Micah & Mrs. Miller Page 2

  “No, I'm fine. But you could pick me up some new fabrics in San Antonio. The store here still hasn't gotten them in. I'm starting to think Mr. Donner doesn't like me.” Her grimace turned to a pout and Micah laughed. He'd walked right into that one.

  “You make me a list and I'll get them while I'm there. Promise.”

  Her smile lit up and the tension eased from her expression.

  “Take care of my niece or nephew while I'm gone.” He pushed away from the railing and dropped another kiss on her cheek.

  “Be safe.”

  “Always am.” He gave her a wink and tugged off his hat before heading inside in search of towel, soap and clean clothes.

  * * *

  It was early afternoon by the time the horses were hitched to the buckboard. He loaded his tools, his dozen item list from Scarlett and a cold supper packed by Miss Annabeth. He'd pick up more in San Antonio proper. The two day trip would put him in the city by the morning of the school teacher's expected arrival. If he pushed the horses a little, he might be able to get all of Scarlett's shopping done before he had to be at the station.

  “Anything else?” Noah's black face gleamed up at him. He'd pushed his hat back, his expression questioning. He'd agreed to take on Micah's chores in addition to his own without any argument. Of all their new arrivals, he trusted Noah with his horses the most. The man's easygoing nature gave him a natural empathy for the stubborn younglings and a trusted hand with the older herd.

  “Not that I can think of at the moment, but I trust your judgment and the men will listen to you.” They had since Noah helped them rescue a foundering mare over Christmas and again with the stallion's broken leg earlier in the spring. Both horses would have died if not for Noah's ability to heal and his authoritative command of both situations. He'd earned the hands respect, and that's all that was needed. “That sorrel filly is coming along nicely. As long as she behaves, let her have the break, but if she starts in on the others…”

  “I'll give her a workout and remind her of her manners.” Noah nodded. “You sure you don't want to wait for Jimmy? He won't mind riding down with you.”

  “Nah, it'll be fine. And he'd have to ride with the luggage once we pick up the teacher.” Micah settled himself onto the seat. It promised to numb his ass within the hour, another reason riding a pair of horses down would be better for him.

  A frown flickered across Noah's face. “Micah, I know you think we're paranoid, but we travel together for a reason.”

  “I don't think you're crazy or overcautious. You've all got your reasons and I appreciate them. But I'm good. I've been to San Antonio plenty of times. It's spring, we're after the rain, should be clear weather. I'll be back at the end of the week, probably schooled by the teacher.” He grinned, waving off the other man's concern.

  “All right. Well, Buck will watch your dreams for trouble. You need us, we'll come.” They clasped hands briefly.

  “Not that I mind, but if it's a good dream, tell him to keep his peace, okay?” The Fevered's abilities took some getting used to, whether it was Noah's healing gift, Scarlett's fire, Cody's shape shifting or Buck's dream walking. As odd as it all sounded last summer when he learned these strangers were more powerful than he could imagine, he grew accustomed to the idea. They were good people, solid friends, and hard workers.

  Reins in hand, he set the pair of geldings into motion, leaning back in the seat, he propped a foot against the front board and blew out a breath. Yeah, as used to their abilities as he was, he also didn't mind the break—that taste of normalcy that existed in a world without wild powers, strange enemies and more. The Fevered were family, he respected that, but even he could use the respite from family.

  * * *

  The crowded streets of San Antonio pressed around him as he weaved in and out. The stage coach was due in an hour. He picked up all the supplies and fabrics Scarlett requested. If he'd realized she and Miss Annabeth were making quilts and baby items, he might have said no. As it was, the pounds of cloth he carried weighed hard on his back. The buckboard and horses were resting at Dominico's Estable. The Tejano stable master was an old and trusted friend.

  Micah nodded to the hands cleaning out the stalls as he passed through and secured his packages to the buckboard, filling almost all the space beneath the bench. Chore complete, he stretched and considered the café's on the boulevard between the stable and the station. If he had a little more time, he'd grab a room and have them pull up a bath.

