Mila squinted into the sharp afternoon sun when she heard the approach of horses’ hooves.

“What does he want?” she whispered to herself as she recognized William Stanford trotting up. She made a point not to move from her task. This was first to accentuate the fact his visit wasn’t welcome and second because if she moved there was a good chance her porch roof would collapse. She was standing on a wobbling chair in front of her home, arms stretched up to the thatched porch roof.

She’d noticed the sagging corner this morning and debated trying to bother with it. On closer inspection, though, she realized that the weight of the rough-lashed branches was causing stress on both supports, which now leaned in on themselves. The last thing she wanted was for the cover to cave in on her or Juana, especially not if either of them were carrying the baby. She was doing her best to tie the wayward corner back into place, but had less than no clue if her efforts would amount to a positive result or give way the moment she let go of the tangle of twigs and rope anyway.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Santiago,” Will dismounted and doffed his hat as he approached, offering an uncertain smile.

She didn’t miss the look he gave her work, something between concern and amusement. “What do you want?”

Ignoring the fact that she hadn’t responded to his greeting, or invited him to dismount for that matter, he tied his reins to a branch of the over-sized twig that acted as an ornamental tree in front of her home and removed something he’d attached to his saddle horn. As he approached, Mila recognized the basket she’d left at the general store and narrowed her gaze at him.

“I was hoping to offer an apology and peace offering,” he saluted her with the basket, then retracted it, and began darting his gaze around, as though just realizing he had nowhere to put the thing. He cleared his throat, taking the basket handle in both hands and letting his arms drop to let the collection of food items rest against his knees. “I realize my unexpected announcement yesterday took you by surprise and I didn’t continue the conversation well. I’d like to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need your charity,” Mila glared at the basket, “You delivered the message you came here to relay, you can head right back to wherever you came from now.”

He set down the basket by the door with a frustrated sigh. Mila could almost sympathize with him. She was being unfair but felt unable to curb her bitterness. She’d become a very cynical woman in a short amount of time and didn’t quite know how to change it.

“Miss. Santiago,” Will began again, turning toward her, palms up in a pleading gesture, “It’s not every day I have to inform someone that a loved one has passed. I feel a sense of—”

Mila let out a cry as the piece of rope she was working with slid off its hold, sending her careening off balance. She grabbed for the awning, but the brittle branches snapped, as did the over-burdened chair leg beneath her. She fell forward, flailing and scrunching her eyes against the imminent impact with the hard-packed earth, but the jolt never happened. Strong arms caught and enveloped her as a cascade of snapping branches ensued and the front awning came crashing down. A cloud of dust rushed up to suffocate her, and she pressed her face into the brushed cotton of Will’s coat.

Once a grounding silence returned, Mila carefully blinked open her eyes. Will had caught her, ducked down to a kneeling position and turned his back on the collapsing roof, shielding her. She felt his breath moving in quick and shallow bursts against her hair and the rapid beating of his heart where her cheek was pressed against his chest. Heat infused her cheeks, and she began to squirm out of his embrace.

“Are you all right?” he rasped.

Not sure she could trust her voice, Mila nodded. The destroyed awning sloped downward around them in an angle away from the house, so there was space beside the front door to almost stand. Taking a deep breath against her own startled pulse, she swallowed down the dust that had lodged in her throat. “Thank you.”

She was about to attempt composing a more meaningful response when a faint cry from inside caught her attention.

“Paquito!” she raised her palms to her cheeks and felt her eyes go round. Turning quickly, she ran into the house and straight over to the small bed, scooping up her son. The collapse of the porch roof had disrupted some of the adobe in the front of the house, where the bed was situated against the wall. Paco let out as strong a wail as he could muster, tiny hand waving in the direction of his face to both point out the indignity of being covered with dust and prompt his mother to rectify the situation.

Mila sat on the edge of the bed and used a corner of her skirt to begin wiping at the offending dust. She heard Will enter, but ignored him, too caught up in cooing apologies.

“I’m so sorry, mijo! Oh, mi amorcito! It’s all right, see? Good as new.” She finished the last swipes over Paco’s face with her skirt, tickling his nose and prompting a tiny smile, which in turn encouraged a giggle from her. Calming with the closeness of her child, Mila remembered Will. She turned her head in his direction, but he had gone stock-still, clutching that ridiculous basket and staring gape-mouthed. She was about to ask what was the matter with him, but, following his gaze, realized that the way she was holding her skirt revealed a sizable portion of her leg to his view.

Cheeks flushing yet again, she threw down her skirt and pointed to the table, “You can put that over there.”

She saw the instant he snapped out of his distraction, his own face coloring darkly before he moved over to the table and set down the basket.

“I-um—” He’d turned around, alternately clasping his hands in front of him and smoothing them on his coat, looking in every direction except at her. “I’ll—would you allow me to take a look at the awning? I can get it cleaned up for you.” He pointed weakly at the front door, not waiting for a response before he began walking toward it.

Mila nodded mutely, clutching her baby to her. He ducked out the door with about as much speed as if the house were on fire.