*
Jillian jolted awake. Heart slamming against her ribs, she sat up, clutched the blanket to her chest, and tried to ascertain what had yanked her from sleep. A sleep that had been hard to come by since she couldn’t stop thinking of Wade’s kiss.
A pounding on the door, loud and insistent, carried into her bedroom, which was tucked behind the parlor. Knowing what woke her didn’t help her erratic heartbeat. There was nothing but darkness behind her curtains and while she hoped whoever was at her door was there because they needed her medical skills, the truth of the matter was, after the town meeting, she couldn’t be sure.
Tying her wrapper around her waist, she slid her loaded rifle out from under her bed. She tiptoed to the door, deliberately not bothering to turn on a lantern, not wanting her shadow to announce her presence. Pulling back the thin curtains she jumped when another thump beat on her door.
“Miss Matthews, it’s Jacob Garvey. My dog is sick and I need your help!”
Releasing her death grip on the rifle, she placed it against the wall. The door opened with a slight creak and the loud sigh of Jacob Garvey. Damp night air wafted through the opening, its long, cool fingers swirling around her bare ankles.
Jacob didn’t waste any time, words poured from his mouth before she could even get him in the door. “My dog, Fred, is hurtin’ real bad.” He sniffled, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his dark jacket. “You need to come quick.”
“What happened?”
He took a shaky breath. “A rattlesnake bit him.” His chin quivered. “Pa says he’s gonna die.”
Jillian seethed. Rattlesnake bites weren’t normally lethal and she figured if his father didn’t know for sure, he shouldn’t have jumped to the worst conclusion and scared his son half to death.
“Jacob, is Fred an old dog?”
“No, he’s only four years old.”
“Is he a sickly dog?”
The boy sniffled. “He’s healthy, ain’t never been sick before.”
Jillian placed a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. Fred was going to be just fine.
“Come into the kitchen, Jacob. I’ll make Fred a poultice. That will help draw out the venom.”
She lit a lantern, opened her stove and poked at the now dead fire. After arranging kindling, she started another. It wouldn’t take much to get the flaxseed boiling for the poultice. When the pot was set on the stove, Jillian turned to the boy.
He wasn’t crying but his cheeks bore the tracks that he had. “Does your father know you’re here?” Jillian asked.
Fear gave way to anger and small hands fisted at his side. “He said he’d rather see Fred die than ask for your help.”
Her fury came fast and hard and it took a mighty effort to keep it contained. What kind of father would hurt his child so needlessly? Would let his son’s heart break rather than get help, especially when it was so easily gotten? A shortsighted, pompous one like Steven Garvey.
“I hope you won’t get into trouble for this, Jacob, but I can promise you Fred will be fine. Let me go change. When I’m done, the flaxseed should be ready. Then I’ll show you how to do this, so if Fred ever gets bit again, you’ll be able to help him yourself.”
His large brown eyes met hers and the hope and gratitude in them gave her heart a squeeze.
“He’ll really be all right?”
She smiled. “He really will.”
Once dressed, she showed him how to make the poultice. When it was wrapped in a clean cloth, Jillian put it in her medicine bag and drew on her slicker.
Shadows danced on the plank walls of her barn and Rascal chattered a blue streak as Jillian tacked Hope. Once the bag was tied behind the saddle she led her horse outside.
“Ready,” she said once she was astride.
“You’re not gonna use that on Fred, are you?” he asked, pointing at the rifle she had across her lap.
“No, Jacob. But I’m not familiar with this area and I want to be careful. Besides, I’ll be riding back on my own.”
He nodded in understanding and then kicked his own horse into a gallop. Hoping his father was a sound sleeper, Jillian followed Jacob.
They kept a steady pace despite the darkness and soon arrived at the Garvey farm. Jacob leapt from his animal, which knowing it was home, ambled for the fence. Jillian secured Hope, untied her bag and followed the boy into the barn.
