by Jo Goodman
“She-devil,” he muttered.
On the point of leaving, Jane turned and gave him her most indulgent smile. “If we are already come to a point in our marriage where endearments are an appropriate form of address, you should know that I prefer ‘devil’s handmaiden.’” She felt very good about leaving him speechless.
Only Jake was still present in the kitchen when Jane got there. He had drawn the short straw that meant he had to stay behind to help while the others returned to work. He assured Jane that she was not what made this duty a short straw; it was the boss. Jane appreciated the distinction.
He fetched a galvanized steel tub from the barn, cleaned it out, and filled it with water to which Jane added a portion of Epsom salts. It was too heavy for Jane to carry to the bedroom so Jake was engaged for that onerous task as well. He set the tub at Morgan’s feet and left without a word.
“What did you do to him?” Morgan asked when Jake was gone.
“Do to him?” Jane dropped the bandages on the bed. “Nothing. Shall I hold up a mirror so you can see the scowl you are casting?”
If anything, Morgan’s scowl deepened. “I got the boot off.”
“I see. And the sock, too.” She knelt beside the tub and held out her cupped hands. “May I?”
His heavy sigh was both sufferance and surrender. He slid sideways to avoid hitting the tub and gingerly lifted his injured foot. He placed the heel in her hands.
Jane carefully pressed her thumbs against his flesh, feeling her way over and around the bones of his ankle and foot, hoping she would know that something was out of place by touch alone. She made an effort to portray more confidence than she actually felt.
When she looked up, she saw Morgan’s teeth were clenched. A muscle jumped in his jaw. The scar at the corner of his mouth was a very white crescent. “I’m sorry.” She guided his foot to the salt bath and gently lowered it. She heard him suck in his breath as cold water washed over his skin. “It seems as if nothing is broken.”
“I know it’s not. You had to be convinced. I didn’t.”
“You are right,” she said. “I did.” She nudged the tub closer to the bed so he could rest his foot at a more comfortable angle. “What about your ribs?”
“What about them?”
“Alex broke some ribs falling down the stairs, and—”
“Clumsy?”
“Drunk,” said Jane. “Dr. Stiles swaddled his chest in bandages.”
“No swaddling.”
“But—”
“No swaddling. You can wrap up the ankle. Nothing else.”
“All right.”
“I’ve had cracked ribs before. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes.”
He was quiet a moment, studying her upturned face. “I don’t trust you when you’re too agreeable.”
“That places me in a rather awkward position, then. I am not disagreeable by nature, although there are some who would say differently.”
“Cousin Franny.”
“She would be one, yes.”
It was insult, not injury, which made Morgan grimace. “I don’t think I like being painted with the same brush.”
Jane gave him a helpless shrug and nothing else as she stood. She went into the adjoining room and washed her hands. When she returned, she was carrying a basin of water, a washcloth, and soap. A towel was slung over her shoulder. She set the basin on the bedside table and handed Morgan the cloth and soap.
“You might as well clean up,” she said. “Do you want your nightshirt?” Jane gave him no quarter, even when he stared at her as though she had suddenly sprouted the three heads of Cerberus.
Morgan jerked his thumb in the direction of the window behind him. “There are still a couple of hours of daylight left.”
“I am aware.”
“I am not an invalid.”
“No, that would be overstating it, but you are injured, and that is sufficient cause for you to remain in bed. You employ four capable men.” She held up a hand when she saw he was about to interrupt. “Very well. Three capable men and Jem.” It probably wasn’t what Morgan intended to say, she thought, but it did raise his reluctant smile. “They are all going about your business and theirs now, and none of them will think less of you for staying here.”
“They might not think less of me, but I sure as hell will never hear the end of it.”
“That cannot be true. To a man, they would be happy of my attentions.”
“They would wallow in your coddling like pigs in mud, but that’s because you’re not married to any one of them.”
“My, but marriage changes so many things. I had no idea.”
Morgan’s green eyes glinted as he eyed Jane more sharply.
Her artless expression did not waver.
They were at an impasse.
Jane said, “I’ll come back in half an hour and examine your foot again. If the swelling has lessened, I’ll bandage the ankle.” Her eyes moved past Morgan to the books on the stand at the opposite side of the bed. Without asking if he wanted a particular one, she retrieved both. “I’ll leave these here in your reach. The time will pass more quickly if boredom does not set in, and reading will distract you from the pain.”
Morgan grunted softly. “I doubt it. Slamming a shovel against the back of my head might do the trick.”
“Is that what happened to Jem?”
In spite of the pain, Morgan’s lips twitched. “No, that’s what being in love with Renee Harrison’s done to him.”
“That’s good to know.”
“About Miss Harrison?”
“About love.”
• • •
Jake was sitting at the kitchen table when Jane reappeared. He started to rise, but she waved him back. “How is he?”
“Annoyed, frustrated, and on his way to mad.”
“Then he’s doing pretty well.”
