Chapter Six

"I think she's waking up..."

Caroline's voice began to break though the heavy fog weighing down Samantha's mind.

"Should I go for the doc?" Eleanor offered.

"Probably should.... And if you see Zachary you should tell him as well."

Samantha frowned. Why was the doctor needed? And why would Zachary care that she was waking up? Rolling her head to the side, Samantha winced and let out a groan. The pain brought back the memories. Thomas Williamson's threats. Her attempt to leave town on Athena and then having the Marshall spook the horse and send Samantha crashing to the ground, striking her head against the fence. More threats from Thomas when she'd finally awaken and his angry fists striking her face.

Samantha raised her hand to her cheek and tenderly touched the bruised skin that covered it. Zachary... Zachary had taken her away from the saloon. How long ago had that been?

Opening her eyes a crack, she was greeted by Caroline's tired smile. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"M..morning?" Samantha whispered, pushing herself up to sitting and leaning against the headboard. A glance toward the window revealed that Caroline was telling the truth—there was daylight filtering thought the yellow curtains. Her dry mouth made it difficult to speak. "Where's Thomas.... Is Athena okay?"

Caroline rose to her feet and walked the water basin across the small room. After filling a small glass she returned and helped Samantha hold it to her lips and take several long swallows. "Everything is just fine, Samantha. Zachary dealt with Thomas Williamson real proper."

Samantha rubbed at her throbbing temple, her eyes barely able to do more than squint as she looked at the other woman. "What about the Marshall? Zachary isn't in trouble, is he?"

Caroline laughed lightly as she sat the glass on the end table and settled herself back down in the small chair beside the bed. "I don't think Zachary Marston is the type of man to worry much about getting in trouble—and I know for a fact he's the type of man Marshall Oxley avoids angering."

Samantha thought of that pot-bellied weasel and knew that Caroline was right. Samantha may not know who Zachary Marston was other than a man who seemed to be her own personal hero of late, but she knew enough to know he was dangerous, capable, and more than a little intimidating—Marshall Oxley was afraid of men like those.

"Roseanna came over from the saloon to check on you in the night and she said Zachary put both men in their place. Apparently, he knocked Thomas on the floor twice and had to wake the man up both times to let him know how things were going to be!"

Samantha would have laughed had her head not been paining her so badly. She would have loved to have seen Thomas Williamson knocked unconscious on the floor. But why? Why was Zachary so determined to help her? Should she be concerned that Zachary knew Clinton Matthews? They were both dangerous men, but Samantha doubted deep down that they ran in the same circles. Men like Clinton Matthews did not help women like her—they hurt them.

"But what about Athena? Thomas said...."

Caroline shook her head. "The Marshall was seeing things Zachary's way by the time he was through. Said the horse was worth more than you could possibly owe the man. Zachary ended up paying Thomas ten dollars to see that he wouldn't have any more leverage over you. He even got Thomas to bring your belongings here—that's them in the corner."

Samantha's head spun and it had nothing to do with the recent injuries. Why? Why would Zachary spend such large amounts of money to see that she was safe? Samantha hadn't known much charity in the last two and a half years of being on her own—it made her slightly mistrustful of receiving it now.

But what ulterior motive could the man have? He clearly didn't mean to harm her and wasn't interested in using her body against her will—he'd had opportunity for both those things. So, what was it?

Grabbing the glass from the nightstand, Samantha took another slow swallow and adjusted herself against the thin headboard, pulling the wool blanket tighter around herself. "Do you know Zachary? Is he from around here?"

Caroline's dark eyes turned sad. "I never knew him personally, but I know of him. I expect most people in this town have heard his name and remember the story. I guess it's been about five years now...."

A knock on the door interrupted Caroline. "Come on in," Caroline called, getting to her feet.

The door swung open to reveal Doctor Reynolds. He seemed relieved when his small blue eyes fell on her. "Good to see you alive, well, and awake this morning."

