by Jillian Hart
“I’ll grab my rifle.” He had more to say to Ruby, but it would have to wait.
“Be safe.” Her gaze found his, and the caring he read there made him feel ten feet tall. Hopeful, he tossed her a wink before he strode away, feeling lighter than air.
Chapter Nine
The long, single note of the train whistle pierced the late afternoon’s silence. Earlee Mills looked up from her desk at the head of the classroom. Behind her Charlie Bellamy was writing one hundred times on the blackboard as punishment, “I will never again pull Anna’s hair.”
Earlee rolled her eyes at his slow progress. She may well be the one punished if he didn’t hurry up. Judging by the way he was going, school would be dismissed before he finished his final sentence. Unrepentant, he giggled. Two boys in the middle row chuckled in response. Apparently there was some private joke she was missing.
“Quiet, boys.” She used her firmest, big-sister tone, the one that kept her eight younger siblings in line whenever necessary. The squirming stopped, and the troublemakers returned to their spelling books. She loaded her pen, tapped off the excess and set the quill tip to the sheet of parchment. She resumed writing a letter to her pen friend, Finn McKaslin.
…so everything on our farm is going well. The animals are snug in the barn, and now that all the long, summer days are passed, and harvest madness is over, I have spare time to work on my latest story. I know, this is the first time that I’m mentioning this—
A commotion overhead snared her attention. It sounded like a herd of buffalo bounding across the ceiling and charging down the stairs. All her students squirmed in their seats, staring at her hard, willing her to ring her hand bell and dismiss school. Remembering what it was like to sit in those desks wishing to be set free, she obliged. She jangled the bell, children exploded out of their seats, and chaos reigned. She turned her chair to deal with Charlie.
“Not so fast, young man.” She had to give him credit. He almost looked guilty sneaking away. “You have thirty more lines to write.”
“But Miss Mills, I gotta go home. My ma will worry if I’m late.”
“You should have thought of that when you were dallying at the blackboard. Your brother can tell her where you are. Right, Tommy?” She addressed the younger Bellamy brother who was straggling up the aisle.
“I guess.” Tommy sighed. “I don’t like walkin’ alone.”
“Then hurry and catch up with your friends. Charlie will be staying until he is finished.” She reached into her desk drawer to hand the troublemaker a fresh piece of chalk so there would be no more excuses.
“Yes, Miss Mills.” Charlie returned to the board while his brother dashed off. Chalk squeaked as he wrote one line after another, remarkably faster than he’d done during class time.
Back to her letter. She reloaded her pen and continued writing.
… My ma says it simply isn’t normal, but I can’t seem to help myself from writing. Stories just bubble out of my head. I’m probably not very good at it, but it’s a lot of fun—
A knock rapped on the door frame jerking her out of her letter. A tall, broad-shouldered man with light brown hair and Ruby’s smile held up one gloved hand in greeting.
“Hullo there, Earlee. Is Ruby around?” Rupert Ballard called out in his friendly, smoky baritone. “I waited for her in front of the school, but she didn’t come out. I checked and she’s not upstairs in her classroom. Figured maybe she was in here with you.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Wyoming?” She laid down her pen.
“Supposed to be, except for the fact I lost my job.” He shrugged those dependable shoulders of his as if it was no big deal, but she knew how precarious the Ballard finances were, since her family also struggled. He straightened up to his full six-foot-plus height. “I just stepped off the train.”
“Welcome back.” She rose from her chair and glanced over her shoulder to check on Charlie’s progress. Amazingly he had only five more lines left. She circled around her desk. “I suppose you haven’t heard Ruby’s news?”
“Ruby has news?” Puzzled, he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “I can’t think of what it would be. No one is courting her, so it can’t be an engagement.”
“She has a job working for the Davis family. She’s no longer in school. I hate to be the one to tell you.” She ambled down the aisle, her skirts swishing. “Does your family know you’re coming?”
“Sure, but I thought I would swing by, pick up Ruby, and we could walk home together.” He scooped a rucksack off the entry floor. “Guess I’ll be walking alone. It’s good to see you doing so well, Earlee. You make a good teacher.”
