Summer Breeze

by Catherine Anderson

“A frog hair. And that’s pretty damned fine.”

  She startled him by pushing suddenly to her feet. Grasping the front of the gown in both hands, she fanned the cloth. “I’m stifling, I say.”

  When she exited the tub, Joseph gave her a wondering look. “What are you doing?”

  She bent over the sink, turned on the tap, and cupped cool water to her cheeks. When she groped for a towel, he tugged one from the rack and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she mumbled into the linen. When she lifted her head, she added. “That’s better.”

  “Good.” She looked bright eyed and bushy tailed, which wasn’t the effect Joseph had been hoping for. “You ever played poker?” he asked.

  “Never.”

  “You aren’t fixing to say that ladies don’t play cards, are you? Caitlin does, and she beats Ace’s socks off.”

  “She does?”

  Joseph pushed up from the toilet. “Will you be all right while I run get my cards?”

  She frowned up at him. “Where are they?”

  The very fact that she would consider letting him leave the water closet told Joseph that the whiskey had soothed her nerves some. “On the dining room table.”

  “Will you hurry back?”

  Joseph gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Within seconds he had returned with the cards. Rachel was back in the tub. She wiped her mouth and corked the jug before looking up at him. “It doesn’t taste so bad after a while.”

  Uh-oh. Joseph retrieved the bottle and gave it a shake to check the level. He wanted her relaxed, not pie-eyed. He sat on the commode seat to shuffle on his knee. Problem. The rolled edge of the tub wouldn’t hold the cards. Joseph eyed the interior.

  “Is there room enough in there for you to sit at one end and me at the other if we cross our legs?”

  She scooted around with her back to the faucets again. Joseph toed off his boots and crawled in, cards in hand. “I can sit at that end if you like.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He handed her the pillow. “Use this to cushion your spine.”

  He sat cross-legged facing her and settled back. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll start with five-card draw. It’s a pretty simple game.” Buddy reared up, hooking his white paws over the edge of the bathtub to eye them. After a moment, he gave a disheartened sigh and curled up on the floor. The dog knew it was time to sleep when he saw his master with playing cards in his hand.

  Joseph began explaining the rules. A few sentences in, his student yawned. “You getting sleepy?”

  She blinked and sat up straighter. “No, no, I’m fine. With that huge hole in my barricade, I shan’t sleep a wink, I assure you.”

  He dealt the first hand of cards.

  She gave him a questioning look. “I pair up the cards, you say?”

  Joseph nodded.

  “What do you do when you’ve got three?”

  Joseph narrowed an eye at her. “Three what?”

  “Three of the same card.”

  Three of a kind beat his two pairs, hands down. His only hope was to deal himself a third king. That wasn’t impossible. He’d seen it happen a number of times. “You keep the three cards and discard the other two,” he explained.

  “Even if the other two make a pair?”

  Joseph gave her another hard look. “You’re funning me, right?”

  She turned her hand so he could see it. Three aces and two tens. “I’ll be a bungtown copper. That’s a full house.”

  She smiled brightly. “Is that good?”

  Joseph groaned and bunched that deal. “Beginner’s luck,” he assured her. “A full house, dealt cold? Never happen again.”

  Two hands later, Joseph was leaning forward over his crossed ankles, enjoying himself as he hadn’t in weeks. “We need something to bet.” He studied his cards and bit back a smile. A straight was surely better than anything she had. “It just doesn’t feel right without a pot to win.”

  “I can’t afford to gamble with money.”

  “How about tokens?” Joseph thought for a moment. “You got any hairpins?”

  She laid her cards facedown between them and struggled to her feet, treating Joseph to a delightful glimpse of bare thigh when her nightgown rode up. She stepped from the tub to open a cabinet over the sink and returned with a tin of hairpins. Joseph doled out twenty to each of them and schooled her in the fine art of betting. She caught on fast.

  “I’ll meet your hairpin and raise you”—she pursed her lips as she studied her cards—“two, no, three.”

