West Winds of Wyoming

by Caroline Fyffe

  Warm, spicy scents, like oranges and cinnamon heating on the stove in a pot of hot water, engulfed Brenna. As she followed the woman farther into the room, she took just a moment to allow the inn to soothe her heart. The colorful quilts hanging on the walls, the lacy white curtains, the large stone fireplace at the end of the room. At one point in her life, she’d had thoughts of owning it and filling the rooms with happy customers. However, that was a long time ago, and a nearly forgotten dream.

  “Violet,” the woman called down the long, narrow hallway. “You have a visitor.”

  Anxiety tugged at Brenna through the thin wall of peace the inn had given her. She needed to hurry back to Mr. Hutton’s. After an examination, Dr. Thorn had confirmed her suspicion: measles. Since she’d had the malady as a child, and all her children had, as well, she was safe to look in on him a few times throughout the day. All except for Maddie. She didn’t know if she was at risk.

  A shuffling sound preceded the tiny owner of the inn. Soon Violet came down the hall, her arms full to overflowing with bedsheets and towels. Peeking over the top, her face split into a wide grin.

  “Why, Brenna, what brings ya out my way this fine mornin’? Penny, or another of your other little ones, ain’t feeling poorly, I hope.”

  Violet hefted the contents in her arms as they began to slip and Brenna rushed forward, grasping the load. “Give me these, Mrs. Hollyhock. They’re much too heavy for you to be carrying.”

  “I’ve got them, dearie,” Violet protested, taking a step back. “I’m almost to the door.”

  “You’re doing more than you should,” Brenna said, holding tight to the linen. “Remember last spring when your back went out.”

  “She won’t let you help her,” the unfamiliar woman stated, looking down her thin nose at Brenna. Her know-it-all smirk went right up Brenna’s back. Still, Brenna tried to ignore the comment.

  “I’ve known Violet most my life,” the woman continued, “and she’s always been more stubborn than a grumpy, old mule. You’re fighting a losing battle.”

  With a final tug, Violet won the laundry and proceeded through the kitchen to the back door. She pulled it open and dropped the linen in a pile on the floor of her tiny porch.

  “Today’s wash day,” she called over her shoulder. “I have one paying boarder, plus Beth and me. Won’t take me but a few hours.”

  Brenna counted slowly to three. “You must be the new boarder.” Brenna disliked the idle lazybones already. A true friend of Violet’s would have at least tried to lend a hand, wouldn’t she? Instead, this woman had called her an old mule.

  “No. Not me,” the woman replied primly. She raised her brows. “He’s a lawyer from Colorado.”

  Violet approached, smoothing her apron. “As soon as we have a visit, I’ll light a fire to heat the wash kettle.”

  “But it’s Sunday, Mrs. Hollyhock. Can’t the wash wait?”

  The woman tipped her head. “Not now that the beds are stripped. My sheets felt stale last night, and there’s nothing I hate more. Violet prides herself on her comfortable inn.”

  Who is this ill-tempered shrew to stand here and tell me anything about my dear friend?

  As if feeling a smidgen of tension in the air, Violet waved it away. “Brenna, I’ve yet to introduce the two of ya. This here is my dear friend Beth Fairington. Before I moved ta Logan Meadows, she worked for me in my mercantile in Valley Springs. In her travels all the way from Bozeman, we just happened t’ run into each other. Beth, this here is Brenna Lane. She’s a seamstress and a baker—and a mother, of course.”

  Just happened to run into each other? My foot. She’s here to leach off you. “How nice,” Brenna found herself saying, then she bit down on the inside of her cheek. “How long will you be visiting, Miss Fairington?” I hope not too long. Violet might not survive your stay.

  Mrs. Hollyhock beamed. “That’s just the wonder of it. She’s here fer good. I’m sending her into town to speak with Maude, since she has years of experience working in my grand store.”

  “Your mercantile was just a square box with two windows, Violet. I’ve told you it’s not nice to exaggerate.”

  Oh. Dear. Lord.