“I try.” She shrugged, aware of the plunk of a chalk stick hitting the wooden holder.
“I’m done, Miss Mills. Can I go now?” Charlie swiped his face with his hand, smearing a streak of chalk dust across his cheek.
“Go on with you.” He still had to erase and clean the blackboard, but that could wait until morning. She had floors to sweep and the fire to put out and she wanted to get home. The boy, glad to be freed, dashed down the aisle, his shoes hammering the wood floor as he circled around Rupert and disappeared from sight.
“There’s one in every class.” He gave his hat brim a tug. “See you around, Earlee.”
“Bye, Rupert.” There had been a time in her life when she would have given a little, wistful sigh as the handsome man walked away. Roop could make any young lady dream of possibilities and romance. These days, another man held claim to her heart. She spun around, her skirts twirling as her thoughts returned to her letter.
Light already faded from the windows. Sunset was not far away. If she wanted to walk home before dark fell, she would have to finish her letter tomorrow. Not tonight, because she couldn’t risk her sisters at home catching a glimpse of Finn’s letter. Should her parents find out she was corresponding with a man currently serving time at the territorial prison in Deer Lodge, they would have an apoplexy. No doubt, they would forbid to her to continue writing him. Her heart would shatter into a million pieces if she had to say goodbye to him. Finn didn’t appear to return her affections, but she loved him.
She carefully wiped her pen tip and capped the ink bottle. She folded the letter in careful thirds, letting herself dream just a little. Outside the window, snow began to fall in tiny, fragile flakes, dancing like hope on the wind.
“How is the hand, dear?”
Lost in thought, Ruby startled, dropped hold of the mop, and it landed with a smack on the floor. The sound echoed off the vestibule walls as she spun around. Mrs. Davis stood in the hallway, striking in a fashionable, yellow gown, a dress sporting beautiful ruffles, silk ribbons and pearl buttons. At least, she suspected those were pearls, since she’d never seen real ones before.
“Lucia said Cook finally admitted that you were injured.” Selma Davis didn’t mind the wet floor as she swept closer. “I ought to step foot inside the kitchen more often, but cooking is not my specialty. Otherwise, I would have noticed your splint sooner.”
“It’s nothing.” She knelt to rescue the mop from the floor, using her good hand. “I’m practically fine already.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, but I insist on taking a look.”
“That’s not necessary.” She stepped back, accidentally bumping into the door handle. She knew with one look at her wrist, Mrs. Davis would send her home. “It’s nothing to fuss about.”
“I say differently, and I am your employer.” Selma Davis knelt to set the wash-water pail against the wall, out of her path. “You will listen to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It was all over. She had spent the last few days hiding the searing agony every time she hefted a bucket of water or drained the boiling potatoes for Cook. She had improvised peeling carrots and mopping floors and carrying stacks of dirty dishes from the dining room. But no more.
“Follow me.” Mrs. Davis plucked the mop out of Ruby’s grip and leaned it against the wall. “I think you could us
e a bit of fussing over. Cook, could you fetch two cups of tea?”
“Right away, Missus.” Inside the kitchen, Cook hopped to work. The tea kettle clanked onto the stove, the only sound Ruby could hear over the rushing in her ears.
She was about to lose her job. She would have to go home and explain to Pa why she could no longer help support the family. She felt like a failure. Her father had always been there for her. How could she let him down? Blindly, she tapped after Mrs. Davis.
Never had any hallway seemed so long. As she passed the dining room, she caught sight of Mae dusting. Her smug look said it all. She was probably the one who had spilled the beans to Mrs. Davis.
“Please sit, dear.” Her employer gestured to the sofa, the same one Ruby had sat on for her interview.
There was one positive note—at least, her shoes weren’t wet and squeaking. She eased onto the cushion, ignoring her crushing disappointment. She took a deep breath, praying for guidance. Help me to handle this well, Lord. Any guidance would be much appreciated.
