UNWRAPPING THE RANCHER'S SECRET

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked while rising from the chair.

  “Fine,” she answered. “You?”

  “Me? I’m fine,” he answered. “But I always am.”

  She laughed when he winked one eye, and again as Amelia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Placing a hand over her side, Sara told him, “Go get cleaned up and eat. You’re making my side worse.”

  “Can’t have that,” he said, heading toward the door.

  A sense of dread washed over her. What if he took her seriously and never returned?

  As if reading her mind, he spun around and winked again. “I’ll be back. Don’t you two be talking about me while I’m gone. I know it’ll be hard, but contain yourselves.”

  “Shoo,” Amelia said. “We got better things to talk about than you.”

  He left the room, but shouted in his wake, “No, you don’t.”

  “That boy,” Amelia said, shaking her head as she closed the door. “Always was just like Winston. Full of himself.”

  “He certainly reminds me of Winston,” Sara said, feeling a bit wistful. “More and more.”

  “He’s the spitting image of his father, that’s for sure. Inside and out.” Amelia arrived at the side of the bed and carefully folded back the covers. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  Sara pulled her eyes off the door and let out a sigh that came from nowhere. “Fine.”

  “Don’t be getting all distressed now,” Amelia said. “Nothing got hurt that won’t heal. Doc says you’ll be fine in no time. Of course, I already knew that, and I’m sure it hurts, that’s why I brought up some laudanum. It ain’t as bad as it could have been, you know. That stick could have—”

  “I don’t want any,” Sara interrupted, not wanting to think of could haves. “I had a headache all night from what Dr. Dunlop already gave me.” Her head had done more than ache all night. She’d had odd thoughts and dreams. All had been centered on Crofton. He’d been sitting beside her bed all night. Still, that shouldn’t have made her think so much about the kisses he’d placed on her forehead. They’d been simple touches. Just acts of kindness. Yet, they’d filled her with something far more. A warm tenderness she’d never experienced before. One that made her want to smile.

  “That wasn’t laudanum Doc gave you. But we’ll worry about that once I’ve seen your side,” Amelia said. “Can you sit up? It’ll make taking this wrap off easier.”

  “I’m sure I can,” Sara said.

  In the end, sitting up turned out to be one of those things that was far easier said than done. Every muscle she moved seemed to be attached to her side. She was breathing through her nose to keep from groaning aloud by the time she was sitting up, and she found herself wishing Crofton was there to help her. His strength had a gentleness that was as therapeutic as it was accommodating. The pain eased considerably when Amelia stacked the pillows behind her back. The addition of the rolled-up blanket that had been pressed upon her back all night to keep her from rolling onto her side helped, too.

  “How’s that?”

  “Better,” Sara admitted. “Much better.”

  “You’re gonna be sore for a while,” Amelia said. “You’ll want to take it easy.”

  “I believe you,” Sara admitted. “A few minutes ago, I might not have. I felt much better before moving.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to get this bandage off. The blood is starting to dry and I don’t want it sticking.”

  “I know,” Sara answered. “Go ahead. I’m fine now.”

  Amelia’s smile was soft and gentle, and tenderness filled her eyes. “You’ve always been such a good girl, Sara. Always putting the concerns of others before your own.”

  “That’s how it should be,” Sara answered, glad to think about something besides the tugging happening at her wound while Amelia unwound the strips of bandages around her waist.

  “Not always,” Amelia said. “It’s a good trait, the ability to think of others, but sometimes it’s important to think about ourselves. Our own needs and wants.”

  “I don’t have any needs or wants,” Sara said automatically.

  “Sure you do,” Amelia said. “You just don’t recognize them. Now, don’t take me wrong. Your momma was an amazing person. A beautiful and wonderful lady who loved you dearly. So dearly, she was overly thankful to Winston for bringing you and her here.”

  Confused and with a sense of concern, Sara asked, “Overly thankful?”