“That is what I was thinking, but you are more familiar with his moods.” She put a kettle of water on the stove. “He says that if he stays in bed you won’t let him forget it.”
“He’s probably right, but that’s because we have so few opportunities to take a poke at him.”
“Oh. I had not thought of that.”
“Is there somethin’ else I can do for you?”
Jane shook her head. “Supper will be ham sandwiches and apple bake. Will that be enough? I think I underfed you at breakfast. You all work so hard.”
“You fed us fine. And supper’s hours away. Don’t forget, ma’am, we’ve been doin’ all right on our own for a time now. If you don’t want us muckin’ up your kitchen, that’s one thing, but if you need us to do for ourselves and don’t ask, that’s another.”
“Thank you, Jake.”
He stood, tipped his hat. “If there’s nothing else . . .”
His pause was longer than her hesitation. Jane said, “I have noticed that all of you are calling me ma’am. I thought we settled that at breakfast.”
“True, we did. The boss doesn’t like it. That’s what Jem told us when he got back from Blue Valley. Guess it must have come up.”
“Well, that explains it. Thank you again.”
“Sure thing.”
When he was gone, Jane put away the dishes from dinner. She realized belatedly that Jake had finished washing everything that Max had left in the sink. Even the cookstove and griddle had been wiped down. That made her smile. He had done that for her.
She made half a pot of coffee after the water boiled, and then gave herself permission to sit at the table and drink it. Perhaps she had been wrong to invite Morgan’s men to call her Jane. It was not what she would have done back in New York, but the mood at the breakfast table had been friendly, informal, and then there was that niggling sense that she was a fraud every time one of them addressed her as Mrs. Longstreet. It was not merely that her husband had not slept in her bed, or at least she hoped that was not the sum total of her discomfort. Becoming Mrs. Longstreet must mean more than sharing a bed.<
br />
Jane wanted to believe that it meant sharing a life.
Taking on her husband’s surname was like wearing a new corset on the outside of her dress. It so obviously did not belong that it was easy to imagine that everyone was staring.
Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Jane held her cup in both hands and watched the ripples in her coffee as she tightened her fingertips. She was a dedicated worrier. She knew that about herself, and it gave her no satisfaction to own something she had been unable to change. She supposed it was only a matter of time before Morgan realized it as well. Uncovering those things about her character that she wished might remain hidden was the unfortunate consequence of sharing a life.
Jane finished her coffee, set the cup in the sink, and then headed back to the bedroom. She suspected he heard her coming because when she opened the door, his posture was a shade too upright and the books on the table were stacked differently than she had left them. She pretended to notice neither of these things. If he wanted her to believe he had not taken her advice, she could allow him that much latitude.
“You’re late,” he said. “You said thirty minutes.”
“If you mean to quote me, I said ‘half an hour.’ If you mean to hold me to my word, then your point is well taken. I am indeed late. Bearding the lion does give one pause.”
“I don’t believe it. You are fearless.”
Jane was careful not to show her surprise. Fearless? “All right,” she said. “I was drinking a cup of coffee. Time got away from me.”
He made a sound between a grunt and snort that sounded like “umeh.”
“I have no idea what that rumbling at the back of your throat means. I understand Morse code better and my knowledge of that is merely rudimentary.”
“That so?”
“Is what so?”
“No, I was trying to explain what I meant.” He repeated the sound. “It means: Is that so?”
“Umeh,” Jane said.
Morgan blinked. She had perfectly captured his nuance if not his pitch. “I’m not sure it means the same thing when you say it.”
“Umeh,” she said again. She let him mull that over while she knelt beside the tub and examined his foot. “I think this is the best we can hope for now.” She slipped one hand under his heel and lifted it. “Give me the towel, please.”
“I can dry it myself.”
Jane set her mouth stubbornly and extended her free hand. Morgan passed her the towel.
“Thank you,” she said. She patted his foot dry and then encouraged him to ease himself onto the bed until he could stretch comfortably. She removed two blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed, folded them, and then slipped the pair under his foot to keep it elevated. “Where are the bandages?” she asked.
“I think they might be under me.” He lifted a hip and reached under it, pulling out half of what she had carried in. He found the remainder under the other thigh and handed over the lot of it. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“No, but it is fortunate for you that I am willing to be instructed. I imagine you do know.” She held up the bandages and smiled. “Where do I begin?”
“So many answers occur,” Morgan said dryly, looking pointedly at her mouth.
Jane did not take offense. In his place she would want to stuff the bandages in her mouth as well. Her smile actually deepened. “Your restraint is admirable.”
Laughing hurt, so Morgan did the only thing he could in the circumstances. He cooperated.
Jane looked admiringly at her work when she finished tying off the bandage. “I do not think a doctor could have done better.”
“I don’t know that a doctor would have bothered.”
“Well, that is too bad. It feels better now, doesn’t it?”
Morgan looked down at his foot, rotated it slowly one way and then the other. “Yes,” he said. “It does.”
“Good. I should have offered one of my headache powder packets earlier. Would you like one?”
