His words hung in the air as she sank deep in his gaze. Did he want her to stay, too? Did she want him to want that? But what kind of crazy thought was that? She didn't even like the man.
Dahlia stirred in Bryan's arms, pulling Claire's attention. Eyes closed, the little flower had fallen asleep, her fist curled up at her mouth in the adorable habit.
Bryan stroked his large hand over the soft curls. "Is there a bed around here I can put her in?"
Claire scanned the room, the sight jerking her back to reality. She still hadn't finished wiping down the tables. And poor Lilly was washing dishes by herself in the kitchen. What in the Great Smokey Mountains had come over her to get lost in this conversation, leaving all her work undone? Claire Sullivan never shirked her duties.
Jumping to her feet, she motioned for Bryan to follow. As she held the curtain divider aside for the pair to enter the kitchen, Lilly turned from her position at the sink.
The woman's eyes softened as they landed on the sleeping form of her child. Then they darted from Bryan to Claire, a hint of fear taking over her face. "I am sorry."
She reached for her daughter, but Bryan turned his body to stop the woman. Lilly's troubled eyes sought the doctor's, and Claire found herself doing the same.
"It's okay." Bryan's expression probed into the young mother, and the worry lines around her mouth and eyes finally softened.
"Thank you." She reached again for Dahlia, and Bryan easily handed her over.
"Lilly, take her home now. I'll finish up here." Claire stepped forward, slipping a hand on the woman's shoulders. "I didn't mean to leave you alone with the dishes so long."
Lilly's gaze darted to the sink, where stacks of clean plates and mugs spread across the work counter. "They are washed, I only need to put away."
"I'll do it. Go." Claire applied some pressure and encouraged the woman and child toward the door.
Lilly’s eyes found hers and searched. Why was it so hard for her to accept a gift? She seemed to always worry she was imposing or not carrying her weight. When would Lilly see she did more than any of them, preparing and cooking most of the food for the throngs that filled the café dining room?
"Thank you." Lilly's perfect pronunciation of the words came across with a hint of fragility. One day, Lilly would trust her enough to share her story. It must be quite a tale.
As the woman and child left, Claire turned to Bryan. "You haven't even had a chance to eat yet. I'll bring you another slice of pie, too."
The lines around his eyes had deepened, and the hollows underneath grown dark. "Thanks."
After she delivered the new slice, Claire set to work wiping down the tables in the dining room. Bryan didn't speak again.
A couple times, she could feel the weight of his gaze. Once, she even turned to stare back. He didn't drop his focus, just lifted a corner of his mouth in a smile that didn't reach his eyes, then took another bite.
When the tables were clean, Bryan was scraping the last blackberry from his pie plate. "I'll take those dishes for you." She reached to swipe the plates from in front of him.
Bryan raised his eyes to her. "Food hit the spot."
She nodded. "Lilly's a good cook."
His brows crept up. "You and your grandmother made the pie?"
Claire dipped her chin. "Gram's pie crusts are the best."
A twinkle found his eye, but he didn't say more on the subject, just pulled out a coin to pay for the meal. "Sorry to keep you so late. Do you have much more to do?"
Scanning the room, Claire ran through the night duties in her mind. "Not much. I just need to put the dishes away and sweep the floors." She turned back with a nod. "Have a nice evening, Doctor."
~ ~ ~
Have a nice evening, Doctor. So they were back to that, were they? Did she even know she'd been calling him by his Christian name less than an hour before? Bryan released a long breath and leaned back in the dining chair. It was probably for the best. She was too attractive for them to be alone if she was actually being nice to him.
Dishes clanged from the kitchen. She shouldn't have to stay late and clean the cafe by herself because of him.
Memories of the man he’d been unable to save flickered through his mind. And the families who would be homeless tonight. Where were they sleeping? On the rough wooden floors of other shacks? That would be one of the better options. An image of his cot back at the clinic flashed through his mind. It would be luxury to those families.
And yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to go there. The intense loneliness of the room was the very last thing he could face right now.