  Amelia dipped a cloth in water and then held it against the wound. “Yes, overly thankful. If that man had asked her to fly to the moon and back, she would have found a way to do it.”

  Even more confused, Sara asked, “What?”

  “I was just trying to think of something extraordinary,” Amelia said. “Not that I needed to. Winston would never have asked Suzanne to do anything. He never did. He loved her completely, but she, well, I think she thought she wasn’t worthy of his love. Because of where and how you and she lived when Winston stumbled across your path. He already owned all this, and I think that scared her. I told her and Winston told her, that he hadn’t always had all this. When Nate and Winston met, long before the war and the first mill Winston built, he barely had two coins to rub together. I knew them both back then, Winston and Nate. Winston had a dream, a vision he could see as clearly as you see your hand in front of your face, and he’d stop at nothing to make it come true.”

  “And Nate?” Sara asked as Amelia lifted the cloth and began removing the last of the bandage.

  Amelia sighed. “I loved Nate with all my heart and soul, but without Winston, Nate and I would still be back in Ohio, trying to grow a crop that would never amount to much.”

  Trying to grasp what Amelia was getting at, Sara asked, “But still alive?”

  “No. The Good Lord knows when he puts us on this earth when our time will be up. We don’t. Nor do we know how it’ll happen. He likes to keep us guessing. And for that matter, trying. Nate was a good man, a wonderful husband, and I would have followed him around the world.” She wound the bloody bandage into a roll and set it on the floor. “I was just smart enough to make sure Nate followed Winston. He was my anchor. I knew as long as we were tethered to Winston, Nate and I would have a house over our heads and food on the table.”

  “Are you saying my mother did the same thing? Tethered herself to Winston so she and I would have a house and food?”

  Amelia smiled and shook her head. “No, your mother loved Winston as much as he loved her. Suzanne just...” After rinsing the rag in water and wringing it out, she once again placed it against the wound. “Was afraid. Afraid she might do something to hamper that love. She was afraid you might, too. That’s why she imposed upon you to always be on your best behavior. To never make waves. Never upset anyone. To think of others first.”

  As that thought swirled inside her mind, Sara said, “To never upset Winston.” Shaking her head while trying to make sense of it all, she added, “But they were happy together. Always. They never argued.”

  “No, they didn’t,” Amelia said. “Yet your mother, the poor dear, never truly understood that neither of you could have ever upset Winston to the point his love for either of you would have faltered.”

  Sara’s thoughts had deepened, and with the consideration flowing along with memories, she saw things in a different light than she had before. Amelia could very well be right. Her mother had been adamant that Winston not be upset, and, as a child, with a child’s way of thinking, she’d always wondered why. He’d never done anything that caused her to fear him in any way.

  “This looks really good,” Amelia said. “Really good.”

  Lost somewhere in her mind, Sara asked, “What? What looks good?”

  “The stitches,” Amelia said. “I’ll get your mirror.”

  Cu
rious to see the wound, Sara twisted, but the sting forced her to wait for the mirror.

  Arriving back at the bed, Amelia held the mirror so the reflection showed a line of dark criss-cross stitches. The skin was red and in places, purple, and swollen, but a hint of disbelief also entered Sara’s mind. It didn’t seem bad enough to hurt like it had. Like it did.

  “I’m leaving it open until Dr. Dunlop checks it. No sense wrapping it up, just to unwrap it again. I’ll get you a clean shift and blouse. Do you need to use the chamber pot?”

  “No,” Sara answered, still gazing in the mirror. When Amelia took it away, she said, “I’ll wear that light blue dress with the yellow flowers. The waist is very loose.”

  “No, you won’t,” Amelia said. “You’ll have on a blouse, but nothing but your bloomers below the waist.”

  Thinking of Crofton being in the house, Sara said, “I can’t walk around in my bloomers.”

  “That’s right, you can’t, and won’t.” Amelia had moved to the dresser and was lifting out a shift. “It’s bed for you all day, young lady.”

