Oliver Page 4

  Finally, everyone moved into the house and the sun started to set. She wouldn’t have much time if she wanted to get back to the cabin before it was completely dark. Sneaking up to the house she spied trees filled with luscious fruit and a huge vegetable patch. Certainly, no one would notice if she took a few root vegetables and some apples.

  Letting herself into the small garden she looked for something she could put everything in. Next to the gate was a handwoven basket. She picked it up and moved between the beds, taking a bit of everything. On her way out she filled the rest of the basket with apples and the contents of her pockets before sneaking back to the cabin.

  She ate until her belly was filled with carrots, cabbage, and even one beet, leaving the rest in the basket and covering it with her handkerchief. For dessert, she ate the berries and nuts.

  The husks were so tough on the nuts she gathered, she soaked them in water from the river hoping to soften them. When she checked on them the following morning, imagine her surprise that as the nuts dissolved, they turned the water into a murky, soapy mess.

  The dissolved nuts would be perfect for washing her dress.

  She gathered a few nuts from the water and went down to the river to bathe and wash her dress. The water felt lovely against her skin, but she didn’t want to spend too much time in the open, lest someone find her.

  She was surprised to find a man waiting for her in the clearing. Her first instinct was to flee.

  Dropping the dress, she dashed toward the river.

  Her feet, which were already injured from being barefoot for a week, throbbed as she ran through the brush. She looked over her shoulder to see how close her pursuer was. The man was closing in quickly. She noticed that another man followed.

  There were two of them!

  She concentrated on running.

  She heard one of the men yell something to the other and noticed the second man moving around the bushes in hopes of cutting off her escape.

  Her eyes darted left and then right.

  Where could she hide?

  She slid down the embankment, pushing her hand in the mud to slow her descent. Landing with a thud on the muddy shore, she lifted herself and ran towards the creek, away from where the second man was headed.

  “Wait!” one of the men called to her.

  Willow had no intention of waiting.

  She heard the splash of water as the man ran along the riverbank. She looked behind her and saw it was the man who went further downriver. Where did his companion go?

  As she turned back around to keep running, she collided with a wall, stopping her in her tracks. Before she could respond, two strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. Her mouth opened and shut a few times as she looked into the deepest brown eyes she had ever seen.

  “Wh-wh-what do you want?” she managed to stammer out.

  “Right now, I’d like for you to stop running.”

  His voice was smooth, like the finest silk worn by Miss Marcy. Willow struggled in his arms, which only made him tighten them around her. He smelled like clean laundry, leather, and sunshine. Willow leaned in and inhaled She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts, her eyes darting around trying to find a means of escape.

  His arms loosened only slightly. Willow looked in his face and the breath left her body. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  Her nose was level with his chest, making him at least a foot taller than her. His hat had fallen off during the chase, revealing golden brown hair that was a little too long in the front. His beard was trimmed close, most likely because it was so hot on the prairie. Some facial hair provided sun protection. Too much and it became unbearable in the heat.

  He had a square jaw covered with light hair. His eyes were the color of the expensive chocolate that she had seen in the mercantile. His shoulders were broad and his arms so muscular. Oh, so muscular!

  She had never seen such large arms. They were the kind that would make a woman feel very afraid… or very safe.

  She started to struggle again, thrashing against his arms, which made him tighten his grip more. “Did they send you?” she asked, pummelling anyhere her fists could make contact.

  “You are a wildcat, aren’t you? I said stop struggling, you are going to hurt yourself.” He lifted her off the ground, tighter against his chest. “Who would have sent us?”

  Before she could respond, the second man who was following her approached.

  “She’s a lot quicker than I thought,” he said. He passed a Stetson hat around her and handed it to the large-armed man.

  “Thanks, brother,” he said, releasing her just enough to take the hat and put it on his head. Willow took advantage of him releasing his grip on her to slip underneath his arm and try to run down the bank. The man was quick, however, and his hand snatched her arm, turning her around to face him.

  “Let me go,” she cried, attempting to kick his leg with her bare foot. Her toes met the stiff leather of his boot and she let out a cry.

  “Retract your claws, Kitten,” he said, pulling her close again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “How do I know that?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone, let alone a man.”

  The man looked at her. “That is a shame.” He pointed to her drawers where the leg had caught on the briars. The linen was stained with blood and dirt. “We need to get you taken care of before that gets infected. We should also get you something proper to wear. A lady like you shouldn’t be walking around in a state of undress.”

  “Then don’t look,” she said, attempting to claw his face.

  The man grabbed both of her hands and held them together. “Don’t make me lasso you like a newborn calf.” His grip was tight enough to hold her, but not tight enough to hurt her. “I’m Oliver Chapman.” He tilted his head over his shoulder to the man standing behind him. “This is my brother Owen. Care to tell us why you think we were sent by someone?”

  Willow bit her bottom lip. “You aren’t from Flat River?”