Samantha nodded. "It's good to be all those things this morning."

"Caroline, why don't you head down to the café and get some breakfast while I give Samantha here a once over and make sure she's doing as well as she seems."

Samantha waited patiently as the doctor listened to her breathing, checked her eyes and felt her head. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he asked.

"Not too much," she replied honestly. "Just some aching."

Doc Reynolds nodded as he placed his belongings back in his leather satchel. "That's to be expected. That Thomas Williamson is a monster of a man and you'd do well to avoid that saloon from here on out. I know the Morgan's were good people and did well by you but it's clear that he won't. There are other ways you can make a place in this town. There are good folks here that'd be happy to help you. I myself could use someone to come help clean my office several times a week—and I heard that Gavin Jones was looking for someone to help keep the mail organized at the post office. I'm sure there's other work out there as well if you look for it."

With that, and giving Samantha no chance to reply, Doctor Reynolds left the room, closing the door behind him.

Samantha sat there for several long moments thinking about what he'd said. She had always seen the saloon as her safe haven in Hackney and, without it, she'd assumed she would have to run again. But what if Hackney was her safe haven? She'd been here nearly six full months and had not heard of nor seen Clinton Matthews—it was the longest she'd ever spent in one place since he'd begun chasing her. Maybe she could be safe here. Build a new life, a new home.

Maybe Samantha didn't have to be so afraid anymore.

***

Zachary had just finished unloading supplies from the cart he'd borrowed from the mercantile when the horse and rider he'd noticed approaching, reached the barn. He watched Timothy O'Neil slip off the brown mares back, hitch her to a post and then stand there awkwardly as he rocked on his heels and stared at Zachary.

Swiping his arm over his sweat-slicked brow, Zachary stood straight and rolled his aching shoulder. "Timothy."

"Zachary."

Timothy glanced around the ranch as he rubbed his palms together slowly. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you around here."

"Yep."

Timothy clicked his tongue and patted the large, gray, shire mare that Zachary had bought from the livery that morning to help pull the wagons and farm equipment. "You've been gone a long time."

"Yeah."

Finally, with a roll of his eyes and a toss of his hands, it was clear Timothy had had enough of Zachary's aloofness. "Stop that one word answer shit with me!" he exclaimed. Reaching out, he put his hands on Zachary's chest, shoving him backward hard as hurt filled his eyes. "We were best damn friends and you just left and I never heard from you again! Where the hell did you go?"

Zachary let go of the wagon he had grabbed to steady himself on after Timothy's shove. He swallowed back his temper, adjusted the rifle on his back and shook his head. "Don't put your hands on me unless you want the favor returned, Tim," he advised calmly. "And I think it should be obvious where I was given what happened before I left."

"If I feel like you need some sense knocked into you, that's what I'll do," Timothy assured him, unfazed by Zachary's words. "And I didn't come here to fight with you. I came here to see if you needed help after they told me you'd brought out some supplies."

Zachary sighed. Damn he was out of practice when it came to relationships of any kind. "There's a lot that needs done here. Don't you have a job? A wife? Kids? Something else that you should do?"

Timothy laughed. "Job? Naw. I just take odd jobs as they come up and I make enough to take care of myself. A wife and kids? Nope."

"Why not?" Zachary asked. If he remembered correctly, Timothy had always been good with the ladies.

Timothy grinned, emphasizing his boyish features that hadn't changed much in half a decade. "I reckon no woman wants to have me for longer than a night."

Zachary wasn't sure how to answer that. He pointed to the sheets of tin he'd just unloaded. "Help me get a roof on this barn then. I need to keep the horse's heads dry when it rains."

The two men spent several hours working on the roof of the barn. Replacing tin and several weak boards. Many of the bigger repairs would have to wait because orders had to be placed for larger amounts of lumber and supplies and those orders would take time to arrive by train.

