She dressed so as not awaken her mother and then went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. As she stoked the wood in the stove, she considered what she should do. Dr. Robbie hadn’t told her to come into work today. Of course, she knew Dr. Robbie would be in mourning, would be in no condition to see patients, and Grace could handle any who came in.
Grace had learned enough to treat minor wounds and ailments. Perhaps she should send word to Dr. Bransen in the nearest town for the more serious cases. And perhaps he knew of someone who could take over Dr. Robbie’s duties until she felt up to it.
But it wasn’t her place to decide that. She needed to go to the ranch, assess the situation, find out how prostrate with grief Dr. Robbie actually was, before she made any suggestions. Dr. Robbie had seemed in control of herself when they’d left last night.
She pulled out the iron skillet and started the bacon frying when the door opened, startling her. Marshal Howard Henderson, his full name, as Mother had told her, stood in the doorway, and she gaped at him for a moment. Not that she didn’t know he was in the house—she just didn’t expect him to be up so early. What was even more surprising was her brother, his eyes red and swollen, followed the marshal into the kitchen. When Mother had told her last night that Ward was a marshal, Grace had found it difficult to believe. Not that he wasn’t capable, but he had an air of danger. He kept his hat pulled over those vivid eyes, adding to his sense of mystery—not something you’d expect from a marshal.
He wore his hat this morning but did deign to tip it in her direction. “Good morning. We’re going to chop some wood for the stove.”
Grace blinked at his words. No wonder Gus appeared cross; the marshal must have forced him out of bed. She turned back to the bacon. “I have enough for breakfast although I will need more when I cook supper this evening.”
“In that case, we’ll go ahead so you will be properly prepared.” Marshal Henderson gave her brother a nudge, and they went out the back door.
Grace let out a slow breath and berated herself. Why hadn’t she greeted the man properly? He was a man after all, not a specter.
The bacon was burning, and she wiped the excess flour from her hands onto her apron before grabbing a rag to pull the skillet from the burner. She sighed heavily. In addition to her ill manners, her cooking would certainly not impress. If she’d had more, she would have thrown away the burnt bacon and started over, but the larder was empty.
Besides, it was only burnt around the edges, and many people liked it that way. She’d be more careful with the biscuits and eggs.
Mother came in, fully dressed. Gus and Marshal Henderson were still outside, chopping wood, enough for the rest of the week. Grace had peeked out a time or two, wondering how much wood they planned to chop.
Mother had immediately headed for Gus’s room until Grace spoke. “Gus is outside with Marshal Henderson.”
Mother stopped in her tracks, and her hand went to her heart. “What? But your brother is sick! He’ll faint in the hot sun.”
Grace pressed her lips together to keep from saying it was a cool spring morning, not the middle of summer, and still early morning.
Mother went to the window and opened it, calling out. “Yoo-hoo, Gus. Good morning, Marshal. Y’all get washed up. Breakfast is ready.”
“Not yet,” Grace mumbled, brushing an errant strand of hair back from her forehead. “Momma, help set the table before they come in.”
Instead, her mother pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night, and I am so weak I must rest a minute.”
Grace pulled the biscuits from the oven and then raked the scrambled eggs into a bowl. She grabbed plates to set the table and slid one in front of her mother who grabbed her wrist.
Her mother’s eyes opened wide with alarm. “What are you doing, Grace? We can’t serve our guest in the kitchen!”
“Yes, we can,” she replied, pulling loose from her mother’s grasp. If Mother wanted to eat off the good china in the dining room, she could get up and help.
Mother sighed heavily and remained seated. Marshal Henderson and Gus entered the kitchen, and this time, the marshal removed his hat. Her mother glanced at Marshal Henderson’s scars, but, thankfully, she did not recoil or question him. She probably thought it would be gauche to do so. Grace wiped her hands on her apron and grabbed the coffee pot from the backburner of the stove without thinking. She immediately cried out and let go.
The marshal appeared at her side as if conjured from thin air. “Show me your hand.”
Heat crept into her cheeks, but she did as he said, holding her hand out, palm up. His warm hands cradled hers as he examined it. She was able to see the scarring on his head more clearly. There was an indentation, devoid of hair, and a jagged scar that ran down his forehead, almost to his eyebrow.
He looked into her eyes and spoke. “Doesn’t look too bad.”
“No, I’m fine.” Her cheeks burned hotter when she reached for a dishtowel and he did the same, his hand brushing hers. She relinquished the job to him, and he used the dishtowel to grab the handle of the pot.
“Where do you keep the cups?” he asked.
She pointed mutely and whipped off her apron to take her seat before he insisted on helping more. Mother had been fussing over Gus and only now noticed what he was doing.
Her mother shook a finger at him and laughed. “Marshal Henderson, we do not allow our guests to wait on us. Grace! Pour the coffee and let Marshal Henderson sit down.”
Before she could answer, he waved her back down. “I must earn my keep.”
Gus was sitting in his usual spot, his eyes sullen. They all sat quietly, watching while Marshal Henderson poured each a cup of coffee.
