Tomorrow's Dreams

by Heather Cullman

  Penelope scowled, not a bit diverted by his flattery. “And you look awful. Your hair is all bloody, and your face is a mess.”

  “I daresay I’ll look better once I’ve washed up a bit.” Gently disengaging himself from her arm, he said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go do that now.”

  “No. I won’t excuse you,” she retorted, stubbornly wrapping her arm around his waist again. “If you insist on taking a bath, I’m going to help you. With all the blows you’ve obviously taken to that thick head of yours, you could become dizzy and drown.”

  As if sensing the futility of arguing, Seth merely sighed.

  Lecturing him about mutton-brained fools who hadn’t the sense to know what was good for them, Penelope escorted him behind the screen. The fact that he was limping and winced with every step only increased the fervor of her discourse.

  “Really, Seth,” she chided as she tested the temperature of the bathwater poured earlier by the porter. “You should at least have a doctor examine you to make certain that you aren’t hurt inside. I remember Hallie telling me a story about a man who fell from a horse, and nobody even suspected that he was hurt until he died from internal injuries two days later.”

  There was a low chuckle from Seth. “I’ve noticed that your sister-in-law is inordinately fond of her hidden-injuries-turned-fatal tales. She never fails to recount at least one every time your brother and I engage in a few friendly rounds of boxing.”

  “Well, in this instance I think you’d do well to heed her warning,” Penelope cautioned, pouring a steaming bucket of water into the tub. “There’s a lot of blood in your hair, and Hallie says that head wounds are particularly dangerous.”

  “Apparently her word has spread far and wide, because the porter took one look at me and insisted on sending for a doctor. He should be here soon.”

  “Then, you’d best stop dawdling and take your bath.” Deeming the water temperature comfortable, she turned back to Seth.

  He was standing rather unsteadily a couple of feet away, struggling to unfasten his trousers with one hand while bracing his damaged rib with his other. By his pale drawn face, it was apparent that he was in a great deal of pain.

  Aching with compassion, she went to him and laid her fingers over his clumsily fumbling ones. “Here. Let me help you.”

  Nodding, he dropped his hand from the buttons. With calm efficiency she unfastened his dusty trousers and eased them off. Remaining on her knees only long enough to ascertain that the damage to his lower body was limited to a few bruises and minor abrasions, she rose and helped him into the tub.

  When he sat huddled in the water, his knees drawn up to his chin and his eyes closed, Penelope picked up the bar of soap and began to lather away the evidence of his ordeal. He remained stoically still beneath her ministrations, not so much as wincing when she swabbed out his gaping shoulder wound.

  When she’d cleansed all the areas she could reach with him sitting the way he was, she dropped a kiss on his cheek and whispered, “You need to recline back now, so I can wash your chest and torso. Then I’ll tend to your face and hair.”

  He opened his eyes, smiling faintly. “If I’d known how pleasurable it is to be bathed by you, I’d never have bartered away the privilege for a mere question a day.”

  “And if I’d guessed how much I’d enjoy bathing you, I never would have taken the questions,” she countered honestly, though in truth his queries had proved surprisingly simple to answer. Never once had he pried into her relationship with Adele or asked any of the other questions she’d been expecting and dreading.

  Raking his hair from the side of his face to tuck it behind his ear, she added, “Speaking of baths, we need to finish yours. Can you lie back by yourself, or do you need me to help you?”

  “I can manage. I don’t want to spoil that magnificent gown with water spots.” With that, he reclined backward, visibly favoring his left side. As he settled against the high backrest, he teased, “Too bad I didn’t get myself beaten up sooner. We could have renegotiated the terms of the bargain to include baths, and spared me the trouble of thinking up questions for you.”

  Penelope was about to suggest that they agree on that particular deal when there was a banging at the door.

  “Sir? It’s me, Sydney, the porter. Doc Larson’s with me.”