Fred was in one of the stalls. The boy set a lantern on a peg and rushed in. Jillian followed into the straw-laden stall. Fred, a lean and healthy-looking golden dog, was licking his wound.
“Jacob, can you get me some clean water? Snake bites are usually dirty and we need to clean it.”
He nodded and slipped outside. Water sloshed inside the bucket when he came back a few minutes later.
She washed the area clean of dirt and motioned for the boy to come closer. “See here.” She lifted Fred’s paw so Jacob could see the two holes that marked the snakebite. “There are two more on the bottom of his paw. All we have to do is—”
Suddenly another light shone from the doorway. Beside her Jacob froze. The thump of footsteps on the hard dirt floor accompanied the heavy breathing that pounded closer. Jillian stood, prepared for the worst.
“Dammit, Jacob, I said no!” Steven shouted.
“Pa, I’m sorry—”
“Get out!” Steven’s words she knew were for her, not his son. “Get off my land. Now!”
The whole ride over Jillian had prepared arguments in her head in case they were discovered. She used them now.
“And then what? You’ll let the dog suffer?”
“No, I’d shoot it first.”
“No, Pa. Don’t shoot him!” Jacob wailed as he threw himself over the dog.
She pointed to his son’s teary face. “Look at him! He loves that dog! What’s to gain by letting Fred die and watching your boy pine over him? Is your dislike of me really worth having your son resent you for not letting him get help? This is easily fixed and if you weren’t so stubborn you’d see that!”
Garvey swallowed and looked to his son. He seemed to lose some of his bluster. She pressed the advantage, small as it was.
“If you run me off, I’m taking Fred with me.”
Both males faced her, one with terror, the other with hatred.
“You said yourself you’re willing to let him die,” she said to Garvey. “If you don’t care enough to help the poor animal, why should you care if I take him?”
Jacob stood. “Please, Pa, let her help Fred. I don’t want her to take him.”
Garvey jammed a hand through hair in desperate need of a brush then fixed his resentful gaze on her. “I will not pay you, not one red cent. Nothing!”
Knowing that was as much acceptance as she was going to get, Jillian set down to her task. Behind her, she heard Steven’s mumbled curses and then the curt order for his son to get back inside the moment they were finished. Jillian took a steadying breath as his boots thumped back down the aisle.
“Now then,” she said as though they hadn’t been interrupted, “there are two holes on the bottom of the paw, as well on the top. First”—she opened her bag—“we apply the poultice. That will draw out the venom.” She tied it in place with a piece of string and gently nudged Fred’s head onto her lap so he’d leave the poultice in place.
Stroking the dog’s golden head, Jillian continued. “He won’t like it, Jacob, but try to keep it on him. Make another one, just like I showed you, tomorrow morning. If you can, keep the poultice on Fred for most of the day. Tomorrow night you can take it off. Just make sure the wound stays clean. It has to stay open to drain.”
Jacob didn’t look convinced. “Is that really all there is to it?”
She patted Fred’s head, praised him for being a good boy, and eased away. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Jacob. His paw is a bit swollen, so it looks worse than it is. But I cleaned it good and, as I said, the poultice will work if you can keep it on.”
“I will, I promise!” The boy threw hi
mself at Fred’s side and buried his face in the fur. The dog leaned into him and tears stung Jillian’s eyes when the boy broke into sobs. This was why she’d become a veterinarian. It was amazing how much an animal could enrich a life.
“Remember to keep that poultice on and make another in the morning.” She handed him a small bag of flaxseed. “You’ll need this. If you get worried, you come see me again.” At the doubtful look in his eyes she added, “Or get word to Mrs. Daniels at the mercantile. She’ll let me know you need help.”
He nodded, and for the first time since he arrived on her porch, he smiled. “Thanks, Miss Matthews.”
“You’re welcome, Jacob.”
