Honey's Grace Page 2

  Marshall, following his father’s shabby example, had opened his mouth a time or two too many when they were kids. To Honey’s credit, she had never let him get away with it. She always stood her ground, even if she didn’t stand too tall from that ground.

  As the cowboys walked away, he chuckled to himself. He felt pleased that Honey Goodman still knew how to stand up for herself. He also felt a little uneasy; this was the first time he had looked at her through his own eyes and not those of his father. He liked what he saw, that much was true. Not just the beauty that he had always begrudgingly admired, but her spirit. Where he had once thought it an affront, he was now rooting for her wholeheartedly. He would have liked to tell her as much, but he didn’t reckon she would be too pleased to be praised by the son of Kirby Thornhill.

  Chapter 3

  Honey had turned down the offer of a ride back home. Suki and Sonny Reynolds lived across town and Honey had always liked the walk back from the barn dance. After the heat and noise of the town barn, the cool and fragrant summer night air was always a treat. And, since Honey always chose to walk if it wasn’t raining, Suki didn’t kick up a fuss; she just let her go her own way.

  Even if she sauntered, the walk to the Goodman family home was only ten minutes. If she hurried, it was six or seven. No time at all.

  Her father’s merchant warehouse was easily reached by all who needed supplies, and their house was just across the yard from it. The only part of her journey that was a little secluded was a narrow, tree-lined path which would lead her to the sharp slope down toward the house. Even that was nicely moonlit, if a little isolated, and didn’t give Honey a moment’s concern or pause for thought as she disappeared in through the trees.

  However, when she was about halfway through, she heard the snap of somebody standing on a dry twig behind her. Ordinarily it would not have been a loud noise, but in the silence of that summer’s night, it might just as well have been a gunshot.

  Honey spun around. Although her immediate instinct had been to run, she was a clever woman and one who knew that it was always best to know exactly what you were dealing with, exactly what was chasing you.

  When she turned, it was to see the two cowboys she had so easily dismissed earlier in the evening. The fact that they didn’t even bother to hide themselves when she turned around was somehow more sinister than if they had. There was something brazen about it—something arrogant—as if they didn’t care if she saw them or not.

  Honey turned and quickened her pace, knowing that she was only three or four minutes from home. But as fast as she was, Honey Goodman was short and her strides were so much smaller than the men behind her. For the briefest moment, it occurred to her to regret her tongue lashing of the two men earlier in the evening. But then anger took over. Why should she humor two horrible men? Why should it be accepted that turning them away meant that they would take some revenge on her, if only to satisfy their own tattered egos? It wasn’t acceptable. Honey had a right to choose the company she was in and if they thought there must be a price to be paid for that, she would fight them with every ounce of strength and spirit in her little body.

  “Not so clever now, huh?” one of them called out after her.

  “You’ve no business coming this way. This pathway only leads to my daddy’s house, so you need to turn yourselves right around and get out of here.” Honey was surprised to note that her voice did not tremble at all, even though her heart pounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo.

  “Even now you’re dishing out your orders, aren’t you? It’s about time someone taught you a real lesson, missy. You don’t get to talk to men like that, do you hear me?” Although she couldn’t see who was talking, she recognized the voice as that of the second and even less pleasant of the two cowboys.

  “But you get to talk to me however you like, is that right?” Honey spat the accusation over her shoulder as she quickened her pace.

  Honey’s mouth went dry when she heard the two men beginning to run and she knew, without a doubt, that they would catch her. And so, she decided she would not run. She would not be hunted down by two of the foulest men she had ever met. They would not capture her from behind and bring her down to the ground; she would not flee and give them the satisfaction. If they wanted to tackle her, it would have to be face-to-face. They would have to look that tiny woman right in the eyes.

  Honey stopped in her tracks and turned to face them, her arms down by her sides, her small hands balled into fists, ready to fight. She knew that she was no match for them, but that did not mean that she wouldn’t give it her all. How she wished she was just a little closer to home, just a minute or two more, and she could have shouted loud enough for someone in the house to have heard her—she was sure of it. She felt isolated, alone, although she was determined not to blame herself for it. If she was to be a victim of these men, it would be their fault, not hers.

  “Not only do we get to talk to you how we like, we get to do what we like.” The sneering cowboy marched up to her, his eyes wild like a rabid dog.

  His friend, still wearing his hat, looked a little less sure of himself. Honey wondered if that might work in her favor if she tried to appeal to him.

  “And that goes for the both of you, does it?” she said, turning to look the hat-lifting man right in the eyes.

  “Well… You shouldn’t have…” the man began but his friend cut over him.

  “Don’t you go taking orders from her!”

  “I wasn’t,” he said defensively, and Honey knew she was sunk.

  Men like that always fell in with the stronger ones—always did their bidding, always followed their lead. Even if it made him feel bad, the hat-lifting cowboy would do whatever it was his friend told him to. That was how so many men were, as far as she could tell.

  Without warning, the sneering cowboy reached for her, grabbing a handful of her thick, golden hair and pulling her sharply and painfully towards him. Honey was stunned, but it sparked her into action and she quickly brought down the heel of her foot onto the toes of the soft boots he was wearing. He yelped in pain and instinctively let go of her hair.