As midday passed, the men stopped to eat some jerked beef, beans and hardtack. They sat together on the back of the wagon and Timothy took a long swig from a canteen of water. "Seriously, Zachary, what happened to you? You seem....different."

Zachary squinted at the horizon. "Different?"

"Are you being difficult on purpose or have you developed a brain sickness of some kind?" Timothy grumbled. "Yes different. You're armed to the teeth with weapons, you haven't stopped scanning our surroundings all damn day. You talk even less than you used to. You look like hell. You won't speak a word about where you've been and you've become a lot more violent than I remember. I mean, sure, Thomas deserved to be knocked around a bit but the Zachary I remember wasn't the type to solve all his troubles with his fists."

Zachary was quiet for several long moments. Without any real direction his gaze was instantly drawn toward the house. It was an average two story farmhouse from appearances. Nothing on the outside could possibly warn an onlooker of the horrors the place had seen—the horrors that Zachary still saw quite often in his mind and his dreams. It wasn't something he was going to talk about—even with the man who had once been the person who knew him best.

"Life happened, Tim. Things. I've seen a lot and I've done a lot. It all has a way of changing a man."

Tim's eyes went skyward but his voice was sympathetic when he spoke. "That was ridiculously vague. What happened here was horrible, Zachary, and I miss those people every day. Your family was my family too."

Zachary simply grunted. He knew it was true. Timothy's father had died fairly young and his mother had remarried a man who didn't much care for having another man's son around often. Zachary's parents had seen the bruises Timothy sported more than once and quickly taken the boy in. Zachary was thankful that at least Tim hadn't seen the inside of the house that July morning five years ago. He hadn't seen the shape his second family had been left in. It wasn't something Zachary would wish anyone to see.

Timothy sighed and picked a loose bit of string off his fraying pants. "You've always been a closed book when it came to your feelings. I still wish you'd have come to me and we could have went after that asshole together. That's where you've been, right? Chasing him down?"

With a grunt, Zachary took a drink from his canteen. "Yeah."

He could feel Tim's sideways glance. "And did you get him?"

The guilt and the shame of failure fell hard in Zachary's gut. Twisting the lid back on his canteen, Zachary shoved himself off the wagon and stretched his back. "No. Now let's get back to work. We still have a lot to do before sundown."

Timothy didn't seem to be in any hurry as he grabbed another biscuit and took a bite. "I'm not complaining because I'm glad you're back and alive but why did you stop hunting him? I mean five years and you just give up and come back home?"

"You've always talked too goddamn much," Zachary grumbled, grabbing up a bag of nails and a hammer.

"And you've always grumbled about it," Timothy agreed, sliding from the wagon and coming to stand beside him. He shoved his hand through his messy hair. "Are you gonna answer the question?"

Zachary shoved the nails and hammer into Timothy's chest forcing the man to drop his biscuit in the dirt as he scrambled to grab them. Turning away, Zachary headed toward the nearest corral. "We can salvage a lot of this fence. Just need some new nails to hold it together."

Timothy's footsteps sounded behind him. "Is that a no?"

Zachary tensed and stopped walking, turning his head to the side. "Don't walk behind me like that."

The anger in his voice made Timothy stop in his tracks. The man appeared confused. "Sorry."

Zachary adjusted his hat and resumed his trek toward the fence. "I'm back because I owe it to my family to get this farm back running. This place was mama and daddy's pride and joy and I've let it fall down."

Zachary knew Timothy couldn't possibly be satisfied with that answer. The man had always been more nosy than most would deem polite but it seemed that his good sense was overriding his urge to know the details. He simply fell instep beside Zachary and smiled. "Well then let's turn it back into something they would be proud of. I think they'd like that a lot."

Zachary's gaze went toward the hill and the oak tree his family was buried beneath. He hadn't been up there since the day he'd laid them in the ground. Sadness nearly closed his throat completely. "Yeah," he managed to grunt. "Yeah I reckon they would."