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He focused his attention on the man he hoped to find in Austin. Each day, the man owed him more. He wouldn’t be sitting here fighting back the pain if the man hadn’t run off after killing Boyd.

She removed the cloth, and Austin released a long slow breath. He eased away from the chair as she wrapped a bandage around his chest and across his back.

“You’ll want to keep it clean and have a doctor look at it when you get to Austin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her fingers strayed to an old wound on his shoulder.

“Someone shot you,” she said quietly.

“Yes, ma’am. A little over six years ago.”

She jerked her hand back as though he’d bitten her. She placed the bottle of iodine on a shelf, scrubbed her hands at the sink, and wiped them on her apron, over and over, until he thought she might remove her skin.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as he stood and shrugged into his shirt.

“I just didn’t expect you to clean up so nice.”

Her blush pleased him more than her words. “I … I’ve got some porridge going here if you’d like some.”

He swung the chair around and dropped onto the seat. “Just some coffee.”

She slapped the porridge into a bowl and set it in front of her place at the table before pouring the coffee into a cup and handing it to him. “I’ve got milk and—”

“Just black.”

He wrapped his hands around the cup, absorbing its warmth, waiting as she poured herself some coffee and took her seat.

While she dumped six heaping spoons of sugar into her coffee, he watched with amusement.

He hadn’t been amused in a long time. She was incredibly innocent.

Living out here alone, away from town, away from the influence of people, how could she be otherwise?

Maybe not completely innocent. Even as she offered him food and shelter, a wariness remained in her eyes, a caution as though at any moment she feared he might turn on her like a rabid dog.

She glanced up and blushed again. “I like a little coffee with my sugar.”

“Is what why you’re so sweet?”

Her blush deepened as she lowered her gaze. Austin cursed himself and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing. He had no business flirting with a woman, especially one as innocent as she was. “I appreciate all that you did for me last night.”

“You should never let a wound go unattended so long.”

“I had other things on my mind.” He brought the cup to his lips and peered over the rim at the woman sitting across from him. She was sprinkling sugar over her porridge. A corner of his mouth curved up. He thought she might save time if she simply poured the porridge into the sugar bowl.

Having known so few women in his life, he’d developed an appreciation for them, an appreciation that even Becky’s betrayal couldn’t diminish.

He had no memory of his mother. Houston’s wife—Amelia—was the first woman to whom he’d ever really spoken.

He’d always liked the way she listened, as though she truly thought he had something of importance to share.

He’d even played his violin for her when he’d never dared to play it for anyone else.

Then Becky Oliver had moved to town, and Austin had thought she was an angel—his angel.

As much as he wanted to hate her, he only seemed capable of missing her.

“Other than building you a new barn, what can I do to repay your kindness?” he asked abruptly, more harshly than he’d intended, memories of Becky tainting his mood.

Her head shot up, her delicate brows drawn together over eyes mired with confusion. “I think you ought to spend the day resting and gathering your strength.”

“I need to see to my horse.”

“I fed and brushed him this morning.”

“And washed my clothes and polished my boots. Good Lord, don’t you ever stop doing?”

She dropped her gaze to the remaining porridge. “I like to keep busy.” She rose to her feet, picked up the bowl and cup, and carried them to the sink.

“My apologies, Miss Grant. I had no cause to take out my frustration on you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter, more so because she thought it didn’t. Austin scraped his chair back and stood. She spun around, the wariness back in her eyes.

“I don’t doubt you took good care of my horse, but I want to check on him anyway.

” He walked out of the house. The dog bounded across the yard and leapt up on Austin’s chest, his huge paws wet and muddy.

Austin scratched him behind the ears. “If you’re her protector, you need to do a better job of protecting her from me. ”

The dog fell to all fours and gazed up at him as though measuring his worth. Then he barked and scampered away to chase a butterfly.

Austin strode into the barn. Sunlight streamed through the holes. Black Thunder knickered. He rubbed the stallion’s nose. “So she’s taking good care of you, too, is she?”

He glanced around the run-down structure.

Severed and ragged at the end, a rope hung from a beam.

He wondered what kept a lone woman living here.