  Brenna didn’t know what to make of Beth Fairington. Well, actually she did, but didn’t like thinking those kinds of thoughts on the Lord’s day. “Then let me welcome you to town, Miss Fairington,” she said. “Did Mrs. Hollyhock tell you about the long, hard winters? Last year was a doozy. Snow up to the eaves. Most of us were snowbound for a week.”

  Miss Fairington smirked. “I’m used to Wyoming winters, Mrs. Lane. The idea of a little snow isn’t enough to send me running.”

  Beth’s condescending tone felt like biting into a sour apple. “I’m relieved to hear that. Then you won’t have any problems when the bears come around looking for something to eat.”

  “Now, Brenna. You’re exaggerating.” Violet was shaking her head.

  “Mrs. Hollyhock, I think it only fair your friend has ample warning,” Brenna said. “Not only bears, but also lots of wolves.”

  Violet was getting on in years. She didn’t need another mouth to feed unless that mouth was going to help out. Do some chores. Pull her own weight. This mouth wasn’t the type, Brenna was sure. Everyone worried about the sweet old woman—including herself, although the feisty eighty-six-year-old seemed to get along just fine.

  Beth Fairington pursed her lips and stood a little straighter. “Thank you for all your concern, Mrs. Lane. I’ll keep that in mind when walking to town.”

  “That would be wise. You know, here on the outskirts is where the wild creatures like to dwell. When I’m walking alone I always carry a large stick—just in case.”

  Violet went over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “If you two are gonna keep up this blather, I’m sittin’ down.” Mrs. Hollyhock sat with a rustle of fabric.

  Brenna held up a finger. “Give me a moment, please.” She hurried to the front door and opened it. “Mr. Rose, would you mind terribly going around back and filling up the two large wash kettles with water? The pump is right next to the house. And if it’s not too much trouble can you also start the fire underneath? I’d appreciate it a great deal.”

  She closed the door. “The new teacher has come down with a case of the measles and I’m here to buy more of your willow bark. We ran out of ours last night. He has a headache as well as a sore throat and other aches and pains.”

  Beth Fairington gasped. She took several large steps back, putting a good six feet between them. “That man outside has the measles? Why, he’ll infect us all. Have you been tending him?” She gave Brenna’s dress a scathing look, her lip curling in disgust.

  “No. Mr. Hutton is home in bed, too sick to do anything, much less walk all the way over here. And I can’t be a carrier since I’ve already had the measles years ago.”

  Beth Fairington sniffed loudly, wringing her hands. Her eyebrows arched so high Brenna feared they would slip right off the top of her head. Irritated at the woman’s reaction, she felt compelled to add, “And I changed my dress before coming out. If you happen to catch anything, it won’t be from me.”

  “The poor man.” Violet sprang into action. She scurried for the herb basket she kept on the kitchen shelf. Her fingers walked through the contents. “Here’s the willow bark.” Mrs. Hollyhock’s brow wrinkled. “But there’s something else I want to give ya.” She carefully took out two squares of waxed paper with several dried flowers resembling daisies pressed between. “This is the last of my purple coneflower. I’ve been saving them and I’m glad I did. Ground one stem up and add to boiling water. Steep for a good ten minutes, mind ya. The brew will ease his symptoms and fortify his constitution.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Hollyhock, you’re an angel.” Brenna couldn’t resist kissing her on her furrowed cheek. “Thank you.” She took a small cloth bag from her pocket, untied the ribbon and fished out a dime. “Does this cover the cost?”

  “Put your coinage away, dear
ie. I’m donating my services, jist like you.”

  Brenna wished Beth would just go away. She didn’t like the woman’s powerful stare taking in every little detail about her conversation with Mrs. Hollyhock. “No, I can’t take it for free.”

  “You will. I don’t want ta hear another word.”

  Gratitude overwhelmed her. “Thank you.” Brenna carefully took the willow bark and the dried coneflowers and placed them into her bag. “I need to go.” She embraced her old friend, then glanced at Beth.

  Beth straightened. “Who’s waiting for you outside if it’s not the ‘good teacher’ you’re nursing?”

  Mrs. Hollyhock seemed interested in her answer as well. Nothing the old woman liked more than matchmaking that led to baby-making.