“Let me get a good look.” Mrs. Davis settled onto the cushion beside her. She deftly folded back Ruby’s sleeve, took a decorative pillow from the corner of the sofa and laid the injured arm on top of it. With a motherly air, she untied the ends of the bandage and carefully unwound it. “You’ve splinted it carefully.”
“Yes, ma’am.” That was Lorenzo’s doing. How she missed him. She hadn’t seen him for days, not in the dining room. One of the stable hands had come for the meals. The men were putting in long days tracking the cougar. Not that she ought to be pining for him. Now it looked as if she wouldn’t even be able to say goodbye to him.
“Oh, this is either the worst sprain I’ve ever seen, or it’s broken.” Mrs. Davis shook her head sympathetically. “This simply does not look right. Glad I sent out for the doctor.”
“The doctor?” Oh, no. She couldn’t even think about what that would cost. Misery clutched her. “I sure wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs. Davis.”
“Nonsense. You are my employee, Ruby. I won’t have this go untreated, and the doctor is my responsibility. You slipped and fell in my kitchen.” Her kindness was unexpected. It glittered like a rare gem in her dark and gentle eyes. “I suppose your father knows nothing about this?”
“Only that I told him it’s a sprain.” She’d taken care to hide every wince of pain as she worked in their shanty. Pa had enough to worry about.
“And he believed you? You poor dear.” She leaned in to brush a strand of hair from Ruby’s eyes. The softest stroke, just the way she’d always imagined a mother’s touch to be. “This looks as if it’s been hurting you very much.”
“It’s not too bad.” She shrugged. What she wanted was to have not fallen in the first place.
“Lucia?” Mrs. Davis called over the back of the couch. “I hope you brought some willow bark and a good, hot poultice, but not too hot.”
“Of course,” came Lucia’s no-nonsense answer as she breezed into the room, set down the tray and tapped briskly away with a hard look in Ruby’s direction.
Mortified, she slumped in misery. This was causing far too much trouble.
“Cook told me you insisted on doing all your duties.” Mrs. Davis smiled sympathetically. “Even the heavy lifting.”
“I didn’t want to break my promise to you.” She took a shaky breath. “I just wanted to do a good job.”
“That you certainly did.” Mrs. Davis poured two cups of tea. One smelled particularly bitter. She left them to steep and lifted a bowl from the tray. That smelled even worse. “You will be on light duties next week and, depending on what the doctor says, maybe longer.”
“Light duties?” She blinked, not understanding at first. “Does this mean you aren’t going to fire me?”
“Goodness, no. Is that what you thought, child?” Mrs. Davis spooned a hot mixture of herbs and who knows what else on Ruby’s swollen wrist. “Put that worry out of your mind. Cook speaks highly of you, and she is very hard to please. I’m afraid if I let you go, she would have my hide. Good kitchen maids are hard to find.”
“That’s not true.” She thought of all the women she’d spotted on her way to the interview and the long line of them waiting in the foyer for the chance at this job. “I’m completely replaceable.”
“You are indispensible, Ruby, and don’t you forget it.” Mrs. Davis patted her cheek with a mother’s affection. “Give this a few moments to soak in, and you should begin to feel better. I’m afraid this tea is very bitter, but you must drink it. Shall I put in a lot of sugar?”
“Please.” Ruby blinked hard, but her vision blurred anyway. Did Mrs. Davis know how much her kindness meant?
“This ought to help.” Mrs. Davis stirred in several heaping spoonfuls of sugar before handing over the steaming china cup. “Sip as much of this as you can tolerate.”
“I’ll try.” She didn’t want to displease Mrs. Davis, but the odor emanating from that dainty floral teacup was the most horrid thing she’d ever smelled. She cradled it in her right hand and braved a sip. Her tongue curled. Her mouth puckered, her taste buds cringed, and she choked, coughing it down. It was like drinking kerosene, not that she’d ever tasted kerosene, but surely, even kerosene would taste better.
“That’s a good girl, keep drinking.” Ms. Davis gently tipped the cup. “At least, one more good swallow.”
