"Fine eatin's, ma'am," he said.
"Thank you."
"Good spot you got there, Booker," he said, apparently ready for conversation. "Jest like ya said."
"I figure we can get about fifty horsepower with that headway," Booker replied.
"Sixty or I'll be go'd t' hell," Skeeter returned. "Pardon me, ma'am. You'll have them burrstones spinnin' like a whirlin' dervish. And with the water sitiated a far piece, storage'll be dry as a bone."
Booker sat back and nodded, obviously pleased with the old man's approval.
Skeeter patted his belly and tapped his fingers on the rim of his empty coffee cup.
Thea stood and gathered plates. "I'll get dessert and more coffee."
His disheveled brows climbed his forehead. "Sweets, too?" He addressed Booker. "Fine woman ya found, Hayes. Got her up a stump yet?"
"What does that mean?" Thea asked.
Booker's neck actually turned red. "These two are enough children for right now," he said to Skeeter.
Children? Obviously Skeeter had asked if Booker had her pregnant yet. Rather difficult to accomplish from separate bedrooms, she wanted to add, but bit her lip.
Finally, Booker met her eyes, and she held the gaze. Pregnant. The idea knocked her off balance. Going into this marriage, all she'd cared about was Zoe. Now she wanted Booker for herself. And the possibility of having a child of his was almost too overwhelming to dwell upon.
Her husband changed the subject, turning his attention back to his guest. "If it's not raining in the morning, I want you to show me how the cables should be installed."
Thea carried the dishes to the kitchen and came back with two apple pies. Lucas's face lit up with a youthful glow that brought a lump to her throat.
With deft strokes, she sliced one pie into quarters for the men. "Your favorite," she said, leaning close over Lucas's shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am." He turned, his storm gray eyes near.
"I made them for you this morning."
His eyes met hers. She set the plate in front of him and casually placed her hand on his shoulder. He allowed the touch, not shrugging away as she'd seen him do with Booker. She smiled and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before she moved away.
Thunder shook the house. Zoe dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter and hopped into Red Horse's lap in a movement so fast, Red Horse had to set his coffee cup down before the steaming liquid spilled over.
Thea caught the hooded expression in Booker's eyes. Boots sounded on the back porch, and a hearty knock hammered the solid door.
Closest, Thea spun and opened it to her father. "Papa!" She hugged him soundly. "How nice. You're just in time for pie."
He gave Booker a friendly swat with his hat. Thea took it and ushered him into Zoe's unoccupied chair. She pushed a slice of pie toward him. "Rest assured I miss you for more than your cookin', Thea-girl, but I'm beginnin' to feel gaunt."
She laughed and poured him a mug of coffee. "You just missed the rain."
"I did. I heard you had company."
Booker made the introductions, and Jim Coulson stood to shake Skeeter's hand.
"Jim's spread adjoins us, on the south."
"Mmm," Skeeter acknowledged around a mouthful of pastry. "You got sons?"
"Five daughters," Jim replied "My son-in-law works the land with me."
"We're going to go over the plans this evening," Booker said to his father-in-law. "Care to join us?"
"That's what I came for." He shook his head at Thea's offer of more coffee. "Ever since Booker told me about the turbine he planned to use, I've wanted to see it work for myself."
"Fine piece o' machinery," Skeeter said. "This here's only the second 'un in Nebraskie. Purty soon, they's all you'll see. Weather wears out them wooden contraptions too damned fast. Pardon me, ma'am."
Thea heated water on the stove for dishes.
"We'd better get the horses in and bedded down before that storm breaks loose," Booker said, rising and grabbing his hat and slicker from the pegs.
Red Horse carried Zoe to Thea.
"I'll settle my mount in your barn for a few hours, too," Jim said, rising.
"Don't get wet, Papa," Thea warned. "You had a time with that last cold you caught." She found Zoe a scrap of brown paper and a charcoal sliver to draw with.
