Free Prairie Song by JODI THOMAS Page B

away from the Union officer camping in the sitting room.
    “Miss Cherish,” Bar whispered from the doorway, “where you want this mattress?”
    “In that corner.” Cherish pointed with the handle of her mop. “Is my aunt back yet?”
    “Yes and no. She came stormin’ in, sayin’ somethin’ about how the bank still wouldn’t release any of old Tobin’s money. She grabbed the will and headed back toward the bank with that giant right behind her.” Bar shrugged his bony shoulders. “She can storm and stomp all she wants but my guess is she won’t be gettin’ any money until she cuts them in or goes for the sheriff.”
    “If you ask me, everyone we’ve met in this town is out to see us gone.” Cherish had only been out twice on short errands, but she’d seen the frowns as people passed her on the street. No respectable women lived in Hell’s Half-Acre, even on the hill. Between the townspeople’s mistrust and the Yankee soldiers’ looks, she’d about decided it might be safer to talk her aunt into selling the house and living somewhere else. Cherish doubted her aunt would pay a dime under the table and that seemed to be the only way anything worked in this place. It didn’t surprise her that the banker would be corrupt, but she didn’t know about the sheriff. “Bar,” she asked as she finished cleaning, “what would the men in town do if they knew there was a northern spy around?”
    “Don’t rightly know.” Bar scratched his dirty hair. “Back before the war there was a couple of Northerners that tried to stir up the slaves. White folks caught them by gettin’ a loyal black to lie under the boards at church and listen to them talkin’ of helpin’ the slaves run away. Some of the men was mighty upset. They strung up the Northerners down at the hangin’ tree and let their bodies swing till there wasn’t nothin’ left but the bones. But that was five years and a war ago.”
    Cherish nodded. It was a lifetime ago , she thought. Now, if she turned in Grayson she’d probably be the one hanged. One thing she knew for certain: if Grayson found Brant, the wounded outlaw would be the dead man. Her only alternative was to help Brant and pray that he got safely away before Grayson stumbled across him.
    She shoved the cleaning bucket into the hallway. “Would you go downstairs and get a bowl of that soup Azile left warming? I’ll check on Brant.”
    Bar disappeared down the stairs as Cherish unlocked the door to her room. Bulky shadows and thin ribbons of light made everything seem out of focus for a moment. She was several feet into the room before she saw that the bed was empty.
    The door snapped closed with a pop. She fought back a scream as her worries blossomed into fears. Cherish whirled with the sudden instinct of a trapped animal and slammed into the bandaged chest of Brant Coulter.
    Before she could step away, he pulled her against him, steadying himself as well as her with his actions. “I knew it was you taking care of me,” he whispered. “When the pain was too great to even open my eyes, I could feel your hands moving across me. Each time I dreamed I was burning in hell, your cool fingers would touch me. Even when I turned my head into the pillow to fight back the screams I could smell your perfume in the linen.”
    Cherish didn’t try to pull away. She told herself it was because she wasn’t sure he could stand alone, but her heart knew it was far more. She wanted to see how tall this man who haunted her dreams was as he stood beside her. She wanted to look into his face and see how much of him was real and how much she’d made up from her need to have someone in her life.
    When she didn’t speak, he lifted her chin. “How long have I been here?”
    Cherish was fascinated by his rust-brown eyes that flamed with anger and need. His chestnut hair covered his forehead and several days of stubble formed a short beard over his strong jawline. He was the most dangerous man she’d ever