He stood at her mother’s side and his gaze landed on each of them in turn. “Anyone use cream or sugar?”
Her mother laughed again. “Please sit, Marshal. Grace can get whatever else we need.”
He shot Grace a look, not of pity, she hoped, but a look she could not read. He sat down across from her, and her hands shook. She folded them in her lap. Her mother apologized for eating in the kitchen, but he did not appear to hear, and her mother fell silent.
Normally, they did not eat breakfast together. Grace ate before she going work and left breakfast for Gus and Mother in the warmer.
She glanced at her brother to see if he would take charge and offer grace, but his eyes avoided hers.
Marshal Henderson noted her look and said, “I will say the blessing.”
Mother beamed at him and answered him as if he’d asked, not flatly stated. “We would be ever so grateful.”
They bowed their heads and his prayer was quick and concise. Mother then took charge of passing the food to their guest, and Grace released a soft sigh of relief. She waited until the man began eating before she unfolded her hand and helped herself. She did not join in the conversation, if that’s what it could be called. Mother peppered the marshal with questions, and he answered each curtly.
Grace waited for a lull before she spoke. “If you will excuse me, I must get to work.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “To work? Today? Dr. Robbie will not be seeing patients.”
“All the more reason I need to be there. People get sick and hurt, despite folks dying.” She glanced around the table, apologetically, her gaze briefly grazing Marshal Henderson. “I’m sorry if I sound callous, but I have...” She’d pushed back from the table.
Marshal Henderson pushed his chair back and came around to her. “Allow me,” he said and pulled her chair out.
Her cheeks were again burning, and she’d forgotten what she planned to say so she simply said, “Thank you.”
“But we’re not through,” Mother protested.
“I’ll do the dishes when I return,” she promised.
“How do you plan to get to the ranch?” Gus asked, his first words of the morning.
“I’ll rent a horse and buggy from the livery. I’ll be back in time to
fix supper.” She carried her plate to the dry sink and scrapped the remains into the slop bucket. They had two pigs out back that she’d tend to after she returned.
When she turned around, Marshal Henderson was behind her, his plate in his hand although he was only half-way through.
His lips curled into a smile. “I will drive you.”
“But you have duties to attend to...”
He stopped her. “Actually, I have business at the ranch. You would be doing me a favor if you allow me to accompany you.”
She hesitated and then nodded. “Well, if you insist, but not until you finish your breakfast...” Her pulse beat a tattoo at the base of her throat, but she swallowed and blurted the words out. “Unless the food is not to your liking?”
He moved back to the table with his plate in his hand. “The food is fine, and I would like to eat the rest if you will spare the time.”
“Grace!” her mother exclaimed. “You should be ashamed hurrying our guest through his breakfast.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll walk to the livery and have them get the buggy ready while y’all finish. Leave the dishes. I’ll take care of everything when I return.”
Her mother glared at her, but Grace already had her hand on the door, pushing it open. She slipped outside, glad of the breeze that cooled her cheeks.
She took off at a brisk pace as if she could outrun her humiliation. She slowed her pace and analyzed her reaction. What did she know of him to feel so passionately each time he was near?
Her pace slowed further as she approached the livery. She knew he could handle her mother and brother—at least to some extent. She needed to control her feelings or hide them, at least, for he was only a man, no matter the color of his eyes.
She squared her shoulders and entered the livery.
Chapter Nine
The horse trotted away at a good pace when Ward tapped the lines against the gelding’s back. He threw a quick glance at Miss Jansen who was watching him with avid interest.
Her cheeks pinkened, and she turned slightly away from him. “I want to thank you again for cleaning the kitchen.”
“Gus, and your mother insisted.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” She was watching him again.
He shrugged and he allowed a smile to play on his lips. “I offered to clean up. Your mother tried to get me to sit down, and I did when she took over. It wasn’t long before she asked Gus for help, and he only needed a few encouraging words from me.”
She was silent but her gaze remained on him. One of his headaches hit with a vengeance, and he winced.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Just a headache.” He threw her a sideways glance, and her forehead was puckered with concern.
“Do you have them often?” she asked.
“Daily.”
“How is your memory?” She straightened in the seat and stared straight ahead, assuming what he supposed she considered her professional pose.
“Memory’s terrible.” He shrugged.
They rode in silence. It was warmer than yesterday, and only a small breeze stirred.
She cleared her throat and spoke quickly, as if it something she’d rehearsed, without looking in his direction. “Great strides have recently been made in the treatment of head wounds.”
“Because of the Civil War? It’s of little use to me. Whether correctly or incorrectly, my wound healed long ago.”
She turned to him again, her eyes bright. “Not necessarily. Dr. Robbie studied the treatment of head wounds and is considered something of an expert.”
“Oh?” He was skeptical. More than one doctor had told him they could do nothing to help besides prescribe laudanum. He’d seen too many good men ruined to try it.
She turned her head away again before speaking. “It wouldn’t hurt to let her examine you.”
He strained to hear her words for her voice was not much more than a whisper. He did not respond to her. He had no time to see a doctor.
They continued on in silence for a quarter of a mile when she suddenly called out and then looked at him, embarrassed, her cheeks scarlet.