She let herself outside. A lantern burned on the front porch and a man’s shape moved in the shadows. She stilled, wondered if there would be another argument. Darkness engulfed her, and even with her rifle she felt vulnerable standing there. Especially with the resentment that seemed to burn a swath from the porch to her feet. Jillian held her ground. He didn’t have to like her but, by God, he’d better get used to her.
It was a few charged minutes, but then the front door opened and Garvey disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him.
Riding home, Jillian kept one hand on her weapon. She didn’t really think Garvey would follow and harm her, but since she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the lurking power of his hatred, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.
*
Steven stepped back onto the porch. The moist air did nothing to calm him. Neither did knowing that woman was finally off his property.
Hell, he’d known it was just a matter of time until someone called on her. Much as he hated that it was his own son who’d done it, Steven was nonetheless smart enough to realize it was a good thing it had been Jacob and not someone else. Another farmer could be more easily swayed by her. He knew snakebites weren’t normally lethal; it was why he’d told Jacob not to go fetch her. Still, he had seen a few die on occasion and he’d figured he’d rather see Fred succumb to venom than have Jillian here.
He should have just told Jacob the dog would be fine.
Steven crossed his arms, looked out in the night. He took small comfort in the fact she’d gotten nothing for coming. Other than Wade—though why in God’s name he paid her after she killed his cow Steven couldn’t understand—she hadn’t earned a cent since arriving. And he knew she had expenses. He’d seen her loaded wagon the day she’d come into his feed mill, knew she had animals to care for. A person couldn’t live without income for long, not with expenses like that.
Smiling, he went back inside.
Chapter Nine
With dawn yet to color the sky, his ma padded to the stove and raised the lid on the coffee pot. “Mercy!” Clucking about how his insides must be made of steel, she went through the covered porch and tossed the black sludge out the back door. After refilling the pot with fresh water James had brought in last night, she put it on the stove to boil.
“What’s got you up before the birds this morning?” she asked, as she smoothed imaginary crumbs aside and folded her arms onto the table.
“Just thinking.”
“About Jillian or the ranch?” she asked, grinning.
He’d had a hell of a time avoiding talk of Jillian since she’d left yesterday. Annabelle was like a pesky mosquito, coming at him from all sides no matter how much he sidestepped it. And if it wasn’t his daughter, his mother snuck in a question or comment hoping he’d trip and give himself away. And because his mother had told James, who, of course told Scott, he hadn’t gotten any relief over supper last night either.
They were all on it like a pack of dogs fighting over the same bone.
“Isn’t it a little early in the day for an interrogation?”
“Nope.”
God help him. “Water’s boiling,” he said.
She was back at the table before he’d had a chance to think of something to tell her. He was certain she’d never ground beans faster in her life.
“When are you going to see her again?”
“When are you going to ask me a different question?”
“When you answer me,” she answered with a smile.
He crossed his arms over his chest. He could be as stubborn as she was. Her fingers tapped the table as she waited. In the silence the house creaked, as though stretching for a new day. Sighing, his mother shoved from the table, poured the coffee.
Inside the stove, logs rolled and shifted as they burned. Outside the window, the sky was lightening with dawn.
He should have known the silence wasn’t going to last very long. What he hadn’t expected, however, were the words she used to break it.
“I know we haven’t talked about it, and I know the wedding is in another few short weeks, but I was hoping, now that the barn is almost done, that we could have a dance.
“Now I know,” she added before he could do more than take a breath, “it seems silly to have them so close together, but the barn will be full come the wedding, and it’s tradition, Wade, to have a barn dance once a new one is built.”
Her eyes glowed with excitement and in them he saw the same exuberance and energy that poured from his daughter every day. Hellfire. How could his ma, at forty-nine, have more energy than he did at twenty-eight?
He finished his coffee, hobbled up, and poured them each more.
“Ma, this is going to slow me down,” he said of the foot he propped on a chair. “Which will put me even further behind in my work.”
