Chapter Eight

Stepping into the warehouse, Zachary took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. He saw a short, plump man with a clipboard walking down a row of crated goods and approached him.

"Can I help you, sir?" the man asked, his grip on the clipboard tightening when he noticed Zachary coming his way.

Zachary was accustomed to being feared. Folks tended to find him imposing. "I was expecting a delivery on the train today. Can you tell me if it came?"

"Of course, sir." The man offered a bit of a shaky smile. "Name?"

"Zachary Marston."

His eyes widened slightly at the name. Zachary had no idea who this man was but apparently he'd heard the Marston name. It made Zachary wonder exactly what he'd heard. Flipping through the papers on his clipboard, the man eventually tapped one with his index finger. "Right here. Yep, it came yesterday evening actually. It's quite a big order, sir, do you have a wagon?"

"It's parked out front with a gray shire mare hooked to it."

"Thank you, sir. I'll get the men to load everything up for you."

Zachary walked back out into the sunlight and made his way to his wagon. Leaning against the rough hewn boards of the warehouse wall, Zachary pulled his hat low, let his gaze drop to the ground and lost himself in thought with the sounds of town bustling around him.

Samantha.

Since he'd carried that woman out of the saloon she had taken up residence in his mind. Nearly any time he let his mind wander it took itself in her direction. The last five years of Zachary's life had been about vengeance and survival. He'd seen horrors most folks couldn't imagine and he'd been lost in a darkness that he'd had to claw and crawl his way out of—that he was still clawing and crawling his way out of.

But Samantha? She was... she was light.

What was her story? He still didn't know. He still had no idea what had led her to Hackney and that saloon. He had no idea why she was skittish and afraid the way the doctor had stated. Or why a horse was all she had left in the world. What he did know was that she had an innocence and a strength about her that made him want to know more.

He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her protected and safe. The sight of those healing bruises on her face—bruises that Thomas Williamson had placed there—caused Zachary's gut to burn. He'd seen softness brutalized far too often and yet, somehow, he never became hardened to it—it turned his stomach and riled his temper every time.

Part of him knew he should keep his distance from her. People would talk. He did have a reputation and he was the subject of countless rumors. Not only that but there was always a chance that Zachary's past could come riding back into town to finish what it had started—though Zachary doubted that would happen.

He had chased the bastard that had slaughtered his family for years and never once had that son of a bitch had the strength of spine to face him even as Zachary killed countless men riding for him.

Realizing his thoughts were taking a dark turn, Zachary was thankful when the men arrived wheeling crates and carrying lumber to load onto his wagon.

After his things were stored safely on the wagon, Zachary rolled his aching shoulder and hopped into the driver seat to head toward the doctor and the woman who would be waiting there.

Why had he invited her to his farmhouse? He honestly did not feel the woman owed him a thing despite her insistence that she owed him a debt. He wanted to keep his distance from her. She was beautiful and good and Zachary did not deserve either of those things in his life.But she also seemed to need him—and maybe, Zachary hoped that in helping her, in making a difference in her life, it could somehow atone for some of his failures in the past—at least slightly.

Starting down the road, Zachary had to pause several times to allow townsfolk and dogs alike to cross the street in front of him. He could see Athena hitched outside the docs' office as he neared it and just as he was pulling up, there she was.

Wild red curls she'd desperately attempted to tame on the back of her head were slipping free and framing her face. Her skin was pale beneath her dusting of freckles and her green eyes seemed to seek him out and find him quickly.

Damn.

Zachary hadn't given much thought at all to women in the last five years. As a matter of fact, he hadn't given any thought to them at all. It had been five long years since he'd touched, tasted, or enjoyed intimate contact with a lady—any lady. And he hadn't missed it when he'd had plenty of other things to focus his attention on.

But now? Seeing Samantha?

Zachary shook his head to clear that thought. He was supposed to be helping her not lusting after her.

"Zachary, how are you?" Doctor Reynolds asked, joining Samantha on the porch.

Zachary tipped his head. "Fine. How are you?"

Doctor Reynolds smoothed his hand over his gray mustache. "I'm doing well I suppose. I was going to go check on Samantha here but she showed up on my doorstep to say hello. Are you here to check up on her? You've asked me about her every day this week—you can ask her how she is for yourself today."