  “Why, you little…” he said and lunged at her.

  Before the cowboy could lay a hand on her for the second time, he was pushed roughly from behind and landed face down on the ground. Honey was confused for a moment, assuming it to be the actions of the hat-lifting cowboy, his conscience finally catching up with him. But he looked as stunned as she did, and she quickly realized that there was another man with them.

  She gave a silent prayer of thanks that the moon was almost full and the pathway well-lit, for she realized immediately that the man who had appeared from nowhere, who had come to her rescue, was none other than the well-dressed man she and Suki had remarked upon earlier.

  What on earth was he doing there? The path lead only to the Goodman place and nowhere else. Perhaps he was lost, or perhaps he was new in town. Whatever the case, she was just glad to see him.

  However, in no time at all, the sneering cowboy was up on his feet and his arms wind milling violently as he tried to land a punch on the interloper. The man ducked and weaved as he tried to get in a punch of his own, but Honey finally heard a deep, dull thud as the cowboy landed a lucky punch on the man’s cheek, sending him flying backwards. Honey held her breath and stood rooted to the spot for a moment, unable to make her legs works, as the two cowboys swooped down on the fallen man like crows on carrion.

  She could both see and hear the vicious kicks connecting with the man’s body and felt a foul surge of rage. What sort of men were they who didn’t fight fair? Honey flew at them, her determination to help overwhelming as she aimed for the worst of the two cowboys.

  Honey ran, leaping up and practically taking flight, landing on the man’s back and wrapping her arms around his neck. She laced one arm over the other, trying to choke the life out of the fiend with what little brute strength she possessed. The cowboy danced this way and that, trying to free himse
lf from the tiny blonde woman that clung to his back.

  The other cowboy stopped kicking and stared down at the man on the ground. He backed away a few paces and peered all the harder at him.

  “What are you doing? Keep kicking that son of a…” he broke off and looked at his partner. “What is it?”

  “I’ve seen this guy before, Jeb. It’s the son of that big-wig. What’s his name?” He chewed his bottom lip in thought. “Thornhill.” He said and Honey, still clinging to her worst enemy, stared at the man on the ground.

  Could that really be Marshall Thornhill laying there? Surely, not! Marshall Thornhill would never have put himself in danger for Honey Goodman’s sake! But maybe he hadn’t recognized her, just as she had not recognized him.

  “Marshall?” she said, breathless as she continued to do everything in her power to choke the cowboy.

  “Hi, Honey,” he wheezed from the ground.

  “Jeb, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Get the hell off me, woman.” The cowboy was still trying to fling her away from him. “Take your hands off me.”

  “Now you know how it feels,” Honey sneered before the man finally threw her clear.

  She fell quite a way, landing hard on her backside on the ground and all the air expelled from her lungs from the fall.

  Without another word, the two cowboys took off running. For once, Honey was pleased about Kirby Thornhill’s bigwig reputation, even among the out of town cowboys.

  She heard Marshall Thornhill groan and finally pulled herself together—he’d saved her from a horrible fate and now it was her turn to look out for him.

  Chapter 4

  “Marshall? Marshall? Oh, my goodness, are you hurt?” She scampered over to his side.

  “I reckon I’ll live,” he said and tried to sit up. “But yes, I’m hurt. I just can’t work out exactly where.” He began to laugh but was soon sucking in his breath in pain.

  “Can you get up? Here, let me help you,” Honey said, trying to gently pull him to his feet. “It’s only a minute or two to my house, if you can make it. If you can’t, I’ll run down and get my daddy.”

  “I don’t want to bother your folks, Honey, really,” he said hurriedly, and she knew why.

  Their fathers had been enemies for as long as Honey could remember. Her own father was not particularly active in this, but he had cleverly thwarted Kirby Thornhill’s spiteful maneuvers over the years.

  “After you just saved my life, I don’t reckon it will be any bother to them. Now come on, let’s get out of here before those cowboys change their minds,” she said, certain that the cowboys were already long gone.

  “All right, but I’m going to need to lean on you. The ugly one landed a good kick on my knee and I can already tell there’s something wrong there,” he said, getting to his feet with her help but keeping all his weight on his good leg.

  “Can you walk on it at all?”

  “No, I reckon I’m going to have to hop. That’s why I need to lean on you, for balance.”

  Without another word, Honey tucked herself under his right arm and immediately felt a little of his weight against her. As they began to make their ungainly and slow progress, Honey wondered if Marshall had been so tall the last time that she’d seen him. She fit so neatly under his arm that she felt like a child. Of course, being short was something that Honey Goodman had just had to deal with over the years.

  “How come you were here, Marshall? Not that I’m complaining, of course, but this track only leads to my house and the merchant store. You’re not looking for lumber at this time of night, are you?” she asked and laughed a little nervously.

  “No, not tonight.” He laughed too. “I was following you. Well, not you, actually, but the cowboys. After you sent them away with a flea in their ears, I reckon I noticed them stewing on it for the rest of the night.”