  “Mr. Rose. He’s the new man working out at the Cotton Ranch, and I happened to encounter him walking through town.”

  Mrs. Hollyhock went to the back door and opened it. “Why, it’s my new friend Charlie Rose,” she called. With the door open Brenna could hear the pop and crackle of a new fire. “Iffin I’d knowed you were out here sooner, young man, I’d made ya come in for a hearty breakfast. You hungry?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m fine. But thank you for the offer,” he called back in his deep voice.

  “Another time then. And I won’t take no fer an answer. Thank ya kindly for starting my fire and filling my kettles.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Why had Mr. Rose walked her out to the inn and now it seemed he was waiting to walk her back? It was strange. She didn’t get the impression he was sweet on her, but then, maybe he was shy. At that thought, a vision of Mr. Hutton, Gregory, shadowed any thought of Nell’s new hand. Whatever the man’s intentions, she needed to get back to her patient. A good, strong cup of willow bark tea, followed by another of the purple coneflower was just what the doctor ordered.

  Later, she’d remember to have a long talk with Hannah and Jessie to see about helping Violet more often. Their old friend wasn’t getting any younger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Charlie glanced up as Brenna Lane hurried out the front door carrying her small cloth bag. He noted her high color and the hard line to her mouth. Something had transpired inside that had her blood pumping.

  As she descended the steps, he took in her gently curved shape and nicely formed lips. He considered her sunny disposition from the school picnic.

  A man could do worse, Charlie, something whispered inside. Just think how happy it would make Maddie.

  He glanced up at the sky. Are you putting these thoughts in my head, Miss Baxter? I didn’t take your matchmaking seriously before, but maybe I should have. He took a small step toward Georgia as he waited. A wife? My wife?

  That’s right, the voice encouraged. She’s won your daughter’s affections. Why not yours?

  Was he wrong to consider her just for Maddie’s sake? Hadn’t his own father done just that when he’d married his stepmother, Priscilla? His pa had needed someone to take care of the family of small boys, help in the house, cook meals. Seemed like his pa and Priscilla had been happy enough. He couldn’t remember a cross word passing between them. Surely, it wasn’t a sin to marry for convenience.

  “You needn’t have waited, Mr. Rose.” Her tone was clipped. “I’m perfectly fine walking back alone. I do it all the time.”

  She sounded a little bit cross. He needed to lighten her mood. Best way to do that was to get her smiling—then she might tell him what he wanted to know. “Did you get what you needed?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  They turned and started back the way they’d come. Georgia, ambling along behind them, probably thought he’d lost his marbles, what with him walking again instead of riding her.

  Wait a second. I’m not sure I believe all that. Horses don’t think rational thoughts like people. That’s just too farfetched to believe. Nell is lonely. When Seth’s gone, she needs something to talk to and she’s decided it’s the animals.

  He glanced back at his mare. The image of Nell riding beside him in the moonlight made his heart pick up tempo. She touched something deep inside him that Brenna didn’t—but would that matter in the long run?

  “I’m glad to hear you got what you came for,” he drawled slowly, trying to capture Brenna’s undivided attention, “but actually it’s a little hard to believe. You’re still empty-handed.” He motioned at her hands and the small satchel she carried. “Whatever you came for must be in there? Am I right?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Mr. Rose, did anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?”

  He let go a laugh that spooked a flock of common yellowthroats from a fir tree along the road. They swooped into the sky and Brenna’s lips curled up as she watched them fly away. She was softening . . .

  “Yes, they have, Mrs. Lane,” he said. “They most surely have. But I’ve also been told that satisfaction brought it back. What about you?”

  She arched a brow, surely trying to fight the giggle that finally popped out of her mouth. “So, I see you’re a learned man. That is a bit unusual for a cowboy in these parts.”

  He nodded. “I’d say somewhat learned. Not too much, though. Not enough to be stuffy, or impersonal. I’m hospitable and charming. And you must be learned, if you can recognize my educated state.”

  She stopped and gaped at him for a moment. “That’s quite a statement, Mr. Rose. I’m glad you think so highly of yourself.”

  His face heated. The devil had placed those words in his mouth.