  “I can’t lie in bed all day.”

  “Yes, you can, and will.” With a broad grin, Amelia approached the bed again, carrying both the shift and a white blouse, along with a hairbrush. “I’ll assign Crofton to sit in that chair all day if that’s what it takes to keep you in bed. I know he’ll agree, both with insisting you stay in bed and standing guard.” Then as if there was no further argument needed, she said, “I’ll brush the snarls out of your hair before we get you dressed.”

  The idea of Crofton sitting in the chair all day, as he’d done all night, sent a tiny quiver up Sara’s spine. “I’m sure Crofton has far more important things to do today.”

  “That won’t matter,” Amelia said as she continued brushing.

  It mattered to Sara. He’d already spent all night in her room, and she didn’t want him thinking she needed someone to take care of her all the time. He’d start believing she couldn’t do anything on her own. What he thought mattered to her. More and more.

  Amelia set the brush on the table beside the bed and lifted up a pair of scissors. “I’m gonna cut the rest of this shift off. Nothing left to save of it after I took the scissors to it yesterday and no sense causing you more pain.”

  Sara agreed with the no pain part, and held her hair out of the way. Once the shift was cut in two, she pulled her arms out. Her mind was still on Crofton, and the idea of him sitting in her room all day.

  One arm at a time, Amelia helped her put on a clean shift and then a blouse, all the while holding the bottoms of both garments to keep them from touching her side. Sara was still buttoning the blouse when a knock sounded on the door followed by Crofton announcing Dr. Dunlop had arrived.

  She gave Amelia a nod when the woman’s eyes questioned if she was ready, and watched as Amelia walked around the bed and then crossed the room to open the door.

  Dr. Dunlop entered, closely followed by Crofton. Her heart skipped a beat. He had shaved, and looked even more handsome. Winston had been handsome, so of course his son was, but no one had ever made her heart skip before.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Sara?” Dr. Dunlop asked, rolling up his sleeves as he walked toward the bed.

  Pulling her eyes off Crofton, she answered, “Fine. How are you today?”

  “Much better now that I see you sitting up and looking as beautiful as ever.” Patting the quilt covering her legs, he continued, “Crofton told me you slept most of the night, but did have a headache. How is that now?”

  Dr. Dunlop had lived in Royalton for as long as she had. Maybe longer, and over the years, she’d noticed his once black hair turning snow white. It was still as curly as a child’s, just fuzzier. She was now taller than him, too. That had happened a few years ago.

  Feeling eyes on her—Crofton’s as well as the doctor’s—she smiled. “The headache is gone.”

  “Completely?”

  On impulse, she touched a temple, testing for the pounding that had been there last night. “Yes.” The thought of Crofton once again sitting next to her bed made her feel flushed. “Will I be able to get out of bed today? I fear I’ll get sore lying around.”

  “No, not today,” the doctor answered. “I don’t want these stitches disturbed, and that will happen if you are up and about.” He started removing the pillows behind her. “I’ll need you to lie down and rest on your side so I can examine my handiwork.”

  Sara gingerly turned onto her side, and tried not to flinch at the pain moving caused. Crofton still stood near the door, and she kept her eyes on his boots, somehow thinking that might help. Amelia had walked around to the other side of the bed, and was conversing with the doctor, explaining how she’d soaked the bandage off.

  “I’ll just cover it lightly this time, so it can dry out a bit,” Dr. Dunlop said. “Right after I put some ointment on—I don’t want the stitches drying too quickly or the skin will pucker.”

  “I have that same ointment,” Amelia said. “It’s good for burns. I get it from Rosalie Winters.”

  “So do I,” Dr. Dunlop answered. “It’s good for just about everything. It’s all I use.”

  “She makes it from cottonwood buds,” Amelia said.