  The watch in his pocket warned him that time ran short, so he decided on his hunger. Halfway to his favorite café, he hesitated. The teacher might be hungry after her long haul in the coach and it wouldn't hurt her to get a bit of stretch before they hitched up again and started the long ride back to Dorado.

  His stomach growled, but his conscience answered with a snarl. Forty minutes till the coach's arrival. He diverted and headed to the station. Five minutes later, he was glad he did because the coach arrived early. The team of horses pounded in on a cloud of dust and dug their heels in to stop, the red and yellow coach bouncing on its wheels. The driver tied off the reins and began tossing down the bags before the station master got the steps down and the door open. A small crowd gathered, with shouts of welcome and greeting for a burly looking man with heavy jowls and a bum leg. A wife—at least Micah presumed she was a wife—hurried forward to greet him with a kiss. Three littles flocked around his legs and demanded hugs and presents. He limped away with his family.

  The second one off was a diminutive Asian, his slanted eyes housing a cold look and his expression stern. He spoke to no one and caught his bag as the driver tossed it down. The third one out had a wide brimmed hat and a sweet, rosy complexion. She glanced up as her foot hovered over the first step.

  “Have a care with that trunk, please.” Her brisk, exotic voice went straight to his groin and Micah blinked. The accent was beautiful. Her dress was the color of melted chocolate, with a high white collar and ruffles at the wrist. Her hair was hidden by the oversized hat, but his heart did a little fist squeezing when she turned. Warm brown eyes skimmed the crowd, and he knew she missed nothing.

  He hurried forward as the trunk she chastised the driver about headed for the ground. Legs braced, he caught it and the air whooshed out of his lungs. He managed to set it down, but just barely. Did she travel with bricks?

  “Thank you.” Her crisp accent cooled from the harried sound she'd used with the driver. “I didn't want it to split open and spill the books.”

  Books. Bricks.

  Same thing really.

  “Not a problem, ma'am.” Micah gave her a quick smile, and glanced at the coach. No other passengers disembarked. He frowned briefly, where was the teacher?

  “I don't have much coin, but I could give you a nickel if you wouldn't mind carrying that for me.” Her accent clipped the words, giving deliberate emphasis on the first syllable.

  “Certainly don't have to pay me, ma'am. Be happy to deliver this for you, but I need a word with the coach man as it seems we're missing a passenger.”

  “Oh?” She glanced up at the dusty coach, her expression puzzled. “It was just the three of us since Kansas.”

  Micah frowned. “Hmm. That doesn't bode well. My father sent me down to pick up the school teacher.”

  “Oh?” She turned back, her expression gentling and the warm honey of her eyes seemed to lighten. “Well, that would be me. I'm Josephine Miller.” She extended a lace gloved hand toward him and Micah stared.

  “You're far too pretty to be a school teacher.”

  Chapter 2

  Jo reminded herself for the third time that staring at Mr. Kane's shirtless back while he worked to get the broken wheel loose from the buckboard was not only inappropriate, it was downright shameful. But the stretch of muscles across his back gleamed in the afternoon sun and his arms bulged with every tug. She turned her back and fanned herself, pacing back and forth beneath the grove of trees where he'd sent her to wait. He'd also c
arried her trunk over and added a pair of parcels to the stack. Everything on the buckboard came off.

  She offered to help, but he gave her that stomach rolling smile and assured her he could handle it. If she'd realized he would spend the next hour tending the horses and letting them loose on long lines to graze, she would have offered to walk back to the town they passed in the distance. Perhaps they would have the tools he needed. A thud of sound jerked her around and she grinned, Micah tugged the wheel free.

  “You did it.” She exhaled and paced out of the shadow to join him. The wheel had two cracked spokes, the wooden pieces dangling in the middle as though trying to reconnect.

  “Yes ma'am. Didn't bring a bar to pry so just to had to put my back into it. Give me another hour and I should have this fixed.” He leaned the wheel against his leg and mopped at his face with a bandana.

