Warmth and concern weighed each of this vivacious woman’s words. Tavia felt a kindred spirit in a woman who loved all babies. “I don’t stand on ceremony so please call me Tavia. This girl is Angela.”
“And an angel she be.” Vevina flashed a wide smile. “Soon, ye’ll have to come to Shady Oaks for a proper visit. But right now…” Stretching on tip-toes, she glanced around and shook her head. “I be missing me two boys. When the scamps not be within me sight be when disaster finds them.” Linking her arm with Hawksen’s, she pulled him away, tossing a hasty farewell over her shoulder.
The air seemed to whirl for a few more seconds then settled after the petite woman’s departure. Tavia watched until she moved out of sight. I believe I have just met my first friend.
~**~
The next morning, Tavia rolled over and groaned, the sound scraping her tight throat. Head pounding, she tossed off the quilt to escape its stifling heat. Aches and pains attacked her body, and she could only lie still, willing herself to fall back asleep. Before arriving in Dorado, she and Clarice had lived in a fairly conscribed manner, and they had intermixed with few people. In church, the man with the salt-and-pepper hair in a nearby row had been coughing. Possibly, she now suffered the same illness.
Tavia couldn’t be selfish and forced herself into a sitting position. She had a baby to care for. Pushing her legs over the edge, she swayed and almost toppled from the mattress. A moan erupted flames in her parched throat. She flopped herself flat against the pillow and closed her eyes against the swirling image of the bedroom.
Angela rolled toward her body, her little lips making sucking motions.
Oh no, will she get sick, too? Clapping a hand over her mouth, Tavia slithered to the floor then dragged herself toward the closet. Although the room was bright with sunlight, she thought only of getting to Fitz. He would take away Angela and tend to her needs. Forearms alternating in a crawl, she inched over the planking, perspiration dampening the hair at her temples and along her neck. If she could get to Fitz’s door, maybe she could…
Ah, the floor felt so cool. She laid down her cheek and let out a sigh. I’ll rest just a minute. She hitched up her night rail until her bare legs pressed against the planks. That sensation felt so good, she levered herself up on elbows to pull the garment over her head. Finally, after rolling back-and-forth a couple of times and soaking in the coolness, her body no longer blazed with heat. She balled up the night rail, tucked it under her head, and let sleep devour her.
Her dream of sailing on a fluffy cloud shattered at the wailing of a wild animal. Go away. Tavia blew out a breath to brush away a tendril stuck to her cheek. The cloud was soft and airy. Her body felt weightless, and she needed rest. Why were her limbs so heavy, like she’d not slept for days? Thunder boomed but in a distinct, rhythmic bursts. Strange. No lightning had flashed. Wait, that sounded like her name. Leave me alone. I need sleep.
“Tavia?” The door burst open. “Oh jeez, what’s happened?”
The planks shook as heavy footsteps stopped at her side. The gruff voice sounded like one she should know, but she didn’t want to think. Her eyelids were too heavy to move, and the cloud teased her body to drift away.
“Talk to me.”A cool, rough hand landed on her shoulder and shook. “Dang, you’re blazing like a branding iron.”
The wailing continued, but she couldn’t respond or put her thoughts together.
Thunder boomed again, fading away, followed by throaty mumbling sounds that might have been words, or they might have been the wind swirling around the house, snatching at the corners. Like the tornado that swept through the fort when she was a little girl. When Papa held her tight, rocking back and forth, singing.
Words formed on her lips. She couldn’t speak, but she rocked herself.
“Rock with the boughs, rock-a-by, baby, dear!
Leaf-tongues are singing and saying;
Mother she listens, and sister is near,
Under the tree softly playing.
Rock-a-by, baby! Mother's close by!
Rock-a-by!”
“Oh, my stars.”
A different voice, higher this time. A woman.
“Mama?”
“No, dear.” A cool hand touched her forehead. “Get her into a tub of cool water. I’ll tend the baby.” Footsteps scurried across the floor, and the wailing subsided.
Wait. Something’s not right. Tavia struggled to open her eyes but couldn’t.