  As hard as she tried, Sara couldn’t keep her attention on the doctor and Amelia’s conversation. She didn’t care what the ointment was made from or who had made it. Crofton had moved. He now stood closer. Right beside the bed, and heat rushed into her cheeks at the idea of him looking at her bare side. Injury or not.

  When he took her hand, a case of the jitters ripped through her.

  “Tired of all the poking and prodding?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. “And the stares. I’m not some sideshow on display.”

  “You aren’t?” he asked.

  She had to bite back a smile at the humor shimmering on his face, and keeping a straight face was hard as she replied, “No, I’m not.”

  “I’m almost done, Sara. Just a bit longer,” Dr. Dunlop said. “Has this young woman had breakfast yet?”

  “No,” Amelia answered.

  “Hard to heal on an empty stomach,” the doctor said. “Work, too.”

  “Are you hinting that you haven’t had breakfast, either?” Amelia asked.

  “Didn’t have time,” the doctor answered. “I was too worried about Sara. Barely slept a wink.”

  Crofton was grinning at her, and Sara had to smile in return. “I think the least we can do is feed Dr. Dunlop, Amelia,” she said. “We can’t have the town’s only doctor emaciated.”

  “I agree,” Crofton said. “I’ll help him finish up if you want to go get breakfast started.”

  “For your information,” Amelia replied, “I just have to fry the eggs.”

  “To go with the biscuits in the warming oven and the gravy on the stove,” Crofton said.

  “Yes,” Amelia replied, “and—”

  “Done,” Dr. Dunlop interrupted.

  Sara smothered a giggle at the way he winked at her. Dr. Dunlop had always been able to make her laugh. Even that day she’d broken her arm.

  After both he and Amelia promised to return shortly, they left the room. Crofton didn’t follow. Instead he sat in one of the chairs she and her mother had upholstered to match the rest of the room. They’d spent hours picking out the material and then transforming the room from the little girl’s room it had been for years to a young lady’s bedroom. Winston had always supported their ideas about decorating the house.

  Shifting her attention, she asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Crofton pressed a finger to his lips and glanced toward the open doorway before whispering, “I ate while I was downstairs.”

  She shifted slightly, just her head in order to see him better. “Oh? And shaved and
got dressed?”

  He shrugged. “I’m quick.”

  Closing her eyes for a lingering moment, she questioned how her pain seemed to go away when he was near. It made no sense, but plenty of things weren’t making sense right now. Effects from the awful medicine Dr. Dunlop had given her, no doubt.

  “Do you want to sit up?”

  Sara opened her eyes, and a bit of fear emerged. Sitting up had hurt earlier, and she wasn’t certain she wanted him helping her. Lying on her side all day wasn’t a nice thought, either. Weighing her options, she said, “Yes, but could you open the door to the balcony first? I’d like a breath of fresh air. It’s rather warm up here. Amelia must have all the fires lit.”

  “Sure.” He stood, but walked to the bed. “I think I’ll help you sit up first. Don’t want you trying it on your own. You could pull out the stitches.”

  Certainly not appreciating how he’d read her mind, Sara tried to cover it up. “I wasn’t—”

  “Yes, you were.” He was already removing the blanket roll that kept her from turning onto her injured side. Once it was out of the way, he said, “Now just relax. I’ll lift you up so you don’t have to work those muscles.”

  She tried to relax, but when he pulled back the quilt, every muscle in her body quivered. The sheet still covered her, but she felt exposed. He slid is hands beneath her, one under her knees, the other her back, and the tingling inside her increased. Slow and easy, he lifted her off her side and set her back down on her bottom.

  “Did that hurt?”

  Sara was unable to decipher if there had been any pain or not because the tingles were too great. She hadn’t recalled feeling anything like them before. He’d carried her yesterday, and now that she thought about it, that had seemed to take her pain away. As had the way he’d held her hand. Did he remind her so much of Winston that something inside her thought he was her stepfather? That seemed highly unlikely, but there wasn’t another explanation.

  “No,” she answered. “It didn’t.”