  Seth shot her a reassuring look. “You can wait back here while the doctor examines me. I’ll hurry him along.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to agree, but then she looked into his bruised face and shook her head. How could she make him face the doctor alone when he so clearly needed her love and support? Besides, it was doubtful that word of her presence here tonight would reach Adele’s ears before Tommy’s rescue, so there was really no reason for her to cower behind the screen.

  Laying her palm against his cheek, she shook her head. “By the looks of that shoulder wound and the blood in your hair, you’ll probably need to be stitched. Perhaps it won’t hurt so bad if I hold your hand and talk to you while the doctor does it.”

  Seth laid his hand over hers on his cheek. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

  “Mr. Tyler? Are you alive?” came a frantic call.

  “And kicking,” Seth hollered back. “I’m taking a bath. Use your passkey to let the doctor in. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  As the porter followed instructions, Penelope finished bathing Seth. When he was thoroughly washed, except for his hair, which she deemed futile to clean until after his scalp was stitched, she dried him off and helped him into a dressing gown. Then she escorted him around the screen.

  “Thank you for coming, Dr. Larson,” Seth said, extending his hand to the physician, who stood at the desk rummaging through a shabby black bag.

  The doctor, a slight man with a thick mane of silver hair and a mustache to match, moved forward to give his hand a cordial pump. “Glad to be of assistance, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Seth,” Seth corrected as he drew Penelope forward. “And this is my lovely bride, Ettalee.”

  Penelope bit her lip to keep from giggling as she presented the doctor with her hand. Ettalee was the name of the girl in Seth’s favorite naughty rhyme.

  The man squeezed her hand and murmured a pleasantry, then turned back to his patient. “The hotel fella said you had a run-in with some rowdies. Looks like they did a job on you.”

  “He has a deep cut on his shoulder and another on his scalp,” Penelope told him. “They’re bleeding an awful lot.”

  The doctor peered up at Seth’s matted hair and frowned. “Sit down and let me have a look, son,” he urged, thumping the back of the desk chair with his palm.

  As the man shifted through Seth’s hair, pausing now and then to take a closer look at his scalp, he shot off questions in a rapid-fire barrage. Was Seth dizzy? Did he see shooting lights or was his vision blurred? Seth answered each query negatively.

  “Amazing,” the doctor said at last. “By the looks of the laceration and bump on the left side of your head, you should be either unconscious or in bed with a brutal headache.”

  Seth winced violently as the man prodded the area. “Except for your poking, I feel fine.”

  “Be that as it may, the injury is still worrisome.” As the doctor fished his instruments from his bag, he continued, this time speaking to Penelope as if Seth were a very young child and she were his mother. “I’m going to stitch the wound, Mrs. Tyler. Then I want you to put your husband to bed with an ice pack on the area. Make sure he stays there until the swelling goes down.”

  From beneath his eyelashes, Seth slanted her a look that told her quite succinctly that it would take the combined efforts of both God and man to make him stay in bed this evening.

  Ignoring his subtle show of defiance, Penelope reassured the doctor, “I’ll see that he behaves.” Kneeling before Seth, she asked, “Would you like to see his shoulder now? By the looks of it, it could use a few stitches, too.”

&n
bsp; At his nod, she loosened Seth’s dressing gown and slipped it off his shoulders. When he sat bared to the waist, she added, “You need to check his ribs, too. They’re paining him terribly.”

  After the doctor pronounced one of the ribs fractured and the shoulder in need of suturing, he set to work. To Seth’s credit, he didn’t cry out once, not even when the doctor began to stitch the bruised and swollen flesh on his scalp.

  As Penelope kneeled before him, clutching his hands as if it were she, instead of he, who was enduring the stitching, tears of guilt and regret streamed down her cheeks. Her poor, poor love! It was all her fault he was hurt. She should have guessed that Adele would harm him, what with the way he’d flaunted his interest in her. She should have done something to discourage his attention. Before she could repress it, a sniffling sob escaped.

  “What’s this?” Seth murmured, disengaging his hands from hers to tip her face up. Staring tenderly into her teardrenched eyes, he teased, “Seems to me that I should be the one crying.”