  Joseph kept his face expressionless as he eyed his straight. He tossed out three more hairpins. “Call.”

  With a flick of her wrist, she showed him her hand. Joseph gaped. When he finally found his voice, he said, “A royal flush?”

  “Is that good?” she asked innocently.

  The question told Joseph he’d been hoodwinked, good and proper. “If you didn’t know it was good, why’d you raise me three?”

  Her dark lashes swept low, the tips gleaming golden in the candlelight.

  “You’ve played before,” he accused.

  Her cheek dimpled in an impish grin. “Ma wouldn’t let Pa gamble at the saloon, so he taught me how.”

  “I’ll be.” He shook his head as he watched her take the ante. “You’re having the mother of all lucky streaks.”

  She giggled, a light tinkling sound that Joseph could have listened to all night. “Luck or know-how. It all depends on if you’re winning or losing.”

  She looked too sweet for words in that lacy Mother Hubbard nightdress with her beautiful hair coming loose from the braid and forming shimmering ringlets around her slender shoulders. Joseph refused to allow his gaze to dip lower, even though he’d done his share of looking earlier. She was all-to-pieces beautiful, make no mistake. And she played poker. He couldn’t believe it when she shuffled the cards with a flick of her wrists and started dealing like a pro. He just flat couldn’t believe it.

  He picked up his cards, arranged his hand, and said, “I’m in for one.”

  He tossed out a hairpin and discarded. She anteed and stayed, her lips curved in a smug little smile as she dealt him replacements. Joseph perused his hand. He had a full house, kings over deuces. If she had better, he’d gargle salt water while he whistled “Dixie.”

  He raised the bet by two. She paid to see his hand and raised her delicate brows. “Very nice.” Her cheek dimpled again. “But it doesn’t beat aces over sevens.”

  “No way.” Joseph stared at the cards she laid down, faceup. “No way.”

  She giggled and collected the ante. “Your deal. Maybe we should change the game.”

  “Seven-card stud,” he suggested.

  In truth, Joseph didn’t really care if he won. He just enjoyed playing. It was especially pleasurable when his opponent was so lovely to look at. The perfect woman, he thought. Beautiful, a dog lover, a poker player, and a fabulous cook, to boot. It just didn’t get any better than that.

  A prickle of alarm worked its way up his spine. He was coming to like this lady a little too much for comfort. In his recollection, he couldn’t recall ever having felt this attracted to a female.

  She reached over the side of the tub to retrieve the whiskey jug. The cork departed from the neck with a hollow thunk. She thrust the bottle at him. “Maybe you need a drink to change your luck.”

  Joseph guessed he could have one more swig. He didn’t want to drink too much for fear that he would sleep too soundly. As unfounded as most of Rachel’s fears seemed to be, she hadn’t imagined that bullet in Darby’s back. He needed to be on guard, just in case the old foreman had it right about her life being in danger.

  After taking a swallow of whiskey, he handed back the jug and began the deal. When she saw her first two cards, she burst out laughing and bet three hairpins. All Joseph had so far was a four and a five. Even so, he didn’t want to fold. He anteed and dealt her a card faceup.

  “An ace?” She grinned and rolled her
eyes. “Definitely worth another three tokens.”

  Joseph’s pile of hairpins was dwindling at an alarming rate. She was flat kicking his butt. His dream woman. For reasons beyond him, the thought no longer alarmed him. When a man met a woman who appealed to him on so many levels, why run?

  A few minutes later, Rachel had most of his hairpins, and her lashes were starting to droop.

  “You’re exhausted,” he said. “We need to quit and get some shut-eye.”

  “Naturally you’d say that when I’m the biggest toad in the puddle.”

  Joseph just grinned. “You are, no doubt about it. How about a silly game to cap off the evening? You ever played Injun?”

  She nodded. “One card each, on your forehead, face out, without looking?”

  Joseph nodded, shuffled the cards, and dealt one to each of them. Without turning hers over to look, she pressed it to her forehead. It took all of Joseph’s self-control not to laugh. She had a five. To his surprise, she started giggling so hard when she saw his card that tears came to her eyes. Joseph figured he was holding something pretty pathetic. But what were the odds that it could be worse than a five?

