was my best friend from back home. We did everything together. He saved my life. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Yes. I mean, I hope so.”

“Well, why did you leave?” Brock asked curiously.

“I don’t wanna talk anymore.” Sabrina stood up and walked off to the barn. Let him wash the
friggin' dishes, she thought, greeting Troy.  She started brushing him to calm herself. She didn’t want to lie to Brock. But she just couldn’t tell him the truth. It was best just to walk away. Seems like I’ve been doing that for a long time. Running. And I’m  getting damn tired of it.

Knowing that Brock needed to go to town, she saddled Troy and had him ready when Brock appeared in the barn.  She forced a small smile to let him know she wasn’t mad at him. In one graceful move he was on the large horse and he leaned down to offer her his hand.  She hesitated briefly and then grabbed it, swinging up behind him.

While Brock worked, Sabrina went around looking for a job. She knew that Mr. Swanson would probably give her one at the saloon but she knew that he didn’t need any help and any job he offered her would be charity on his part so that would be a last resort.

She tried most places on Main Street but nobody was hiring. Finally, she went down to the river and watched the men loading the boats. She knew she was not strong enough for that type of work but it did help pass the time as she rested her weary feet.  Her thoughts kept going back to Brock. She wondered if he regretted letting her stay with him. It was twice as much work on his part. She hadn’t learned to cook yet. Maybe Mac could teach her and she could surprise him with supper.
With a plan in mind, she stood and headed toward the saloon.  Mac was behind the counter, as usual, and she greeted her old friend. It had only been a couple of days since she’d seen him last but it seemed like much longer.

Mac frowned at her. “You’re looking kinda puny; ain’t he been feeding you?”

“Yes, I just ain’t had much of an appetite lately. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Shame. You could bunk with me; I have a room out back, but a saloon is no place for a youngster like you.”

“I’m fine. Brock’s been more than generous. In fact, I was wondering if you could show me how to cook so I could help him out. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Mac snorted. “A burden---hell he should be honored that you chose to stay there. Cooking is a fine art. Some people are gifted and others aren’t. I daresay that you’re not but I guess I could teach you a few things: the basics at least. Can’t mess them up.”

She hugged him and he sighed, taking her over to the kitchen. Sabrina’s mind buzzed as he pointed out the items on the shelves: cornmeal, wheat flour, molasses, lard; seemed like a lot of ingredients. He then went on to tell her what part each played. He instructed her on the proper way to peel a potato, and she only cut one finger in the process. Her mind whirled as she listened. She tried to take it all in but he just kept adding more details as he cooked and it pushed out the other stuff she’d learned. So she had bits and pieces all jumbled up in her mind.

Mac sighed at her confused expression. “Ya know, it’d be easier to just get hitched to a girl who can cook and you’ll be fine.”

Sabrina forced out a small laugh. She heard Brock’s voice on the other side of the wall and her heart fluttered.  Mac placed a heavy sack in her hands and nodded for her to get going. She thanked him before stepping back into the main saloon hall.

It was getting dark outside. Sabrina didn’t realize she had been there so long. He was at the bar talking to Pamela, a barmaid. Sabrina knew the woman and normally liked her. However, right now, she just felt mean-spirited and she didn’t know why. Brock spotted her and smiled. Damn, he was beautiful. She warned herself to remain calm and not do or say anything stupid.

“Ready?” she asked hopefully, as the woman waited for his answer as well.

“Yup, let’s go home.” He put his hand on Will’s back to guide him through the growing throng of customers. He had tied Troy up outside and Sabrina was grateful to be out in the fresh air. The smoke from the stove and the cheap cigars had permeated her lungs and she breathed in deeply. It had never bothered her before; she guessed they were still healing from the night of the fire.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“A surprise.” She paused, not sure if she could hold onto the bag and to Brock at the same time.

“You need some help?” he asked.

“I have to keep it level.” 

Brock nodded. “Alright, you can ride in front and hold on to it. I don’t want my surprise getting ruined.”

She was glad for the dim light; she knew her face was probably red from the attention. He held his hand out for the bag; she handed it to him and mounted. He handed the bag up to her as he mounted behind her. His gun barrel was digging into her side and she shifted her bottom.

Brock grabbed her arm and leaned forward. “Sit still, would you?”

Miffed, Sabrina retorted. “Sorry, your gun was poking into my rib cage.”