Booker opened the back door just as a jagged streak of lightning forked across the evening sky, darker than usual this late in the summer. Fat drops of rain spattered in the dust and pelted the porch roof. Booker tossed Jim his slicker. "I'll fork some hay down into the troughs and check on Skeeter's mules. Red Horse, bring the horses in."
He darted down the steps, slapping Jim Coulson's chestnut on the rump as he passed. Red Horse followed.
Thea's father sank his cup and dessert plate into the metal pan of soapsuds she'd shaved. "Trudy's makin' you some pillow slips."
"That's thoughtful," Thea answered.
"Don't sleep on the daisy parts, though. I did that once and had flowers etched into my face for half a day."
Thea laughed. "I'll remember that."
Jim slipped out the back door.
Skeeter seemed content to sip coffee and search his gums with his tongue. Zoe sat at the opposite end of the table, drawing. She cast the grizzled old man an occasional glance. Thea carried the remaining dishes to the pan.
Amid the thunder, a sharp retort rang across the dooryard. Puzzled, Thea dried her hands and opened the back door.
A hundred yards from the barn, Jim Coulson's chestnut stopped a skittish dance and reared back on hind legs. A muffled shout met her ears, and she strained to see through the rain and the ever-darkening sky. Her father's horse, standing untethered, alerted her that something was wrong.
"Papa?" she called from the top steps.
Voices reached her through the downpour.
"Booker! Papa!"
Booker and Red Horse came toward the house then, an awkward, wet slickered form slouched between them. She recognized her father's gray hair plastered to his head.
"Papa! What's wrong with him?"
"Clear off the table so we can lay him out and get a good look," Booker ordered.
Fear seized her heart, and she couldn't move. "What happened?"
Booker shoved past her, supporting her father's well-over-six-foot frame. "He's been shot."
bookmark:Chapter 13
Chapter 13
image:flourish.png
Lucas tossed the last few utensils on a chair seat, and Thea pulled Zoe away from the table. "Take her upstairs and stay with her."
Obediently, Lucas took Zoe's hand and led her from the kitchen.
Red Horse produced a long knife from inside his leather vest and sliced away the rain slicker and Jim's bloodied plaid shirt.
Heart pounding, Thea grabbed a clean dish towel and dipped it in the soapy water. She handed it to Booker, her hand trembling uncontrollably.
Calmly, he took the cloth and squeezed the excess water out over the gash in Jim's side. Thea's attention shot from the bloody flesh to her father's rain-wet face, and she thanked heaven he was conscious. Even though he grimaced with pain, the wound must not be terribly serious.
Obviously concerned for her fear, Jim reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers, his grip as firm and strong as ever. A sob rose in her throat, but she fought it. She moved closer and smoothed his wet hair back from his forehead.
"Glanced, off this rib. Bullet's probably in his clothes somewhere," Booker commented matter-of-factly, probing the bloody fabric.
"Hit your rib and skidded across the bone," Red Horse said to Jim.
"Lucky," Skeeter agreed, "Damned lucky, if'n ya ask me. Hurts, don't it?"
Thea's father raised his head and studied the open gash on his side. Blood pooled on the table beneath him. "Well, are you gonna talk about it, or are you gonna fix it?"
Red Horse turned abruptly. "I'm going to look around. It's already too late for tracks in this rain, but I might see some
thing."
"Heat more water, Thea," Booker ordered. "We have to clean it up and stitch him. And bring your sewing basket. Skeeter, hold it together as best you can with this cloth. I'll wash my hands and find some bandages."
Numb, Thea did as instructed. Then she stood, her stomach heaving, and threaded the needle while Booker washed the wound.
"Get him something to bite on while I stitch this," Booker said.
She thought briefly and grabbed the wooden hook she used to pull pans forward in the oven. Her father clamped it between his teeth. She and Skeeter took places on either side of him.
"Lean on his shoulder and arm to keep him still," Booker advised.
"Have you done this before?" she asked barely above a whisper.
