He lay down the pen.
She held the tin in one hand, the lid in the other and stared at him for a second. For the life of her, she could not make herself move any closer.
He turned over his left hand and reached for the tin.
"Let me," she said quickly, stuffing her fear away as though she was stuffing pork into a sausage casing. Poke, poke. Get it all in. There. She took a step forward and stood right beside him. "You don't want this all over your fingers, or you'll mess up your neat pages."
He had to turn sideways, because she had approached him from the left and the cuts were on his right hand. He turned his body on the chair, so that he faced her, and placed the hand on the tabletop.
Setting the lid on the table, Linnea dabbed two fingers into the ointment, finding it thicker than she imagined, and pressed harder, getting a greasy dab. Without looking at his face, she lowered her fingers to his hand and touched the ointment to the raw places. He didn't make a move or utter a sound, simply sat stone still as she gently rubbed it in. His skin was warm, his knuckles rough. Those sensations were impossible to ignore.
The back of his large hand was dusted with dark hair, and she studiously avoided looking past his wrist. Her own hands seemed as small and pale as a child's in comparison. Seconds seemed like an hour, and she felt his gaze on her face the entire time. For some reason beyond her control, his gaze drew hers like a moth to a flame. Slowly, she allowed her gaze to ascend until she was looking directly into those storm cloud eyes.
His lashes were sooty black, and his cheeks were shaded by the growth of an evening beard. At the moment his face was relaxed, without the usual mask of anger, and the unexpected encounter disturbed her more than if he'd been scowling. The expression was so rare, his face so bewilderingly relaxed that her guard eased and her attention traveled his features.
His thick sable brows were perfect for those moody eyes. His nose was large, but not overly, just the right size for his face.
His upper lip bore a sharp bow in the center, his dark beard outlining it, his lower lip thicker. His mouth was surprisingly soft looking.
An odd feeling fluttered in Linnea's breast, a feeling like the first time her baby had moved within her. Following the warm sensation came the horrifying realization that she was studying his face—his mouth, and a mortifying warmth rose in her chest and her cheeks.
Glancing into his eyes, she saw a strange heat returned there, but she shot her gaze to his hand, finished dabbing the knuckles she'd all but forgotten and backed away as though she'd been burned.
Flustered, Linnea wiped her fingers on a rag, and placed the lid on the tin. She dipped a small pail of warm water from the well on the back of the stove. "If there's nothing else, I'll go now."
"Nothing. Thank you."
She nodded and darted away.
Will stared at the shawl she'd left forgotten on the back of a chair. What had just happened?
He hadn't expected anything from her, hadn't asked for her aid. She'd gone for the salve, rubbed it into his sore knuckles, and before he'd known what was happening, the air had been sucked from the room and the only thing left to breathe had been her. She smelled like soap and vanilla and even a little like mountain air and faintly of smoke from the fire where he'd seen her last.
He hadn't moved a muscle, and she'd been like a mouse tiptoeing "around a sleeping giant. When she'd looked up and discovered he was awake and watching her, a dozen things had crossed her face. Fear, fascination and awe were among them. He'd never seen much to brag about looking back from his mirror, and he doubted she was particularly moved by his features. So where had her fascination come from just then?
A scraping sound reached him from the hallway beyond the kitchen, and he recognized the source. She pushed the bureau in front of her door every night; he'd figured that out early on. He couldn't be offended, she hadn't known him from Adam when she arrived, and a woman probably had to look out for herself any way she could.
But it rankled that she didn't trust him. There was the rub.
She didn't seem like the game-playing type. But she could be deceptive, he'd learned that the hard way. She'd charmed Aggie, then the men. Maybe he was next on her list of people to convince to let her stay.
Will slammed the ledger shut with a snort. It would take a lot more than a little ointment dabbing to convince him of that.
Midmorning the following week, a black horse pulled a buggy up the drive to the house and stopped. A man in dark trousers and jacket, wearing a narrow-brimmed hat climbed down.