  “Maybe I can help?” Not that she really thought she could. He glanced at her white lace gloves and button down dress with an air of skepticism, but the ready grin that made her heart pound at the coach station appeared on his lips.

  “Sure, if you'd like. But it's a bit of dirty work. Why don't we take the wheel over to the shade?” It wasn't the first time he'd sent her back. Even when she brought him the ladle with water, he'd accepted it with a smile and sent her packing again. The heavy weight of her brown skirt and long-sleeved jacket seemed practical in New York, again in Pennsylvania and even in Kansas where the winter chill still kept the air nippy, but she wilted in the heat pouring down on the dry plain. Even the green grass freckled with yellow seemed to droop over sideways.

  Lifting her skirts, she walked back beneath the oversized oak with its fat trunk and squat branches. The overhang came low and she ducked to keep it from plucking the hat off her head. Flies and other insects buzzed in and out, but she did her best to ignore them. The occasional rustle in the grass pulled her attention, but when neither Mr. Kane nor the horses reacted, she decided it had to be a bunny.

  Better a bunny than a rodent.

  Micah set the wheel against the tree trunk and squatted down in front of it. He worked the broken spokes loose and tested the wheel's shape. His gaze turned away from the wheel and he scanned the area around them.

  “Your tools are there.” She pointed to the small box he'd unlatched from beneath the buckboard. She hadn't even realized it was there. The fact that it carried a file, a hammer and even a small axe surprised her.

  “Thank you, ma'am. I'm just looking for the right kind of wood.” He rose and turned to look away from their little grotto toward the hill next to the stream he'd fetched water from. “Willow is better, it will bend and take the shape. It's also less likely to crack. You all right here for a few minutes?”

  He strode away without waiting for her answer and she sat down on the top of the trunk with a sigh. The denim britches he wore stretched over his bottom and seemed to roll against his skin with the loping walk. The distinct sound of a whistle drifted back to her, he'd paused only long enough to scoop up the hand axe before striding away.

  “Stop staring at him, woman.” She looked down at her hands and fixed her gloves. The lace clung to her damp skin. Even the jacket seemed too tight and she resisted the improper urge to undo a button or three. She'd come to Texas to hide, not moon after the first man she met.

  It didn't matter that his smile was kind, his eyes cheerful, and his demeanor so absolutely polite that he didn't even spit where she could see—that alone was a vast improvement over every other male she'd encountered on the long trip south. It took ten minutes for Micah to vanish from sight into the other copse of trees and she sat there on her trunk, and waited. A lazy bee buzzed past. The grass rustled again.

  It's a rabbit.

  The horses wandered farther out on their lines, heads down, munching the grass. The buckboard sat cock-eyed, with the missing wheel strut resting in the dirt. The sun continued to beat down on the grass and the warm, damp air hovered against her skin as though trying to smother her. Every breath of the humidity seemed to just make her hotter.

  Fanning her face with a hand didn't help. The shade didn't help…good grief, even her hair seemed to be wilting under the oppressive weight. Her reluctance to test propriety evaporated and she pulled out the two pins fastening it in place and pulled the wide brimmed hat off. The small relief improved her condition almost immediately. She used the hat as a fan, trying not to grimace at the wilted look of the decorative flowers the hat maker added to it. It was a lovely spring hat that weighed almost a pound on her head.

  In the distance, the thud of an axe echoed back to her. She jumped at the first strike, but relaxed at the second. It meant Micah could hear her if she screamed. Not that she planned to scream. A hot breath of a breeze brushed her cheek, but it brought no relief with it. “Good God, how do people live here?”

  Ten minutes must have passed, but still Micah didn't return. She stood up and began to pace again. Too much sitting in the coach and then later on the buckboard and her bum was sore. Sitting also trapped all the warm air beneath her skirt and she could feel the sweat soaking into her undergarments. At least walking stirred the air and provided a small amount of respite.

  She perched the hat on the trunk and glanced across the expanse to the trees where Micah disappeared. Seeing no sign of him, she peeled her gloves off and laid them next to the hat. Her fingers cooled immeasurably. She rubbed the depression on her ring finger and forced thoughts of her husband away.

