by Karen Kirst
Homesickness stole over him, a yearning to see his family stronger than it had been in years. Constance’s fault, of course.
Noah flicked straw from his shirt. “I’m too old to be sleeping in barn lofts, I tell you that.” Not that he had a choice. Couldn’t very well expect the widow and her daughters to bunk with the livestock.
He strode into the yard, lugging a full pail of milk. The first rays of sun scattered across the pastures, setting the dewdrops to sparkling. A robin called to its mate. The temperature was still in the pleasant range.
Inside the house, he was greeted by an anxious-looking Jane. Her hair wasn’t in its usual style, and she was wearing her nightclothes. Noah glanced at the closed bedroom door as he lifted the pail to the counter.
“Everything all right?”
Twisting her hands together, she quickly shook her head. “Momma’s sick.”
Alarm worked its way through his body. Not bothering to knock, he entered the bedroom, his focus on the dark-haired woman beneath the covers.
“Sheriff.” She struggled to sit up. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“I’m still not used to being called that,” he muttered, moving to her side.
“Mr. Burgess—”
“Noah,” he corrected, noting Abigail hovering on the far side. “Jane said you’re ill. What are your symptoms?”
“It’s nothing.” Pushing the quilt off her seemed to leach her of strength.
He put his hand to her forehead. The heat confirmed his suspicions. “It’s not nothing. You have a fever.”
“I don’t get sick.”
Her protestations might’ve been comical if not for her obvious suffering. Her hair was a tangle about her slim form. Her skin was pallid and clammy, her lips almost white.
“Everyone gets sick at some time or another in their lives.” Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and nudged her against the pillow.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah paused in replacing the quilt. “Why would you apologize for something you have no control over?”
A small voice answered from the doorway behind him. “Momma apologized to our father a lot. He used to yell at her.”
His gaze shot to Constance, whose trembling lower lip was at odds with her jutting chin. “Let’s not discuss that with strangers, Jane.”
Jane moved to take his hand. “Mr. Noah isn’t a stranger, Momma.” She lifted her face. “You’re not going to fuss at her, are you?”
The innocent trust in her blue eyes gutted him. “No, I’m not.” Crouching to her level, he pushed aside the anger swelling once more at a faceless man. Noah was glad Ambrose Miller wasn’t able to hurt them anymore. “Your ma is going to need a lot of rest today. Will you help me take care of her?”
“Yes, sir.”
He squeezed her hand. “The first thing I’d like for you to do is fetch a washrag from the kitchen.”
When she’d gone, his gaze settled on the quieter twin. “Amy, bring me that hairbrush, will you?”
Abigail obediently did as he asked, maintaining ample space between them when handing him the brush. He wondered how long it would take for her to work up the courage to correct him about her name.
“Did you know I used to brush and braid my little sisters’ hair?”
Sucking on her lower lip, she watched him with solemn eyes.
“Well, I did. I know how to be gentle.”
Seeking reassurance from her ma, who nodded and smiled tremulously, Abigail turned and presented him with her back. He brushed the clean strands and plaited them into a tidy braid and tied a ribbon around the end.
“All finished. Go look at yourself in the mirror and check my work.”
She fetched an ornate mirror that belonged to Constance and studied herself from different angles.
“How’d I do?”
His reward was a shy smile that made his spirits soar like a hawk on an updraft.
Jane returned with the cloth. Setting it aside, Noah braided her hair as well, and then sent them both to set out the dishes and utensils. Constance tracked his movements with her gaze. Her hands clutched at the quilt, and he noticed she was once again wearing those gaudy rings that screamed money and advantage. He wet the cloth, wrung out the excess water and laid it across her forehead.
A grateful sound sighed out of her as her sooty lashes lifted. “If you’ll take care of breakfast, I’ll see to lunch.”
Noah shoved his hands deep in his pockets to resist smoothing her hair away from her face. “I’m afraid you won’t be leaving this bed today. Maybe not tomorrow, either. Seems to me you’ve contracted whatever sickness Abigail had.”
Her dry lips parted. “But your sheriff’s duties—”
“I’ve got a pair of deputies who can oversee things for me. I’ll run into town after breakfast and check in with them. Then I’ll swing by the general store. Did you have time to make a list?”
“I’m inconveniencing you.” She frowned. “More than I have already. The girls...”
“Will be fine. I may even take them into town with me so you can have peace and quiet.”
Her winged brows rose. “You would do that?”
He wasn’t jumping at the bit to escort twin six-year-olds to town, but Constance needed sleep in order to recuperate.
A tremor shook her petite frame. He couldn’t resist sitting on the mattress and laying his palm against her cheek. To check her fever again, he reassured himself. Her skin was silky soft, smooth as a flower petal. Sleek strands of hair brushed his knuckles. She held herself very still, blinking up at him in silent inquiry, and he got the impression she hadn’t been on the receiving end of kindness very often.
“I hope he suffered when he died,” he growled. “I know that makes me a terrible person, but it’s the truth.”
Her forehead bunched before clearing a second later. “Ambrose perished in a train accident. His skull was crushed. That’s the only detail I was given.”