Wiping her hands, Linnea went to the screen door and looked out.
Will Tucker came from the closest corral to greet the man. They shook hands and spoke for a moment. Linnea's thoughts ran to making fresh coffee. She'd taken cinnamon rolls from the oven earlier, and could serve those to the guest.
The man reached up to the floor of the buggy and retrieved a black bag. A medical bag. He glanced toward the house, and the two men started forward.
Linnea's heart hammered and she backed away from the doorway in a near panic. A doctor! Will Tucker had sent for a doctor.
Chapter Ten
Will pulled the screen door open with a squeak and ushered Dr. Hutchinson into a warm kitchen smelling of cinnamon and yeast. His attention moved to his young cook who stood against the table staring at them.
Wearing a panicked expression, her gaze darted around as though seeking a route of escape, but apparently her feet wouldn't cooperate, because she didn't move. The look on her face disturbed him.
"Something smells wonderful," the doctor said, removing his hat. Keeping his attention on Linnea, Will took the hat and hung it on a peg.
She stood with her hands clenched in front of the apron that covered her rounded stomach, her face ghastly pale. What in creation was wrong with her?
From her rocker near the fireplace, Aggie rocked and blinked through her new spectacles.
"Mrs. McConaughy, this is Dr. Hutchinson," Will told her.
"How do you do, ma'am," the doctor said.
Linnea's stricken eyes moved from the doctor to Will with a pleading expression that seemed to ask why he'd done this to her. He got the distinct impression that she felt he'd betrayed her somehow.
The silence drew out, making her displeasure perfectly clear to everyone. "I don't need a doctor," she said finally. "I'm not sick."
Damned infuriating woman! Will felt the anger rising in him and held it in check. He took a step toward her, and she jumped sideways.
Exasperated, he silently cursed her pigheaded foolishness.
"Excuse us a minute," he said to the doctor, and took her by the upper arm and led her out onto the back porch and closed the door. She pulled away from him and glared.
"What did you jump like that for?" he asked. "What's the doctor going to think?"
"I don't care what he thinks."
"I told you that you would have to see a doctor," he said, keeping his voice low.
She wouldn't look at him.
"A woman should have a doctor when she's… she's…" He stumbled over the words. "He'll just make sure everything's okay. No harm in that." And remembering her objections, he added, "And I'm paying the bill. You're in my employ, and I will take care of the cost."
She looked at him then, and the pain in her eyes was something he couldn't understand. His awkward helplessness frustrated him. She was like a frightened horse that didn't understand he meant no harm. "Are you afraid?" he asked finally.
Again her gaze skittered away. No reply.
He couldn't accompany her while the doctor examined her. It wouldn't be right, and she didn't take any comfort from him anyway. He didn't understand her fear, but he could try to alleviate it. "Aggie will stay with you," he said curtly.
That decided, he ushered her back into the kitchen without touching her again. She kept her distance so he wouldn't. "Aggie, will you keep Mrs. McConaughy company?" he asked.
Aggie looked surprised, but without
a word of complaint, thank God, she pushed from her chair and latched on to her cane. Shuffling slowly, she accompanied Linnea down the hall toward her room. A minute later Dr. Hutchinson followed.
Will went back outside, stood in the sunshine and puzzled over Linnea's reaction to a doctor's visit. A woman should be glad to have medical care, someone of whom she could ask questions. She should be grateful to have her baby's health assured. Instead, she was obviously resentful. The widow McConaughy was the most confusing, frustrating, maddening woman he'd ever met.
Try to get rid of her, she wouldn't leave. Try to help her, she didn't want it.
His thoughts rolled back to the day when he'd been trying to take her back to Denver, and she'd said, "I would never have come if I'd known that you wouldn't like me." Wouldn't like her? What the doggoned damned hell had liking her had to do with any of this? He didn't have to like her. He'd thought he was hiring a cook. Instead he got himself into a whole peck of trouble he didn't have time or inclination to deal with.
