That night at dinner, Phillip could hardly sit still. His mother's curious gaze settled on him more than once, but the conversation remained neutral. She looked tired, and his guilt mounted over the trouble he'd caused at school and the hateful things he'd said to her earlier.

All the more reason to hang onto Jack Noble. Every time Phillip thought about the deadly gunslinger convalescing in their barn, he felt better. The man was ill-tempered and surly, and no doubt the perfect solution to the dilemma regarding their property.

Phillip noticed his mother had hardly touched the food on her plate, and he knew she was worried about their home.

"Mama?" he ventured. "I'm sorry for what I said today. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

She smiled slightly. "I know that, sweetheart."

He was dying to tell her that their troubles would soon be over, and she had nothing to worry about. Instead, he returned her smile and hurried to finish dinner. Phillip didn't think he could wait until Jack Noble was feeling better.

"Damn, kid, all you had for supper was cornbread?"

"That was all I could sneak out here without my mother seeing."

Jack only shook his head, setting the leftovers aside. For two days he'd lived on sleep and table scraps, but he could finally breathe without pain and had regained a good deal of strength. A steak dinner and a few shots of bourbon would have him right as rain, but for now he was content to accept the boy's hospitality.

"I appreciate the clothes." He smoothed his hand along the buttons of the chambray shirt. "Are you sure they won't be missed?"

Phillip shook his head. "They were left behind by a man who only worked here for a few days."

"A cow hand?" Jack asked, remembering the half-hearted promise he'd made to help out around the place when he recovered. He'd just been stalling for time and he didn't want the kid getting any ideas. "I told you, I've got no tolerance for cows."

"That's not what I want," Phillip countered, arrogant as always. "I need a gunfighter. A good one. You haven't lost your nerve, have you?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I mean, whoever beat you up got the better of you."

"Not if they meant for me to die."

"I kept you from dying."

"When was the last time your pa took his belt to you?"

"My father died when I was just a boy." Phillip's expression grew serious. "There's only me and my mother."

Another widow. Jack swore under his breath, and he had a pretty good idea what the situation was. A penniless widow with a son to raise trying to save her farm from foreclosure. No wonder there was nothing but cornbread for supper.

Amanda hesitated before opening the barn door. Phillip had been acting so odd since their argument the other morning, and twice she had seen him sneaking out to the barn. She didn't want to spy on him, but she didn't want to wish she had later.

Just as she stepped inside, she saw Phillip climbing down from the hay loft. "What are you doing up there?"

He started and lost his footing on the bottom rung, stumbling to the ground. "Ma! What are you doing out here?"

"I asked you first."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're just sitting up in the hay loft? Doing nothing?"

"Nothing," he insisted. "Just...thinking."

"Phillip, I can't cope with any more of your mischief." Amanda felt her throat closing up. "If you're smoking cigarettes, you'll set the barn on fire and yourself with it."

"I told you, I'm not doing anything."

He stormed out and she let him go, forcing herself to admit she had overreacted and never should have accused him of wrongdoing. Everything was closing in on her. Phillip was all she had and she feared losing him more than a house or land.

Amanda reached out and wrapped her fingers around one of the rungs leading up to the loft. She hesitated, not wanting to spy on Phillip, but she couldn't bear the though of anything happening to him.

She sagged against the ladder, letting her head rest against her wrist, and swallowed hard against tears. She had fought so hard for so long, and the thought of losing everything now was tearing her apart. A sob escaped her throat and the dam burst, leaving Amanda helpless to stop the tears she'd held back for so long.

From his vantage point in the loft, Jack had watched the exchange between Phillip and the woman he called Ma. She looked nothing like the weary, work-worn woman Jack pictured as Phillip's mother. She was a lady, young and beautiful. Too young to have a son Phillip's age.

When she turned toward the ladder, Jack braced himself for the confrontation. Would she believe he meant her no harm? Instead, she'd slumped against the ladder and began crying her heart out. Maudlin females had always been high on his list of dislikes, but something told him this was a woman who rarely succumbed to tears, even when she had a right to do so.

Her narrow shoulders were shaking but her sobs were silent, and it occurred to she was also a woman who'd learned not to let anyone hear her crying.

Suddenly, the barn door burst open and the woman whirled around as if she expected the devil himself to barge in on her. The man who did walk in wasted no time railing on her.

"How dare you order anyone off this property?"

