She met his glare and arched her brows. If he thought she’d back down on this, he’d be sadly disappointed.
He didn’t say a word, though. Didn’t move a muscle, not even the flick of his gaze. The man was a rock.
A burning smell drifted through her senses, and Cathleen whirled. The beans. Great land of Jehoshaphat. If there were any part of this meal not burned by the time she got it on the table, it would truly be a miracle.
While she scurried around the kitchen, carrying food to the table and setting out plates, utensils, and jam for the biscuits, the big white dog padded up beside her and sat with a whine.
“Hey, boy. I can’t pet you now, but I’ll make you a plate. You hungry?”
He gazed up at her with sweet, sad eyes until a short whistle sounded from behind them.
The dog jumped to his feet and trotted toward the sitting area, his nails clicking on the floor with each step.
She refrained from looking at the man, because for some reason, the loss of the animal stung. Maybe she missed her mum’s little Annie who’d always been underfoot. “I don’t mind him here with me. What’s his name?”
“North.”
She bit back a smile. With his wooly white coat, it did seem like a fitting title. Eyeing the table laid out with dishes and the salvaged food, she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll just get your mother up, and we’ll be ready to eat.”
~ ~ ~
REUBEN SCRATCHED THE soft fur under North’s jaw as he waited for Miss Donaghue and Mum to come from the bed chamber. He’d felt like an idiot standing around watching her these last few minutes, but he’d had no idea what else to do. She scurried around the kitchen from one task to the next like a woman on a mission. Like Mum used to do. It left him feeling like an oversized mule in a mercantile, clumsy and in the way.
If he didn’t feel so out of place, it would be a pleasure to simply watch her. This woman was so…different…from any person he’d met, white or Indian. Part of it was her beauty, certainly. And maybe the kindness that flashed in her ready smiles.
Although she’d proved she could get riled if he crossed her. His mouth twitched as he pictured the fire in her eyes when she’d given him his choice of sleeping arrangements. He stroked his beard. It probably was time he cleaned himself up and got a little more presentable. A full bath was out of the question in this weather, but maybe he could fit in a shave and haircut after supper.
Mum’s chamber door opened, and the voices that had been muffled came clear. “Your son, Reuben’s, here, so we’re all ready to eat.” Miss Donaghue’s voice carried clear and sweet in the tone she reserved for Mum. She really did have a gift with his mother and seemed to hold genuine affection for her. Mum, of course, adored the woman.
Reuben settled into his chair while Mum did the same, but Miss Donaghue placed a plate of scraps in the corner for North before she claimed her own seat. This time, he remembered not to eat until after they’d bowed their heads to say grace. Like the other times, Miss Donaghue’s voice rang with earnestness as she spoke the simple words.
With the final “Amen,” she raised her head and glanced at the pot of beans in the center of the table, then at him with a sheepish look. “I’m sorry if the meal is a bit overcooked.”
He ladled a spoonful into his plate and tried not to stare at the black specks floating in the gooey brown sauce. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
Miss Donaghue helped his mother with her plate, then silence descended over the table as they worked at the meal. The beans were thick, and the biscuits charred on the bottom, but he’d eaten worse at his own hand in his winter camp. Besides, what could one expect from a woman raised in the city?
“How long have you had North?”
Her words caught him off guard, and he looked up from sopping his biscuit in the bean broth. “Since he was a pup. About five years.”
She was watching the dog as it licked the plate clean in the corner. “He seems well behaved.”
He nodded then went back to his food. Small talk had never been easy for him.
After the meal, Reuben slipped into his parents’ room and found Pa’s shaving kit, then pulled on his coat and gloves and headed to the barn. There’d be more privacy out there. He’d never kept a razor of his own. Whenever the urge to shave came on him in his trapping camp, he just sharpened his hunting knife. But the job was easier with the proper tools.