He'd sent Ben Taylor with a message for a telegram to Corinne, but Lord, it would have been so much more satisfying to give his sister a piece of his mind in person. All the things he wanted to say to her still lashed about in his head. In the message, he had ordered her to come help out now that she'd landed him in this fix. He couldn't wait until she showed up. If she showed up. His sister had a mind of her own.
The back door opened behind him. "You joining us for coffee?'' Dr. Hutchinson stood in the doorway, smiling.
Will leaped up the stairs and entered the kitchen.
Linnea set a plate of fragrant rolls on the table and poured only three cups of coffee. Her face was more pink than white now, but she pointedly didn't look at Will.
Aggie settled herself on a chair and Linnea handed her a plate.
Linnea set a plate and a cup in front of Will, then swept out the door.
The doctor sweetened his coffee and bit into a pastry.
"Is Mrs. McConaughy well?" Will asked finally.
"She's fit as a fiddle," the doc replied. "Mrs. Tucker tells me your cook has gained weight since she's been here. Good thing, I'd say."
To Will's stupefaction, he felt relieved at the pronouncement of Linnea's good health. He conversed with the other man who ate three helpings and then patted his belly. Finally the doctor wished Aggie a good day and stood.
Once outside, the doctor said, "Might skittish, your widow woman."
Without reply, Will handed him coins in payment.
The doctor tucked them into his vest pocket. "You think she was really married or just made that up so's to have a name for her baby?"
" Will looked at Dr. Hutchinson oddly. Will had asked Linnea if she'd really been married, and wondered why the doctor would question it. "She claims she was married. Why do you wonder?"
"Just a guess. Seems more like a girl than a woman. Maybe some scoundrel took advantage of her. Maybe someone forced himself on her." He shrugged. '"Course, maybe she's just the jittery sort."
Will took the black medical bag and placed it in the buggy, then handed Dr. Hutchinson the reins. "Thanks for makin' the trip."
"Send for me when her time comes. Or if she has any problems. I'll get here soon as I can."
Will waved him off and turned to seek out Linnea in the garden. She was wearing a cloth over her hair, and the apron she was never without no longer disguised her belly. She used a hoe with energy, hacking at offending weeds that grew among the vegetable plants.
He was tempted to go over and speak to her, but instead kept his distance. He knew what he needed to know. She was fit and her baby was fine. Talking to her would make it seem that he cared more than he should.
And he didn't.
He had a horse waiting for him in the far corral when he reached it. One he'd separated from a herd earlier in the week, and had been working with every day since. So far, he could get inside the pen and stand near the gate without the whiskey-colored stallion galloping back and forth in fear, its hooves churning up dust. Each time Will tried to get any closer, the animal reared and screamed in fright, the whites of its eyes a round circle.
Will stood inside the pen, allowing the horse to catch his scent, look him over, grow accustomed to his presence. After an hour, Will took two steps forward and stopped. The horse recognized the difference and shied away, but didn't rear. It assessed the new situation and kept its attention on Will, shaking its massive head so that its mane fluttered in the breeze.
Getting the stallion used to him gave Will plenty of time to think. He thought too much most of the time lately, made himself crazy with thinking, in fact. The few hours that he slept each night were the only moments his thoughts didn't revolve around the work he needed to do and the problems that had been added to his load with Linnea McConaughy's arrival.
She had given him no reason to let her go. She'd done every bit of work she'd been assigned, and had even taken on more tasks that weren't required.
Apparently she was healthy and at no risk. The thought eased and disturbed at the same time. The closer she got to her time, the more impossible it would be to send her away.
He had to face it: she would be here until her baby was born.
For now she was more of an asset to the operation of the ranch than a detriment, he grudgingly admitted. But in a few months, after the baby came, when she had an infant to care for, then it would be time for her to leave.
He talked to the stallion before ending the lesson, getting the animal used to his voice, as well as his nearness.