Sputtering, gasping, another wave of the toxic substance sluiced across her spasming tongue, assaulted her mouth and nearly blinded her as she swallowed. She lowered the cup, swallowed again but the flavor lingered, refusing to budge.
“Now this.” Mrs. Davis produced the second cup and saucer of tea, smelling of sweetened chamomile and peach. “It will help wash away that nasty taste. I want you to relax here until the doctor comes.”
Two sets of footsteps echoed in the hallway, one gait was as familiar to her as her heartbeat. Lorenzo. His powerful presence shrunk the room. Snow dusted his thick hair, and he brought in the scent of winter and the December wind. The blue flannel shirt he wore emphasized the multiple shades of blue in his irises. The moment his gaze found hers, her knees wobbled.
Good thing she was sitting down because she would have fallen. The cup she held rattled in its saucer, tiny nervous clink, clinks that betrayed her. She took a sip, and the sweet, flavorful tea rolled across her tongue, calming it, but nothing could calm her reaction to him.
He affected her. Regardless of how hard she tried to stop it, he dominated her senses, he became the only thing in her world.
“Lorenzo.” Mrs. Davis welcomed her son. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Come warm yourself by the fire. Does this mean you found the cougar?”
“We tracked him into the foothills far away from us. I’m hoping he stays there.” He trailed across the room. Lorenzo smiled at her with dimples that could make a girl swoon six counties away.
Not that she should be swooning.
“The doc is on his way. I saw him riding in when I was on the doorstep knocking the snow off my boots.”
The doctor. Ruby flinched, still not sure seeing a medical man was a good idea. He would only advise her to rest her arm, and she couldn’t. Not here, not at home. Maybe he will agree that it’s a sprain she thought, watching as Lorenzo’s gaze found hers. His mouth crooked up again, showing off those arresting dimples.
She had to stop noticing his dimples. And how handsome he was. And how her pulse stilled when he smiled.
“How prompt of Dr. Frost. He is always so busy.” Mrs. Davis rose. “Ruby dear, I have an appointment at the dressmaker’s, so I must leave you. Lorenzo will look after you in my stead.”
Alone with Lorenzo? She set down her cup. She swallowed hard, but her throat was too tight to actually swallow. Tension rolled through her, tightening her up muscle by muscle.
“If your arm hurts too much, someone here will drive you home. I know you have your own horse, but you might not feel much like riding.” Mrs. Davis gently patted the side of Ruby
’s face, a motherly gesture. “If he’s free, maybe Lorenzo can take you home.”
“Oh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t trust Lorenzo. He’s shifty.” The quip hid the tug of emotion in her heart.
An emotion she should not be feeling.
Laughter echoed around her as Mrs. Davis swished away, leaving her and Lorenzo alone. Again.
“I wasn’t the one who tattled about your wrist.” Lorenzo stalked closer.
“I know that. You might be shifty, but you aren’t a promise breaker.”
“That’s right.” Chuckling, he eased onto the cushion next to her, so close the air drained from the room.
She gulped and gasped, barely able to breathe. Whatever she did, no air went into her lungs. Since she was turning red and coughing, Lorenzo was bound to notice.
“Are you all right?” He held out the cup of tea to her, the awful-tasting one.
She shook her head. That tea wasn’t going to help. She pointed to the other cup, looking like an idiot. Any other young woman in town would be able to carry on a conversation with the man, but not her. The memory of the last time they were in this room together came alive again. She could feel the tender warmth of his touch and see the caring concern etched on his face as he’d knelt before her.
Her lungs squeezed harder.
“Oh, how about this tea? It smells much better.” He handed her the chamomile-and-peach cup, and she slurped it gratefully.
What was wrong with her? Why did she always embarrass herself around Lorenzo? Honestly. He would think something was seriously wrong with her. Miraculously the tea slid down her throat, opened her up, and she swallowed, able to breathe again.
“Better? Good.” Larger than life and so incredibly authentic that he shone with the might of it, he took her empty cup. His baritone softened with earnesty. “Even if your wrist is broken, that won’t stop you from singing, right? Because tonight is our second caroling practice, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”