  This was a clean start. He'd controlled her life for a year. No longer. She'd thrown his ring in the Mississippi when they crossed it and there was no going back for it now. She stole another glance over her shoulder before unbuttoning the cuffs of her jacket and then three metal buttons holding the front together. Stripping it off, she wanted to weep at the air against her sweat soaked linen shirt.

  She set the jacket neatly with the other items and helped herself to a ladle of water. She dribbled some down her shirt, but the coolness was so inviting, she considered turning the whole bucket over her head. Only propriety stilled her hands. She loosened the ties of the small purse she'd attached to her wrist and fished out the handkerchief she'd wrapped around the coins to keep them from jingling. If not for the Kane's paying her fare to Texas, she'd still be trapped in New York with no way to escape. The few precious coins she'd hoarded amounted to just under five dollars.

  Dipping the handkerchief into the pail, she soaked it down and used the tepid water to wash her face and bath her neck, barely noticing the dribbles soaking her shirt and the chemise below. She sighed.

  The sound of a throat being cleared froze her in place. No. I am not turning around and finding that the very kind, very good looking, Mr. Kane has returned while I am trying to wash. No. That is not what is going to happen.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Miller. I just wanted you to know I was here before I started hammering. Didn't want to startle you.” But of course, that was exactly what happened. An entirely new heat stung her cheeks and she pressed the handkerchief to her mouth.

  “Just don't mind me. I'll keep my back turned. I promise.” The earnest proclamation melted her reticence and she looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, he'd returned, every sweet, gleaming muscle of him. He had two branches in his hands and knelt near the wheel, doing something with a knife and a flatter instrument.

  “Thank you.” She mustered her composure. “I'll fetch fresh water as soon as I'm done. I didn't even think when I started to wash up that you might want a drink when you came back.”

  “Not to worry, ma'am. I'm about ready to throw myself in that stream when I finish this. It's hotter than the fires of—well—it's hotter than fire.” He coughed.

  The catch in his voice when he cut off the curse was sweet. “Is it typically this hot?” She glanced at him again, making sure his back remained toward her before dipping the handkerchief in the water. Rubbing her neck, she didn't even care when it dribbled down her back.

  “I'd offer you a lie if I th
ought it would make you feel better, but no—it's Texas, ma'am. It gets very hot here—just seems hotter this year than usual. The worst is in July and August.” A metallic tink of a tool accompanied his words. “Fortunately, the Flying K is nested in the hills and we've water on three sides, so we get cooler breezes than this. We're just too low here.” The apology slid under the words, and she preferred the contrite, albeit unfortunate, truth to any lie.

  “Well, I'm surprised anyone would want to push the savages out to live here.” And she truly was. The city wasn't the coolest in the summer, but she grew up along the shore line in Dover. The breezes blowing in over the white cliffs pushed away the summer heat. Rain wasn't a fantasy, either. Summer rains came every year, soaking the fields and making the fishermen work harder, but regret panged as she recalled it.

  She could never go home. It was the first place Trevor would search for her. She took a grim satisfaction in the knowledge that even now he might be suffering a long sea voyage back to her native country.

  “Don't discount the savages so fast. They know how to keep cool in the summer. They wear better clothing than we do.” Tink. His hammer hit the wood. “They shift their camps too, moving to follow the herds or the cool water.” Tink. “They also know the cooler cliffs to summer beneath.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insulting.” She loosened the tight collar of her shirt and snuck two buttons over to wash the heated skin beneath.

  “Not at all insulted, ma'am. But Dorado was settled by Tejanos, the Spanish, the Natives and transplants from back east. We're pretty tolerant of most folks and we learn from who we need to—savages included.”

  Something in his voice stilled her hand. She turned and found him staring at her, a smile tipping up the corner of his mouth.

  “You're teasing me?”

  “Could be, but I'm not sure I know you well enough to take such liberties.” His grin grew, but the way his gaze swept over her dried up what little moisture she had in her mouth.