  “And actually, I am—a little educated, that is,” Brenna added. “But mostly, I’m self-taught by absorbing my lessons right along with my children as they bring their studies home from school. I do have a small library of books that I read and reread though.”

  Charlie made a note of that. Maybe he would ask Nell if he could borrow a book or two to share with Brenna. Only on loan, of course. He didn’t think Nell would mind.

  “That’s right clever of you, Mrs. Lane, learning with the young ’uns, I mean. I’m more than just a cowboy, you know. I was a merchant. I used to own a gun shop. My duties included cleaning and gun repair, bookkeeping, ordering parts from back East, and even making nice with the grumpy old man who had the glass shop next to mine. He had a way of turning everything I said back on me. That codger was always stewing for a fight over something.” He gave a quick wink to her upturned face, though she didn’t appear too impressed. “But—I learned how to get around his grouchy ways, and even make him smile.”

  He glanced at the pouch clutched in her hands, worry over Maddie never far from his thoughts. “I can’t help wonder what brought you out so early on a Sunday morning, to walk all the way across town for something so small it fits in your handbag. Call me curious, or call me a dead cat. Either way, I’d like to know.”

  She gave another small laugh but kept her vision trained straight ahead. “If you really must know, Mr. Rose, I came for some willow bark to make a soothing tea for Mr. Hutton, the schoolteacher, who has taken ill. He recently moved in across the street from me and my family, and the poor man has no one else to fetch it for him. Mrs. Hollyhock keeps a good store of herbs and roots for medicinal purposes, in case you find yourself in need of some.”

  “Taken ill?” Fear frosted Charlie’s inner core. All laughter died. Was Maddie in danger? “I thought Logan Meadows had a doctor. I believe Nell mentioned that to me the other day.”

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Thorn has just finished examining Mr. Hutton. Unfortunately, he’ll be down for some time—just as the new school term is set to begin. That’s another situation I need to figure out.”

  They rounded the corner onto Main Street, where a few more people were out and about. “Did the doctor say what the teacher has? Is it serious?”

  “Serious enough. It’s a clear case of the measles. I’m sure you’re aware that the disease is quite hard on adults.”

  Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, I had them myself when I was in my twenties.” He f
elt like dancing the Texas Two-Step. Three years ago he’d sat by Maddie’s side, putting cool compresses on her head to lessen her fever and grabbing her hands when she went to scratch her face. By the time she was well, he’d almost gone hoarse from reading to her constantly. A small scar on the right side of her nose was the only reminder. “My mother’s brother succumbed to them but that was before I was born. After that, she always had a healthy fear of the disease.”

  Brenna nodded. “With good reason, then. Logan Meadows had several cases two years ago, and a few the year before that. My whole brood caught them one after another. Three months passed before my household was back to normal.”

  “Your children are all well now, then?”

  “Yes, they are, at the moment. And that includes my little adopted daughter, Maddie. But I’m worried because I don’t know her medical history, or if she’s susceptible to coming down with something or not. If she is, she might contract what Mr. Hutton has. She says she’s already had the measles, but I’m not sure if a young child really remembers which sicknesses she’s had and which she has not.”

  Charlie let go the breath he’d been holding. No need for Brenna to worry over Maddie needlessly. “The child says she did? Does she show any signs of having them, any pocks or scars?”

  Her eyes brightened. “I never thought of that. I’ll ask her that exact question when I return home. Measles don’t always leave scars, not like chicken pox, but can if scratched deeply. All my children have a mark or two.”

  Good. Maddie knew exactly where she had a scar thanks to Miss Baxter sulking over it so often. Bemoaning the fact that the tiny spot next to her nose might never fade. Maddie can’t see it, but she’ll be able to point it out.

  A large dose of relief loosened Charlie’s limbs. And Brenna had called Maddie her daughter. That must mean she loved her. Although he longed to keep the subject going, he didn’t dare. The truth would be out soon enough and he didn’t want to make matters worse than they were going to be. Feathers would be ruffled. People would feel duped. Anger would flare. He knew that, but he didn’t have a choice. If they couldn’t understand his reasons for wanting to keep her safe, then they wouldn’t understand anything. No one knew Galante like he did.