Only 06 - Winter Fire

she felt his whole body clench in response, she drew back so quickly that her head knocked against the cabin wall.
    â€œEasy,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    â€œBut I—” she began, only to be stopped by the turmoil in his brilliant eyes. “Case? I—I don’t—”
    â€œHell, I know you don’t want me. Can’t say as I blame you. I wouldn’t want a lover who had no more manners than a grizzly.”
    With that, he pushed away from her.
    Dazed, uncertain, caught between tenderness and fear, Sarah watched him as he balanced one-handed against the wall. Awkwardly he retrieved the rifle he had been using as a crutch. He turned to face her, leaning against the rifle butt.
    When she moved to help him back to the bed, he stopped her with a look.
    The gentleness and regret and hunger in his eyes was gone. Clear ice would have had more emotion.
    â€œI haven’t even wanted a woman since the end of the war,” he said flatly. “But I want you, Sarah Kennedy.”
    â€œI—I—”
    â€œDon’t worry that I’ll force myself on you. I won’t. You have my word on that.”
    After a moment, she nodded. If he had been that kind of man, he would have done it already.
    â€œI believe you,” she said softly.
    â€œThen believe this,” he said, his voice as distant as his eyes. “I hate wanting you. It means not as much of me died as I’d hoped.”

8
    â€œ T he sweat lodge will do him good,” Ute said.
    â€œSweating is good for what ails a man.”
    Without answering, Sarah threw more grain to the chickens that were squawking and squabbling around her feet.
    The fowl ignored a plate of supper scraps she had placed in a nearby willow thicket. Ghost, a half-wild herding dog that had adopted the chickens when he wasn’t watching goats for Lola, lurked in the willows.
    Like most of the creatures on Lost River ranch, Ghost had arrived more dead than alive. Like Ute, the dog had decided to stay.
    â€œSarah?” Conner asked.
    â€œI’m thinking.”
    But she wasn’t. Not really. She was looking a few feet beyond the chickens, where Lost River ran clear and clean over a bed that was made of solid stone and gravel bars whose dominant color was rust-red.
    The chickens’ preferred roosting area was in the cottonwoods and willows lining the water course. Every year she lost a few chicks or full-grown birds to coyotes and hawks. She would have lost a lot more if it weren’t for Ghost.
    Someday I’ll have enough money to build a proper coop for the chickens , she thought.
    She fished in the bucket for a bit more corn. The kernels were smooth and hard and cold, like small river pebbles. In the rich, slanting sunlight the corn glowed in shades of red and blue, white and gold.
    Indian corn, grown on the fertile floodplain of the creek. Squash and beans grew there as well, but corn had been especially abundant this year. She was using it to fatten the chickens against the winter chill.
    â€œWhat about it?” Conner asked again.
    She tossed out more corn without answering.
    â€œYou can’t keep Case cooped up forever,” her brother insisted. “The chickens have more freedom than he does.”
    â€œMore clothes, too,” Ute muttered.
    â€œThere’s frost on the ground,” she said with exaggerated patience.
    â€œUsually is, this time of year,” Ute said.
    â€œIt’s been barely three weeks since you brought Case here more dead than alive,” she said pointedly.
    â€œDamned sure looks lively now,” Ute said. “Jumpy as a flea. Man’s got cabin fever, sure enough.”
    â€œC’mon, sis. Lola is up on the rim and the Culpeppers haven’t been sniffing around since Case shot Parnell in the a—er, rump.”
    â€œFine shootin’,” Ute said to no one in particular. “Really fine. Could have used that boy in my younger days.”
    Sarah grimaced.
    His answering grin revealed strong, tobacco-stained teeth.
    â€œDon’t worry that pretty head none about them Spring Canyon trash coming back to bother you,” Ute said. “They’re scared of leaving camp.”
    â€œI doubt that,” she said.
    â€œEvery time they leave, something happens,” Conner said, looking at the sky.
    â€œEven when they don’t, bad luck comes calling anywise,” Ute added. “Hear them boys lost a