  “Really? I hadn’t even noticed them again. I guess I was too busy talking,” Honey said and knew she should have kept her wits about her.

  As much as the wrong was all on the part of the men who had chosen to follow her, she still had a responsibility to herself. If she’d known they were stewing, she’d have let Sonny Reynolds drive her home in his wagon and poor Marshall Thornhill would be able to walk properly.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about. I hate guys like that. They think they can just take what they want.”

  “Lord knows that’s true.” Honey sighed, warm and breathless from her exertions. “But I could have kept an eye on them. If I had, I wouldn’t have walked back on my own.”

  “I saw you leave and then they made their minds up to take off just minutes after. I guess I had a bad feeling about it is all. That’s when I decided to head on over to your daddy’s place. I reckoned if you were walking, I’d soon catch up so I could be sure you were all right.”

  “And then you got a crook knee for your troubles,” she said quietly. “But I sure am grateful to you for saving me.”

  “Likewise,” he said and laughed. “If you hadn’t attached yourself to that man’s back like a limpet, I reckon the other one wouldn’t have recognized me. Although where from, I have no idea.”

  “Maybe they saw you with your daddy somewhere; everyone knows Mr. Thornhill, even the out-of-towners. And a good thing too, for both of us.”

  “Looks like.”

  “All right, we’re just about there. Can you lean here for a moment while I run in and get my daddy? He’ll be better able to get you through the door than I will.”

  “Sure,” he said but didn’t sound at all certain.

  Honey felt sorry for him; they’d never been inside each other’s homes and they’d certainly never been friends. This was surely daunting even without the busted knee.

  As she darted into the house, she had a moment of panic—would her father have some objection to helping the young man? The son of his only enemy in all of Oregon? But she quickly dismissed it; she knew her father to be a good man.

  No sooner had she given her parents the hurried details than they were both dashing outside to Marshall’s aid.

  “Put your arm around my neck, Marshall,” Dillon Goodman said, as if the two were well acquainted; friends even.

  “Thank you, sir,” Marshall said politely. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

  “Don’t you go apologizing. Any man who risks his life to save my daughter has no apology to give. Now then, let’s get you into the kitchen.”

  “I’ll boil up some water and get some cloths.” Trinity Goodman raced ahead of them, taking her daughter’s hand as she went.

  They set about the cloths and water together as Dillon settled Marshall down into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Would it be easier to put your leg up on one of the chairs?” Dillon asked; Honey was listening in carefully.

  “No, sir. It’s more comfortable with the knee bent and my foot just resting there on the floor.” Honey could hear the strain in his voice; the adrenaline was all gone, and the pain was beginning to bite—she was sure of it.

  “All right, Dillon. Let me have a look at that cut on his face,” Trinity said and winced, sitting on a chair she’d pulled up after she set the bowl of hot water down onto the kitchen table. “The cut isn’t too deep, but there’s one heck of a swelling. And I reckon you’ll be sporting that bruise a good long while.” She sounded apologetic as she applied the wet cloth to clean the wound.

  “I’ll get you a whiskey, son,” Dillon said and hurried out of the room.

  Honey stood in awe; her parents really were the very best of folk. It didn’t matter to them who this young man’s father was. He was a young man who needed their help and they were sure going to give it.

  Marshall had his eyes closed as Trinity cleaned the cut on his swollen cheek. His clothes, so fine and neat, were now disheveled and dusty from the rough ground of the tree-lined pathway. He still looked handsome; his clean-shaven face strangely unmar
red by the horrible, darkening swelling.

  He’d certainly changed over the years, that was a fact. Honey wondered when she’d last set eyes on him and couldn’t draw anything to mind. She knew he’d been away to university; it was common knowledge among all in the town. But when had he come back? She had no idea.

  In the years since she’d seen him last, he sure had grown into a real man, with barely a trace of the boyishness of youth. Of course, he would be twenty-two now, the same as herself, although she realized that he’d had no trouble recognizing her.

  Perhaps her short stature and big blonde curls were a little distinctive after all. Whatever it was, she was glad he’d known her. If he hadn’t, she would have been on her own that night.

  Honey was grateful to the core of her being for the young man who had so often been her adversary in the schoolroom, and she had a feeling that it was somehow significant; she just didn’t quite know how.

  Chapter 5

  “Is everything all right? You seem a little distant, Honey,” Trinity Goodman said as she sat at the kitchen table peeling a great dishful of apples for a pie.

  “Yes, fine, Mama.” Honey smiled warmly.

  “Nothing to trouble you, then?”

  “No, not trouble me exactly. I suppose I keep thinking about Marshall Thornhill is all.” Honey hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the young man who had rescued her, and that was the truth.

  “Yes, I hope he’s all right. That knee of his sure did look painful. I wonder if he’s up on his feet again.” Trinity set her small peeling knife down and wiped her hands on her thick cotton apron. “Do you want some tea, sweetie? You look like you could use a cup.”

  “Please.” Honey grinned. “Although, I should probably make it myself and let you get on with the apples.”