“No.” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it hard to force out even that gravely word. A cough caught in his throat.
What did he look like after tossing most of the night? He scrubbed a hand through his hair, but that probably didn’t help much. He was long overdue for a shave and a haircut, the latter he’d been hoping Mum would do. He’d have to come up with an alternate plan now, though.
Miss Donaghue still eyed him with that gentle smile. She probably expected him to say something else.
“Uh, good morning.” His gaze found the bucket in her hand. “Is there something you need?”
She followed his look. “I like to get the outside chores done before your mother wakes up. The milking’s done, I just need to break the ice and let the animals out, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Hair. Heat crawled up his face. Was that an off-handed comment about the burly mass on his head? He did his best to push it aside, but the sooner he got her out of the barn, the better. “I’ll do that.” He grabbed his coat from where he’d tossed it beside his sleeping furs, then started toward her. “You don’t need to worry about the animals now that I’m here.”
Her shoulders seemed to sag a bit, and something flashed across her face. Relief? He really was bad at reading people. Animals, he could anticipate every move before they’d made up their mind to take it. But people? Too many emotional games.
“That would be nice. Thank you.” She held up the pail, full of white, frothy liquid. “I can still do the milking and gather eggs, if you’d like.”
He shrugged, his hands searching his coat pocket for his gloves. “You don’t have to. I imagine you have plenty of work in the cabin.” Especially with Mum’s challenges, from what he’d seen last night.
“Thank you.” With the simple words, she turned away.
A memory sprang to Reuben’s mind, the mental list of questions that had kept him from sleep for so many hours last night. “Miss Donaghue?”
She turned back, the shadows darkening her face, so he couldn’t see the light in her eyes. “Yes?”
“Do you know where my father is…buried?” It was still so hard to fathom Pa could be gone. With the dawning of this new day, maybe she would tell him it had all been a dream. A nightmare.
“I’m not positive, but I think I saw a marker at the corner of the clearing. That way.” She pointed toward the northeast and the corner of the land that bordered the creek. “Everything’s covered with snow, so it’s hard to tell for sure.”
He nodded his thanks. “And do you know where the cattle are? I imagine half dead if they’ve had to fend for themselves these last months.”
She shook her head before he could even finish that last sentence. “My brother said a neighbor’s taking care of them. O’Hennessey, I think?”
Another slam to his gut. Reuben should have been here to take over when things got bad. Instead, Mum had had to rely on neighbors and the doctors’ sister from town. But how could he have known his parents would suddenly need him, after thirty years of his presence being mostly a nuisance? Of course they’d never said that, but they’d always been so capable with the homestead. If only they could have passed some of that ability on to him.
Miss Donaghue was still staring at him. How many times had he lost himself in his thoughts while she’d watched? She probably thought he was a flaky half-wit by now.
He tried to form a normal expression as he met her gaze. “Thanks for the answers. I’ll see to the animals now.”
As she turned and left the barn, Reuben’s hand slipped down to scratch North’s head.
The animals, he could care for. This woman and the new reality of the family that had always been his rock—he’d rather confront a grizzly empty-handed.
~ ~ ~
FACING HIS FATHER’S grave was as hard as Reuben had expected. While he stood before the simple wooden cross and mound of raised snow, so many memories surged. Pa trying to teach him farming and carpentry. He’d picked up quickly on the needle-work and beading that Mum taught, so he’d have thought carpentry would have come second nature, too. But there was no art in building square frames and perfectly measured beams and notches. No creativity required, like the ornate detail he’d learned from his Crow friends. Oh, he’d worked alongside Pa enough to be able to build a simple shed, but nothing like the impressive structures his father had produced here on the homestead and around their various pastures.
Had Pa been disappointed in him? Probably. That assumption was part of what drove him away for months at a time when he started trapping at eighteen. Maybe Pa had always wished the other baby had lived instead of him. His twin, girl though she was. The daughter his parents had always craved.
North slipped his muzzle into Reuben’s hand, and he obliged by scratching through the thick fur behind the animal’s ears. The dog panted his thanks as he stared up into Reuben’s face. His constant companion. North never found fault with any of his shortcomings. Always stood nearby until he was needed.
“What say, boy? Think we need to head inside now?”
The dog snapped his mouth shut and rose to all fours, eagerness showing in his raised ears and the long bushy tail curled over his back.
Reuben’s mouth pulled in the hint of a smile. “You like her cookin’, too, huh?”
~ ~ ~
THWAK!
The resounding sound of the log splitting under his ax-head echoed through the morning air two days later. He raised the ax again, settled another log on the stump, then let the momentum flow through his upper body as he brought down another blow.
A cough gripped his chest, and he leaned against the ax handle until the spasms subsided. This irritating burn in his chest had plagued him for days now. He didn’t have time for it to slow him down. Too much work to do around the place.
Most of the wood Pa had split was gone, and the little bit left was pine. That stuff didn’t burn hot enough in the cook stove, although this territory sure provided plenty of it. So he’d spent most of the afternoon yesterday bringing down a maple and hauling it back to the house. And now it had to be chopped into pieces not even as thick as his hand so the oven would cook right. This was not one of his favorite parts of homesteading, but at least he was capable. And it sure gave him a chance to use up some energy and break a good sweat. Possibly even work off the cough.
