"How long do you think it will take to restock our coal and wood?" Lizzie asked him.
Holt tasted the soup, stalling. "It's been a long time since I enjoyed anything this good—might be a good while before you have enough fuel," he teased.
His response was an evasion, but Holt had no intention of answering her question about how long he'd be around. Somehow he couldn't bear the thought of how she would look at him once she found out he was a wanted man. But if it weren't for his pursuers, he'd be tempted to stay the winter.
Emma giggled. "It's only soup. We eat it a lot."
"How fortunate for you. Sure beats fricassee rabbit." He smiled at Lizzie. "'Preciate your inviting me for supper."
She laughed, easing the tension that scraped along his nerves at the way she shied away from meeting his glance. "Seems you invited yourself."
"Are you insinuating I'm not welcome?" He put his spoon down in mock protest.
Emma almost jumped from her chair. "No, she didn't meant that, did you, Lizzie?" The girl's eyes grew wide, pleading. "Say you aren't going."
But he kept his gaze on Lizzie, silently demanded a response from her.
"Calm down, Emma. Of course he's welcome."
Holt grinned, far more on the inside than the out. The admission had cost Lizzie a dose of pride but he decided it was worth it.
"So tell me about Buffalo Hollow." He listened keenly as they described the frontier town and the people living nearby. The information might prove valuable should someone come hunting him. And he knew they would. They were on his trail even now. He could only pray something would delay them.
They finished the soup. While Lizzie washed the dishes, Holt insisted on drying them. "I do my share," he said when she would have refused his help.
"Very well." There was a shrug in her voice, but he caught a flash of something in her eyes that made him think she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended. He allowed himself a bit of joy, a moment of dreaming, before he pushed reality to the fore.
"Emma," Lizzie said, "Get ready for bed."
Emma looked ready to argue then sighed like a martyr and climbed the ladder to the loft. "It's nice and warm up here."
Mr. Tate had slept through the meal, but as Holt dried the last bowl, he stirred. "Lizzie?" His frail voice barely reached the stove.
Lizzie hurried to him. "I'll get your soup right away, Pa."
"Wait."
She hovered at his side as he struggled to find words and the strength to say them.
"Is he still here?"
Holt moved to the bed. "I'm still here. I'll stay until there is enough fuel for the winter." Had he forgotten Holt's promise or did the man need something more? "Is there anything else?"
"Lizzie will give you money for the coal. Borrow the wagon from the livery man. He'll direct you to the nearest coal mine."
"I'll do so." He waited but Mr. Tate seemed to have nothing more to say.
Lizzie brought a bowl of soup and pulled a chair close to feed her father.
Emma climbed down the ladder, Miss Ellen tucked under her arm and a book in one hand. Seeing that her sister was busy, she turned her attention to Holt. "Will you read me my story?"
Her question jolted through his insides. He sucked in air and tried not to see the room—cheery, full of love and family. Everything he wanted, and now because of the lies about him, could never have.