Noah fixed the displaced cloth. God forgive me. I can’t help how I feel.
Jerking a nod, he removed his hand and stood, wishing he could stay and keep her company. “Is there anything I can get you? Dry toast? Tea?”
“Tea would be nice.”
He was at the door when she whispered, “Noah?”
He twisted around at the sound of his given name on her lips. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes were bright with gratitude he didn’t deserve. Not only had he repeatedly told her he didn’t want her, he was pawning her off on another man, a stranger who may or may not put her and the girls’ needs above his own.
Careful, Burgess. You’re starting to care.
Constance hadn’t wanted him, specifically. She’d answered a bride-wanted letter as a way to get out of Chicago and provide a better life for the girls. It didn’t matter who she ultimately married, he told himself firmly, as long as he was a God-fearing man who’d treat her right.
The sooner she found that man, the sooner she’d move out. She’d cease to be Noah’s concern and his life could finally return to normal.
Chapter Nine
“Sheriff Burgess.” D. B. Burrows, editor of the Herald, eyed the girls flanking Noah with a touch of incredulity. “I’d heard reports you’d acquired a new family but didn’t believe them until this very moment.” Smoothing his thatch of raven hair and mutton-chop sideburns, the man searched the store aisles. “Is their mother with you? I’d like to meet the lady who managed to catch your fancy.”
The muscles of Noah’s upper back went taut. He’d never cottoned to the newspaper editor. For a man who’d seemed eager to make Cowboy Creek his new home, the gentleman spent a lot of time disparaging the town and its leaders, including Noah and his friends. He
tended to publish splashy articles highlighting crime and other negative events while downplaying the good. Some folks liked stirring up trouble, and Noah figured D.B. for one of them.
The patrons stopped what they were doing to stare. Not surprising. He supposed seeing him—the town loner—with a pair of adorable little girls would be unusual.
“Mrs. Miller didn’t accompany us today.” Bending to the girls’ level, he pointed to the shiny jars on the counter. “Go on over and pick yourselves out a piece of penny candy.”
“Yes, sir!” Jane grabbed Abigail’s hand and led her to the main counter.
Folks watched and whispered. Did they notice their off-center braids and the oatmeal stain on Abigail’s collar? The pantaloons visible below their knees were creased, and the sashes about their waists weren’t tied to Constance’s standards. Not that she’d noticed. She’d drifted off to sleep before they’d left the cabin. Noah had gone in to bid her goodbye and heard her soft breathing. She’d looked so different from that first day, when her hair had been in an elegant, formal style and she’d worn an outfit that would probably cost him a month’s salary. That day, she’d been prepared to take on the world. Today, she hadn’t possessed the strength to get out of bed. His fool heart had gone mushy with sympathy and the strong desire to comfort her.
“You may as well know that Mrs. Miller and I are not to be wed. There was a misunderstanding. She will be choosing a husband from among Cowboy Creek’s bachelors.”
D.B. arched a single bushy brow. “Is that so?”
To D.B., no bit of news was off-limits. Noah watched the man reach for his pad and pencil only to check his actions. The arrival of Prudence Haywood, one of the original mail-order brides, saved Noah from having to rebuff the nosy editor.
“Are you ready to go? We have work to do.”
After a cursory glance in his direction, the petite, curvy auburn-haired woman ignored Noah. Her manner didn’t line up with that of a subordinate employee. Prudence had procured work at the newspaper shortly after her arrival and was frequently in D.B.’s company. Some had conjectured the two were romantically linked. There was no evidence to support it, however.
Irritation surged in D.B.’s eyes. “Not just yet.” He turned to Noah, this time removing his pad and pencil. “How is your investigation on the fake property deeds coming along? Any new information?”
Aware their conversation was being monitored by practically everyone in the store, Noah said, “Why don’t you stop by the jail first thing tomorrow morning? You can conduct your interview there.”
“Does that mean you don’t have anything of importance to share?” D.B. glanced at Prudence, who was fiddling with the brooch at her neck, a nervous habit of hers. “And what about the invasion of Will Canfield’s suite at the Cattleman? Any developments on that?”
A vein in his temple throbbed. Noah didn’t have answers and the editor was like a bloodhound hunting a fox. He could probably sense Noah’s unease.
D.B. pressed closer, his pencil poised above the paper. “At least answer me this—is it true Cowboy Creek is being considered for the county seat?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
Something flickered in his expression that set off an alert. He didn’t appear pleased at the news. Why would that be?
Prudence touched her boss’s sleeve. “We really must go. You and the sheriff can discuss business tomorrow.”
“Fine.” Slipping the pad into his suit jacket pocket, he gave the girls a last considering glance. “You won’t allow personal issues to prevent you from making our meeting, will you, Sheriff?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.”
The pair exited the general store, rudely blocking Pippa Neely from entering.
“What, no apology?” the exuberant actress called after them. With a loud huff, the ginger-haired young woman swept past the garden tools and stopped in front of him with a flurry of skirts.