She hesitated only a minute. “Life can’t be all about work; losing your father brought that fact home. And everyone always brings something anyway, so it’s hardly any expense at all. Please.”
One word. One damn word that, coupled with the longing he saw in her brown eyes, undid him. He wasn’t the only one who’d struggled since his father’s death; she’d had a hell of a time, too. Yes, now she had James, and he was thankful for that, but their relationship had come about recently. For months she’d mourned and he’d been helpless to ease her pain.
He took a deep breath. The table smelled of oil and soap. She oiled it every week. She cooked on a small stove, smaller than most women owned. The checkered drapes she’d sewn herself had been washed so often they were threadbare and faded. He was pretty sure they’d been red at one time; they were mostly pink now.
Everything she had she tended well, but it didn’t hide the fact that the floors were scratched and worn, the pots were blackened from use and the cupboards—the few the small kitchen had—were too small to hold all her dishes. What couldn’t fit was stacked neatly in the corner, taking up counter space she couldn’t spare. How could he possibly refuse her this one bit of excitement?
“Fine, let me know if you need anything and I’ll settle up with Letty later.”
She clapped her hands and squealed just as Annabelle came down the stairs. His daughter, much like his mother, was an early riser. She rushed over, threw herself in his arms.
“Why is Grandma excited?”
He wrapped his arms around Annabelle, kissed her forehead. “It seems we’re going to be having a barn dance.”
His daughter’s squeal was even louder than his mother’s and Wade cringed as it blasted right into his ear, added to the dull headache he’d woken with thanks to his fall yesterday.
“Will my friends come? Can I stay up past my bedtime? When will it be?”
“I should be ready by Saturday.” And with any luck he’d be walking without limping by then.
“Are you inviting Jillian?” Annabelle asked.
“Of course he is.”
His ma tugged Annabelle onto her lap and they sat before him, four eyes piercing him, two smiles all but blinding him.
Hellfire.
“I suppose she’ll be invited same as most folks.” He conceded.
His mother glowed. “Of course, you’ll have to ask her. I’ll be too busy to get out there myself,” she said.
“I’ll go ask her!”
He didn’t have to see his mother’s sly grin to know she’d gotten exactly what she’d hoped for. Was that the reason for the dance, to get him and Jillian together? He shook his head.
Of course it was.
*
Jillian rode into Marietta as though the hounds of hell were nipping at Hope’s hooves. Her hair flew wildly around her face, her eyes burned with fury. She knew she looked half-crazed, a fact confirmed as she sped down the street and, from the corner of her eye, saw several mouths gape open.
She yanked on the reins and was out of the saddle the moment Hope’s hooves skittered to a stop. With a quick knot she secured her animal to the rail and marched into the feed mill.
The place was empty, but rather than taking some of the billow from her sails, it simply filled them with more anger.
“Mr. Garvey!” she yelled, her voice ricocheting off the wooden walls. “You can’t hide, I won’t leave until I’ve spoken to you.”
Surrounded by bags of feed and the smell of dust dancing on the air, Jillian jammed her hands on her hips and prepared to wait him out. She didn’t have to wait long.
Smacking the dust from his trousers, Steven came round the corner.
“What’s all the commotion?”
“Commotion? You haven’t seen a commotion yet.” She warned as those imaginary sails threatened to rip under pressure. “How dare you! How dare you come onto my property and destroy what’s mine.”
Rolling his eyes, he strolled to the counter, leaned back against it, and crossed his arms and legs. “I’ve been here all morning, Miss Matthews. I have no idea what you’re blathering about.”
Smug. He looked so smug standing there, a small half-smile on his lips, his blue eyes mocking. Her hands curled into fists. How she’d love to smack that smile right off his face!
She moved until they were toe to toe. “Then you did it last night, but I know it was you. Who else but you would have to gain by ripping all my feedbags open? By having most of it wasted?”
A Rancher’s Surrender Page 13