Part 2 (1/2)

”Woulda lernt how.” Abrams marched toward the cabin.

Until that moment, Ian hadn't paid much attention to the small building. Percy said he'd erected a shelter on the claim. Though small, it looked st.u.r.dy enough. If anything, the nine-by-ten-foot log cabin would be generous for a man on his own. A bigger place would require more wood to heat. This is perfect for me.

He and Tucker followed close behind the old man. ”Once we eat and Abrams makes it back to his claim, I'll help you use the rope to hang your provender.”

Ian gave Tucker a surprised look. ”I appreciate the offer, but it hardly seems necessary.”

”Bears and racc.o.o.ns are active. Most of this could be gone in a day.”

Ian shrugged. ”The cabin looks quite st.u.r.dy.”

Confusion plowed lines on Smith's forehead. ”You want me to store your goods?”

”Dinner's going to get cold,” the woman called to them from the door.

At that moment, Ian realized this was her home, not his. ”My apologies. I mistook your cabin for mine.”

Tucker's brows shot upward. ”What cabin?”

”Hooo-ooo-ey!” Abrams wheeled around and laughed so hard, he started coughing. ”Percy snookered you!”

Dread filled Ian. ”He swore he'd constructed a shelter.”

”He did.” Abrams pointed to a half-hidden jumble of logs. ”He just didn't tell you what kind.”

When he stared at the ramshackle lean-to, Ian questioned the sanity of his plan for the first time.

Chapter 3.

Tucker caught an abundance of fish today.”

”I brung my appet.i.te with me. I could eat the legs off a runnin' skunk.” Abrams smacked Ian on the shoulder. ”Betcha you're starvin' after walking all this way.”

Until he'd seen the lean-to, Ian had felt ravenous. But his appet.i.te had disappeared. Just before he said so, he looked at Mrs. Smith. Miss Smith, he thought as he got a closer look at her abundant brown hair and warm hazel eyes. Her features were finer and softer than Tucker's, but there could be no mistaking the truth. They weren't man and wife-they were brother and sister.

”Are you hungry, Mr. Rafferty?” Her glance darted to the lean-to and back.

Ian suddenly remembered his manners and whisked off his hat. He didn't want to lie, so he settled on the only truth he could muster. ”Something smells wonderful, ma'am.”

”It's your bread.” She inhaled deeply. ”In the Bible, there's talk of incense burning before the Lord. I don't know about all the sweet-smelling things they used, but I won't be disappointed if heaven smells like fresh, hot bread.”

”If that was true, I might could think 'bout mendin' my ways and getting churchified.” Mr. Abrams plowed on into the cabin.

Accustomed to stomping the field soil from his shoes and wiping his feet on the veranda mat, Ian noticed the Smiths had no such mat. His next realization was that the cabin had a dirt floor. Nonetheless, he stomped his feet and did his best to knock off the worst of the dried crumbles.

”No need for that,” Miss Smith murmured.

”I'd beg to disagree. Your floor is hard packed; the soil on my boots would scatter all over and make a mess.” He flashed her a wry smile. ”Besides, my ma would wallop me if she ever heard I tracked dirt into anyone's house.”

Miss Smith laughed.

A table made of raw-cut timber completely filled the s.p.a.ce between a pair of beds. Packing crates formed a crude storage area along the far wall on each side of a stone fireplace. Most of the dishes sat on the table; an appalling lack of food on the shelves stunned Ian. And still, they invited me to supper.

”You men can sit on that side.” Tucker waved at one of the beds. He sat next to his sister on the other.

”How lovely to have you gentlemen join us.” Miss Smith's hazel eyes sparkled with delight.

She's living on the edge of hunger, yet she's glad to share. Ian smiled at her. ”Honored to be invited, ma'am. It's generous of you.”

”Yeah.” Abrams nodded as he swiped the biggest slice of bread and stuffed half of it in his mouth.

”In our home, we ask a blessing before each meal.” Tucker folded his hands.

Abrams crammed the rest of the bread in his mouth and bowed his head. The second Tucker's prayer ended, Abrams grabbed for another slice of bread and squinted at Tucker. ”Dunno much about all that G.o.d stuff, but didn't you forget one of your lines? The one 'bout daily bread?”

”That's the Lord's Prayer.” Tucker lifted the platter of fish and started to pa.s.s it to Ian.

Ian tilted his head toward Miss Smith. ”Ladies first.”

Tucker's brow rose, but he held the platter so his sister could serve herself.

Abrams took a gigantic bite of the bread and spoke with his mouth full. ”Ain't all the prayers His?”

Miss Smith served her brother first, then herself. ”All of our prayers are said to the Lord, but Jesus taught the disciples one as an example of how to pray. We call that the Lord's Prayer.”

”Humph. Just as well.” The old man took the platter and speared the largest fish with his fork. As he lifted, the fish flaked apart and half flopped back onto the platter. He sc.r.a.ped the fish directly from the platter onto his plate and plunked the platter down without offering it to Ian. ”I recollect there's another part of that prayer that don't settle with me. I ain't no trespa.s.ser, and I ain't a-gonna forgive n.o.body else for trespa.s.sing on my claim.”

”Jesus forgives all of us if we ask Him to. Christians want to be like Him, so we try to forgive others.” Miss Smith deftly lifted Abrams's mug and pressed it into his hand as he reached for a third slice of bread.

Tucker pushed the bread toward Ian. Tucker's eyes gave a silent bid for him to hurry and claim his fair share.

Ian took a slice and immediately gave the plate to Tucker. ”After you and Miss Smith help yourselves, perhaps you could set this behind you.”

”No reason to do that,” Abrams roared with outrage.

”Of course there is. I'm clumsy.” Ian pointed at the serving platter that lay off center in the middle of the tiny table. ”I aim to scoot that closer, or I'm going to drop fish on the table and make a mess.” He proceeded to pull the entree over and serve himself.

”As I said”-Tucker cleared his throat-”bears can be a problem around here.”

Ian grimaced. ”Then how did Percy live in a lean-to?”

”Stink.” Abrams bobbed his head knowingly. ”He stunk so bad, bears like to thought he was a skunk.”

Miss Smith coughed. Is she really choking, or is she trying to hide laughter?

”Tucker, whap her on the back a few times. Something's going down the wrong pipe.” Abrams waggled his fork in the air. ”Yep. Stink's what kept the bears from Percy.”