Booker nodded. He held the flesh together and sewed. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
Jim's bicep and shoulder trembled beneath her palms. "He's almost done, Papa."
Her father swore behind the wooden stick.
" 'Scuse him, ma'am," Skeeter added.
Thea closed her eyes briefly and prayed for the ordeal to end. Her thoughts tumbled in swirled confusion. Someone had shot her father.
"Okay, Jim." Booker wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He dipped a cloth out of the pan of steaming water on the stove and cleaned his father-in-law up before placing a folded wad of cheesecloth over the wound and wrapping bandages around Jim's ribs to hold them in place. "I think you'd better stay the night. You can't ride home."
She'd already promised the extra bedroom to Skeeter. Thea spun and headed for the stairs. "I'll get a bed ready."
Lucas appeared in the upstairs hallway, concern evident in his young features.
"He's all right, Lucas. He shouldn’t ride, so he’s staying the night."
"He can have my room," the boy offered hopefully.
His eagerness to help touched Thea. She could only imagine how much Lucas's room meant to him. She understood the generosity in his suggestion. Her father's close encounter with death had frightened them all.
The enormity of the situation fell upon her, and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. "Th-thank you," she choked.
Awkwardly, like a scarecrow coming to life, Lucas stepped forward, wrapped a sinewy arm around her and rested his face against her shoulder.
Thea returned the hesitant embrace, pressing her lips against his hair and allowing herself several spontaneous sobs. She couldn't remember ever being as frightened as when she'd seen them carry her father in and Booker had exposed the bloody gash in his side. She'd lived on the frontier most of her life, but this was the closest she'd come to danger. Jim Coulson had kept his family safe and well insulated.
She pulled back quickly. "Okay. I have that over, now I have to get the room ready." She kissed Lucas's forehead. He blushed and turned to help.
Once Jim had been settled down for the night, Booker sent Red Horse to let Trudy know what had happened. "Tell her one of us will be over to do his chores in the morning."
Skeeter turned in early, leaving Thea and Booker alone in the kitchen. She placed the soiled towels and cloths in caustic soda to soak. With the initial scare and excitement over, her mind plagued her with questions.
Booker glanced up from his cup on the table. "You all right?"
She wrung her hands together and stood behind her chair. "I think so." She noticed his steady hand on the cup. "How did you do that?"
"What?"
"Sew up that wound like you were mending socks. My hands were shaking so bad, I could barely thread the needle."
He shrugged. "We all did what we had to."
"Well..." She ran her fingers over the back of the chair. "You did a good job."
He nodded.
"Booker, what happened out there?"
"I don't know. I was in the barn and I heard the shot. Red Horse was in the corral. By the time he got around the side of the barn, all he saw was your father on the ground."
"Who would do such a thing?" The idea of someone trying to kill her father was inconceivable. Everyone liked Jim Coulson. As far as she knew, he'd never made an enemy in his life.
Booker shook his head.
"Why would someone try to kill my father?"
A strange look crossed his face. "Let me worry about it. You get some sleep."
His unsatisfying answer exasperated her.
Red Horse came in the back door. "Rain let up," he said.
Booker stood. "Let's go into the study. ‘Night, Thea."
Annoyed, she watched their retreating backs. Obviously, Booker wanted to talk the situation over with Red Horse alone. She hung her apron on a peg and blew out the lantern. Anything that affected her father's safety certainly affected her, too. She didn't appreciate being treated like a helpless female.
Thea paused in the dark hallway and listened to the murmur of masculine voices behind the solid oak door. She could barge in there, demand that Booker include her.
But he wouldn't. He'd calm her down and evade her questions.
Or... she could allow Booker to treat her like a fragile, helpless female. Wouldn't that feed into her plan to seduce him?
She tiptoed up the stairs, checked on her sleeping father and entered Booker's bedroom, lighting the lamp so he'd find his way up later. Thea surveyed the room. She cleaned it once a week, so his few elemental possessions were familiar.