  He tossed all his remaining hairpins onto the blanket between them. Still laughing, she met his bet. Then they lowered the cards.

  “I don’t believe it!” he cried. “No way. You’ve won every hand so far. I dealt myself a three?”

  Joseph went to collect his bedding. When he returned to the water closet, his poker opponent’s head was lolling. When she heard his footsteps, she jerked erect.

  “I think you need to stretch out, darlin’. The biggest toad in this puddle is going under.”

  “Don’t leave me,” she murmured as she turned in the tub, punched up the pillow, and drew the blankets over her legs. “If I wake up and you’re gone, my heart will stop, I swear.”

  Joseph shook out his bedroll. “I’ll be right here beside you, close enough for you to reach out and touch me. No worries.”

  She snuggled up to the pillow. “Promise?”

  “Absolutely,” he assured her. “Buddy and I will be right next to you.”

  Enough lantern light poured in from the kitchen to dimly illuminate the room. Joseph snuffed out the candle and settled on his pallet, Buddy curled up under the blanket beside him. Within seconds, he heard a faint, feminine snore and smiled to himself. The biggest toad in the puddle was out like a light.

  Chapter Nine

  When Rachel first opened her eyes the next morning, ice picks stabbed her pupils and it felt as if someone were doing the double shuffle on her skull. Grasping the edge of the tub, she pulled herself up and slumped forward over her knees.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Joseph’s cheerful baritone sent shards of pain lancing through her brain. She held up a hand to silence him. “Whisper. Please. It hurts.” Even her own voice hurt. “Oh, God, help me. I’m dying.”

  “Nah,” he assured her in a softer voice. “It’s just the Old Orchard, taking its revenge. Drink this. It’ll chirk you right up.”

  Rachel carefully turned her head and squinted one eye at the cup he proffered. “What is it?”

  “My remedy. Mostly coffee, with a few other ingredients guaranteed to make you feel better in about a half hour.”

  With shaky hands, Rachel accepted the cup and took a gulp of the contents. She sent him a questioning look. “It has whiskey in it.”

  “That it does. Nothing like some hair of the dog that bit you to set things right.”

  In thirty minutes, Rachel did feel some better. After leaning the broken water closet door against the shattered frame to afford herself some privacy, she managed to get dressed. Then she moved the broken door to one side to poke her head out the opening to survey the kitchen. To her surprise, the archway doorway was covered with something. The yawning hole that had sent her into a spell last night was gone.

  “What is that over the archway?” she asked.

  “The dining room table. I stood it on end and walked it over. By way of a barricade, it has its drawbacks, but it’ll work for now.”

  Her skin still crawled as she emerged from the water closet. Joseph motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table and shoved a plate in front of her. She stared dismally at the two pieces of crisp, buttered toast.

  “I can’t possibly eat.”

  “You need to. It’s part of the cure.” He sat down across from her, looking so cheerful that she wanted to shoot him. “Just break off little pieces and wash them down with coffee. You’ll feel better with some food in your stomach.”

  A sound in the other room made her jump. Joseph followed her nervous gaze. “It’s nothing. Just the house creaking again. Let me worry about guarding the hole. You eat.”

  “How do you know eating will make me feel better?”

  He winked and grinned. “Experience, darlin’. I’ve had a few too many tipples in my time.”

  Rachel broke off a tiny piece of bread and swallowed it with coffee. Her eyebrows shot up. “There’s whiskey in this cup, too.”

  “Like I said, some hair of the dog. It’ll help. Trust me.”

  In that moment, when Rachel looked into his twinkling blue eyes, she realized just how much she had come to trust him. If someone had told her two days ago that she’d soon be sitting at the table with a huge hole yawning in her barricade, counting on a stranger to protect her, she would have laughed. Only now it didn’t seem ludicrous at all.