  “Not the town. We have a ranch just up the ways. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know nothin’.” She tried to pull her hands away, but Oliver held fast to them. The man called Owen walked around and for the first time, Willow got a good look at him. Her mouth fell open slightly. “Oh my, there are two of you.”

  Oliver smiled at her. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Twins?” She had never met a pair of twins before.

  The man called Owen nodded. “Want to tell us why you are trespassing on our land and ransacking our mother’s garden.”

  Willow looked at both of them. Nothing was threatening in the way they were treating her. But she knew better. All men at some point turned cruel.

  “I didn’t mean to dig up the garden. I tried to be careful. I just hadn’t eaten in three days.”

  “Three days? Is that how long you’ve been at the cabin?”

  “No. I found it the day I ran away.” She didn’t want to tell him that she found it following a majestic black horse and his pack… tribe... a herd of horses.

  “When was that.”

  “Not sure,” she said. “It was the day the stage was leaving town.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I could see it from my bedroom window.”

  There is only one place that was tall enough to be able to see the stage coming in. “You were staying at Miss Marcy’s?” When she didn’t respond he looked at her with those deep brown eyes. She wanted to melt. “I guess the cabin was a better choice.”

  “Ain’t much of a cabin,” she scoffed. “Very small, no place to cook.”

  “There is an iron stove in the corner.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see it.”

  “It’s under a quilt.” He raised his eyebrow at her. “Now, what were you running from?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

>   “Where were you going?”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” Willow demanded, trying to pull her hands free.

  “Easy, Kitten,” he said.

  She saw Owen laughing.

  “T’ain’t nothing funny,” she spat.

  Owen clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Oh mercy, you are going to have your hands full.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked Oliver.

  “Are you in trouble, Kitten?”

  “My name isn’t Kitten.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She thought quickly, “Suzy.”

  The man looked at her and pursed his lips. “I don’t think that is your name.” He released her. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, putting his foot on a rock jutting from the riverbank. “How about we take a ride into town and you can tell Marshal Briggs your story.”

  “Oh no, not that,” she pleaded. Panic started to rise in her belly.

  Owen turned and started walking down the river. “You got this, brother. I’m going to go get the horses.”

  “Don’t forget Marmee’s basket,” Oliver called over his shoulder.

  She watched the man called Owen wave as he continued walking along the river’s edge, before turning to the man with the beautiful eyes and a voice like honey.

  “You in trouble?” Oliver asked.

  Willow didn’t want to trust the men, but she had no choice at this point. She simply nodded.

  “Do you have a home around here?”

  She shook her head.

  “Where you from, Kitten?” He said it so softly she had to strain to hear the words.

  She released a small sigh. “Nowhere. I ain’t from nowhere.”

  “Everyone’s from somewhere. Where is, or was, home?”

  “Kansas City. But it ain’t home no more.”

  “Your kin dead?”

  She simply nodded.

  “Do you need a place to stay?”

  “I was just going to stay another night. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “That cabin is no place for a lady. Come on, Kitten, let’s get you somewhere safe, get you a proper meal, and some proper clothes.”

  “I don’t think I should go with you.”

  “Why ever not? You are staying in the middle of the woods. I didn’t notice any clothes or personal items in the cabin. Where are your shoes?”

  “Don’t got any. I don’t want to be around a bunch of men.”

  Oliver nodded his understanding. Alice had the same wounded look when she returned from San Francisco. He ran a hand down his face. “I’ll take you to my mother and sister. I promise no harm will come to you.”

  Eventually, Willow nodded. Oliver held out his hand to guide her up the embankment to the wooded area.

  She winced as her feet traversed over the rocky mud.

  When they got to the higher level, Oliver motioned her over to sit on a stump.

  Willow took a seat and crossed her feet at the ankles.

  “Let me see your feet,” he said softly.

  “That wouldn’t be proper,” she said.

  Oliver laughed. A rich throaty laugh. “Honey, I wouldn’t worry about me holding your ankle right now, given that I’ve seen you in your unmentionables.”

  Willow uncurled her feet and stretched them out in front of her. Oliver gently took each one in his hand and looked at them.

  Without a word, he turned, and Willow thought he was leaving her until she realized he was headed back to the water. He returned with a wet bandana and started cleaning her feet.

  “I can do that.”

  “I’m sure you can, Kitten,” he said softly, wiping away the dirt and blood from her feet.

  She watched as he gently cleaned one foot and then returned to the river to rinse out the bandana and drench it again. She’d never had anyone kneel in front of her, much less touch her so gently. She squirmed uncomfortably on the log. His hat was on the ground next to him, and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his long hair. Her fingers uncurled, but she quickly put her hand back in her lap.

  “Willow,” she said softly. Oliver’s eyes snapped up to hers. She felt ashamed for lying to him. “My name is Willow.”

  “That’s a right pretty name.” He gently blew on her foot. “I prefer Kitten, though.” He laid the dirty bandana on the ground and rested her heels on it. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” the panic in her voice was evident.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go gather some leaves.”

