he could hear voices and music coming from inside. They were singing silly songs that made even less sense than the saloon songs.
Finally, he pulled a big quilt from the table against the wall. “Want to share? If we’re staying out here we might as well try not to freeze.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I used to sit out here wrapped in a blanket with my father. We’d watch storms come in over the mountains.”
He tossed half the quilt over her and leaned to tuck the end in at her shoulder. “I know you don’t like to touch, but you’re shivering. If you move closer, we might keep each other warm, and I promise to pretend I don’t notice you’re there.”
She moved so near he could feel her shaking.
“It’s all right, Em; I may have done a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never hurt a woman. In a funny way, despite all your yelling and bossing, you’ve been kinder to me than anyone here. If I didn’t have to wait for the train in town until Saturday, I’d leave tonight.”
“They like you well enough,” she said. “Give them time to get to know you, and then they’ll dislike you with grounds.”
“That’s very comforting.” He grinned. “I’ve been around you for two days and you still can barely tolerate me.”
“True.” She moved closer still. “But I am getting used to you and now that I know I can beat you up, I do feel better around you.” They both laughed, and she added, “Just promise not to call me your friend. I’m not sure I have as much blood in me as the last friend you had this morning.”
He lifted his arm and held the blanket around one shoulder as her other shoulder slid against the warmth of his side. “You got a deal.”
“Where’d you learn to throw a knife like that?” She pushed at his shoulder as if it were a pillow.
“Church,” he said, remembering the year he’d spent at a mission when his mother seemed to have forgotten he existed. She’d dropped him off there one morning in early spring to go to work and not picked him up for eleven months. The nuns made him work around the place and go to school every morning and mass every afternoon, but they never found the knife he’d had on him when he’d entered. More because of nothing else to do than for self-defense, he spent all his alone time practicing tossing the old knife. By the time he could afford a good blade, he was deadly accurate.
To this day, when he was feeling lonely or down, he’d practice with a knife. In a way it was as comforting as sitting silently with an old friend.
“Church,” Em mumbled, as if she didn’t believe him but was too tired to question.
Slowly, they both relaxed. They talked about the storm coming in and watched winter lightning flash along the top of the hill line. Neither asked personal questions, maybe because neither wanted to answer any.
Finally, about the time the music stopped and the lights in the main room were turned low, Lewt shifted so that Em could settle her head more comfortably on his shoulder. He could tell from her steady breathing that she was sound asleep, and to his surprise he had no desire to go inside.
When she settled against his side, her hand reached out and found his. She held on tight, even in sleep. Lewt thought it was the strangest, most tender thing he’d ever known a woman to do.
He didn’t pull his hand away. In his entire life he couldn’t remember one time anyone had ever held his hand. He rocked slowly and kissed the top of her head just before he drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER 13
At the border
ABOUT THE TIME THE U.S. CAVALRY FINISHED BREAKFAST, they heard a racket and felt the earth rumble as only a herd of cattle can make it do when they’re running at full speed. The soldiers saddled up and moved closer to the Rio. At first all they saw was cattle, and then as the sun rose, they saw the rangers climbing down to where their horses had been left, mounting up, and herding the stolen cattle back onto Texas soil.
McNelly rode in the lead of the tired, dirty band. He smiled broadly beneath his beard and mustache. His bluff had paid off. The ranchers across the border claimed they didn’t have the bandits, but they returned the cattle.
As the