  When she thought back, she knew she hadn’t known Joseph long enough to feel this safe with him, and yet she did. His presence soothed her in some inexplicable way, filling her with a sense of well-being and security that she hadn’t felt in a very long while. Even the sound of his voice was a balm to her frazzled nerves.

  He gave her damaged barricade a long look, and then he drew out his watch to check the time. “Right about now, your horses are wanting out in the paddock, your cows are bawling to be milked, the hens are demanding breakfast, and that sow is looking in her trough, hoping to see some slop. If Ace comes over today, it’ll be later, probably well after noon. I’ll have to do the chores myself if they’re going to get done.”

  Just the thought of being left alone made Rachel’s heart catch. Evidently he saw the panic in her eyes. “I’m thinking about rigging up a door for your barricade before I leave the house. Would that make you feel any better?”

  From the corner of her eye, Rachel could see the archway yawning like a giant mouth waiting to swallow her. The table had been a nice gesture on Joseph’s part, but if he had been able to set it there, someone else could just as easily move it. “Yes. Yes, a door would make me feel much better.”

  “I’m thinking about borrowing an interior door from another room.” He let his chair drop forward. “Here’s the thing, though. In order to borrow a door and make it work, I’ll need the whole unit, doorframe and all. It’s liable to do a little damage when I start prying stuff loose.”

  It had been years since Rachel had ventured into any of the other rooms. A smidgen of damage elsewhere wouldn’t matter a whit to her. “That’s fine. I don’t really care about the rest of the house.”

  “You sure? Sentimental meaning, and all that. If you ever get well, every nook and cranny will hold memories for you.”

  Remembering only brought her pain, and Rachel had given up on ever getting well. “I don’t think I can handle your going outside unless something is over the hole.”

  “All right, then.” He smiled and shrugged. “I’ll need that hammer of yours, all the nails you have on hand, and a screwdriver if you’ve got one.”

  Rachel pushed up from the chair. Moments later, she returned to the table with an assortment of tools and a box of nails. Joseph pushed to his feet and went to fetch her shotgun. As he walked back to the table, he motioned to the chair she had vacated.

  “I want you to sit right there while I’m gone,” he said. “I’ll be just up the hall, mind you, but sit right th
ere, all the same.”

  As she lowered herself onto the chair seat, he handed her the shotgun. “You’ve got both barrels loaded, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, then. If anyone appears in that archway, point and fire.” He leaned down to fix her with a twinkling gaze. “Just don’t get spooked and shoot me.”

  Buddy squeezed through the gap between the lower end of the table and the wall just then. He bounded happily across the kitchen, smelling of fresh air, grass, and oak leaves, scents that Rachel had nearly forgotten. Joseph bent to pat the dog’s head.

  “Finished with your morning run, fella?” He pointed at the floor. “Sit.”

  Buddy promptly dropped to his haunches beside Rachel.

  “You stay,” Joseph said firmly. “No deciding different and following me this time, you hear? I want you to stay with Rachel.”

  Buddy flopped onto his belly, crossed his paws over his eyes, and whined mournfully.

  The dog’s antics brought a reluctant smile to Rachel’s lips. She sent a nervous look at the archway.

  “Listen to me.” Joseph planted his hands on his knees, once again leaning forward to get nose to nose with her. “I came through your parents’ bedroom window when I broke into the house. If I borrow their bedroom door, I’ll be working between you and the only window in the house that isn’t boarded up. No one will be able to get past me to pester you. I’ll be just up the hall, only a few steps away.”

  A lump of dread filled Rachel’s throat. She tried her best to focus on his words and be reasonable. But her fear had nothing to do with reason. She wished she knew how to explain that. Only how could she make sense of feelings that she couldn’t understand herself? Her barricade was gone. That was the long and short of it. It was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I’m crazy. You can say it if you want. It won’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

  He took the shotgun and put it on the floor. Then, with a weary sigh, he hunkered down in front of her. Taking her hands in his, he said, “What’s crazy and what isn’t? What’s normal and what isn’t? We all have a phobia about something.”