Renegade's Heart by Michelle Kidd (best ereader for students .txt) 📖

draped across Mr. Blue-eyes was, but she didn’t like the looks of her. Didn’t matter. Her plans didn’t include being here long enough to get acquainted with any of them.

Frankie listened to the unmistakable sounds of pans and cutlery. Metal against metal, scraping, liquid sloshing and the clatter of plates told her someone was preparing a meal. The soothing chorus of food preparation and sharp aroma of pine logs burning in the hearth took the edge off, giving her something else to focus on besides the discomfort that coursed through her extremities. She’d never before realized there were so many noises she taken for granted.

A particular sound set her teeth on edge. The off key crooning of the kid.  Great! She was just tuning up with a rendition of Oh! Susanna.

She tolerated a few bars before speaking up. “Do you mind?”

 “Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away.”

Frankie groaned and expelled a short snort. “You don’t say.”

“I was trying to be quiet.”

Frankie closed her eyes again in response.

“I’m kind of glad you’re awake. I wanted to ‘pologize for before. We got off to a bad start.”

More clattering of dishes and pans.

Can’t this kid take a hint?

“I’m real sorry about your brother. I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister. It’s just Pa and me.”

Despite herself, Frankie found her curiosity piqued. What about the other woman? What do you care? Frankie’s mind challenged.

“Pa told me those men kidnapped you. That must have been awful. I don’t know what I’d do if someone tried to do that to me. I’d be scared to death . . . Is that why you were just standing there not saying anything that day at the bank? Bet you were afraid?”

“I wasn’t scared!” Frankie snapped.  “Didn’t your Pa ever tell you children should be seen and not heard?” The tension-filled pause told her she’d made her point. There!

“Well, no, I guess he didn’t. But he did teach me to be kind to others. Didn’t your ma ever teach you that?”

Something in the stiff little words caused Frankie to wince. The girl had spunk. Seth had a way of putting her in her place when she least expected it too. She swallowed and surprised herself by commenting. “My ma’s dead.”

“Well, that gives us one thing in common. My ma died too.”

Frankie considered the admission. If that was true, who was the woman in town? Another awkward silence filled the room as the girl moved about with what Frankie assumed to be dinner preparations. Neither spoke.

Frankie pressed her head against the pillow, trying to pick out familiar sounds: fat sizzling in the pan, water boiled, the metallic voices of pans bumping together. Soon the heady scent of fried potatoes hung heavy in the air. Her stomach flopped. It appeared, the kid had gotten the hint and left her alone.

That suited her fine. Frankie burrowed deeper under the quilt and tried to make peace with the hand she’d been dealt. She squeezed her eyes shut determined to capture a few moments of sleep. Every part of her hurt, an ache that went far beyond the physical. Regardless of her outward wounds, she knew her heart would never heal from losing Seth. He’d always been the bright spot in her life. As she thought about happier times with him, she must have drifted to sleep.

A cold blast of air rushed into the room startling her awake. The heavy tread of boots on the porch alerted her that the kid’s father must have entered. He’d introduced himself twice now, and all she could think to call him was blue-eyes.

“Looks like we’re in for another storm,” she overheard him comment to the girl.    

            “I could have told you that. Penny and Henrietta were clucking about worse than usual this morning. The air has a bite to it too.”

            “You really shouldn’t name those chickens. You get too attached and then I feel guilty for consuming your friends. 

            The girl giggled. “They’re my best laying hens. You won’t be eating them for a spell. If anything, I’ll feed you that tough old rooster, Mr. Drumstick. He comes after me every time I get near one of his old biddies.”

            “He sounds delicious. I’ll look forward to his demise . . . we’ll plant him right here in my chicken graveyard.”

Frankie wasn’t able to see what he was doing, but it made the girl laugh.

“With mashed potatoes and gravy,” he added.

Their light-hearted teasing puzzled Frankie. It never occurred to her a parent and child might have such affection for one another. Something akin to guilt pricked her conscience for eavesdropping. Maybe she should clear her throat to make them aware she was awake. Yet she found herself drawn to their banter. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, although she grew conscious of an urgent need to relieve herself. She loathed the weakness that made her dependent on anyone. Still  . . .

“How’s she doing?” His voice lowered to a conspirators tone.

The question was followed by a snort. “Like a sore-tailed cat.”

The rumble of a chuckle. “I warned you she’d need space. Let that be a lesson. Don’t fret. You’ll have her eating out of your hand in no time. You have a way with animals . . . and people.”

Frankie wasn’t sure she liked being the topic of their discussion, especially in such unflattering terms.  She stirred and cleared her throat.

The timber of his voice changed at once, waning from teasing to serious. “You’re awake. I hope we didn’t disturb you. How are you?”