Strong arms lifted her, a deep-throated chant sounding close. “You’ll be fine. You will be fine.”
She pushed away from the heat coming through the cloth that surrounded her. A faint scent tickled her nose. Citrus and leather. Fitz. Knowing she’d found the person who would help granted her permission to relinquish control, and she allowed the cloud to swallow her.
Sudden coldness enveloped her body, and she gasped as her heated body reacted to the lapping of water. I’m drowning. Arms flailing, she grasped for a safe hold and punched skin.
“Ow.”
Water poured over her head and down her back, forcing open her eyes. Blurred images floated in her vision. Light came from her left, making her squint. Scents of honey and almond hung in the air. The lavatory. More water on her head. “Fitz?” Her throat was raw, and her voice croaked the single word.
“I’m here, love.” The sound of swishing water. “Gotta get your fever down. But I’m glad to hear your voice.”
Water poured down her front, and she realized she sat naked before her husband. Her limbs hung limp at her sides, too heavy to lift and affect a semblance of modesty.
Footsteps approached. “Get her to drink this willow bark tea.”
“My hands are busy, Missus Hutchins.”
“As are mine, Mister Saunders. The missus needs dosing inside and out.”
A mug appeared in front of her face, and warm liquid sloshed into her mouth. Bitter but quenching. Tavia leaned forward and guzzled more. Minutes passed, or were they only seconds? Her head lolled onto one shoulder. The next dousing hit like a snowstorm, and a shiver racked her body. Her teeth rattled against each other, and she hunched her shoulders toward her ears, instinctively protecting her neck. “No more.”
“I’m sorry, Tavia. Just a bit longer.” Wetness dripped over her chest and across her belly. “Need to know the fever is truly broken.”
With a struggle, she pulled up her knees and wrapped both arms around her bent legs. Her forehead nestled on her knees, and she drew herself tight, making as small a target for Fitz’s pitchers of torture. Every muscle in her body ached, and he was hurting her. All she wanted was the warm cocoon of her bed. Why wouldn’t he stop? Didn’t he care? Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, but she lacked the energy to brush them aside.
Finally, he lifted her from her watery prison and sat her on the toilet before wrapping a length of toweling around her body.
Her numb fingers grabbed for the edge and pulled the cloth tighter. Shivers ran the length of her body and back. Tavia hung her head and bit her lip to keep in a cry. Then silence surrounded her. Was she sleeping?
“Here, here, my friend.” Missus Hutchins blotted at her hair with another towel and rested a wrist on her forehead. “Your skin feels normal now.”
The woman’s skin had felt the same as her own. But Tavia still shook, and another matter should be dealt with. One that weighed on her mind and tugged on her responsibility. Sadly, she couldn’t recall, but she didn’t think she could unclamp her jaw to speak. So, she merely nodded.
“I’ll get you dried and dressed. Then the boss will take you back to your bed.”
More blotting over the top of her head.
“My, your hair is so long and thick.”
Tavia rocked with the motion, keeping her eyes closed. All she wanted was the oblivion of sleep. When instructions to move were voiced, she followed them as best she could. A thoughtful angel pulled thick socks onto her numbed feet, and she sagged, bumping her head on the wall. Or was that a p
erson? Muscled arms launched her into the air, and she soared through the hallway and up toward the heavens.
The moment the warm, snuggly clouds welcomed her back into their embrace, she drifted into the land of nod.
Chapter Ten
Fitz rested a hand on the carved footboard of the guest bed, taking a long look at Tavia’s dark brown hair fanned over the white pillow slips. Memories of how he’d discovered her in a fevered state shook him to his core. The sight of her exposed creamy skin and bared limbs first spun his thoughts into carnality. But the moment he’d realized how ill she was, he’d almost panicked. He’d fought ship’s sails during ocean storms, ridden in the midst of cattle stampedes, and struggled to control wild broncos. Seeing her weak and so ill strangled his heart with a fear he’d never known. “What else can I do?”
Missus Hutchins knelt to pull the chamber pot into sight at the foot of the bed. She glanced up, her forehead crunched in wrinkles. “Nailing a blanket over the window might help her rest longer. For now, sleep is the best medicine.”
