The Angel Of Devil's Camp. Lynna Banning

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      Tom shot to his feet. “Not so fast, Miss Hampton. You can’t stay here. I run a logging camp, not a boardinghouse.”

      “But the cabin—my cabin—is here.”

      “A logging camp is no place for a woman.”

      The red-haired sergeant stepped forward. “Oh, now, Tom—”

      “Shut up, O’Malley.”

      Meggy stood up. “No place for a woman? Mr. Peabody seemed to think otherwise.”

      “Mr. Peabody isn’t—wasn’t—the boss here. I am.”

      Meggy felt her spine grow rigid. It was a sensation she’d come to recognize over the last seven years, one that signaled the onset of the stubborn streak she’d inherited from her father. “That does not signify, for it is—was—Mr. Peabody who wrote the will, not you.” She gentled her voice. “And you, sir, even if you are the boss here, are surely not above the law?”

      At that instant she noticed that Mr. O’Malley stood off to one side, shaking his head at her. The Irishman was trying to warn her about something, but what? What was it she was not supposed to say?

      Silence fell, during which she desperately tried to think.

      A woodpecker drilled into a tree outside the tent, and Meggy started. The noise rose above the rasp of cicadas, pounding into her head until she thought she would scream.

      “The law,” Tom said in a low, hard voice, “protects no one. When push comes to shove, it’s not the right that wins, but the strong. Coming from a Confederate state, I’d think you’d have a hard time forgetting that.”

      She clamped her teeth together. Was that what the man had against her? That she was from the South?

      “The mighty prevail, is that it?”

      “That’s it. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way. I suggest you are about to do the same.”

      O’Malley pivoted toward his boss. “Oh, now, Tom, couldn’t we—”

      “Nope.”

      Meggy drew in a long breath and used the time it took to expel it to gather her courage. She might as well risk it. She had nothing to lose and everything—a home, a sanctuary out here in this remote bit of nowhere—to gain. She needed time to absorb what had happened. Time to make new plans. Besides, she had no money, and until she could decide what to do next, she was stuck here.

      “On the contrary, Colonel…I beg your pardon, what is your family name, sir? I do not wish to be improper in addressing you.”

      “Randall,” he growled. “I come from Ohio.”

      “Colonel Randall,” she continued. “I believe it is you who may learn the lesson here. For it is a known fact that when a suit is brought, and the issue judged by an honest jury of one’s peers…”

      She left the rest unspoken. It was always best to allow the enemy a graceful exit. “Why, your own president, Mr. Grant, made that very point not long ago in a speech before the Congress of the United States.”

      Tom took a good long look at the young woman standing before him. She wasn’t going to give up, he could see that. Her softly modulated voice never rose, but beneath the controlled tone he detected cold steel. And the look in her eye…Yeah, she sure did remind him of Susanna.

      In that instant he knew he was beaten. Women like this one, like his sister, didn’t give up. If he pushed, she would fight back, and she would continue until she either triumphed or died trying. He closed his hands into fists. He didn’t want to be responsible for another one. She had determination written all over her.

      And, he noted, she had unusual eyes, set in a perfectly oval face and framed with thick lashes. Her dark hair was parted in the center and gathered in a soft, black-netted roll at her neck. The only other part of her body he could see was her hands, which were graceful and small-boned, with long fingers and short nails. For all her fragile female appearance, those hands looked capable enough.

      For some reason his gut clenched just looking at them.

      The good Lord can sure play a joke when He sees fit. The last thing he needed was a woman at Devil’s Camp. A pretty woman with eyes like a cool, deep river. The last thing he wanted anywhere near him for the remainder of his life was a woman who stirred his emotions.

      He grasped her elbow, turned her toward the tent entrance.

      “Meeting’s over, Miss Hampton. I’m sending you back to Tennant.”

      Chapter Two

      Miss Hampton regarded Tom with calm eyes. “Might I see the home Mr. Peabody constructed for our future?” Her voice was like honey, warm and so sweet it made his heart catch.

      O’Malley nudged his elbow. “Can’t hurt, Tom,” he said in an undertone. “Might be it’d ease the lady’s grief some.”

      Tom sighed. Being outnumbered wasn’t what got his goat. What bothered him was his reaction to her. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for this woman. Sympathy led to caring, and the minute his heart was involved he knew it would lead to pain, pure and simple. You could love someone, but you couldn’t keep them safe. Ever.

      “Cabin’s that way, Colonel.” The Irishman pointed over his shoulder. “Past the bunkhouse. You can barely see it from here. It’s nice an’ privatelike, and…”

      Tom raised his eyebrows and O’Malley fell silent. Then Tom waved a hand and the sergeant turned and headed toward the cabin.

      Miss Hampton trudged beside Tom through the pine trees, their footfalls muffled by the thick forest duff. Her face had an expectant look, but she kept her mouth closed as they followed O’Malley past the cookhouse. At this altitude and in the midday heat, Tom guessed she was too short of breath to talk much.

      He studied her full-skirted black dress as it swayed beside him. It had a wide ruffle at the hem and a bit of delicate-looking lace at the neck and sleeves. She looked as out of place as a rose in a potato field. She’d be used to town life, with gaslight and a cookstove with a built-in hot water basin. She wouldn’t last five minutes in a logging camp. He almost chuckled. The food alone would kill her.

      The cabin was small, but Tom could see it was well built of peeled pine logs, notched and fitted at the corners. He noted that Peabody hadn’t had time to fill the chinks with mud. A good breeze would whistle through the cracks and chill her britches good. Not too bad a thought on a day like today, with the temperature near a hundred degrees and the sun not yet straight up. But in the winter…

      He bit back a smile. Like he said, five minutes.

      She quickened her pace. “Is that it? Why, it’s…charming.”

      Tom had to laugh. The cabin looked sturdy. Rough and practical, not charming. He’d bet his month’s quota of timber she’d never lived in a place with just one window, to say nothing of a front door with leather straps for hinges and no way to lock it.

      He tramped СКАЧАТЬ