More Than a Miracle Page 2

  Gabe caught a glimpse of sparkling green eyes and a short uptilted nose before she ducked her head to work the pack’s wet knots.

  But a man, even one in need of a warm, dry place, could take only so much slander about his age and abilities.

  “Ma’am,” he said in as firm, but soft voice as he could then manage, “I’m not old and decrepit. I’m thirty years old and I can’t remember the last time a woman scolded me.”

  “More’s the pity,” she muttered, gently nudging him out of her way. The knots were proving to be as stubborn as the man who’d tied them.

  “But don’t take on so,” she added without a thought of hiding her amusement. “If a good woman scolded you more often, you would have found shelter for yourself and these poor darlings long before the storm began.”

  He was speechless as his normal slow-to-rile temper heated his blood.

  He glared at her shorter, thickly padded figure, then gently pushed her aside to finish undoing the tie-down rope. He tossed aside the canvas and unloaded the three feed bags and sacks of corn and grain that he carried for his horses. Grainfed horses tended to give a man speed when he needed it, and although the Indian troubles were behind Colorado, there were plenty of outlaws still riding the mountain trails.

  Maureen eyed the corn and grain and never one to keep quiet with a compliment, spoke out. “You take good care of your animals.”

  “You sound surprised. And you’d be right about having the sense to seek shelter. If I had a woman of my own,” he added. “Maybe you’ve gotten in the habit of scolding children and forget what it’s like to speak to a grown man.”

  “You’re right.” A charming, light laugh followed. “We haven’t had much company since the cold weather.”

  “I didn’t offend you?” he asked, ready to begin on the other pack animal.

  “No. Why would I be offended when you spoke the truth?”

  Maureen looked up at him. He chose that moment to thumb back his hat. Black hair tumbled across his forehead. But his eyes captured and demanded all her attention.

  Stormy blue-gray eyes framed by arched black brows and thick lashes. The color of his eyes seemed familiar. It had to be that, for she was sure that she had never seen this man before tonight.

  What she thought were craggy features, were ruggedly handsome. A face of masculine strength from the straight nose, the stern set of his mouth to the almost square cut of his jaw. The high cheekbones, reddened from the cold, reminded her that she had been staring far too long.

  He hadn’t said a word, just watched her with a great deal of calm, but she turned away, frowning over the very puzzling sense that she should know who he was.

  What was wrong with her? She had no fear of this stranger. Not one little jolt of caution rose inside her. But how could that be when he claimed ownership of the very place she called home?

  Perhaps the cold had dulled her senses. She bent to pick up the feed bags, but his larger, long-fingered hand reached them before her own.

  “I’ll take care of the rest,” he murmured. “You’ve been more than kind and helpful to a stranger. I gather you’re alone with children here, and caution you not to be so welcoming to every man who rides up looking for shelter.”

  “Warning me against yourself?”

  “No. I’d offer no harm to a woman. But there are those who’d take advantage of a generous nature and perhaps show less respect than they should. I seek to caution you and no more.”

  “Then thanks for your caution. But I’m not helpless, you know.” And from the deep side pocket of the man’s jacket she wore, she lifted out a fairly new Colt Peacemaker.

  Gabe showed no surprise as he carefully pushed the barrel aside.

  “I’m sure you’re a good shot, too.”

  “At close range most folks would be.”

  For some reason he felt foolish, and it wasn’t a feeling he was comfortable wearing.

  “Would it be too much to ask for some hot coffee before I bed down here?”

  “Here? You intend to stay in the barn?”

  “You don’t deny there’s no man around. You wouldn’t be comfortable having a stranger in the cabin with you. The barn’s dry and that hay will make a fine bed.”

  He was right. She knew he was, and the protest that silently formed died in her throat.

  Without another word, she left him to see to his animals and returned to the cabin.

  It was only as she opened the door that she realized she never asked him his name. More she wouldn’t ask, for it wasn’t a Westerner’s way to question folks about their doings. Especially not strange men who rode out of the night with a well-tended rifle and a tied-down gun.

  Maybe he was one of those very outlaws that he warned her against?

  Useless to speculate.

  She placed another load of wood on the fire. Coffee he asked for and coffee he’d get. Tea was precious and he would likely scorn an offering if she made one.

  While she waited for the water to boil, she cut a few thick slices of the corn bread left from supper and spread them with butter. Glancing at the plate it didn’t seem enough to offer a hungry man. Not that he said he was hungry, but he had to be. He carried food for his horses and likely had food in the other packs, but he would have had no time to build a fire and cook something for himself.

  Bacon wouldn’t take long to cook. From that thought she was slicing, and then adding the three eggs set aside for her and the children’s breakfast.

  She added coffee grinds and a bit of cold water to settle them in the pot. It was then she realized how foolish she would be to carry hot food and coffee out into the cold.

  “The man’s befuddled what wits I have,” she muttered as she quickly dressed against going back outside.

  Flinging open the door she found him standing there, his hand raised to knock.