  His brave attempt at humor served only to suck Penelope deeper into her vortex of remorse. Though his words were uttered in jest, the truth of them tore at her conscience. She should be soothing him, not vice versa.

  “I’m sorry to behave like such a ninny,” she whispered brokenly. “It’s just that I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

  His smile was warm as he brushed away a newly fallen tear with his thumb. “You’re not a ninny and don’t apologize for caring. Your tender heart is what I love best about you.”

  Penelope shook her head ruefully. “But I feel so useless. Surely there’s something I can do to make you more comfortable.”

  “You could stop crying. This little bump on my head isn’t enough to warrant your tears. Why, I’ve taken worse thrashings from your brother during our friendly boxing matches.”

  “The doctor doesn’t seem to think that bump such a small matter,” she pointed out, nodding up at Doc Larson.

  Seth made a droll face. “This bump might present a problem for some men, but as you yourself have pointed out on numerous occasions, I’ve got an inordinately hard head.”

  “Hard head or no, son,” the doctor interjected, snipping the catgut after his final stitch, “you’ll need to take it easy for a few days. You can’t be too careful with head wounds.” With that cryptic warning, he began to clean and repack his instruments.

  As he worked, he recounted several Hallie-like hidden-injury-turned-fatal tales, each after which Penelope mouthed to Seth, “I told you so.” To which he rolled his eyes and hardened his jaw into a more stubborn line.

  When the doctor’s cleanup was complete and his fee paid, he gave Seth one last admonishment to rest, then left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Penelope strode to the bed.

  “You heard the doctor,” she said. “We’ll get you tucked all cozy into bed, then I’ll ring for some ice. Hallie taught me how to make a proper pack for the head.”

  “We’re going to the dance.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake. Don’t be a mule,” she exclaimed. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere, much less dancing.”

  “I’m all right,” he protested, rising to his feet with a care that belied his words.

  “All right? Ha! Just look at you! You’re teetering like a drunken bar hound.” She braced her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “How do you expect to dance when you can barely stand?”

  He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Maybe I’ll just sit and watch you.” His most beguiling smile appeared. “Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you dance?”

  She emitted a snort of exasperation.

  “No? Well, I do. There’s nothing I like more than to see your cheeks flushed pink and your eyes gleaming with pleasure as you float across the dance floor. I’ve never seen anyone who enjoys dancing as much as you.”

  Penelope’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Are you worried that I’ll be disappointed at having to miss the dance? Is that what all this nonsense is about?” She advanced toward him, shaking her head. “For God’s sake, Seth. Staying here and making sure that you’re all right is far more important to me than some silly dance.” As she came to a stop before him, she added, “In fact, I want to take care of you.”

  “And there’s nothing I want more than to lie in bed and let you fawn over me. But I can’t. And not just because I’m worried about disappointing you. I know you well enough to know that you’d never put your own enjoyment ahead of my well-being.”

  “Then, why?” she wailed, growing more bewildered by the second. “What’s so important about this dance?”

  “My mother.”

  Though he’d whispered the words, Penelope was as taken aback as if he shouted them. “Your … mother?”

  Seth’s gaze touched hers then, his eyes dark with turbulent emotion. “I lied when I said I’d come to Denver out of a fascination for the West. My sole reason for coming was to find my mother. The Pinkerton Agency traced her here. I happen to know that she’ll be at the dance tonight, and I want to see her.”

  “You’ve been here all this time and haven’t approached her?”

  He looked away, but not before she saw the crushing ache in his eyes. “I didn’t know what to say.”

  Penelope’s heart bled at the raw pain in his voice, prompting her to wrap her arms around his waist and pull him into her embrace. Tilting her head back in an attempt to glimpse his downcast face, she said, “An introduction is a good start.”

  Seth shook his head, his expression lost in the shadows of his hair. “It would be easier for me to meet her anonymously at first, preferably in a social setting. After I’ve studied her awhile, I’ll be better able to determine how to approach her.”

