The big man's knees nearly buckled. He caught himself against the doorframe 5 miles back, maybe less. Nobody moved. The injured cowboy groaned. That broke Rebecca loose.
Clear the floor by the stove. A man stared at her. Rebecca pointed. Move the chairs. Something in her voice worked.
People moved. The stranger lowered the injured cowboy onto blankets with astonishing care. For a man whose hands looked large enough to bend horseshoes, he supported the fellow's head as gently as if he were setting down a sleeping child. “What happened?” Rebecca asked. Horse slipped crossing a wash.
The giant pulled off his hat. Dark hair lay wet against his forehead. He got caught under it. I got him loose. Doctor, closest one's copper ridge.
Nobody needed to say what the storm had done to that road. Rebecca knelt beside the injured man. His name, she learned, was Thomas Reed. He was conscious, but barely. His breathing came shallow and uneven.
Rebecca looked up. Keep him warm. The stranger immediately removed his own coat. Rebecca caught his wrist. Not that one.
It soaked through. For the first time, he looked directly at her. Gray eyes, tired ones. Rebecca pointed toward a dry blanket someone had left folded on a bench. That he obeyed without argument.
Together, they settled Thomas near the stove. The giant remained on the floor beside him. Only then did Rebecca notice his hands shaking. Not fear, exhaustion. His knuckles were scraped raw from the journey.
Mud had dried on one cheek beneath the rainwater. His shirt was torn near the shoulder, and every breath seemed to require a little more thought than the one before. “You've eaten.” He shook his head. Rebecca went back to the kitchen. The pot was nearly empty.
She scraped the bottom. One bowl, that was all. She had saved it in case the driver returned from checking the road. Rebecca carried it out. The stranger looked at the bowl.
That's for me. Unless Mr. Reed wakes up demanding stew. He looked toward his injured companion. He should have it.
He can't eat. I can wait. You've dragged a grown man through 5 miles of Wyoming mud. Closer to four. Rebecca held the bowl out.
Then you've earned less stew. A couple of travelers smiled. The stranger didn't, but something near his eyes shifted. He accepted the bowl. His fingers closed around it carefully, almost awkwardly.
Rebecca handed him a spoon. He tried to lift it. His hand trembled so badly the spoon struck the rim. A tiny sound. Metal against crockery.
The man stared at his hand. Rebecca saw embarrassment arrive before anger could cover it. She turned away, not because she was embarrassed for him, because she understood the usefulness of giving a person privacy while standing 3 ft away. She began wiping the counter. Behind her, she heard the spoon scrape again.