And maybe he could work hard enough to clear his mind of the two women inside the cabin. Seeing Mum like that, just a shadow of the woman she used to be, was harder than he’d ever thought possible. And most of the times he’d sat down to visit with her in the cabin, she didn’t even recognize him. Or thought he was his father. So he’d kept away from the cabin more than he should. There was certainly enough work for him to do outside.
He propped another log on the stump and raised the ax over his shoulder. Thwak.
Mum always seemed to know Miss Donaghue, though. Maybe not the lady’s name, but certainly seemed to remember her unrelenting kindness. That was hard to watch sometimes, too. A stranger caring for his mother. And other times it seemed like she fit perfectly in their little cabin. Like when she smiled at him across the table. Or handed him a cup of coffee in the mornings.
He settled an extra-large log on the stump and drew back the ax.
“I brought coffee to warm you, but looks like you might be too warm already.”
The aim of his swing jerked sideways at the unexpected voice, and the ax-head sank into the old stump. He straightened and turned to face the distraction.
Miss Donaghue eyed him with a smile, tin mugs in each hand, thick steam rising from both. She offered one to him. “I can bring water instead, if you prefer.”
He reached for the cup. “Coffee’s fine.” But it was better than fine. Even through his rawhide gloves, the warmth of the cup seeped into his hands. And the savory scent of the brew opened up his senses. Another cough wracked his upper body, and he held the mug out to keep from spilling the precious stuff while he tried to rein in
his body’s reactions.
When he finally gathered his breath, Miss Donaghue stared at him, twin lines pinching her brow. “You’re not well, Mr. Scott. I can make a tea that will help.”
“I’m fine.” He cleared the thick remnants from his throat, then took a deep sip of the coffee. The moment it touched his tongue, the flavors spread like rich cream, soothing the raw ache that had settled in his chest.
When he looked up, she was still watching him. Probably waiting for him to speak. He said the first thing that jumped into his mind. “You do good not to burn the coffee, cooking with that pine.” He nodded toward the split wood that had thrown itself into two piles as he chopped. “This maple should make it easier.”
She raised both delicate brows, and something like a curious smile touched her mouth. “I didn’t realize the wood cooked differently. I suppose it makes sense, though. Thank you.”
He couldn’t help eyeing her. “You didn’t cook before you came here?”
A flush brightened her face, more than just red circles from the cold. “Of course I cooked. But we had the wood delivered, so I never had to worry what kind it was.”
Hmm… he still had no clear picture of her life before coming to this mountain. But wasn’t sure he knew how to ask about it. Wouldn’t direct questions seem like prying?
He took another swig of coffee, then glanced into the brew and used his most nonchalant voice. “You lived in Butte for a while?”
“Just since the fall. I came out to help with my new niece and nephew, and wherever else I’m needed.” Her voice settled into that rolling cadence that was so soothing. The sound that made him crave more.
“You came from back east then?” He caught her nod out of the corner of his eye as he watched the steam rise from his drink.
“Boston.” She said the name as casual as if she meant the next town over. Which out here was still a sizeable distance.
“That’s awfully far east.”
A hint of a smile touched her mouth. “Yes, it is. All the way to the ocean. Our home wasn’t near the harbor, but Mum loved to spend the day by the water any chance we had.”
“Your parents were rich, then?”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Not by Boston standards. Dad was an apothecary, so we weren’t on the same level as the wealthy set.”
He couldn’t stop his gaze from sweeping over her. That coat she wore certainly had more style than function, what with no hood and too many ruffles that did almost nothing to keep her warm. And the way she carried herself—culture rolled off her in waves. “You just look…” He clamped down on the words before more crept out.
He took a long swig of his drink. Maybe she’d just ignore that last comment.
But when he lowered the cup, she was eyeing him, that soft smile still pulling at her lips. “I just look like what?”
See, this was why he didn’t talk to women. Not that he’d had much opportunity. But there were just too many pitfalls.
A gentle laugh drifted from her, like the gentle melody of a stream around rocks. “I’m sorry, Mr. Scott. I don’t know what to make of you sometimes.”
He braved a glance at her. Was she mocking him? But no, the sweet expression on her face seemed to be pleasure, no derision there.
A twinkle lit her eyes. “My father was an apothecary, but my mother did come from a somewhat elite family in Ireland. She made sure I learned to comport myself like a lady.” She glanced down at the frippery on her coat and the skirt peeking from beneath. “And I suppose she taught me to have…more refined taste in clothing.”
Then, with a simple lift of her shoulders, she seemed to let her wealthy past slide off of her. “It doesn’t make me a different person though. I’m still as capable as anyone.” A hint of uncertainty flashed through her eyes. “There are some things I’m still learning about life up here, but I’m getting better.”
And something about that pure honesty made her twice as pretty, despite her lace-trimmed skirt and layers of flounces. But she still didn’t belong up here. The mountains would swallow her whole if she stayed too long.