His tone sounded more pleasant when it held a hint of humor, Frankie noted. She’d wished she’d waited a little longer to speak.

 “I’ve been better.” Pushing herself on her elbows, she let a wave of dizziness pass and eased herself higher. “I’m not much on laying around.”

“I understand, but given the circumstances, it may be best for the moment.”

She could tell by the sound of his boots he headed in her direction, and she wasn’t at all comfortable by his nearness. He made her nervous in a way she didn’t like. 

The mattress dipped when he sat on the edge.  “Mind if I check you?”

She lifted her shoulder with a noncommittal shrug and instantly regretted the choice as a searing pain shot down her arm.

“Yeah, that’s going to take a while to heal. I’ll fashion a sling to remind you not to use it.” He checked the bandage on her head. “You did a good job, Misty.” There was a note of tenderness in his voice when he spoke to the girl. Frankie noticed right away the kindness did not extend to her. Although his touch was gentle on her cheek, she found it unnerving. He sat so close she detected the scent of leather and outdoors that clung to his clothes.

“I’d like to get up,” she informed him.

“I wouldn’t advise it. A few more days here won’t . . .”

She sensed he started to say wouldn’t kill her, but then thought better of it.

“Look, mister—”
            “Daniel. Remember? My name is Daniel. Since you’ll be our guest for a while, you may want to learn it. I’m not comfortable with mister.”

She bit back a choice retort. “Daniel, then. As much as I appreciate your advice, the sooner I get on my feet, the sooner I can move on. I don’t wish to be here anymore than you want me, and I really need to go—”

“I never said I didn’t want you here. It’s our Christian duty to take care of a stranger in need.”

Christian duty. She was no one’s Christian duty. “As welcoming as that sounds.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’ll be moving on as soon as I’m able. At the moment, I need the use of your—”

“That come out wrong. I didn’t mean to suggest our hospitality stemmed from a sense of obligation. Our home is yours until you recover your health.”

Frankie detected a note of sincerity in the statement, but it didn’t matter.  This was the last place she wanted to be. She’d bide her time and play nice, but some situations required throwing civility to the wind. “That’s reassuring, Daniel . . . but if you don’t help me up this minute you’re going to have more than just a guest in your bed.  I need to use the privy now!”

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

 Daniel cast a look of disbelief at the red haired beauty. His emotions swung like a pendulum when it came to the frustrating woman. On the one hand, he pitied her—he knew what it was like to grieve. At the same time, his gut warned him to be cautious, and he was seldom wrong.

Despite his hasty decision concerning her association with the McNeill gang, he couldn’t shake the sensation there might be more going on than mere happenstance. He didn’t believe in chance. Her demeanor suggested she was anything but a victim. He hadn’t been around her long, but she didn’t strike him as the passive type. From what he’d seen, the good Lord would have to help the sap who’d lock horns with her. He’d learned to size up people pretty well. Something about her story still didn’t mesh.

For one thing, her personality didn’t fit. There was nothing shy or wilting about this girl. She hadn’t even blushed when she told him she needed to relieve herself. He, however, had been embarrassed for them both. The tips of his ears must be singed pink. Maybe it had been his imagination, but she’d seemed almost pleased with herself.

Daniel hadn’t been able to leave the cabin fast enough. The stinging drops of frozen rain were a balm to his burning skin.  Lord, help me. I’ve never come across any female quite like this.

He lowered his frame into a weathered rocker, enjoying the satisfying creak as it accepted his weight. With the ease of his dusty boot, he set the chair in motion while he mulled over his dilemma regarding the saucy stranger.

Frankie. What kind of name was that for a girl? One that brings trouble, no doubt. She’d been conscious less than twenty-four hours, and already he regretted bringing her to the house. Despite her abrasive personality, he’d done the right thing, he assured himself. Still . . . the quicker she regained her health and headed back to where she came from, the better off they’d all be.

The latch lifted and the door swung open. Misty paused in the doorframe looking perplexed. “Pa? She says she wants to eat at the table.”

“Stubborn female,” he muttered.

“Pa?”

“Never mind.” He pushed himself up and headed inside the house.  To his surprise, the petite woman stood beside the bed, leaning on the bedpost for support. “I told you to rest.”

“I told you, I needed to get back on my feet. You don’t do that by lying abed all day.”

“You do when you—” He stopped mid sentence realizing he was wasting his breath and crossed the space between them. “Here! You’re so anxious to move around . . . right this way.” 

She took several steps. Her already ashen pallor drained to a sickly green. She bit her lip but didn’t stop.

Alarmed by the sudden change of color, he regretted snapping at her.  “Here. You’re almost there.” 

“Thank you.” Her reply sounded weak. Beads