Love Inspired Historical November 2017 Box Set

by Karen Kirst

  “For marrying me. For taking us in.”

  His breath stalled and his throat tightened. He didn’t want her gratitude, but he didn’t feel as though he deserved her love. Not yet. Not when the future was still uncertain.

  * * *

  Heather woke to a tickle in the back of her throat. Downstairs, she discovered an ancient tin of tea in the back of the pantry and brewed herself a cup to soothe the ache. By midafternoon, her stomach rebelled and she skipped lunch. By suppertime, she was hot and achy.

  When Sterling arrived for the evening, she pretended she was reading a book, though her head throbbed too much to read the words. Her vision blurred around the edges, then came into focus, and she blinked rapidly.

  Much to her relief, Sterling entertained Gracie. Together they built a tower of colored blocks before demolishing their grand achievement with a fit of giggles from Gracie. Heather kept watch for any sign of annoyance from Sterling, though she doubted she had the energy to intervene. If he noticed that she didn’t turn a single page during the evening, he kept the observation to himself. As the setting sun cast shadows across the ceiling, it wasn’t unpleasant simply to lie there, wrapped in a drowsy cocoon of unreality that nothing from the present seemed to penetrate.

  Her night was restless, and she woke more exhausted than when she’d gone to bed. The following day dawned painfully bright, and she pulled the curtains at all the windows. A fine sheen of sweat formed on her brow, and her body was racked with tremors.

  She pressed the palm of her hand against the throbbing pulse in her temple. This wasn’t happening. She couldn’t be ill. There was no one to take care of Gracie if she wasn’t able to. Sterling needed to focus on the ranch, and he couldn’t spare a day away.

  Happily ensconced in her own healthy and energetic world, Gracie didn’t slow for Heather. The child expected to be fed and changed and entertained with no concessions for her caretaker’s condition. Much to Heather’s horror, she found herself losing patience with the child.

  When Gracie tossed a block into the hearth, she snapped at her. Enormous tears streaked down the child’s plump cheeks, and Heather felt like crying right alongside her. Too tired even for guilt, she bribed the child with a slice of pie and rested her head on the tablecloth, closing her eyes for just a moment.

  The next second she was aware of, she heard the murmur of voices as though from a great distance.

  “Wake up, Heather,” Sterling said, his voice low, the even timbre attractive and wholly soothing to her frayed and taut nerves. “You’re feverish.”

  Her own voice in reply was as rough as gravel beneath the wheels of a buggy. “Yes.”

  She was unable to sustain his swiftly searching gaze, and her lashes fluttered closed. She forced them back open using sheer will, attempting to lift her head. He took her hand carefully, holding it lightly in his own, his mouth tightening grimly.

  “How long have you been feeling this way?” he asked.

  The contact of his touch was immediately comforting, disturbingly so, and she sensed a note of impatience in his voice.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You should have said something sooner. You’re ill.”

  “I’m not ill.”

  Panic welled in the back of her throat. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. His fingers were cool from his work outside, and she leaned into the soothing touch.

  “You’re burning up.” His eyes, narrowed with intensity, were fixed on her anxious face. “Tell the truth. How long have you been feeling this way?”

  Her throat was tight, allowing barely more than a whisper to pass. “Since yesterday,” she replied.

  “You should have said something.”

  There was something else in his voice. He sounded more worried than annoyed. Or perhaps he was a bit angry. She was too tired to tell the difference.

  “Don’t be mad,” she said, seeking to put him at ease. “I can still take care of Gracie.”

  “Why would I be mad? I’m worried. You can’t even lift your head.”

  She couldn’t recall the last time someone had been worried about her. She was self-reliant, and prided herself on her independence. There was no time in her schedule for sickness.

  She struggled upright, determined to prove him wrong, only to collapse in exhaustion once more. The simple task of sitting upright was beyond her meager reserves.

  “Gracie?”

  “She’s fine,” he said, reading her thoughts. “She discovered your pie. There won’t be any left for supper.”

  “She’s made a mess, hasn’t she?” A brief burst of energy brought her head up.

  “No arguments,” he said sternly. “I’m going to ring for the boys, and then I’m taking you upstairs.”

  His soothing touch disappeared. The clanging bell reverberated through her skull, and her head throbbed. She must have left a pot on the stove because the scent of burning food sent her stomach clenching.

  All five of the ranch hands arrived with shocking swiftness. Voices raised in concern mingled with Sterling’s gruff replies. She was aware of their commotion in the background, but only vaguely so, like coming and going in a dream.

  “Otto. Send someone to town,” Sterling ordered.

  His commanding words gave her an immediate sense of security, lifting her from the dark void of the past few hours. She wanted to let go and slip into oblivion. He was here. He’d tend to Gracie and she could close her eyes, just for a little while.

  “Otto is fetching the doctor,” Sterling said.

  The meaning of his words gradually penetrated her stupor, and their previous conversations about money came rushing back. Her glance lingered on the deep, determined cleft in his hard chin before she raised her eyes to his, willing him to understand.

