Free Untamed Journey by Eden Carson Page B

need
every bit you have right here and now. I became a Marshal to
protect the weak and innocent. It’s what I do.”
    Ruth squared her shoulders and looked Jackson
straight in the eye. “Marshal, I watched my father and brother ride
off to war, never to return. I nursed my mother for two years only
to see her die from hunger and heart break. And if that weren’t
enough, I spent the last year of that godforsaken war hiding in the
woods from our own damn soldiers. I can promise you I am neither
weak nor innocent. Not anymore. And I’ve come too far to give up
now. I may not have your strength, but I can pull a trigger for the
right reason.”
    Jackson took Ruth’s hand into his larger one.
“Then follow me. I have an idea.”
     
     

Chapter 22
    “T hat’s my uncle’s
old place up ahead.” Jackson pointed to a tiny wooden house visible
through two towering pines.
    Ruth’s first thought was a strong wind just
might topple the entire right side of the house. It had started out
as more than a shack, she had to concede, as they drew closer to
the front door. But the signs of neglect and abandonment were
everywhere. The weeds and brush were nearly as tall as the front
door and were growing through gaping cracks in the walls. The
single visible window was covered with a tattered scrap of burlap
hanging crookedly from the top corner.
    Jackson turned in the saddle and looked into
Ruth’s doubtful eyes. “Stay mounted while I check out the inside.”
He threw the reins of his horse to her as he dismounted. He had his
pistol out and cocked before she caught the reins of the
sixteen-hand roan.
    Ruth understood that it was just second
nature to this man, to have his gun at the ready, but her heart
sped up nonetheless.
    As if reading her thoughts, Jackson voiced
his plan. “This homestead has been abandoned since my uncle died in
‘51. There might be an animal taking shelter. Wait here a
minute.”
    He went at an angle to the front door and
pounded the butt of his Colt against the oak. If the scent of man
and horse hadn’t scared off any four-legged squatters, a loud noise
would usually do the trick. He pounded on the door a second time,
then stepped quietly toward the window. There was still enough
daylight left to see a few feet into the structure, but Jackson
wasn’t relying on his eyes to see what his ears could tell him
instead.
    No sound came from inside, and nothing but
the wind in the pines and the gentle snorting of their tired horses
could be heard. He visibly relaxed and returned to the front door.
“You can get down now and stretch your legs.”
    Jackson tried to open the door, but it was
jammed, and he had to shoulder his way through. For being abandoned
through nearly twenty winters, the old place had held up pretty
well, he thought.
    He walked the perimeter of the one main room.
Not much left but a table with a broken leg, one chair, and some
old tin plates. There was a small room in the back and a sleeping
loft above, covering a third of the length of the main room. He
shook the ladder to make sure it was still reasonably solid and
climbed up. Jackson scanned the loft, seeing nothing but cobwebs
and rotting hay. He climbed down and pulled out his knife. He
stabbed it into the earth, hoping for a small bit of luck.
    He lifted his eyes to meet the bewildered
green gaze of his unlikely companion. “What are you doing?” she
asked.
    Jackson grinned for the first time since
they’d left town. “Checking to see how hard the floor is,” he
replied evasively and walked out the door.
    Before Ruth could wrap her exhausted mind
around that cryptic comment, he returned with a shovel in hand.
Jackson removed his shirt in preparation for the hard work ahead.
The sun would be out for another hour yet, and the Indian summer
heat still lingered in the stuffy confines of the small house.
    Ruth found herself staring at his naked
chest. She watched his long arms strain as he attacked the hard
floor with the edge of the