Something in Caleb’s tone made Abby pause.
Before she could ask what he meant, he said, “Hold still.”
“I told you I can—”
“I know.”
He took the needle.
His fingers were surprisingly gentle.
Abby studied him while he stitched.
Caleb Boone appeared to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. Wind had darkened his skin. A thin scar crossed one eyebrow. His hair was nearly black, his eyes gray, and his hands looked built for reins and axes rather than delicate work.
After six stitches, he tied the thread.
“You can stay in the spare room.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“With those feet?”
“I’m not charity.”
“I didn’t call you charity.”
“I can pay you once I recover my things.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Abby’s face hardened.
“Then I definitely cannot stay.”
Caleb leaned back.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he gave her what sounded almost like an ultimatum.
“All right. You have two choices.”
Abby crossed her arms.
Caleb pointed toward the door.
“Leave tomorrow, bleeding and half lame, because you’re more afraid of being called a burden than you are of dying alone on the prairie.”
Her cheeks burned.
“Or?”
“Stay until you can ride. Work when you’re able. Eat when you’re hungry. And while you’re under my roof, you never apologize for how much room you take up.”
Abby stared at him.
Caleb’s voice became quieter.
“That includes at my table.”
Nobody had ever spoken to her like that.
Abby swallowed.
“That is a very strange ultimatum.”
“It’s the only one I’m offering.”
So she stayed.
Three days became a week.
A week became three.
Abby discovered quickly that Boone Ranch needed help.
Caleb had four ranch hands, but no housekeeper and no cook except an elderly man named Otis whose biscuits could allegedly be used to repair wagon wheels.
Abby cooked because she liked cooking.
She reorganized the pantry because chaos irritated her.
She mended harnesses.
She doctored a horse with an infected hoof.
And when Caleb protested that she was working too hard, she informed him that sitting idle made her more miserable than stitches did.
He stopped protesting.
Slowly, something changed.
At Boone Ranch, no one stared when Abby filled her plate.
No one laughed when she climbed a fence.
No one suggested she would be prettier if she ate less.
Caleb treated her strength as useful rather than shameful.
That frightened her almost as much as cruelty had.
Cruelty was familiar.
Kindness required trust.
One afternoon a young calf stopped eating.
The ranch hands assumed fever.
Caleb planned to isolate it overnight.
Abby watched the animal chew weakly and shake its head.
“Wait.”
She knelt.
The calf pulled away.
Abby caught its muzzle.
“Something’s wrong with its mouth.”
Caleb crouched beside her.
Abby slid two fingers carefully along the gum.
Then she felt it.