Why didn’t she pack up and move into town?

He had been teasing her when he’d mentioned repairing the barn, but he wasn’t certain he could chop enough wood to repay his debt.

He retrieved a rope halter that was hanging on the wall and slipped it onto Black Thunder before leading the stallion into the sunshine.

At the corral, he bent and brought the horse’s foreleg up between his knees.

He studied the festering wound and wondered if his back had looked this nasty when Miss Grant had tended it.

Releasing the foreleg, he knew he wouldn’t be traveling today.

He looked toward the house. The dog had either captured the butterfly or given up because he was stretched out beneath the shade of a distant tree.

A weakness settled in Austin’s legs. It galled him to have to admit Loree may have been right—he wasn’t quite recovered.

He ambled to the tree. Always watchful, the dog opened an eye and closed it.

A flash of yellow caught Austin’s attention and he shifted his gaze.

He leaned against the rough tree trunk. A strange sense of contentment stole over him as he watched Loree stand in the middle of a vegetable garden with a fawn nibbling something out of her cupped palm.

Three other deer tore up the growing foliage.

A family, he mused, and discontentment edged the peacefulness aside.

“I could string up some barbed wire for you,” he said.

The deer bounded into the thick grove of trees. Loree turned, her lightly golden brows drawn tightly together. “Why would I need barbed wire?”

“To protect your garden. Keep the pesky critters away.”

She looked toward the trees where the deer had disappeared. “They aren’t pesky, and I always grow more than I need.” She walked toward him, eyeing him suspiciously. “How are you feeling?”

Like he’d fallen from his horse, caught his foot in the stirrup, and been dragged across the state.

“A little tired. Do you have any kerosene? My horse’s hoof is festering. I need to tend it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to check his hoof.”

“You shouldn’t have to be concerned with my horse at all.”

Or with me. He’d shown her far more of himself than he wanted her to see. She was a stranger, but he had disconcerting memories of telling her things …

He followed her into the house and retrieved his knife from his saddlebag while she found the kerosene. By the time he returned outside, she was waiting beside Black Thunder, stroking the horse’s mane.

Stepping away from the stallion, she dropped her gaze to the knife Austin held. “Do you want me to hold his head?”

“It’s not necessary. He’s trained.” Giving the horse his backside, he brought the hoof up between his knees and dug the knife into the wound. He heard a whinny just before the sharp pain ricocheted through his butt. He dropped the hoof and jumped away from the horse. “Son of a—! Damn!”

He rubbed his backside while glaring at the horse that tossed its head like a woman might tilt her nose with indignation. Then he heard the laughter.

Light and airy, like a star drifting down from the heavens. He turned his attention to the woman. She had pressed her fingers against her lips, but he saw the corners of her mouth tilting up, carrying her smile to her eyes, shining like a golden coin. “You think it’s funny, Miss Grant?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, Mr. Leigh. It’s just not what I would have trained him to do.”

A bubble of laughter escaped from between her lips and it touched a chord of warmth deep within his chest. “Believe me, he picked that trick up while I was gone.”

She dropped her hand, and he watched as she fought to contain her smile. “You just don’t seem to have any luck.”

“Oh, I have luck, Miss Grant. Unfortunately, it’s all bad.”

Her smile withered. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t the cause of it.” He jerked his thumb toward the horse. “I’ll hold his head if you’ll rub the kerosene into his hoof.”

He grabbed the halter on either side of Black Thunder’s head.

When Loree bent to grab the hoof, Austin almost thanked the horse for nipping him.

Her skirt lifted to reveal her bare ankles and pulled taut across her backside.

How in the hell had he mistaken her for a boy the day before? His fever must have addled his brain.

Loree Grant was a tiny bundle of delicate femininity. Just as she had at the stove, she swayed her hips slightly with the motion of her hand, rubbing the kerosene into the horse’s hoof. Sweet Lord, it was pure torture to watch, to imagine that backside pressed against him, circling—

She dropped the hoof, straightened, and faced him. “Is there anything else I need to do for the horse?”

He swallowed hard and unclenched his fingers from around the halter. “Nope.”