She ran her thumb across the brush on his dresser, stood his comb in the bristles. A few coins and a scarred pocket-knife had been dropped carelessly at the dresser's edge. On the washstand stood a shaving mug and brush, his razor and bar of soap beside them. Thea lifted the bar to her nose and inhaled. The spicy fragrance provoked an enticing ribbon of long-denied desire to unfurl and flutter from her heart to the nether regions of her maiden body.
Booker. She closed her eyes and sank to the edge of his mammoth bed. She relived every moment of falling asleep in the same bed at the hotel, every heated sensation of waking beside him, his hair-rough body pressed against her smooth limbs.
Thea opened her eyes and pictured him on this bed, his dark skin against the white sheets, his midnight black hair upon the pristine pillow slips. She laid a palm against her breast and exultantly measured how alive the mere mental picture of him made her feel.
She regarded the bed appraisingly. If she actually ever shared his bed, if he touched her, if he kissed her the way he had the night before their wedding, she'd probably die of pleasure.
And she didn't know how much longer she could wait.
* * *
"Did you see anything?"
Red Horse dropped into one of the comfortable leather chairs that faced the never-used fireplace. "It rained too hard to make out anything. All I could tell was that someone had a horse waiting beyond the rise to the west. Probably one person. I'd say he left his mount there for about an hour and found a spot where the barn hid him and waited for a clear shot."
Red Horse's estimable guess confirmed Booker's suspicions. "He was out there before Jim got here—when Jim got here."
"Yes. Could have shot him then."
"But he didn't. He waited for me."
"Or who he thought was you."
Booker paced the floor, his boots echoing on the highly varnished wood. He crossed behind Red Horse and came to a halt in front of the fireplace. He'd been shot at before. He'd been a target before. But that had always been because of the army he represented or because of the white invaders he led into Indian territory. He had land, a home and family now, and that set new words to the old music.
He stared at the gold lettering on the glass door of the Seth Thomas clock Jim had given them on their wedding day. Because of him, Jim Coulson had come within an inch of death. Why?
"Who is it?" he asked aloud.
"You've never mentioned an enemy. If someone had followed you west, we'd have seen or heard something before now. Maybe it's because of me."
Booker glanced at his friend. He couldn't deny that the possibility had crossed his m
ind, especially after what had transpired at the hotel in Omaha, and then that Jackson fellow getting himself beat up. "But that doesn't make sense. If it was that, they'd have tried to kill you."
Red Horse shrugged. "You're the Injun-lover. To most whites, that's a greater crime than having red skin."
Booker ran a hand down his rough jaw and scratched at his chin. "Yeah."
A door opened and closed upstairs. He pictured Thea checking on her father and going to her room, undressing and slipping into her bed, where she'd sleep, trusting him to take care of her—of all of them. "We'll have to stay alert. If someone wants me, everyone here is in danger. I don't plan to sit back and wait for another incident."
"I'll sleep outside from now on," Red Horse said. "I'll hear if anyone comes near the house."
Booker agreed, knowing his friend had slept beneath the sky most of his life and found it no particular hardship. "We'll ride the property twice a day. That way we'll know if he comes back."
Red Horse stood and stepped to the door. "Night, Major."
"Good night."
Alone, Booker dropped to sit on the stone hearth and considered telling Thea. Would she be any safer if she knew he’d been the target? Any more comforted? No. She'd worry more, knowing the entire household was in danger because of him.
Booker climbed the stairs and entered his room. Thea had left his lamp burning. Always thoughtful. Always concerned for others.
She might think less of him if she knew he was responsible for her father's injury. For certain she’d be angry when she did find out the truth.
Those things didn't matter. What mattered was keeping all of them safe. And that's what he intended to do.
Catching sight of the slight indentation at the foot of his bed, disappointment zigzagged though his chest. He wished she would have stayed.
* * *
After breakfast the next morning, MaryRuth and Denzel arrived. Denzel spoke with Jim and headed back to the Coulson farm, leaving MaryRuth to help Thea with their father.
Land of Dreams Page 19