One Wish

1st

Charity Barnham lay facedown and spread-eagle in the tree house,staring through a crack in the floor.Only a minute or so before,she'd been alone with her misery,but the whinny of a horse and a disturbance in the thick brush of the hillside had put an end to that.The rider reind indirectly beneath her,swung down from the saddle and spoke soothingly to his black and white pinto gelding.

When the intruder swept off his hat and set it carelessly in a crook of the tree one of the footholds Charity used to climb to her leafy sanctuary she saw that his hair was fair,the color of late summer honey,and long enough to brush the collar of his black canvas coat.

Her heart skimmed over a few beats.She knew every man who worked on the Double B,her father's ranch,and most of the population of jubilee as well.This man didn't fall into either category,which meant he was a drifter at best,and an outlawAt worst.Either way,she didn't relish the prospect of an encounter.

She hoped he hadn't noticed Taffeta,her black mare,grazing in the little meadow At the top of the hill.

The stranger whistled softly through his teeth as he began unsaddling his horse.His motions were easy and deliberate;it was almost as if he knew she was there,as if were teasing her by taking his time..

He tossed the saddle aside,slipped the bridle off over the gelding's head,and watched for a moment or two at the animal made its way down the bank to drink thirstly from the creek.Then,to her profound perturbation,the man proceeded to set up camp.Just far enough from the tree for safety,he made a circle of stones,then got busy gathering dry sticks and branches for firewood.From his saddlebags,he took what looked like length of fishing line.

She tensed,ready to flee the minute he disappeared around the bend in the creek.He didn't look like a greenhorn; surely he knew that the gelding would have scared off any trout that might be passing by; if he wanted to catch anything,he'd have to go downstream to the swimming hole, where the water was wider ang calmer.
   The pinto, thirst assuaged,moved off into the sweet grass to nibble.
    The man,shedding his long coat and thus revealing a colt.45 riding low on his left hip,strode to the creekbank,hunkered down there to dig a mess of eartworms from the wet ground with the blade of a hunting knife,then tucked the aquirming handful into the pocket of his vest..

She let out a long,slow breath.Now he would leave,and she could scramble down from the tree,find Taffeta,and be away before the stranger ever noticed her.
    Instead,as if to thwart her,he walked out onto a log,baited a hook,and cast his line..
     She muttered something unladylike and calculated her chances of making it down the trunk and up the hillside without catching his attention.Impossible,she decided.He was only about twenty yards away,and he looked agile,able to close the distance between them as fleetly as a grizzly on all fours.On the other hand,she reflected,he might be a perpectly decent fellow,just a weary traveler,going innocently about his business..
     The .45 and the ease with which he wore it belied that idea, though.The pistol,heavy as it was,might have been a part of his anatomy.He could be a lawnman, she concluded,her mind  racing,but it was just as likely that he  was a gunslinger,a claim jumper or haa bounty hunter.Such men were not,of
course,to be trifled with
     It was about then that he pulled in the first fish.She sighed in exasperation.At this rate,she would be imprisoned in this drattef tree until the man broke camp and moved in.Taffeta would wander home,riderless,and within minutes the whole ranch would be in an uproar.Her father was bound to turn the countryside upside down and inside out,looking for her,thinking she'd taken a spill riding or even gotten herself kidnapped.He was protective where she was concerned.
    The gunslinger by now she had decided for sure that this man was trouble having put the flailing trout out of its misery with a quick motion of his knife,rebaited the hook and cast the line again.The whole process was repeated four times before he brought his catch back to the edge of the stream,where he left it in the cold water,secured by a twig.The pinto,by this time,had wandered some distance away, but charity didn't waste a moment hoping the man would go after it;he simply whistled,and the beast raised its head from the grass,flicked its ears, and ambled back toward camp.
    Beneath her indignation,her impatience,and an overwhelming sense of caution, she felt a swell of resentment.There was about this man an elegance of motion, an elegance of thought, that said he commanded singular powers. Instinctively,  Charity knew that things came to him not just horses and trout, but people and even events because he summoned them. This insight both intrigued and unnerved her,for she was of an independent nature,strong in her own right, yet here was someone who surely made her match. A worthy adversary
     While the sun moved behind the tips oc the trees on the western horizon, the made his fire, fetched a small, scorhed fry pan from his gear, and began cookingthe trout. The scent rose through the branches of the tree,teasing her rumbling stomach.
    At home,Peony, the family cook, would be setting out supper. Fried chicken, peas from the kitchen garden, mashed potatoes, gravy. Charity emitted a small groan and rested her forehead on her now-folded arms. How long had she been cowering in this tree? One hour? Two?
     When she raised her head, the stranger was looking directly at her though of course he couldn't have seen her, for it was the height of summer and the tree was thick with leaves. His eyes were bluegreen, his grin was audacious, and she felt a sweet, tightening sensation, deep within, just looking straight into his face that way.
   "I reckon you ought to come down now," he said.
   "Because after i eat my supper, I plan to bathe in that stream yonder"
   Her eyes widened, and she swallowed. After a few minutes spent collecting herself, she got to her feet and shinnied down the tree trunk, nearly steping on his hat, which still rested in the lowest crook of the branches. Covered with dust and cobwebs, she shook out her divided skirt and brushed busily at her blouse. Her light blond hair was coming loose from the many pins and combs required to restrain it,and she supposed here face was splotched with dirt into the bargain. She was twenty-three years old, well past the age for such foolishness; she'd just been caught lurking in tree house, and her pridewas netted.
   She saw no point in asking how the man had known she was there,though she wondered mightily. She had, until then,fancied herself to be capable of great stealth, like an indian medicine woman or a hunter. Now she would have to reassess that perception, and that was irrratating.
   The stranger pulled his supper from the fire and set it aside with an expert motion of one hand, rose from his haunches, and sautered toward her. He moved, as she had noticed before, with a disturbing, animal-like grace. She was at once drawn to this man and frigtened enough ti turn on one heel and run like a startled deer. Only the formidable power of her own will kept her from making a scrabbling dash up the hillside.
   stopping a few feet from where she stood, head tilted slightly to one side, hands resting on his hips, he regarded her with a look of insolent amusement. "Well," he said, as though that single word were a cimplete thought all in self. "Were you planning to pass the night in that tree?"
   She met his gaze squarely, even though her heart was thundering against her ribs. "If necessary," she admitted.
    He laughed and the sound found its way into her very soul and echoed there. "You don't need to be afraid of me, Miss Barnham. Or are you somebody's missus by now?" He folded his arms and studied her thoughtfully.
    She was fresh out of patience and under every inch of her skin, renegade nerves ran riot. "How do you know my name, sir?" she demanded.
     He flashed that wicked grin again. There was an arrogance in him that should have been insufferable but instead made him even more attractive.  "I couldn't have forgotten you," he said with a nod toward the chattering stream. "After all, I nearly drowned, hauling you out of that water."
   "Luke Shardlow," she breath, amazed. And that time, she took step back, resisting the odd power he seemed to have over her.
      The aqua-colored eyes narrowed slightly, and some of the easy geniality was gone from his maner. "I see that Shardlow name still poison around here, just like it always was."