He checked Tashunka when he first entered the barn, but the mare dozed quietly in her stall. Her sides had narrowed over the last day or so, like the baby had dropped into the foaling position, but no other changes signaled the birth would be eminent. And Tash usually showed all the signs when she was ready for a foaling.
That was one thing he liked about this mare. She didn’t hold back her thoughts for him to guess. Made things nice and clear so he knew what was going on and how to react. Not like most women.
He mixed the shaving soap using a bit of water from one of the icy buckets. Maybe not the most comfortable temperature, but it’d get the job done. After settling into his old bed in the hay, he reached for the shaving supplies.
It wasn’t easy shaving with only Pa’s tiny handheld mirror, but he finished with just a few nicks at his throat and a long one on his right cheek. He barely recognized himself in the small sliver of looking glass. But the freshly exposed skin made his bushy mass of hair stand out even more. He had to do something about that, too.
Would Mum be up to trimming it? Could she even be trusted with sharp tools? He didn’t really know. Holding out a fistful of hair, he pressed the sharp side of the razor against the locks. After sawing for a moment, it cut through.
He was able to reach most of the top and sides, but the back proved a challenge. He did the best he could, then glanced into the two-inch-wide strip of mirror and studied himself. A bit ragged, but hopefully better than when he’d started. Hopefully.
~ ~ ~
CATHLEEN SLIPPED FROM Mrs. Scott’s room and pulled the door closed behind her. The older woman had gone to bed well enough, but there was no telling how long she’d actually stay there. Whether it be at midnight or long after the moon had disappeared from the black sky, Mrs. Scott almost always awoke and started shuffling through the cabin in the darkness.
A yawn forced its way through her jaw, but Cathleen was too tired to fight it. She’d not had time for her evening walk before Mrs. Scott’s bedtime, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy now. But she needed the clarity of mind that always came from talking to God under the stars. And she had a special question for the Almighty tonight. A particular topic she needed to sort through. Or, more honestly, a man she couldn’t quite decipher.
As she buttoned her coat, boots thumped on the front porch. She grabbed the latch and pulled the door wide as Mr. Scott—Reuben—stepped in with an armload of wood. It didn’t look like he’d brought his bedroll yet, though. Would she have to enforce her earlier directive?
He headed toward the hearth and dropped the logs in the wood box there. But when he straightened and turned to face her, Cathleen could scarcely draw a breath.
He was…different.
She squinted to make sure this man really was Reuben Scott. Same blue eyes. Same tall frame and broad shoulders. Same fur coat.
But no mountain-man beard. He actually had a face underneath all that hair. And what a face. Strong chiseled jaw, square chin. She still couldn’t seem to draw a steady breath.
He slipped off the hood and glanced her direction. She should turn away, but her body refused to do it. His hair was cut shorter too, although it was a bit…choppy…in places. Almost as if that ornery rooster in the chicken shed had given it a good pecking.
He cleared his throat, jerking her from her thoughts. “Is there anything else you need for the night?”
She turned to the door, mostly to hide the heat flaring into her face. “No. Thank you. I was just, uh, going for a quick walk.” And she slipped outside before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
The
blast of frigid air on her face was a welcome relief.
Chapter Seven
ALL NIGHT, CATHLEEN couldn’t shake the image of the man out of her mind. He’d lost the unkempt trapper look but still held that strong aura of wildness. If anything, it was even more pronounced now than before. And getting rid of that beard had shed years off his face. She couldn’t have said exactly how old he’d looked before, but now that his features were clear, it was obvious he couldn’t be more than thirty. Not as old as she’d expected for the son of a widow with hair as white as Mrs. Scott’s. It seemed like there might be more to that story. Maybe one day, Mrs. Scott would remember enough to share with her.
She peeked glances at him over the breakfast table while he ate, absorbing the differences in the dim light filtering in through the window.
“Son, after breakfast, I’ll trim up yer hair a bit. Yer lookin’ a bit scraggly.”