“Done.” He moved into the hallway and walked only a couple of steps before he had to lean a hand against the wall. Tavia has to be all right. A lump formed in his throat, and he clenched his fists. I can’t lose her. He turned toward the stairs, only vaguely aware of the cold spot on his shirt where her head had rested. Keeping himself busy would dispel the worry. From a cupboard in the laundry room, he pulled a wooden tray containing tools and a cup of nails. Another cupboard stored extra woolen blankets. He grabbed the thickest one in the stack and tucked it under his arm.
On his way upstairs again, he inched into the den far enough to get a peek into the cradle to make sure Angela still slept. A pink blush colored her cheeks, and she lay with both arms flung to the sides. Although more used to his sisters who had fairer hair color, he noted how this baby’s dark hair and thick lashes contrasted well with her smooth skin that held a faint tan hue. A sigh escaped through her parted rosebud lips, and then she kicked her feet and rolled to her side. Fitz held his breath until she stopped moving then back-stepped through the doorway and hurried up the stairs to let Missus Hutchins know the baby stirred.
Hours later, finally giving into his constant thoughts about returning to the ranch house, Fitz stacked the last of the cordwood he’d spent the past hour chopping. The wooden rack along the barn wall was only two-thirds full, but he couldn’t keep his mind on his chores. After tucking a large square of canvas over the stacks, he hefted the axe, grabbed his discarded coat, and walked into the barn.
Ned whistled an unfamiliar tune as he tossed clean straw from a wheelbarrow into a stall.
Scout gave a yip and jumped up then ran forward, tail wagging.
“Hey, buddy.” Fitz leaned over and ruffled the dog’s ears. He hung the axe on a set of wall hooks before approaching his foreman. “Ned, I’m calling it quits for the day. I want to be inside, ready to help Tavia or your wife if needed.”
Gripping the handle of the pitchfork, Ned nodded. “Can’t say as I blame ya. I know when Edlynn’s feeling poorly I’m a mite distracted.”
“Until today, I’ve not given much thought to Dorado’s lack of a medical doctor.” Unfortunately, that particular topic had occupied most of his thoughts while he worked. “I heard mention of a doctor being among the town’s first settlers. But for the past several years, no doctor has stayed for longer than a few months at a time.”
“Didn’t know that. The last ranch where we worked was located just outside of Kerrville. A drive to town was only an hour or so.” He ran a hand over his scraggly beard. “Edlynn’s got a special way with herbs and tonics, so we only needed the doctor when one of our sons broke a limb.” A raspy chuckle escaped. “And they both had a couple of those.”
“Good to know, Ned. Thanks.” Fitz shrugged on his coat and patted a hand against his thigh. “Come on, Scout. Let’s head into the house.” As was his habit, as he crossed the yard, Fitz glanced at the sky to check for an approaching storm. Thin clouds obscured the pale wintery rays, but they weren’t the type to hold rain or snow. Temperatures must be in the forties, gauging by the bite of the air on his cheeks. He scraped his boots on the sisal mat to the side of the doorway and entered into the mud room.
Scout bounded in front and loped down the hallway, headed for the warmth of the den.
The moment he closed the door, Fitz realized he’d come at the right time. Fretting sounds emitted from the kitchen. He rounded the corner to spot Missus Hutchins wearing the shirt contraption Tavia rigged their first night as she bounced a protesting Angela and attempted to peel potatoes at the same time. “I’ll take her now, Missus Hutchins.” He walked around the bin table and lifted the squirming baby until the shirt was loosened enough to remove her.
“Thank you, sir. That’ll be a big help.”
Angela stiffened and looked over her shoulder, fat tears balanced on her plump cheeks.
“Hi there, little one.” He cradled her in his left arm and smoothed away the wetness with a thumb. “How’s Tavia? Any change?”
“Oh, sir, I haven’t been upstairs in the last hour. This sweet one and my chores have kept me hopping.” Missus Hutchins massaged a hand over her right shoulder and heaved out a sigh. She turned to glance at the clock then nodded. “About time for another dose of willow bark tea.”