“I don’t have a headache.”
“That doesn’t—”
He pointed to the washroom, stopping her. “There’s a bottle of laudanum in the cabinet.”
“I’ll put it in some tea.”
“Bring the bottle here.”
She rose from the bed, taking the leftover bandages with her. “I’ll put it in some tea.”
“Am I ever going to have the last word?” he called after her as she stepped out of the bedroom.
Jane did not respond, which was answer enough to his question. Smiling rather smugly to herself, she wondered if he found it as satisfying as she did.
• • •
Morgan groaned softly when he gauged Jane to be out of earshot. He did not know what hurt more, his ribs, his foot, or his pride. The pain seemed to be evenly distributed at the moment. He suppressed an urge to beat his head against the pillow under it. That was about as stupid a thing to do as allowing himself to be blindsided by the mare. The men knew it was a freakish thing, but Jane didn’t, and while he had not been aware of any desire to impress his bride when he approached the mustang, he certainly had not wanted her to see him handle the horse so ineptly.
He knew what could be seen from the kitchen window, and he knew from the speed with which Max and Jane arrived at the corral that they had witnessed what happened. Max vaulted the fence to get to him while Jane remained motionless on the other side. She probably did not know that her face drained of color when she saw him, but for Morgan, the picture of her chalk white features was still fixed in his mind. It had occurred to him then that she might faint. He still did not know if it was concern for Jem’s condition or gravity and weak knees that put her on the ground at Jem’s side.
Morgan had to allow that whatever Jane’s immediate thoughts were, she showed that she was adept at reining them in. By the time Max and Jessop had him on his feet, Jane was in full command of herself and, it seemed, everyone else. She had them all dancing to her tune, while it came as a surprise to Morgan that she played an instrument.
When she reappeared in the bedroom a few minutes later carrying a cup of tea, she was actually humming. Morgan thought that could not possibly bode well for him.
Jane put the teacup on the nightstand before she retrieved the laudanum. “How many drops?” she asked.
“Three.”
She added them to the cup and stirred. “Do you need help getting up?”
“No.” Morgan eased into a sitting position. He leaned against the headboard and stuffed the pillow behind the small of his back. His foot no longer rested comfortably on the folded blankets, but Jane began repositioning them before he could point to the problem. He accepted the cup when she handed it to him, folding his hands around it. He did not realize until then how cool his palms felt or that a chill was creeping under his skin.
“Are you cold?” asked Jane.
Morgan had no idea what she had observed to prompt her question. His teeth hadn’t chattered. His skin was not prickled. He had not pulled the coverlet over him. “Are you a witch?”
Jane responded by placing the back of her hand against his forehead and resting it there for several seconds. “Just as I thought,” she said, drawing back. “You’re clammy.” Without giving any indication of her intentions, she left.
Morgan’s eyes followed her until she disappeared. She looked as fine going out as she did coming in, so he did not waste a breath asking her what she was doing. The thing to do, he decided, was enjoy the view. All would be explained when she returned. In the meantime, he drank his tea and waited for the laudanum to take effect.
Jane came back with a kettle of hot water, which she added to the basin on the nightstand. After testing the temperature, she soaked the washcloth in it, wrung it out, and then sat beside Morgan on the edge of the bed.
He finished off his tea and gave her the cup. She put it aside but did not surrender the washcloth. Morgan shook his head. “You are not mopping my face with that.”
“What should I use?”
“That’s not what I—” He stopped when he glimpsed one corner of her mouth curl ever so slightly. “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.”
“All right.”
Morgan took the washcloth and wiped his face and neck with it. He rolled up his sleeves while Jane soaked it again, and then he ran it along his arms from wrists to elbows. At her insistence, and because there was no point arguing, he unfastened three buttons on his shirt and union suit and used the warm cloth on his chest.
When he was done, he dropped the washcloth into her overturned hand. “Satisfied?”
“I am, yes. Would you like to lie back or remain sitting?”
Morgan ignored the question. “You can stop trying to impress me.”
Jane’s delicately feathered eyebrows pulled together. “Is that what you think? That I’ve been trying to impress you?”
“Haven’t you? Hotcakes all around for breakfast. Sunday dinner on a Thursday. Moving the clothes cupboard on your own. Telling me you’ve got plans to organize the pantry and beat a year’s worth of dirt out of the rugs. Firing up the dragon without instruction. Pretty much putting me to bed and attending to me like you’re Clara Barton in a field hospital. Yeah, I’d say you’ve been trying to impress me with your competence and concern.”
Jane looked away. She said nothing. Her face was a mask, unreadable.
Morgan sighed. “That probably sounded as if I were ungrateful. I’m not. I appreciate all of it.” He paused, rethinking this last. “Well, most of it. I guess I’m saying it still feels a little awkward what with you doing so much right out of the gate, like you think I might put you on the next train out of Bitter Springs. That’s not going to happen, not unless you decide to go. That would be your choice.”
Jane kept her face averted.