Free Never Love a Lawman by Jo Goodman Page A

time putting his eyes back in his head. In spite of both those things, she managed to collect herself.
    “It’s at least ten minutes before daybreak. You’re standing in my yard, splitting wood. Mr. Beaumont’s…well, I’m not certain what Mr. Beaumont’s doing, but I—”
    “I’m stackin’,” Ned said helpfully.
    “He’s stacking,” Wyatt said. “You were going to hire him, weren’t you?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Well, he can’t split wood, now, can he? I told you about his injured leg.”
    “Yes, you did, but—”
    “Can’t split wood,” Ned interjected. “Can’t plant my feet proper and throw my shoulder into it.”
    “Thought I could help him,” Wyatt said. “You don’t have to pay me, just him.”
    Rachel looked at the throne Ned had made for himself out of Wyatt’s labor. “Pay him for sitting.”
    Wyatt and Ned objected with one voice. “And stacking.”
    Rachel was certain her brain slipped another gear. She took a steadying breath. “Why are you here now?”
    “Sorry about waking you,” Wyatt said, setting up another log. “Ned’s got a second job to do this morning, so we thought we’d come early and get a decent start on this one.”
    “Actually,” Ned said, sliding off the stack, “I need to be goin’. Joe Morrison’s got some shelves that need repairin’ at the emporium. Told him I’d be there before he’s set to open.” He tipped his hat at Rachel. “Don’t worry about paying me now, Miss Bailey. I’ll come back round for it later.”
    Rachel stared after him, her lower jaw a tad slack with disbelief as Ned loped off, favoring his injured leg. When she looked back at Wyatt, she saw his features were so seriously set that he could only be suppressing a howl of laughter. “I su-p-pose you think you’re f-funny,” she said, thrusting her hands deep in her pockets to keep them warm.
    “Go on back inside. You’re cold.” He swung the maul, driving the wedge cleanly into the wood and splitting it in three pieces this time. “I’ll be in when I’m finished here and you can make me breakfast. That’ll even things out between us.” He set another foot-long length of wood on its end and took aim. Just before he swung, he spared a glance for her. “Scrambled eggs, if you don’t mind.”
    Rachel decided the best response was not to make one. She pivoted smartly and marched back to the house. If she owned a shotgun she’d use it to point out the direction of Longabach’s restaurant, then shoot him with it if he didn’t take the hint. She liked the idea so much that she entertained herself with plans to buy a shotgun. That kept her occupied while she washed up, pinned back her hair, and dressed for the day, but when she went to put a pot of coffee on, she saw he was still cutting and splitting wood. In spite of the briskness of the morning, there was a fine sheen of perspiration on his face and throat. She watched him pause once, lift his hat, and wipe his brow with a kerchief, then go right back to work.
    It shouldn’t have softened her toward him. Rachel reminded herself that she hadn’t asked him to do anything for her and, in truth, had made several attempts to direct him elsewhere. She sincerely doubted this was what Clinton Maddox had in mind when he arranged for Wyatt Cooper to look after her.
    Rachel wondered if she could find a way to better explain her opinion on the matter over breakfast.
     
    Wyatt stomped his feet as he came in the door, alerting Rachel to his presence. The combined hearty aromas of bacon and coffee made him hope that she intended to feed him. He hung his coat and hat by the door and stepped into the kitchen. It was a consequence of the appetite he’d worked up that the first thing he noticed was that there were plenty of eggs and bacon in the skillet. She’d even made some biscuits that were now staying warm on top of the stove. Evidently she’d elicited the great black beast’s cooperation this morning.
    “Smells good.”