“Sheriff Burgess. How are you...” She trailed off, shock mixed with utter delight at the sight of Jane and Abigail approaching. They each held a fat peppermint stick in one hand. “Well, I do believe my eyes must be deceiving me! I had no idea such sweet little things inhabited Cowboy Creek.”
Noah introduced them. “Girls, Miss Neely is an actress. She performs at the opera house.”
They appeared awestruck by Pippa’s appearance. Her jade green outfit rivaled Constance’s clothes in quality and beauty. The satiny fabric shimmered in the light every time she shifted. The sequined hat atop her chignon had multiple black feathers protruding from it.
“How do you do, ma’am.” Jane elbowed her open-mouthed sister.
Abigail snapped her jaw shut. “Hello.”
Pippa clasped her hands together. “Oh, they are enchanting, Sheriff. Do you think their mother would allow them to perform?” Before he could answer, she propped her hands on her knees and peered at them. “Do either of you dance? Sing? Act?”
Jane smiled. “We like to sing.”
“Wonderful.” Pippa nodded. “I must speak to your mother as soon as possible. The residents of this town will be bowled over by a pair of singing twins. Imagine the headlines!” Tilting Jane’s chin up, she examined her face. “I can see you wearing a magnificent gown of royal blue satin.” Touching the crown of Abigail’s head, she mused, “And you would look stunning in bright yellow, like a black-eyed Susan.”
Abigail blinked at her.
Noah was impatient to get their shopping done and return home. It wasn’t the girls giving him fits—it was the adults!
“We’ll have to continue this conversation another time, Miss Neely. I’ve a long list of supplies to gather before heading home.”
“Of course.” Straightening, she questioned him with her warm hazel eyes. “Would it be all right if I paid their mother a visit?”
“Maybe next week.” Constance would surely be feeling better by then.
“Wonderful.”
“Let’s go, girls,” he said. “Don’t want to keep your ma waiting.”
* * *
Grace’s head hurt. Her body couldn’t decide if it was hot or cold, which meant she was constantly fiddling with the covers. Her stomach was unsettled. Thankfully she’d been able to keep down the toast she’d had that morning and the thin broth Noah had prepared for lunch. Being sick was bad enough without further humiliating herself.
She hadn’t been bedridden since her pregnancy. While the estate staff had been attentive, her husband and mother-in-law had failed to show her compassion. They’d made her feel guilty for her weakness. That experience made her even more aware of the fact she was burdening her host.
“Say good-night to your ma. Then it’s off to bed.” Noah’s firm voice drifted in from the kitchen.
After seeing to the care of energetic children, she’d expected the single man to be harried and impatient for the day to end. His demeanor didn’t reflect such sentiment, however. Either he was more compassionate than she’d given him credit for or he was pretending to be for her sake.
Jane and Abigail bounded into the room. Their faces had been washed of grit, their hair brushed free of tangles. He appeared in the doorway, his blue gaze intent on her. Folding his arms, he propped a shoulder against the frame in a deceptively relaxed pose. He wasn’t relaxed. His guard had been in place since the day he discovered them here.
Jane hopped on the bed. The motion didn’t do her stomach any favors.
“Did I tell you about Miss Neely’s hat?”
Grace tried to look interested and hide her scowl. Ever since the girls had returned, they’d regaled her with details about the beautiful, single actress. An ugly emotion an awful lot like jealousy had fueled her fever. Utterly ridiculous considering she had no claim on Noah.
I don’t care that his eyes make me long to se
e the ocean and compare the hues. I don’t care that his blond hair shines like the sun. I don’t care that his touch is so gentle, so at odds with his fierce appearance, that it makes me crave what he isn’t willing to give.
“She said I would look amazing in yellow.” Abigail’s remark hinted at the awe reflected in her face. What all had this woman said to them?
Cold washed over her once again, and she tugged the quilt up to her neck, the scents of lavender and honey like a warm embrace. Not scents she’d normally associate with a man.
Straightening, Noah advanced into the room, his large body shrinking the space. “I fixed a pallet near the fireplace so they won’t disturb you tonight.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
He shrugged, his fingers probing the scarred flesh on his neck, something he seemed to do without conscious thought. “It was no trouble.”
Grace appreciated that he was trying to spare her feelings. For a man who’d chosen to live alone and had no interest in creating a family, caring for a sick woman and two young girls had to be irritating at best. And yet, he hadn’t complained. He’d assumed the duties of caretaker, one who was sympathetic and efficient. Noah Burgess was someone who willingly set his own needs aside in order to meet those of the people around him.
A verse from Philippians came to mind. Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind, let each esteem others as better than himself. She imagined he’d been that way on the battlefield. A soldier determined to give his best, his all, to those serving at his side.
She allowed herself to scrutinize the marred flesh on his jaw and the place above his collar, wishing she felt free to ask how it had happened.
Noah noticed and scowled, the skin about his eyes tightening. “Time for bed, girls.”
Grace forced her gaze to the various fabrics making up the quilt, sad that he assumed she was repelled by his injury. Sad, too, that he used his appearance as an excuse to keep others at arm’s length.