He pulled back on the lines. “What’s wrong?”
The redness of her cheeks deepened. “I’m sorry if I startled you. It’s just I spotted a tree over there.”
“A tree?” They’d passed several trees, and he was puzzled as to which she referred.
“Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“Is there a reason you are interested in that particular tree?”
“It looked as if it were blooming.”
“Shall we go see?”
“The terrain might be too rough.”
“It will do. There have not been recent rains.” She pointed in the direction of the tree, and he turned the horse’s head and flicked the lines.
It was a bumpy, but short, ride. It was an apple tree, in full bloom, and she jumped from the buggy as he set the brake and wrapped the lines.
She had her eyes closed, inhaling the aroma. He watched her and remained quiet until she opened her sparkling eyes to face him.
A shy smile spread across her face. “It’s early for apple trees to bloom—this is the earliest I’ve seen.”
And then she reached toward him and then let her arm drop. “I know this is presumptuous, but may I take a closer look at your scar?”
He hesitated before he removed his hat and knelt in front of her, like a man to be knighted.
She touched his head and ran trembling fingers along the scar, probing with a delicate touch that still caused him to bite his lip to keep from crying out. She finished her examination, and he got to his feet awkwardly, for she had not stepped back to allow him ample room.
They stood face to face, and at that moment, the breeze picked up, loosening blooms that fell around them, white blossoms with tinges of pink. Her chest rose and fell in synchronicity with his, and he touched her face gently.
Her eyes widened, and her breathing deepened. He ran his hand along her silken cheek, and she did not pull away. She seemed caught in a trance, rooted to the ground, as rooted as the apple tree. He tilted her chin and captured her lips fully, tasting their sweetness, as sweet as the scent that surrounded them. After a moment, she placed a palm against his chest and pulled away.
He stepped back and searched her eyes, but she glanced quickly away.
Her cheeks were still pink, and now her lips matched. She glanced down. “We need to get going, don’t you think?” she asked, her voice husky.
They returned to the buggy and rode the rest of the way in silence.
When they pulled up to the main house, the sheriff was already there, sitting in one of the rockers on the porch. As Ward set the brake, the sheriff helped Grace, and once again held her hand a moment too long.
After greeting him, she pulled away and spoke to Ward. “Will you be back to pick me up?”
“What time?”
The sheriff stepped between them. “I’ll see Miss Jansen home.”
Ward kept his face smooth, and his voice even. “We are returning to the same place and I will take her.”
The sheriff shrugged, but his eyes narrowed, and he glanced from one to the other.
Grace cleared her throat. “Come back later, Ward, and I will let you know what time I am leaving.”
Ward noted her use of his first name. The sheriff had also, and his mouth gaped open for a split second.
Grace walked toward the porch and turned around before she mounted the steps. “Sheriff, if you will come by around ten, I need to talk to you.”
The sheriff nodded slowly. “I’ll be here.”
Both men watched until she had closed the front door behind her.
Ward looked at the sheriff. “I can handle things here whenever you’re ready to head back to town.”
“I have my men canvassing for witnesses. You said you didn’t want to step on any toes. Don’t start treading now.”
&nb
sp; Ward shrugged. “Up to you.”
The sheriff inclined his head. “The barn’s down that way.”
Ward surveyed the dirt road sloping toward the river in the distance with green pastures spreading around and enjoyed the view until the sheriff came to a stop and crossed his arms. He was a tall man, but Ward was taller, and the sheriff looked up to him.
He scratched his chin. “Before I go get Joshua, Tristan, and Thatcher, I need to say something.” The next words came in a rush. “I don’t like your attitude towards my girl.”
Ward raised a brow. “Your girl?”
“Miss Jansen.”
“What is it you don’t like, Sheriff?”
“I don’t think I need to spell it out.”
Ward contemplated the man. “Are you engaged to Miss Jansen?”
The tips of the sheriff’s ears reddened. “Not yet. Grace feels an obligation to her family and doesn’t want to leave them.”
“Her brother seems a healthy young man. The support of the family should not be solely on Miss Jansen.”
“That does not concern you or me.” He moved an inch closer. “I’m telling you how it is between me and her.”
“I don’t think you quite made it clear. Are you courting?”
“We’re not officially courting. I told you of her obligations...”
Ward cut him off with a gesture. “So, you proposed? Is that how it is, Sheriff? She rejected you?”
The sheriff took a step back, as if Ward had struck him. “She did not reject me—not completely, anyhow. We have to figure out...” The sheriff stopped and frowned. “Anyway, stay away from her. Do you understand?”
“No, can’t say that I do. And if I am staying at her house, how am I to avoid her?”
“You can leave. Nothing is keeping you there. Go back to the hotel.” The sheriff narrowed his eyes and braced himself as if for a blow.
Ward scuffed the toe of his boot in the hard-packed dirt of the road and calmed his breathing before raising his head. “I’ll make my own decisions, Sheriff.”
He tugged the brim of his hat low over his eyes and strode away without looking back. The sheriff hurried to catch up with him.
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