Cathleen glanced over at Mrs. Scott. The older woman seemed clearer than normal this morning, without the confusion or lack of interest that seemed to cloud her eyes many days. But clear enough to use a pair of scissors? That was probably too much chance to take. They shouldn’t risk more gashes in the woman’s already sensitive skin. Not to mention Reuben’s neck.
She darted a look at him and saw the uncertainty plastered there as he studied his mother. For once, she didn’t have to guess what he was thinking.
“We’ll see, Mum.” He nodded toward Mrs. Scott’s boiled oats. “Eat up. You need your strength.”
She sent him an adoring smile and took another bite of her gruel. Cathleen had mixed berry preserves in the pot after they’d cooked, and it came out pretty tasty, if she did say so herself. Almost as good as the cinnamon and sugar her mum used to serve with them at home.
As Cathleen took another bite from her own bowl, she worked the situation through in her mind. There was no way she’d let Mrs. Scott try to cut Reuben’s hair. Not with her shaky hands and a sharp blade. It appeared he’d done the best he could on his own, but it certainly needed a woman’s touch.
So…she was the only other option. But would he be offended if she offered? She could probably work through his objections. She’d gotten good at coercing patients into doing what was best for them, especially these last few weeks with Mrs. Scott.
It just took the right words and a smile.
~ ~ ~
“REUBEN, IF YOU’LL come back in after you finish with the animals, I can give you the haircut your mother mentioned.”
Reuben froze with his hand on the door latch. Surely he’d heard her wrong. He eased back around to face her. Maybe the expression on her face could tell him what she’d really said.
She carried a load of used breakfast dishes but stopped to flash him one of her cheery smiles. “Unless you’d rather risk your jugular vein.” She shot a glance toward his mother, who still sat at the table, folding a cloth into a tiny off-kilter square. Mum seemed oblivious to the conversation.
He looked back at Miss Donaghue. “I…”
She stepped forward to drop the dishes in a pan of water on the stove. “I have a good pair of scissors in my sewing kit, so we’ll be done in minutes. Come back after you’ve fed the animals, and I’ll be ready for you.”
She turned her back to him and scraped a bit of soap into the pot, which gave him the fairly strong impression she’d dismissed him…in her cheery little way.
Opening the door, he slipped outside. Out into a world where he could at least feel like he had a bit of control.
Three quarters of an hour later, he dragged himself back into the cabin with a bucket of milk and four eggs. He’d made the barn chores last as long as he could, but then he’d pictured Miss Donaghue sitting forlornly at the table with her scissors, waiting for him. The guilt had been stronger than he was willing to push aside.
But it turned out that wasn’t quite the picture that greeted him when he stepped into the room. Instead, Miss Donaghue looked up from a corner of the kitchen, broom in hand and one of those smiles lighting her face.
“Oh, good. You’re just in time.” She leaned the broom in the corner and crossed to the stove. “Have a seat at the table, and we’ll get started.”
He glanced around the room as he stripped off his coat. “Where’s Mum?”
“She’s tinkering in her room, preparing for the day.” Miss Donaghue’s smile changed to something a bit conspiratorial. “I’ll go in there in a bit and make sure she hasn’t stripped the blankets from the bed or soaked all her clean underclothes in the full wash basin.”
He cocked his head. “She’s done those things?”
“And then some.” Miss Donaghue set a mug of steaming liquid by his place at the table and motioned to his chair. “Sit.”
Then she turned her back to him, fiddling with something at the counter. The woman was always doing something.
He eyed the mug, inhaling the spicy aroma as he settled in his chair. Smelled like more of that tea concoction she’d put together for his cough. The stuff seemed to help, and it sure did please his tasters. Even though her cooking had proved spotty—like the burnt beans and biscuits from last night—most of the things she produced in the kitchen were just short of heavenly.
She turned back to face him with scissors in one hand, a comb in the other, and a cloth draped over her arm. He raised the mug to his lips as she approached, doing his best not to show how much her nearness put him on edge.