  “Too expensive,” Heather mumbled.

  “You’re not giving the orders,” he said, his stern voice brooking no argument. “One of you watch Gracie while I take her upstairs.”

  The men exchanged panicked glances, but her amusement was quickly mitigated by the misery of her current circumstances.

  Through the narrow slit of her vision, she noted Gracie in the center of the floor, her white pinafore covered in apples, a decimated pie tin between her outstretched legs. She clutched a wooden spoon in one hand, looking as though she was ready to do battle with the wary ranch hands.

  Woodley and Price hovered over her, their arms suspended in the air.

  “What do we do with her?” Price asked.

  “You’re grown men,” Sterling growled. “Figure it out.”

  He lifted Heather into his arms, and she pressed her cheek against the chilled buttons of his coat. He carried her up the stairs and rested her on the counterpane in her bedroom, then dropped a swift kiss on her cheek before laying her gently back on the pillows. She didn’t protest as he unlaced and removed her boots.

  “I can do the rest.”

  He must have sensed her stubborn determination because he stepped outside, and when he returned, she was beneath the covers with only her head visible. Her breathing was harsh and labored from her meager exertions, and her hair had come loose from its moorings. He fanned the tresses away from her face and ran the backs of his knuckles against her cheek.

  “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t worry about anything.”

  She must have dozed off because when she stirred again, darkness had fallen. Shocked by the swift passing of time, she struggled to rise. “Where is Gracie?”

  Firm hands pressed her gently against the mattress once more.

  “The ranch hands are downstairs. They’re taking turns looking out for her,” Sterling said, a hint of laughter threading through his words. “Between the four of them, they should be able to manage.”

  She offered a weak smile. “Gracie may
outsmart them all.”

  Her throat was parched, and he must have been able to hear it in her voice because he fetched her a glass of water and coaxed her to drink a few sips before she collapsed back into the pillow.

  Her body felt inexplicably battered and bruised, and self-serving tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For getting sick. Maybe you can send Gracie to Irene until I’m better.” Her hand fluttered against her cheek. “No. You can’t do that. They’re sick too.” She labored up on her elbows. “Is Gracie sick? I’ve been careful. I read that you should wash your hands to prevent spreading a sickness, and I’ve been doing that.”

  “No one is sick but you.” He eased her back down against the pillows once more. “You need rest. Don’t worry about anything.”

  She awakened twice during the night from the same nightmare, her heart pounding, her eyes searching the darkness. In the dream, Gracie was gone. The next instant, Sterling gave her a small shake, with just enough pressure to gain her attention and pull her mind from the enveloping horror of the dream. He’d been there both times, his hands gentle as he massaged her shoulders, his voice gruff but soothing as he murmured phrases of comfort.

  When she woke again, her bones ached and her eyes were gritty with sleep. The comforting warmth of his embrace lingered, and the events of the previous evening came rushing back. Her face hot with embarrassment, she recalled reaching for him in the dark, burying her face against the warmth of his masculine form.

  She heard his brusque tones and sat up a bit, searching for the direction of his voice. He was speaking with Gracie, using the same grave tone she’d heard him use with the animals. She swung her legs over the bed to assist him, and the room spun. She must have made a noise because he appeared in the doorway, Gracie clinging to his neck, and quietly ordered her back to bed.

  “Rest,” he said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Too exhausted to argue, she collapsed once more.

  Their relationship was too new for her to present him with such responsibility. He had so much on his mind already, and she was adding to his problems.

  She’d become the one thing she’d always feared: a burden.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next day passed in a blur for Heather. Sterling coaxed her into eating some broth before she pulled the covers over her head once more. She thought she caught the sound of a female voice from the first floor but was too tired to investigate. Sometime the following evening, her room grew blazingly hot. Weak and shaky, she stumbled to the window and threw open the sash.

  The frigid breeze swept over her scorching skin, bringing a blessed relief to the oppressive heat. She slumped beneath the open window, her back braced against the wall. Sterling discovered her shivering there and muttered an oath before crossing the room in two long strides.

  “You’ll turn yourself into an ice block.”

  He stretched above her and shut out the draft, then reached for her. She managed to rise, leaning heavily on his arm. Her teeth chattering, he assisted her into bed.

  “How is Gracie?” she asked. “She isn’t sick, is she?”

  “She’s fine. Sleeping, as long as we don’t wake her. Have a little faith in me. I’ve kept hundreds of animals and a crew of men alive—I can care for one lively girl for a few days.”

  “I do have faith in you.” Her body aches worsened with the tremors rattling her teeth, and she caught his hand. “Do you love her?”

  “Of course I love her, Heather. Didn’t you know that?”

  “But she’s not y-yours. I don’t want you to r-resent her.”

  “Is that why you’re so protective? Because you don’t trust me?”

  “I do trust you. But sometimes I’m frightened that you’ll resent being stuck with us.” All her past hurts came rushing back, and she willed him to understand, but she felt as though her chance was slipping away. “It’s a terrible thing to live with people who resent you.”