  “I was coming to—”

  “I thought to save you—”

  They both spoke and stopped at the same moment and looked at each other, until Maureen, the first to recover, stepped aside for him to enter.

  “I was coming to get you to eat here,” she said, closing the door. In the revealing light she saw that he was a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. The tiny lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes told of squinting up at the sun or long distances. There was a trace of tanned skin, but she noted the weariness that mantled him.

  “Sit down. You’ll be more comfortable and warmer here.”

  “And I came to save you another trip in the snow.”

  The cabin was almost hot compared to the warmth of the barn. He sniffed and smiled. “Coffee and bacon smell mighty fine to a hungry man, ma’am.”

  Maureen turned aside to hang up her shawl and jacket. Without looking at him, she took the hat and coat he offered and hung them alongside her own. She heard him step away and a quick look over her shoulder showed him near the fireplace, his large hands stretched out to the warming blaze.

  “We didn’t even exchange names. I’m Maureen. Maureen O’Rourke.”

  She turned fully and realized that he didn’t seem to hear her. With a nervous motion she smoothed down her skirt.

  “After you’ve eaten, we’ll talk about the cabin.”

  That got his attention. He turned toward her. His gaze took in the neatly coiled reddish-brown hair, the faded blue calico gown and the deceptive slender body beneath it. She was younger than he believed, taller, too, with a direct gaze most men would find disconcerting.

  Gabe didn’t. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the woman he’d been hunting for over a year. He noted the two pairs of smaller boots and the coats that hung above them. He was sure now he had the right woman. One who didn’t have the sense to be afraid of him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing. For the first time everything’s right.”

  Chapter Three

  Maureen was not
sure how to respond to his remark.

  He didn’t give her a chance. “I see you’ve got berries strung for your Christmas tree. There’s a good place to get spruce trees on the other side of the creek.”

  “I’ve seen them. But the children and I couldn’t drag one of those home.”

  She stood where she was while he gazed around the room. If what he said was true and this was his cabin, then all of what she found here belonged to him. He couldn’t think to put them out now. Or could he? After all, what did she know about him? Not even his name, she reminded herself.

  “You’ve kept the place nice.”

  “Mister, say your piece and stop playing with me like a cat with a field mouse.”

  She noted his tension at the same moment she became aware of her own. It didn’t please her to see the way his stormy blue-gray eyes narrowed with a hard stare for her.

  “You said your name’s O’Rourke.”

  Flat statement, no question, but she answered anyway. “That’s right.” Her hands curled over the material of skirt and petticoats ready to run if he made a move toward her.

  His smile was anything but pleasant. The lifting of his stern-cut lips reminded her of the cat with all the time in the world to play with its cornered mouse.

  But Maureen was not a mouse. She shifted slightly so she was closer to the gun she had left in her jacket’s pocket The wrong move might be this stranger’s last.

  He ran one hand through his coal-black hair that settled over his shirt’s collar. “I can’t believe that this storm turned out to be my luck.”

  “Don’t be counting on that, mister.”

  “Oh, but I do. I’ve been hunting you for over a year. Been up one side of Colorado and down the other.”

  “Hunting…me?” Surely that breathless whisper was not hers? But she knew it was, just as she knew that she must not show any fear.

  “You heard me right”

  “But why? I don’t know you. You haven’t even had the decency to tell me you name.”

  “Your pardon, ma’am,” he snapped with a mockery of a bow. “The name’s Gabriel Channing.”

  The flat intonation told her his name was supposed to mean something to her. It did not. She was anxious, but not exactly afraid of him. That did frighten her.

  He stood in the middle of the room, his very size a threat From his well-worn boots to the long, powerful rider’s legs encased in black twill pants to the perfectly fitted pale gray bib-front shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, to the tied-down gun that looked almost a part of him, Gabriel Channing was a man to be reckoned with. That he wasn’t a poor, down-on-his-luck cowhand was evidenced by his quiet commanding air and the fact that his shirt had never seen a store shelf. The material was too fine for ready-made goods.

  But his statement that he had been hunting her was too much for her to deal with right now.

  “Sit down and eat before your food gets cold.”

  “Didn’t you hear me, lady? I said I’ve been hunting you. Haven’t you the sense of a sage hen to know what—”

  “I’ve more sense than a hen.” She stood tall, her chin lifting and the light of battle in her green eyes.

  “I offered a stranger food and shelter. They are still yours. But I need time to think about your claim of owning this cabin, and even more time to figure out why you’re hunting me. If I had any sense, I’d shoot you where you stand. There’s not a jury in Colorado or anywhere west that would blame me for protecting myself and the children.”

  She looked at his clenched hands, staring until she saw him relax them.

  “That’s better.” She did not look up at his face. “Please sit down and tell me why you have been looking for me.” She motioned with her left hand toward the table, then added, “You’re not the law, are you?”