Standing in the corral, he had missed the noon meal, and Linnea's cinnamon rolls only carried him over for so long. By supper time he was ravenous. After washing he entered the kitchen where the men were settling onto their seats.
A huge platter of fried chicken sent steaming waves of mouthwatering aroma into the air. Bowls of mashed potatoes, baked beans, and cooked carrots made his stomach growl. Will tucked into the meal with gusto.
Linnea didn't look at him, not even when she poured cold glasses of buttermilk and set one in front of him. She sat at the opposite end of the table with Aggie and ate in silence. Roy finished eating and immediately filled a tub with sudsy hot water and washed pans and utensils. Will's foreman often lent Linnea a hand with the cleanup, a familiar chore since he and Will had always taken turns with kitchen tasks before her arrival.
Will overheard Linnea speaking to Roy. "When you're finished, would you mind setting up the tub in the pantry for me?"
The large pantry doubled as a bathing chamber.
"I'll carry water for you, too, ma'am," Roy replied.
"Thank you, Mr. Jonjack."
"Glad to do it," he replied.
Linnea took Will's empty plate and replaced it with a smaller one that held a slice of dried-apple pie. Still, she didn't look at him. Why hadn't she asked him to help with the tub? Come to think of it, she'd never asked him. All this time, she'd either hauled the tub and the water herself or asked one of his men for help.
And he hadn't thought to offer.
Will drove away that weak thought. What the doggoned damned hell did he care? Just less work for him, and he had enough to do.
Glancing up, he caught Aggie piling on the agony with a taunting little pleased-all-to-blazes smile, and his hide warmed in irritation. All women were more bother than they were worth. He left his slice of pie unfinished and pushed away from the table.
She didn't talk to him for a week, not that he gave a good damn.
On Sundays the men looked out for themselves after breakfast. Linnea prepared their morning meal, but after that, they were on their own. Early evening arrived, and the steel triangle Clem had some time ago devised as a way for Linnea to call the men to dinner rang out.
Curious men appeared from the bunkhouse and various activities, speculating among themselves as to what was wrong. Will had been working with the stallion, so he was one of the last to straggle in.
Linnea had prepared lemonade, an
d she filled metal cups from a bucket and passed them around, surprising the hands with a tray of sugar cookies.
Will accepted a cup and tasted the cold sweetened drink.
"I only just discovered where the ice was stored," she told Cimarron.
Last winter Will and Roy had spent days cutting ice and storing it between thick layers of straw in a holding cave they'd dug into the side of a hill, in anticipation of a day such as this.
Ben and Nash sat on the porch steps beside Linnea; other men situated themselves on the railing, and a couple of them stood. Will marveled at the unlikely sight of the grizzled cowboys sipping lemonade on his back porch.
Will let his gaze settle on Linnea in the shade, her cheeks pink from her exertions in the warm kitchen. A curl of rich mahogany hair escaped her braid to lie against her slender neck. She took a drink, and her delicate throat moved.
The sun felt good on his shoulders; the lemonade was sweet and cold. Even in her mousy brown dress, Linnea made a becoming feminine picture, and it occurred to Will that subtle changes had evolved since her arrival. A Sunday afternoon refreshment was a new and obviously welcome diversion.
A bee hung in the air behind her head and flitted forward.
Nash raised his hand to swat the insect away.
Linnea's expression blanched. She jerked back instinctively, raising her arm to shield her face and scooting away at the same time. Her cup of lemonade hit her skirt, then clattered on the wooden porch floor and rolled.
"It was just a bee, Miz McConaughy," Nash said in apology.
Linnea lowered her arm, her face blazing, and glanced up at the air nearby.
The other men's stunned silence told Will he hadn't been imagining her defensive reaction. She'd had a purely elemental gut reaction to what she must have assumed was Nash raising his hand to her. It was glaringly obvious that she had fully expected him to wallop her good.
The lemonade in Will's stomach turned sour. He tossed the remainder out on the ground and stepped forward.
The Tenderfoot Bride Page 9