He glanced at the broom leaning against the wall in the corner. Heaving to his feet, he trudged toward it. It was the least he could do.
Chapter Eleven
Claire pushed through the curtain and slowed her steps at the sight before her. Bryan…holding a broom. Sweeping.
He must have sensed her presence, because he looked up. Was that red creeping higher on his neck? "I'm just finishing in here."
"You… I… I didn't…" She took a deep breath. Aunt Pearl would have a hissy fit if she knew a paying customer was helping clean. She prided herself on the best service in the Montana Territory.
He shrugged. "It was the least I could do." Opening the front door, he swept the pile of dust and food scraps out toward the street. The sound of a male voice drifted through the opening. Bryan answered, but she couldn't distinguish his words. He'd been caught by someone on the street, doing her work.
Claire wanted to slink back into the kitchen, but she stood her ground and faced him with a smile when he reentered. "Thank you."
He paused on the threshold and scanned the room. She followed his gaze. The tables had been straightened, the chairs stacked upside down on their surfaces. Everything in order.
His eyes found hers across the distance. "What next?" Even though he tried to hide it, his shoulders didn’t hold their normal straight line. He was bone-tired.
"That's all. I'll lock the door behind you before I head out the back." She stepped toward the front as he picked up his doctor's bag on the edge of the table where he'd eaten.
When she reached the door, she turned, waiting for him to exit. He still stood in the middle of the room, case in hand. "Lock that, and I'll walk out the back with you."
Why did he always make things hard? "It would be easier for you to go out this way." She propped a hand on her hip, resisting the urge to tap her toe.
"I'll see you home. It's too dark in that alley for a woman alone at night."
He wanted to walk her home? If it were any other man making the proposition, she'd refuse and flee his company. But surely she could trust the town doctor. And the way he'd snuggled Dahlia and teased the O'Leary children earlier? Even Lilly seemed to trust the man.
"Okay." She slid the bolt into its metal slot and pivoted toward the kitchen.
After they stepped out the back door, she turned and used the skeleton key. When the lock clicked in place, she spun back and eyed the doctor. The location of the key was a strict secret. Only the three of them were to know. Not even Jasper, who kept the cafe stocked with firewood each day, knew where Aunt Pearl kept it hidden. "You'll have to look away."
Bryan's chin jerked toward her, but she couldn't see his expression in the shadows. "You have a secret?" Amusement laced his voice.
"Face that direction, please." She pointed toward a house on the other side of the alley.
She half expected him to argue, but he obeyed. She slipped the key in the shrub beside the stoop and spun away from the spot. "All done."
As they strolled down the path toward Gram's house, the crickets sounded their evening greeting. Fireflies danced under an almost-full moon and a vast canvas of stars. Such a beautiful night. Peaceful even.
"My brother, Alex, and his wife enjoyed meeting you the other night. Miriam talks every day about how she's going to make time to come visit you. She stays busy, though."
Claire forced
a smile. "I would love her visit, but I seem to stay busy myself. I’ve enjoyed working at the café, though.”
A tenseness seemed to take over the silence. She chanced a glance at him in the moonlight. His dark brows knit together, his lips pinched. Had she said something wrong? Honestly. This man could be so moody sometimes, he didn’t make sense.
At last Bryan spoke. “I was surprised you took a job when your purpose in coming was to care for your grandmother.”
A flash of anger whipped through her. He was judging her? But maybe he didn’t know the situation. How could he. She nibbled her lip. It might look strange to someone looking in from the outside. She could give a few details anyway. Put some perspective on it.
“When I arrived, I quickly found Gram’s situation wasn’t as…stable…as we’d assumed. My work at the café helps to balance that. And Gram seems to nap most of the time I serve lunch, and comes in to eat dinner most nights, too. And…” She shrugged. “Aunt Pearl needs the help, so it’s good for everyone.”
“I see.” He didn’t sound as resentful now, but didn’t say anything further. Had she silenced his concerns?