After setting the tools on the table, she stepped behind him and draped the cloth over his shoulders, the scent of cinnamon floating up. Other than his first evening home last week, he’d not smelled that wonderful, spicy aroma in years. What was it that made the scent cling to her now?
When her fingers slipped through his hair, he froze. Every bit of breath stalled in his chest. His lungs wouldn’t work.
Then he felt the bite of the comb against his head, and his muscles eased. A little anyway. He forced himself to focus on breathing—in and out—but his mind wouldn’t cooperate very well.
When was the last time a woman had touched him? Other than Mum or some of the gray-haired Crow women when he ate in their camp…never.
What was running through Miss Donaghue’s mind as she worked the comb and scissors through his hair? That he’d made an awful mess with the razor? Probably, since the damage had been obvious enough for Mum to notice, even in her confused state.
Had she ever trimmed a man’s hair before? She said she had two brothers, so surely she had. What must she think of him?
But this line of questioning wasn’t helping his heart rate slow any. He forced his mind onto his Crow friends. Had Akecheta and the others found better hunting in their new winter camp? Maybe he should have gone with them.
He gave himself a mental slap. If he’d gone with them, he wouldn’t have come home early and still wouldn’t know about Pa and Mum. He wouldn’t be here to help. Not that he was all that helpful anyway. He wanted to be, but Miss Donaghue seemed to have everything under control.
At least he could handle things with the animals. As soon as this little session was over, he’d ride over to O’Hennessey’s and see about the cattle. The man had been a good neighbor. Quiet enough, but pleasant the few times he’d come over for a visit. Now that Reuben was home, though, they didn’t need the man’s charity any longer.
A soft, cool hand touched his cheek, and he sucked in a breath. The distractions just weren’t working. Her cinnamon scent surrounded him, soaking into his pores in an intoxicating aroma. How much longer until she was done? At least she hadn’t been chattering the whole time. Trying to make conversation with her so near, touching him…that would have pushed him to the edge of control.
~ ~ ~
CATHLEEN FORCED ANOTHER breath into her lungs as she trimmed the hair behind Reuben’s right ear. Trying to think of him as a patient simply wasn’t working. Even the man’s ears were perfect, neatly set and just the right size.
And the feel of his thick locks. Everything about him
was masculine and wild, yet his hair was soft as silk. But she refused to allow herself to stop and enjoy the touch of it.
As she shifted over to trim his right sideburn, her little finger grazed his cheek. She froze. Did he just flinch under her touch? Did he feel the same tingle that ran up her hand when their skin met?
She glanced at the spot and frowned. A red line marred the skin, a cut that had recently scabbed over. From shaving most likely. Her eyes ran over the rest of his cheek, as far as she could see from her position behind him. She moved around to his side, noting the muscle play in his jaw as he swallowed, and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
As her eyes tracked down his neck, more cuts spoiled the smooth skin, some red and inflamed.
She turned away and moved to the shelf where she’d stored her medicines. The first salve her hand found was the one she was looking for. The same one she used on his mother’s many abrasions.
Spinning back to Reuben, she made a point of not meeting his gaze, even though she could feel it tracking her progress as she made her way to him. “I’m just going to put this salve on your cuts.”
“No need to bother.”
Was it just her, or did his voice sound more hoarse than its usual rich fullness? Of course, she didn’t hear it often enough to be sure. “It’s no bother. This will keep them from getting infected.”
He didn’t speak again, and she stood as far back as possible while she dabbed the cream onto the angry marks. That done, she eased out a breath and forced all her focus back onto his hair.
When she’d finally trimmed all the way around his head, Cathleen eyed her work from behind, then from either side. A few more snips to make the left side even with the right. It’d been a while since she’d trimmed a man’s hair, not since Mum was sick a couple years back, but she’d done a decent job this time. Honestly, with the way Reuben’s face was so perfectly proportioned in strong features, she could have hacked a few chunks out and called it done, and he still would have stolen her breath every time she looked at him.
The Lady and the Mountain Call (Mountain Dreams Series Book 5) Page 6