shed, then bolted inside the house and began taking bowls of leftover food from the refrigerator.
Time passed, and the food was beginning to cool again when she heard him step up on the porch. She got up from the table and turned toward the door. He stopped outside, looking at her through the screen, as if waiting for permission to enter, even though he knew she could see him through the wire mesh.
"Come in," she called.
Wes left his duffel bag just outside the door and walked in. He had cleaned his boots and changed his clothes. They were wrinkled but clean, and there were tiny droplets of water still clinging to his hair and beard, giving them the sheen of polished ebony.
Blue. His eyes were blue.
She absorbed the fact as she motioned for him to sit. "Do you take lemon in your tea?" she asked. Wes looked at the plain white plate on the table, bordered by a set of cutlery in a style from a time long since past, and thought that it fit, like the hills and the woman. "I'll drink it however you've fixed it, and thank you for the courtesy."
Ally liked the way he talked—like a gentleman. "It's sweet," she said.
Wes was busy filling his plate and hardly noticed the tinkle of ice in the glass when she set the cold tea beside him, then took a seat across the table. For a while she watched him eat without speaking, giving him a chance to ease his hunger without having to answer questions. But finally curiosity got the better of her. "Do you have a name?"
"Yes," Wes said, and looked away.
Ally felt an invisible wall come up between them.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to get personal. Do you want any more or are you finished?"
"I'm done, ma'am." Then he looked at her. "You're a good cook. I'm surprised some man hasn't already snatched you up."
"No one wants a cripple."
Wes felt an instant empathy.
"Lady, there are all kinds of ways to be crippled. Some wounds show. Some don't." Then he leaned back and looked her in the eyes. "My name is Wes Holden."
"Pleased to meet you, Wes Holden. Where are you from?"
"Nowhere."
"Never heard of it," Ally said. "Is it close to Nashville?"
Wes almost smiled, then caught himself.
"It's not close to anything."
"That doesn't tell me much," Ally said. "Never heard of that, either."
This time Wes actually grinned, unaware that the smile transformed his face.
"I was born and raised in
Montana
."
"You're either lost or a long way from home."
The smile on Wes’s face went south.
"A little of both." Then he stood abruptly. "I'd best be on my way. You've been far too kind to a stranger."
'"Be not forgetful of strangers: for thereby ye may have entertained angels unaware.'"
Wes looked at her.
"It's from the Bible," she said softly.
He thought of where he'd been and the men he'd killed in the name of war.
"I'm no angel."
"No, sir, and I wouldn't take you for one, but you never can tell. My mother, God rest her soul, always said that God could appear in any shape or form." Then she smiled. "She also said that about the Devil, too."
Wes nodded. "Your mother sounds like she was a smart woman."
"She was."
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly, while thinking about his own.
She saw the shadow of pain on his face and sensed it was time to change the subject.
"So your people are from
Montana
? What do they think about you being so far from home?"
"Everybody's dead," he said, and reached for his hat.
The tears that she'd seen before were back in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Ally said.
Wes struggled to maintain his composure.
"So am I."
He started toward the door.
"Where are you headed now?"
He stopped, then turned around.
"Nowhere special."
"It's dangerous on the road."
“It's dangerous everywhere."
"If you were of a mind to rest a spell...maybe take some stock of things a little better without rambling... I know a
Time passed, and the food was beginning to cool again when she heard him step up on the porch. She got up from the table and turned toward the door. He stopped outside, looking at her through the screen, as if waiting for permission to enter, even though he knew she could see him through the wire mesh.
"Come in," she called.
Wes left his duffel bag just outside the door and walked in. He had cleaned his boots and changed his clothes. They were wrinkled but clean, and there were tiny droplets of water still clinging to his hair and beard, giving them the sheen of polished ebony.
Blue. His eyes were blue.
She absorbed the fact as she motioned for him to sit. "Do you take lemon in your tea?" she asked. Wes looked at the plain white plate on the table, bordered by a set of cutlery in a style from a time long since past, and thought that it fit, like the hills and the woman. "I'll drink it however you've fixed it, and thank you for the courtesy."
Ally liked the way he talked—like a gentleman. "It's sweet," she said.
Wes was busy filling his plate and hardly noticed the tinkle of ice in the glass when she set the cold tea beside him, then took a seat across the table. For a while she watched him eat without speaking, giving him a chance to ease his hunger without having to answer questions. But finally curiosity got the better of her. "Do you have a name?"
"Yes," Wes said, and looked away.
Ally felt an invisible wall come up between them.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to get personal. Do you want any more or are you finished?"
"I'm done, ma'am." Then he looked at her. "You're a good cook. I'm surprised some man hasn't already snatched you up."
"No one wants a cripple."
Wes felt an instant empathy.
"Lady, there are all kinds of ways to be crippled. Some wounds show. Some don't." Then he leaned back and looked her in the eyes. "My name is Wes Holden."
"Pleased to meet you, Wes Holden. Where are you from?"
"Nowhere."
"Never heard of it," Ally said. "Is it close to Nashville?"
Wes almost smiled, then caught himself.
"It's not close to anything."
"That doesn't tell me much," Ally said. "Never heard of that, either."
This time Wes actually grinned, unaware that the smile transformed his face.
"I was born and raised in
Montana
."
"You're either lost or a long way from home."
The smile on Wes’s face went south.
"A little of both." Then he stood abruptly. "I'd best be on my way. You've been far too kind to a stranger."
'"Be not forgetful of strangers: for thereby ye may have entertained angels unaware.'"
Wes looked at her.
"It's from the Bible," she said softly.
He thought of where he'd been and the men he'd killed in the name of war.
"I'm no angel."
"No, sir, and I wouldn't take you for one, but you never can tell. My mother, God rest her soul, always said that God could appear in any shape or form." Then she smiled. "She also said that about the Devil, too."
Wes nodded. "Your mother sounds like she was a smart woman."
"She was."
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly, while thinking about his own.
She saw the shadow of pain on his face and sensed it was time to change the subject.
"So your people are from
Montana
? What do they think about you being so far from home?"
"Everybody's dead," he said, and reached for his hat.
The tears that she'd seen before were back in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Ally said.
Wes struggled to maintain his composure.
"So am I."
He started toward the door.
"Where are you headed now?"
He stopped, then turned around.
"Nowhere special."
"It's dangerous on the road."
“It's dangerous everywhere."
"If you were of a mind to rest a spell...maybe take some stock of things a little better without rambling... I know a
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