“Brew the tea, and I’ll take it when I check on my wife.” Without realizing it, he’d set his body into a slow rocking motion like he’d seen Tavia do.
Staring upward with a dark-eyed gaze, Angela quieted. She reached for the stocking on her foot and pulled the tip into her mouth.
He was about to remove it when he figured if the activity kept her quiet then leave her alone. While he waited, he walked her around the room, pointing out various kitchen items. “See, Angela, this is a stove. But you need to stay clear because it’s almost always hot. And this cupboard is where we store”—he tugged on the wooden knob to look inside—“plates, glasses, and cups. And this one has serving bowls and platters.” He took a couple more steps. “This is the sink where dishes are washed, and the counter that holds crocks with soap shavings and …” He didn’t know what was in the mottled blue one covered with cheesecloth. Resting a hand on the counter, he glanced over his shoulder.
Missus Hutchins poured steaming water into a jar through a strainer with bark bits and leaves. She glanced up and then toward the crock before concentrating again on the tea. “That one’s got dough starter for bread.”
He shifted the baby so she was upright with her back against his chest. “The stuff makes good-tasting bread.”
She kicked her feet and wiggled.
“Like that? Well, we’ll continue our tour with another room.” Hoping he was out of earshot of his housekeeper, he made a circle of the laundry room and labeled more items with silly rhyming names like Mabel the table or Champ the lamp.
Angela waved her chubby hands toward anything they passed close to.
As he walked back into the kitchen, he congratulated himself on handling this baby-tending business with ease. He even figured Angela could safely sit in the enclosed closet between the bedrooms for the time he took to rouse a sleepy Tavia and administer the dose of fever-reducing tea. No matter that Angela shoved his boots askew or that teeth marks now decorated the edge of his other work belt. When he’d opened the door from his bedroom, he’d been amazed to see her in an upright position and stretching for the cuff of one of his shirts. “You can stand?” Smiling, he knelt to be close if she lost her balance. Not remembering much of his youngest sisters’ babyhoods, he didn’t know if this activity was what babies of her age were supposed to do.
With both hands flat on the wall, she dipped her knees, grinning like a fool.
Kneeling, Fitz glanced around the space from her height and almost lost his breath. His first instinct was to grab her into his arms and hold on tight. Everywhere he looked were forbidden items—sharp edges of a steamer trunk and the corner of a storage chest lid, a pair of
dirty socks, and a work shirt he hadn’t carried downstairs to the hamper, and the old shotgun standing upright in the back corner. Maybe, this space hadn’t been the best place to leave her unattended.
“Come on, little miss. Let’s go find a picture book in the den.” He settled her facing forward at his hip, before walking through the bedroom and along the hallway. At the clunk of his boot heels, he walked on the balls of his feet to make his passage near Tavia’s door as quiet as possible. Might need to buy a carpet runner for the floors. Smells of roasting meat wafted up the staircase as he descended. But he knew the meal wouldn’t be ready for another hour or so.
Inside the den, he looked around, debating over the best spot to situate himself. He needed to glance through the latest report from the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association. Shouldn’t take but fifteen minutes or so. Once seated in his desk chair with Angela securely in his lap, he lifted the bound report from a stack of correspondence and laid it in front of him.
Two chubby hands shot out and snatched at the cover.
Fitz eased it a few inches across the desktop and flipped over the first page.
“Ba.” Hands pounded out a rhythm on the desk, and she stretched out her arms. “Eh!”
He chuckled at her attempt to touch the report and tickled her tummy to distract her. “This one’s mine. Guess I should have gotten one for you, too. I did say that, and I’m a man of my word, Angela.” Keeping a hand over her stomach, he pushed back on the chair’s rollers and swiveled toward the bookcase. Only one children’s book remained on the bottom shelf—Old Mother Goose rhymes. He slid it out and moved back to the desk, opening to a page with an illustration. Reaching around her, he flipped again to the opening page of the cattle raisers’ report. The header gave the meeting date and location.
Rip!
At the sound, he jerked and dropped his report with a clunk to the desktop. “No, Angela.”
Her head whipped upward, and she stared with widened eyes.
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