  “Oh.” She bit her finger until he returned. Just as he was kneeling in front of her once again, Owen returned with the horses.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, sliding from a black horse.

  “Her feet are all cut up.” Oliver pointed to the rucksack on the back of the horse. “Give me two bandanas and that extra shirt.” When Owen passed him the requested items, Oliver gave the shirt to Willow. “Here, put this on. No need for you to be embarrassed.”

  “I got your dress,” Owen said. “I think it is ruined from the mud.”

  Willow shrugged the shirt on. It would be long enough to cover below her bottom, but her drawers would still be visible. “I can probably scrub it good. Thank you for the shirt.”

  Oliver crushed the leaves, mixing it with a little sap from a hickory tree and caked the bottom of her foot with the poultice. Using one of the clean bandanas, he wrapped it around her foot, tucking the end underneath itself. Then he did the same with the other. Offering his hand, he helped Willow stand.

  “Thank you. I ain’t ever had anyone take care of me since my ma died.”

  “That is a shame,” Oliver said. He lifted her in his arms so quickly she didn’t have time to respond other than to loop her arms around his neck. “Every lady should have someone to take care of them.”

  “You don’t have to carry me.”

  “You don’t weigh more than a newborn colt,” he said softly.

  Willow tightened her arms just a little bit. It was overwhelming having someone be kind to her. She wanted to cry. She bit her bottom lip to prevent the tears from falling. He lifted her onto his horse, and then grabbed the reins, leading the animal down the trail. Owen mounted his horse and followed closely behind.

  The silence was deafening. She felt the urge to fill it with noise. Any type of noise.

  “What’s your horse’s name?” she finally asked.

  Oliver looked at her but continued to lead the horse down the trail. “Whiskey.”

  She patted the horse’s neck. “Whiskey is a beautiful name.” She gave the horse a pat as she looked around. “Shouldn’t you be riding her?”

  “No ma’am. Whiskey is a he, and you need to ride more than I do.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the ranch.”

  “Will that be alright with your family? I don’t want to intrude.”

  Oliver stopped the horse and leaned on Whiskey’s neck, looking at her. “Kitten, my mother taught me never to leave a lady in trouble.”

  Willow nodded as Oliver returned to guiding Whiskey down the trail. She just hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed again.

  Chapter Five

  He was in deep trouble.

  The last thing he expected when he went to the cabin was a woman.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect, but after seeing her and holding her in his arms, he couldn’t have been more pleased. Something shifted inside him as he saw the bruises on her arms and legs and how damaged her feet were. He could tell she hadn’t worn shoes in quite a while.

  There was a story there, and Oliver was determined to find out what it was. Every fiber of his being kicked in to protect this woman. But what was he protecting her from?

  He would make some discreet inquiries the next time he went to town. Briggs would probably know who Willow was and a bit about her. He knew everyone in town and all their comings and goings.

  Willow.


  It was a pretty name that suited her. She reminded Oliver of one of the trees on the far side of the pasture, near the creek. There the black willows grew over thirty feet tall. To look at the slender tree with its long switch-like branches, it appeared delicate and as if it could easily be destroyed by a gust of wind. But the willow tree’s roots run deep and hold fast in the earth.

  Oliver had seen the worst storms come through and the trees didn’t budge.

  Yes, her name suited her. She was delicate and strong.

  And she fit perfectly in his arms.

  Willow shifted in the saddle. Oliver turned and looked at her. “You alright?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

  “Backside sore?”

  She laughed. “How did you know?”

  “I remember the first time I rode. I was very sore the next day.”

  “Have you been riding long?”

  “All my life. Started when I was one year old. My Pa would put us on a horse and ride us around the yard. She was the gentlest horse I had ever seen. She was a pinto. An Indian horse.” Oliver smiled at the memory.

  “What was her name?”

  “Worse. Like horse but with a w.”

  “Worse? What kind of horse name is that?”

  “It is the kind of name a small boy with a lisp gave to it.”

  “Was that you?” Oliver nodded. “You don’t have a lisp now,” she observed.

  He walked in silence, slowly guiding Whiskey back to the house. They were coming to the clearing near the horse paddock and Cocoa’s pen. Owen had ridden ahead to let Marmee know about Willow. Knowing his mother, she was already preparing a bath and making tea.

  “Oliver?”

  Oliver turned his attention back to Willow. “No. My mother worked non-stop teaching me to speak without it.”

  “My mother died when I was just twelve.”

  “I’m sorry.” Oliver couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Just a brother. He’s two years older than me.”

  “Is he wherever you came from?”

  “He’s dead to me.”

  Oliver didn’t know what to say, so they continued in silence the rest of the way to the ranch. He walked Whiskey right up to the front porch and tied the horse to the railing. Marmee came out and rushed to the young woman, placing her hand on Willow’s leg.