Zachary grumbled under his breath as Samantha's green eyes widened in surprise. Hell, he felt sheepish! Damn, the doctor and his habit of saying whatever came to his mind. "If you're ready, Samantha, it's time to go. There's a lot of work to do."

Without giving the doctor time to say anything else that would embarrass him further, Zachary urged the shire mare forward and steered the wagon away from the docs.

Soon, Samantha was riding along beside him on Athena. Zachary studied her from the corner of his eye. She was clearly quite comfortable on horseback which was surprising—most women he knew rode in carts or wagons or at the very least chose to ride side-saddle but not Samantha. Her body moved in time with the mare beneath her showing that she had spent a lot of time with the animal—the only thing she had left in the world.

They rode a long while with only the sound of birds, bees, rolling wagon wheels and hoof beats filling the silence. Zachary liked silence but this felt awkward. Forced. There was so much he wanted to know about Samantha but it just wasn't in his nature to ask those kinds of questions.

"Have you truly been to check on me every day?" Samantha's sudden question had Zachary shifting on the wagon seat as he swatted at a bee.

"Uh..." Zachary would be damned if he didn't feel color rising on his cheeks. "I just happened to be in town and saw the doc."

When she remained quiet, Zachary spared a glance in her direction. Samantha was studying the horizon as she held the reins loosely and chewed her full bottom lip. She was breathtaking.

"Why?" she finally asked, her voice quiet and unsure.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

Zachary grunted. He thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Just trying to be nice. Is that so hard to believe? Or have the kind townsfolks already warned you about what a monster I am?" He didn't know why it bothered him to think that she'd heard rumors and might believe them. Then again, if she believed them and had still chosen to ride out of town with him, it would make her quite stupid—and Zachary certainly didn't think that was a fitting descriptor for the woman riding beside him.

If anything, his answer seemed to annoy her. She glared over him, her eyes narrowing. "I already told you I don't bother myself with the opinions of others and, unlike the local clergyman's wife, I don't listen to gossip."

Zachary felt a smile tugging at his lips. Smiling was something he hadn't done in a long long time. Until she'd made him do it just a while ago in town. He liked Samantha's attitude and spirit. It was nice to see that, despite the way they had met, she was not as helpless as she'd seemed—that mouth could quite clearly be a weapon.

Her next words erased that urge to smile. "And I've known very little kindness in my life, Zachary. It's made me a bit distrustful of it when I encounter it now."

Damn this world for being the ugly place that it so often was. A woman like Samantha should no nothing but kindness—but he supposed hoping for that was foolish. Kindness was a rare commodity and it seemed few folks were lucky enough to receive it.

"I can assure you, Samantha, that I mean you no harm. You can trust me."

She was quiet a moment and so Zachary spared a glance in her direction to see her studying him closely. He wondered what was going on in that head of hers. Finally, her full lips curled in the smallest of smiles. "I know I can."

Silence fell once again but it was filled with a bit less awkwardness. Zachary didn't have any of the answers to his questions about Samantha but he wasn't a man who appreciated prying and so he wasn't going to question her. If she wanted to share her story with him, she would. It would probably be best if she didn't. She could just work at the farmhouse until she felt her debt was paid and then they could go their separate ways.

There was no sense building up a friendship between them. Zachary didn't want to grow close to anyone—people close to Zachary tended to die.

That silence continued for the remainder of the ride and soon the farmhouse was coming into view—and with it the memories. Memories that immediately had his heart beating harder in his chest, his hands tightening on the reins, and his gut burning.

"Are you okay?"

Samantha's quiet question, yanked Zachary from the past and had him dropping once again into the present. His gaze found her and those big green eyes were filled with concern and studying him closely. He quickly buried his emotions to ensure that they were no longer so easy to read on his face. Zachary hadn't meant to let Samantha see them. He had spent five years hiding emotions and he never slipped when others were around—until just now.

"That's the house. Nothing too big but I'd say it'll take a bit of work to make it a home again." Zachary said, choosing not to answer her question. He didn't add that that house could never really be a home again—not after what had happened within those walls. He'd thought about just burning the place to the ground. Just the other day he'd stood outside it with a bottle of whiskey, a rag and a match fully prepared to light it up, toss it in the house, and let those memories die in the flames—but then other memories had come to him. Happier memories.