  “No. And I’ve got to tell you, lady, that you’re slicker than a clay hill after a rainstorm. If I wasn’t standing here and seeing this for myself, I wouldn’t believe how calm you are. If you knew who I was—”

  “Which should be obvious, even to you, that I have no idea who you are.”

  “Do you ever let a man finish what he’s got to say?”

  “When it’s something worth hearing,” she returned. A spark lit her temper, but she refused to show anger. Once more she motioned him to the table. “I need some coffee before I hear what you’re burning to tell me.”

  “Burning about sums it up. Never met such a thickheaded woman,” he muttered. She had him confused, or maybe, just maybe, he reacted slowly because he was not fully thawed from his ride in the storm.

  But part of his trouble was the woman herself. No pleading, no crying or hand wringing, or some other darn fool female way of coping. He knew those women’s weapons too well.

  Maybe she was having trouble believing him, just as he could not believe she did not know who he was. But he was armed with the truth, and his wrath was a thing to be feared as many a man in the territory could attest to, if any were around for her to ask.

  He warned himself to be calm as he slid the bench aside and sat down. He’d not made his accusations yet, and when he did, he’d like to see her try squirming out of the justice that was his due.

  He watched her pour two cups of coffee and found himself admiring the shape of her hands. Delicately boned, but there was strength there, too. They were not the soft hands of an idle woman, nor coarse and rough like many a woman who did for herself and others.

  He came to with a start just as she seated herself across the table from him. Not one little feather ruffled as far as he could tell. He’d bet she played a great hand of poker.

  “Go on and eat It’s likely cold by now.”

  “You ever been a schoolmarm?”

  “No.” Her glare spoke volumes. “You see, you’ve made a mistake about me. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “No chance, lady. I know it’s you.”

  She didn’t like the predatory look in his eyes and found her hot coffee a safer place to rest her gaze.

  His stomach rumbled loudly, and as much as he wanted and needed to talk, the food proved too hard to resist.

  He sipped the coffee, and found it strong enough. Under the linen napkin he found three fried eggs, bacon and thick buttered slices of corn bread.

  “I could warm that for you.”

  “I’ve eaten worse cold. Try beans a few days in a row. Hot for supper, cold for breakfast and happy enough to have them.”

  She couldn’t stop her smile. It was an oft-heard complaint from men who had no womenfolk to cook for them.

  “Well then, eat up. When you’re done we’ll talk.”

  “There you go again with that scold in your voice like I was knee-high.”

  But she didn’t respond to his teasing. If anything she appeared lost in thought, or was she scheming… He didn’t know. He had to keep in mind that females depended upon their emotions and usually displayed little common sense. Unlike a man.

  With her distracted, he found his gaze strayed to the soft shape of her mouth. A pretty, kissable light-rose mouth. Not that he wanted to kiss her. Better to watch her eyes, green as forest pine and just as mysteriously dark. Not that he could see her eyes now, since she kept them lowered. He could admire the lovely arch of her brows and the thick, long lashes that were a shade darker than her hair.

  He didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him.

  He ate quickly. Looking around the cabin, he had to appreciate its neatness. He could only wonder what his mother would have thought about this woman who claimed her home. Just as he had to wonder why, of all the places she could have gone to, she had come here.

  Was it fate or something stronger that had led him here tonight?

  Gabe had no answer for his question.

  His gaze returned again to her pensive expression. She still hadn’t lifted her gaze from the contents of her cup. He wanted to probe her thoughts since his own were making him
uncomfortable.

  He shifted on the hard bench trying to stop a most treacherous emotion unfurling within him.

  She suddenly appeared fragile, almost vulnerable. Her feminine defenselessness filled him with an overpowering need to protect her.

  Protect her?

  The feeling grew so intense that it added to his confusion.

  What was wrong with him?

  Maureen O’Rourke, with the bewitching green eyes, was the last woman who needed his protection.

  Especially since the only one she required any protection from right now was him.

  “You’re ready to talk,” she said in a soft voice, “and explain why you’ve been hunting me.”

  Was he?

  He couldn’t believe he’d asked himself that question. Hadn’t he dreamed of finding her? Hadn’t the thought of finally getting his hands on her driven him for over a year? Didn’t he need to punish her for what she had done?

  Righteous anger rose inside him and chased away every doubt she seemed to bring to the surface.

  “Damn right I am.”

  “Lower your voice or you’ll wake the children.”

  His words died. She was right. He didn’t want to wake the children. This had to be between the two of them.

  His body taut tension, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he tried to relax. She couldn’t run from him now. He had to remember that.

  “Last fall you were in Silver Plume,” he said.

  “I was in a few mining towns.”

  “But you don’t deny you were in Silver Plume.”

  She looked up at his face, a frown creasing her brow.

  “Since you are not asking but telling me, you already know the answer to that.”

  “Just confirm it for me.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, I was there, but not for long. There was a fire—”

  “Yes, it destroyed the town,” he finished for her. “Started in the middle of the night in a saloon and burned down most of the businesses before it was under control.”