Chapter Six
A FEW HOURS later, Cathleen had two pots on the stove and a slightly burnt aroma drifting from the oven when boot thumps sounded on the porch. She would have groaned at the man’s timing, if she’d had a spare second to do it.
After giving the beans a final stir, she pushed the pot to a cooler part of the range, then grabbed a leather pad and jerked open the oven door. Smoke billowed out, but not as much as there could have been. She pulled the biscuit pan out of the heat and surveyed it. She should have stuck to stove-top cornbread, but they had more flour than cornmeal, so the biscuits had made sense. At the time.
The cabin door opened, letting in a blast of cold air and Mr. Scott, who carried a load of firewood tall enough to cover half his face. He dumped the stack in the wood box beside the cook stove and straightened to his full, massive height.
Cathleen swallowed. “Thank you.”
She returned her focus to the pan in her hands but could still see his form at the edge of her vision. How tall was he exactly? Maybe it wasn’t so much his height but the breadth of him that sucked the air from her lungs when he came near. His stature made her feel both insecure and protected. How convoluted was that? She supposed as long as he was on their side and his size didn’t make him too rough with Mrs. Scott, his height would prove a good thing around the farm.
He turned away to remove his coat, and she forced herself to breathe. And focus on the biscuits. They were dark brown on top, not the golden color she’d been hoping for. She loosened the edge of one. Yep, black on the bottom. At least they’d be eating the things hot, before the lumps cooled into hard bricks.
A whistle from the kettle pulled her attention from the biscuits, and Cathleen inhaled quickly. The ginger tea that she’d been steeping for Mr. Scott was ready. She’d planned to hand him a mug the moment he walked in the door, but she hadn’t quite accomplished that.
Grabbing the cup she’d already prepared with honey, she filled it to the brim with the tea and dropped in a peppermint stick. The taste might be unusual, but it should certainly do the trick for his cough.
Stirring the mixture, she turned to carry it to him with a smile. Everything went down better with a smile.
But she froze mid-step when she found him watching her. He’d shucked his coat, hat, and gloves, but still stood by the door. His hands rested at his waist, and her gaze traveled upward from there to those impossibly wide shoulders. Up further to his intense blue eyes. Even in the dim light of the cabin, she could still see their glow as he scrutinized her.
It was an effort, but she fought down the heat that surged to her neck. Offering a cheery smile, she extended the mug like a gift. “I made some tea to help your cough. It should be just ready to drink.”
His gaze flicked. He didn’t seem to like being fussed over, but he’d have to get used to it. She was here as a nurse, so where there was sickness, fussing was officially her job.
She added a little more honey to her smile. “Please, Mr. Scott. At least it’ll warm you.”
“Reuben.”
She paused. “Beg pardon?”
“Name’s Reuben. Mr. Scott was my Pa.”
She swallowed down the lump that suddenly thickened her throat. Naturally, anything that reminded him of his father would be painful. “Of course. I’m sorry.” The least she could do was call him by his Christian name, if that helped even a particle.
His gaze shone wary, but he finally stepped forward and took the mug. “Thanks.”
Well. Another word that hadn’t been absolutely necessary. Maybe he was feeling more comfortable with her presence here. “I’ll keep more tea here on the back of the stove, so you can get it any time. It’ll be best if you add a spoon of honey to your cup.”
He still stood there, staring at her, and Cathleen tried her best to focus on the final dinner preparations. This would not be her best meal, but she’d
had her hands full with Mrs. Scott all afternoon. The woman kept trying to slip out the door—without a coat, of course. Cathleen had finally bundled the lady in her warmest wraps, and they’d taken a walk. The sweet woman had probably spent much of her life outside, which made it hard to stay confined in the cabin much of the day. But their outing had resulted in burned biscuits.
“Where’s Mum?”
Her gaze pulled up to the man who stood like an enigma in the middle of the room. Didn’t he know staring was rude? “She’s in her room. We were busy this afternoon, so she finally lay down for a nap while I worked on dinner.”
She turned back to the shelves and pulled down plates and cups for them all. Silence was the only response from behind her.
And then a hacking cough. An awful sound, radiating from deep in his chest. She spun to face him. “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to continue sleeping in the barn, Mr. Scott. It’s too cold out there without a fire.”
He tried to look at her, but the shudders wracking his body bent him over. The mug in his hands shook with each cough, and she reached out in case she needed to grab it. He’d drunk enough that nothing sloshed over the brim.
When he finally straightened, his eyes were rimmed red and his breath came in ragged gasps. “I’m fine in the barn. No need to put anyone out.”
She pinched her lips. He was stubborn, no doubt about it. Stubborn and stoic and almost impossible to connect with. “Mr. Scott.”
“Reuben.”
A pang slid through her. How could she have forgotten his request so quickly? “Reuben, I’m sorry.” She planted a fist on her hip to resurrect her former vehemence. “But you’re not sleeping in the barn again. You put a pallet by that fire.” She pointed toward the hearth. “Or I can move into your mother’s chamber, and you can have the room I’ve been using. Take your choice, but you’re not sleeping out in that cold.”
The Lady and the Mountain Call (Mountain Dreams Series Book 5) Page 5