His family had been a loving one. That home had once been full of love, laughter, respect, and happiness. As a matter of fact, there hadn't been any harsh words or fighting. His parents had always been quick to communicate, not argue or speak harshly, even with their children. Memories of him and his pa teaching his younger twin sisters to play poker before his mama had come up and wiped the table with all of them. Memories of his mama's soothing voice singing gentle songs while she had bustled around the kitchen or tucked the girls into bed. Memories of his pa roaring with laughter when little Sara and Susan had ruined their brand new Sunday dresses by rescuing tadpoles from a drying puddle.

With those memories, and hundreds of others, replaying themselves in his mind, Zachary hadn't been able to light that bottle. He hadn't been able to burn that house down. He'd simply swallowed back tears, turned quickly, and walked away from that rickety porch.

"Zachary?"

Again, that quiet voice reached his ears. Zachary didn't dare look in her direction. He was worried what she would see written on his face. He was supposed to be better at hiding his emotion than this. What was it about having Samantha beside him that made him feel weaker—more vulnerable?

"I have to take the supplies to the barn. You can hitch Athena under that shade tree by the house. Just walk through, decide what you'll need to clean the place and pretty it up. If repairs are needed make a note of those too..."

"What do you mean if repairs are needed?" Samantha asked, her brow furrowing. "Don't you live here?"

Zachary shook his head. "Nope. I have work to do and so do you. Let me know when you're done with that list and I'll take you back to town."

With that Zachary left Samantha, and the twister of emotions she stirred in him, behind as he headed for the barn.

"Isn't that the woman from the saloon? The woman you've been preoccupied with for days?" Tim asked as he stepped out of the barn and approached Zachary with a long piece of grass hanging off his lip and a smile on his face.

Zachary hopped off the wagon and pointed to the supplies. "I've got what we need to repair the barn stalls today."

Tim nodded and slid a board from the stack. "So.....?"

Zachary grumbled under his breath. Damn nosy friends. "We'll get more done if we work instead of talk."

Tim winked. "I'm a decent multitasker."

Zachary grabbed two boards, laid them over his shoulder and strode into the barn. He threw them down, the sound echoing off the barn walls as dust flew in the air. "Yes, that's the woman from the saloon. No, I haven't been preoccupied by her for the last few days. She felt she owed me a debt for helping with her situation and so she's going to be fixing up the house."

Timothy laid his board beside Zachary's. "One, you're a liar because you have most definitely been preoccupied by her. Not that I can blame you." He let out a whistle. "She is awful pretty."

Zachary's fist damn near took on a mind of its own and busted his best friend in the mouth. Instead, Zachary turned and left the barn to grab another load of lumber. "Can I ask a question?" Tim asked as he walked out behind him—but not directly behind him. Timothy had taken Zachary's warnings about not coming up behind him to heart. Zachary couldn't help it—he'd damn near been shot and stabbed in the back too many times to count.

"Would you shut up if I told you no?"

Timothy grinned, wiping a bit of dirt off his gray shirtsleeve. "You know me better than that."

Zachary grunted, putting another three boards over his shoulder. "What?"

"Does she know what happened in that house?"

Tension worked its way thought Zachary's body. "No."

"Don't you think you should tell her?"

"No."

"But..."

"I paid some folks from town to clean the damn house up after..." Zachary swallowed hard and carried his load into the barn. "The house is fine. Just lacking basic care for a while and that's what she's gonna give it."

"Why? You've already said you don't ever want to step foot back in there. Why fix it up?"

"Why are you so goddamn nosy?" Zachary demanded, throwing his wood down on the pile.

Timothy shrugged as he tossed his down as well. "Why are you so goddamn evasive?"

"I don't know."

Timothy's head tilted to the side. "You don't know why you're evasive?"

Zachary ran his hand over his face. Damn, he felt tired. "I don't know why I'm having her fix the place up. I just... I guess I'm just hoping it will... somehow... make them happy..." Zachary was angry that he couldn't seem to figure out what he wanted to say. He wasn't a man who stuttered or wasted words. Finally, he let out a sigh. "I don't know."

He stood there, feeling quite pathetic. His shoulders slumped, his spirit tired. Timothy's eyes softened a bit and he patted Zachary on the back as he came to stand beside him. "I'm sure Samantha will make that house look real nice, Zachary, just like your mama did. Now let's get this barn fixed up the way your pa would have kept it."

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! I wonder what Samantha will find when she steps into the farmhouse?