Maybe a change of topic was better. “Is Alex your only brother?" She hadn't meant to ask about his personal life, but the question came out before she realized. Something about this man was intriguing. What formed his reserved exterior? And why did he hide his caring nature underneath? Or was it only certain things that drew out the compassion in him? Like children.
"Alex is my only brother, but we had two sisters. Cathleen still lives at home in Boston."
"Had?" The minute the word left her tongue she wanted to recall it. She nibbled her lip. Should she tell him to ignore the question? Or would that be even more rude?
"Britt died from a lung disorder when she was ten." His voice grew soft, but the pain didn't sound raw.
Still…how hard must it have been to lose a sibling? If anything ever happened to Marcus, he would take a piece of her with him. "Bryan, I can't imagine. I'm so sorry."
"Cathleen's seventeen now and helps Dad in his apothecary's shop. I'm not sure Mum wants her to work, but since Alex and I both left, Dad's determined to pass his legacy on to somebody."
A surge of homesickness washed through Claire. How was Papa doing without her to assist in his clinic? She couldn’t think about that now. "Are you the eldest brother then?"
Several beats passed before, as they reached Gram’s, he answered. "Yes."
The quiet resignation in the word almost took her breath.
~ ~ ~
Claire inhaled a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the door to Lanyard's Dry Goods. Fester, the freckled clerk she'd met that first day, was wrapping a purchase for a customer at the counter. He looked up when she strolled forward to wait behind the patron, and the tips of his ears turned red. "Howdy, Miss Sullivan."
"How are you, Mr. Fester?" She turned on her sweetest Southern drawl. Let the man squirm. They should know better than to scam customers the way they had Gram.
The burly woman in front of her gathered her packages and turned to go, offering a polite nod as she passed Claire.
Claire deposited her money on the counter, giving the man a syrupy smile. "Five dollars to pay on Mrs. Malmgren's tab, sir. And a pound of coffee, please. How much will that be?" She waited for the number, and handed over the exact change from her own funds. This was the last of her spending money. After this, she'd be tapping into the resources she needed for her return trip, when Gram no longer needed her to stay. But every bit of her earnings from the café had to go toward getting Gram out from under the ownership of this storekeeper.
With the sack of coffee tucked under her arms, Claire exited the shop and paused on the threshold. Since she was already on that end of town, this would be the perfect chance to check on the O'Learys.
After traipsing the two blocks to the little shanty, Claire knocked. It was answered by the older boy. Was his name Malcom? Both lads shared freckles across their cheeks, but this one's hair was a darker auburn than little Sid's curls.
"Hello. I'm Miss Sullivan. I came by last week. I wanted to see if you're all feeling better."
He nodded, then called over his shoulder. "Mum, the lady with the food's here." Then addressing Claire again, "Nobody's throwed up since yesterday."
Claire didn't try to bite back her smile. "I’m glad to hear it."
Mrs. O'Leary appeared behind the lad. "Malcom, show the lady in." She turned a tired smile to Claire as she gripped her son's shoulder and pulled him and the door to the side. "Come in, Miss Sullivan. You were a godsend the other day. A gift from the Almighty. I was just fixin' ta heat the last of that stew. Won't you sit an' eat with us?" The woman reached under her rounded midsection, as if helping to support it.
Claire followed her into the kitchen. There in a pot on the table sat about a third of the stew she'd brought. How did they still have any left with so many mouths to feed? The children must have been sick indeed. But there wasn't enough here for the family to eat, much less adding her into the mix. "I just ate. Thank you, though."
Mrs. O'Leary bent to pull a crate from under the table, and Claire jumped to help her. "Let me."
"I was gonna add these potatoes into it, too." The woman stepped back and allowed Claire to lift the wooden box to the table top. Mrs. O’Leary seemed to be breathing hard from the effort of leaning down.
Claire softened her voice. "Why don't I slice the potatoes and finish the stew while you go rest. I can keep an eye on the children, too." She glanced around. Malcom sat by the open door, spinning a top with a string. Where were the other three?