"You mean your lackeys?" Defiance straightened her backbone and snapped her chin high. "They had no business here, and I told them so."

"Lackeys!" His face grew mottled. "My attorney brought important documents for you to sign and you sent him away. He is furious. What do I tell him?"

"That you wasted his time, because I'm not signing anything."

"You are pushing me to far, Amanda. I'm warning you."

"I will not sign away what my husband intended to be entitled to me." She swept past him, moving toward the door. "Nor what he left for his son."

The man reached out and took hold of her arm, and Jack saw the fear on her face before she could school her emotions. He cursed himself a fool but moved to the back of the loft and slipped through the trap door used to pitch hay down to the livestock, hoping the rope ladder would hold his weight. The dull ache in his side sharpened, and he barely swallowed back a curse as his boots landed silently on the hay-strewn floor.

Lingering in the shadows, Jack waited to see what she would do next.

"Let go of me." Her voice was calm and level. "I will not-"

He hauled her away from the barn door, twisting her arm, and shook her. "My patience with you is gone! You will be sorry--"

"Unhand the lady, compadre." Jack seized the handle of a forgotten pitchfork propped against the wall and brandished the gleaming tines at his opponent. "Now!"

The woman gasped and scrambled backward when she was released. Her assailant, however, froze and paled so quickly Jack suspected the man nearly swallowed his tongue. To the contrary, he found his voice and demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

"Does that really matter right now?" Jack held the pitchfork level with the man's soft belly, applying the slightest amount of pressure. He grinned slightly. "Just like giggin' a frog."

Backing away, the man said a few choice words to the lady, and bolted for the door. Silence filled the barn, and Jack turned to find the woman gaping at him. "Now, if you tell me that was your husband, I'm gonna feel like a fool."

She blinked and shook her head, stammering, "N-no. No he's not my husband."

"You're probably even happier about that than I am."

"Indeed, I am." She smiled slightly. "Thank you for stepping in when you did."

Jack propped the pitchfork against the wall and studied her while she made her own appraisal of him. Her eyes flicked from his unshaven jaw to his faded clothes, and he knew he looked every bit the common tramp. He cleared his throat and began the explanation she didn't want to demand. "I hope you'll pardon me for helping myself to your barn. I didn't mean any harm. Just wanted a place to bed down for the night."

"My goodness, I'm fortunate you were here!" she exclaimed, closing the distance between them. "I can't thank you enough....Mister...?"

"Noble," he said, "Jack Noble."

"You're more than welcome, Mr. Noble."

He nodded, breathing the delicate scent that rose from her hair and no doubt lingered on her skin, and he knew it was no dousing of perfume. Nothing that sweet could come from a bottle. "You're mighty kind, ma'am."

She nodded and held out her hand. "I'm Amanda Ramirez."

Ramirez! Jack froze, refusing to believe that even his luck could be this bad. Her expression grew puzzled, and he forced himself to shake her hand. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

He was anything but pleased at the prospect of being holed up a barn belonging to the son-of-a-bitch who tried to have him killed. Phillip had said his mother was a widow, and Jack could only guess what their relation was to Victor Ramirez. He noted her fair complexion, light hair, and blue eyes. Obviously, she was no blood kin to the family, and her son's dark features had come from his father.

He needed to put some distance between them before he started thinking of her in any way other than the mother of a smart-mouth kid. Now that she knew of his presence, he would have to hightail it out of here tonight.

"I'll just bed down in the loft and be gone by sunup." Taking a step backwards, he said, "Thank you again, ma'am."

He almost made it to the ladder before she caught up with him. "You're hurt! Why didn't you say something?"

Turning around, he realized that he was favoring his right leg and bracing his aching left side with the opposite hand. He shrugged and tried to ignore the tender concern in her green eyes. "I just fell off an ornery horse, that's all."

"A horse with knuckles?"

He fingered the still puffy bruise under one eye. "Just my luck."

She smiled. "You don't owe me any explanations, but I must insist that you come into the house and let me put some salve on that eye."

The house was the last place he needed to go. For all he knew, Ramirez was right inside, waiting to finish the job his thugs had started. "Ma'am, that's not necessary. I couldn't intrude on your family."

"You wouldn't be intruding," she insisted. "Only my son and I live here, and you're more than welcome."

He hesitated, and she studied him carefully. "When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?"

"A good while," he admitted.

Her smile was sweet but determined. "I won't take no for an answer."