  “And the dance tonight is your first opportunity to do that.” The utterance was a statement, not a question.

  He nodded. “I don’t know when or if I’ll ever get another chance quite as perfect as this one.”

  Convinced more by the quiet desperation in his voice than by his words, she declared, “Well, then I guess we’d better get busy. It’s going to take me a while to tame that mane of yours.”

  Seth raised his head, smiling his thanks. The tender gratitude of that smile went straight to Penelope’s heart, warming her from the top of her well-coiffed head to the tips of her satin-clad toes. Basking in the satisfying glow, she led him to the dressing table, where she bid him to sit. After fetching a basin of fresh water and several clean towels, she began the painstaking task of setting his hair in order.

  In preoccupied silence she worked, section by snarled section, sponging and combing his hair. When she came to the area around the wound, she paused to glance doubtfully at his reflection in the mirror. He seemed perfectly relaxed, sitting with his eyes closed and a faint smile curving his lips.

  “Seth?”

  “Hmm?” He slit open one eye.

  “I need to tend the area around the wound now.”

  He opened both eyes then, meeting her anxious gaze in the mirror. “After all the years I’ve spent tugging tangles from this overgrown rat’s nest, my scalp isn’t overly tender. Do what needs to be done. I’ll be fine.”

  As Penelope separated the blood-caked strands, carefully scrubbing at the dark streaks with a wet, soapy towel, she muttered, “It’s no wonder you’ve developed such a tough scalp. I’ve never seen anyone with so much hair.”

  He looked at her with inquiry. “Think I should cut it into a proper, gentlemanly style?” Damn if he didn’t look serious.

  “Don’t you dare!” she exclaimed, laying a possessive hand over the tawny length. “I love your hair! It’s beautiful and unique, like you. Besides, I doubt I’d recognize you without it.”

  “After twenty years of living beneath it, I doubt I’d recognize myself,” he countered, smiling.

  “Twenty years? Goodness! Has it been long that many years?”

  “As ancient as it makes me feel to admit it, yes.” He fingered a damp lock
thoughtfully. “When I was a child, I worked at a mill where they’d line us boys up every month and crop our hair to the scalp. After ten years of having it clipped, I vowed never to wear it short again.”

  Penelope did some quick calculations in her head. “Why, that means you started working when you were only—”

  “Six,” Seth supplied casually.

  “Six! Dear God, Seth! I knew children worked at those places, but I never realized that some of them were so young.”

  “Most aren’t. But I was tall and smart for my age, so no one at the orphanage bothered to point out my tender age.”

  “But you were just a baby! How could anyone be so inhuman?” she wailed, her heart weeping for the ill-used child he’d been.

  “The orphanage was overcrowded, and they were glad to get rid of what children they could.”

  “How terrible that must have been for you!”

  Seth shrugged. “No worse than the orphanage. My first job was that of bobbin doffer. Since I didn’t have to watch the machine constantly, I was allowed to play with the other doffers during those idle periods. The hard work came later.”

  “It’s a wonder you’re so strong and healthy,” Penelope declared, dropping her hands from his now clean and smoothed hair. “I’ve read the most dreadful things about those mills, accounts of children being beaten by heartless overseers and of workers dying in terrible accidents or of lung rot.”

  “Most children learned early on to avoid the whipping room,” Seth replied. “One trip was certainly enough to break me of any thoughts of mischief. As for accidents, well, those happened, and a few of the workers did develop bad lungs.” He shrugged. “But enough of this gloomy talk. We have a dance to attend.”

  She nodded and moved to the desk to retrieve her reticule. Pausing a moment to rummage through it, she produced a crumpled length of pink ribbon. “Here. I want you to carry this with you tonight … to bring you luck with your mother.”

  Seth grinned. “Is that your infamous lucky ribbon? The one you’re always threatening to wager?”

  “One and the same.”

  “And what makes it so lucky?”