"Are you sure?" Mrs. O'Leary looked like she might argue the point, but the exhaustion radiating from her eyes must have overtaken any concerns. "Sid's already nappin’, and the girls are playin' at the neighbor's."
"Perfect."
Claire found the same dull knife she'd used the other day and set to work. Malcom seemed to watch her as much as he did his toy. Every time she glanced up at him, he jerked his gaze away.
"You're pretty good at spinning that top." Claire kept her focus on the potato in her hand but watched the boy from the edge of her vision.
His shoulders squared, like a male bird preening. "Just got it fer my birthday, but I'm better'n all the others."
And not a bit proud of it. Claire pursed her lips against a smile. "Are you teaching Sid how to spin it as well as you?"
The boy ducked his head and sent the top spinning again. "I guess."
"You know, that's the most important job an older brother has, learning how to do stuff really well so you can teach the younger ones. I have a big brother, Marcus, and he was the best teacher ever." She finished peeling the potato in her hand and sliced it into chunks.
The boy's brows drew lower as curiosity took over his face. "Did your brother teach you to spin a top?"
"He did. And how to whistle, and fish, and climb trees all the way near the top." Claire picked up another potato to peel. This one had several bad spots that looked like they ran deep. She pressed harder to get to the base of the largest one.
Malcom let loose a low whistle. "Mum won't let Cath and Audrey climb trees."
Claire met his gaze. "I probably shouldn't—"
The knife slipped, slicing into the side of her hand just above the thumb. The force of her effort drove the knife deep, but it took a couple seconds for the burning pain to set in.
"What is it, Miss Sullivan?" Malcom was at her side as Claire gripped her fingers against the sting.
Blood leaked out faster than she would have expected. Claire searched the counter for a cloth. There. The hand towel looked dirty, but it was better than bleeding all over the food.
"What's wrong?" Malcom's voice had an edge of panic.
"I just cut myself." Claire spoke through gritted teeth. Blood soaked through the cloth like water from a spring, and the pain shot through her arm with every pounding in her chest.
"You're blee
din' ever'where. I'm goin' to get, Mum."
"No." The word came out sharper than she meant, and Malcom froze mid-step. "Your Mum needs the rest. Please don't wake her."
The cloth was soaked with blood now. She must have cut an artery. Claire scanned the kitchen from top to bottom as pain pulsed through her hand. Flour sacks lay folded under the counter. She grabbed one and pressed hard against the wound.
A voice from outside drifted through the open door. Where was Malcom? But she couldn't worry about the boy right now. She had to get this wound to stop bleeding.
And then another voice sounded. Deeper. So familiar. Her heartbeat raced even as the tension in her shoulders eased.
Chapter Twelve
Bryan leaped up the step into the shack and paused a half second to get his bearings. There. In the kitchen.
The sight of Claire Sullivan with blood streaking her clothes took away the last of his breath. Pain and panic enveloped her face.
Two strides brought him to her. "Let me see it." He reached for the hand she cradled, clasping his palm over the flour sack she used to stem the bleeding. It was pretty well soaked with crimson. He eased the cloth away so he could see the extent of the damage. An inch long slice ran deep in the side of her hand. Must have hit the radialis indicis artery.
Blood had already sprung to the surface of the cut as he examined it, and the liquid ran in rivulets down her hand. He pressed the cloth back to the wound and glanced up to take stock of Claire's other symptoms.
Her face had grown pale. Was that traumatic shock from the wound? Or had she lost enough blood to be experiencing hypovolemic shock? "Let's sit you down on the floor here."
Keeping the pressure steady with one hand, he slipped the other behind her back and eased her down. "Malcom, can you bring me a blanket, lad?"
The boy was by his side within seconds, a quilt in hand.
"Excellent. Slip it under Miss Sullivan's head for now." Should he ask for another to cover her? She wasn't shivering, and no bluish tint showed around her lips. Breathing seemed fairly steady. He pressed two fingers to her neck. Pulse wasn't quite as strong as he'd like, but not racing. Still, her skin was a bit clammy. "Do you have one more?"
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