  “Who resented you, Heather?” he asked quietly.

  Another time she might have offered a flippant or evasive answer. The question was too personal, too painful to answer. Tonight the weight on her chest lent her words an air of urgency. All evening long she’d had trouble breathing. That’s how her mother had died.

  Though she’d been painfully young, the memory had stuck with her even as a child. Her mother’s breathing had grown shallow and labored, until eventually the last breath had left her. What would happen to Gracie if she succumbed to this illness?

  “My aunt and uncle never wanted me there,” she said. “My dad said I had to stay because girls need a woman to raise them.”

  Sterling frowned sharply, twisting with a quick movement to face her. “He left you?”

  “It’s awful to be loved and then be unloved. I don’t ever want Gracie to feel that way.”

  “She’ll never feel that way.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “I trust you.”

  She’d gone and muddled everything. She sensed she’d wounded him with her lack of faith. He’d given them a home and sacrificed his future for them, and she’d repaid him by questioning his honor.

  He took her hand between his own. Though beads of sweat dampened her forehead, her fingers were chilled, and she welcomed the warmth.

  “Heather,” he began. “There’s a part of my character you need to understand. Once I love someone, I love with my whole being. That will never change.”

  His low, gravelly voice calmed her worries, and the pressure on her chest eased. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “You and Gracie are my life. You could never be a burden.”

  She’d insulted this kind, gentle man who’d done nothing but sacrifice for her.

  “Rest now,” he ordered. “Gracie needs us both.”

  She nodded dumbly, her head dropping almost to his shoulder. She was wholly responsive to his unexpectedly gentle care and didn’t want to look beyond his kindness. The room spun briefly before quickly righting itself.

  She’d come to depend on him in a shockingly rapid amount of time. His mere presence gave her an immediate sense of security. There were moments, in her weakened condition, when she wanted to weep at his gentle kindness. Yet as much as she’d come to depend on him, she sensed in him an air of uncertainty. He obviously felt responsible for her, and if she were to confess how much she’d come to rely on him, she feared he’d only feel more trapped than he already was.

  She’d only just realized how grievously she’d wronged him, and how much more he deserved.

  * * *

  Dr. Jones exited the room and set about rolling down his sleeves.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Sterling demanded.

  The doctor was a tall, gaunt man with jet-black hair that was graying at the temples. He’d emigrated from Wales and retained a slight accent in his speech. He’d been with the town a decade, and the townspeople trusted his service.

  “She’s good and sick,” the doctor replied. “But she’s also young and strong. Make her rest. Have her drink water. I’ve brought a tincture of medicine that should help with the fever. If she gets worse, fetch me.”

  Years before, Sterling had ridden through a solid week of rain on a cattle drive in Wyoming. Five solid nights with only an hour or two of sleep snatched beneath a leaking tarp. By the sixth day, he’d fallen asleep and slid off his horse. Thankfully none of the other men had been near enough to see the ridiculous sight.

  That was the only other time he’d ever experienced this depth of exhaustion. Missing Heather, Gracie was fussy and difficult to console. He’d managed to snatch an hour or two of sleep over the past couple of days on a chair in her room, lest s
he wake Heather in the middle of the night. Two evenings before he’d let the child fuss through the night without giving in to her demands. To his astonishment, she’d slept the previous night through without waking once. If he had known the solution was that simple, he’d have ignored her requests for “wa” days before.

  As it was, his eyes felt gritty and his three-day growth of beard was itching.

  Dr. Jones rinsed his hands in the basin. “Don’t forget to get some rest yourself.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Children don’t much care if you need a rest, do they?”

  “No. They don’t.” Sterling stepped aside and let the doctor pass. “Stay for a cup of coffee?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. It’s bitter cold out there.”

  Price had taken Gracie to the barn for a change of scenery, and Sterling figured he had about thirty minutes before the man’s good nature ran thin. The boys’ help had been invaluable. They’d grumbled, but they’d pitched in the past few days nonetheless. Sterling was grateful for the chance to get to know each of them better.

  All of them, Sterling included, had a renewed respect for Heather and the work she accomplished each day with the child toddling underfoot.

  Dishes were scattered across the kitchen table, and Sterling scooped them into his arms. He crossed the floor and dumped them into a sink of chilled water. He gingerly touched the side of the coffeepot and poured two cups of the still-hot brew.

  Dr. Jones discreetly swept the crumbs from his seat before lowering himself into it.

  Sterling flushed. “We’ve been fit to be tied around here lately.”

  “This isn’t the first home I’ve visited when the woman of the house is laid up, and I don’t suppose it will be my last. I’m plenty used to a few crumbs.”

  “You’re certain she’s going to be all right?”

  The worry he’d carried for the past few days wasn’t easily relinquished. Heather’s nightmares haunted her nights and his days.

  “Keep her resting for another few days,” the doctor said. “Otherwise she’s liable to have a relapse. Make sure she drinks lots of fluids. And a little warm milk if she has trouble sleeping in the evenings. I’ll stop by on Tuesday.”