He stalked out of the bar, his fingers itching to shakesome sense into her head. She was a devil in disguise. She looked like an angel, but he was sure God neverintended any of his celestial sidekicks to be as stubborn, willful, wrongheaded, or irritating as Ellis. Ellis . . . ? What the hell was her last name? hewondered, stopping dead in his tracks in the parkinglot to look back at the Steel Wheel with a sudden flashof inspiration.
Ellis wanted to kick herself, but then she didn't. She was glad to see him go, but then she wasn't. She was seething with anger, but she'd never felt more special or worried over. She was sick to her stomach from the ups and down of her emotions. Bryce had a way of making her want to spit fire, swoon with excitement, scream with indignation, weep with happiness, and tear her hair out in confusion all at once.
And she didn't feel any better six hours later when she let herself out of the Steel Wheel, dreading another night of sleeping in the truck. She could have spent the night in a bed, she reminded herself. She shook her head and quickly reinforced her earlier conclusions that she wouldn't have been much help to Anne and, more importantly, the greater the distance she put between Bryce and herself, the better off she'd be.
She climbed into the truck and rubbed her hands together, warming them before touching the ice-cold steering wheel. She'd finished the ritual of the first engine turnover before it registered in her mind that something was wrong.
Her blanket was gone. And so was the old carpetbag that held the only material possessions she owned. A weak cry of terror escaped her throat as she scrambled around to reach down the back of the seat for her bankroll. It was gone.
Too stunned to cry, she slumped back behind the steering wheel trying to catch her breath and calm her heart. Why would anyone rob someone so poor they couldn't buy hay for a nightmare? The money she could understand, but the holey blanket? her mother's old books? two faded pictures? the rest of . . .
The realization hit her so hard, it made her head ache. A good thief would have taken the money and run without hampering his escape with a bunch of old rags and books that were worthless. Bryce would have taken everything just to spite her.
Five
Despite the frigid weather, the roads were clear of ice and snow. The old pickup truck peeled around curves, zoomed uphill and took flight in the depression dips as it climbed higher into the mountains. She missed the unmarked entrance to the LaSalle property, but even after backtracking she stood on the front porch of the LaSalle home in record time.
Ellis was angry enough to chew nails and spit rivets. Knocking on the door seemed timid and mousy considering her mood. She wanted to boot the door open, but Bryce opened it before she had the chance.
"Well, that didn't take ya long to figure out," he said, grinning as if he had good sense. "I like a clever woman."
"Gimme my stuff," she said through clenched teeth. He was a big, handsome thief, and her body automatically responded to him, rioting with delight and womanly urges. But, devil take him, she was fire-spewin', arm-wavin', butt-chewin' mad. She wanted to punch him. "I oughta shoot ya."
"What? With your make-believe gun?" he asked, not bothering to hide his enjoyment. "Why don't ya stab me and save your bullets?"
She growled at him. "I trusted ya. I thought ya a friend, and this is how ya treat me. You'd steal flies from a blind spider."
"The hell I would. And you ain't the one to be speakin' on the way friends treat each other." He coughed, harsh and long. "Come on in and scream at me. It's cold out here."
"Just gimme my stuff."
"No. Come inside."
Well, it was cold, and she didn't think she'd win a fistfight with him. She stepped past him and stood as straight and tall as an oak tree, just inside the door. She spied her possessions stacked neatly on the floor at the bottom of the stairwell. Her money bag was on top and in full view. She snatched it and proceeded to count the contents.
Bryce leaned against the wall to watch her, and when she was satisfied that not a penny was missing, she stuffed the bag in her coat pocket and glowered at him. He was ghost pale and looked weak as he supported himself against the wall. He was not too weak to speak, however.
"Nice show of trust there," he said. "Do ya really think I'd steal from ya?"
"Ya did." She showed him the evidence.
He shook his head. "I was just leading the horse . . . the mule to water. I didn't get into nothin'." He coughed and came close to falling over before he could catch his breath. Ellis took an unthinking step forward to help him, but he held up a hand to stop her, saying, "I wanted ya to stay here. I made a mess of everything at the Wheel and I'm sorry. I didn't set out to meddle in your business. I . . ." Once more he broke into a spasm of coughing before he could finish. "I was trying to help. I'm sorry."
"What?"
He presented her with a forlorn expression, as if willing but incapable of repeating his words. He paraphrased, "I said I was sorry."
No child, no woman, and certainly no man had ever uttered those words to her before. Lord knew, they were common enough to her lips, but she never in her life dreamed she'd hear them coming her way twice in one day.
"You're sick," she said, her chest aching with a peculiar but not unpleasant fullness.
He scowled, misunderstanding her. "I said I was sorry and that's all the apologizin' I aim to do. Take your things and go, if it's what ya want. I'm past caring where ya sleep."
"You're dead and too stupid to fall over, is what ya are," she said, just as sternly, taking matters into her own hands. She took him by the arm, led him over to the couch, and fairly pushed him into it, though it didn't take much effort.
He moaned. Horizontal agreed with him, returning a small fraction of his color. It was also a natural position in which to close one's eyes.
"Stood out in the cold too long last night," he muttered to no one in particular.
"You shoulda skedaddled when I told ya to. Bet now ya wished ya had," she said, placing a tentative touch to his brow. He peeked through thick, dark lashes at her and shook his head slowly. The heat he was generating amazed her. She allowed her hand to settle on his forehead.
"Cold hands, warm heart," he mumbled, a small smile on his lips.
"You're dreamin'," she said softly.
"Hearin' ya talk sweet and gentle, maybe I am." He opened one eye to watch her response and chuckled when she frowned. "It was a nice dream."
"You're whipped down with a punishin' fever. You should be in bed. Have ya taken any medicine?"
"In a minute," he said. "Just let me lay here a second more . . . then I'll leave."
"Leave? Where ya goin'?"
"The other house. I moved my things back this mornin'. Wanted ya to feel easy here." He sighed. "I'll go in a minute."
"Ya can't drive like this."
"Okay. I’ll walk."
"How far? Where is this other house? I didn't see another for miles this mornin'."
"Woods. Couple hundred yards behind this one. Pretty place. All mine."
Trying to help him back to his house in his present condition would be as futile as pushing a wheelbarrow with rope handles, she speculated. He was twice her size and as weak and helpless as a baby.
"Where'd ya sleep last night?"
"My room. Upstairs."
"Come on," she said, standing to pull on his arm, taking note of his shivering. "I'll help ya up the stairs. Ya got a right smart shake there."
“You ain't gonna sleep in that damn truck, are ya?" he asked, slowly getting to his feet with her aid.
"Maybe not tonight. Watch your step." She pulled his arm across her shoulders and pressed her weight upward to hold him steady. "Did ya take somethin' for the fever?"
"Aspirin. I don't think it's workin'."
"Never does." She gasped with exertion, placing his free hand on the banister. "Where'n tarnation is your kin? Don't they know you're ailin'?"
"Came on after they went to bed," he said, leaning heavily on the handrail to catch his
breath. He laughed softly, then coughed and chuckled, saying, “Told 'em I took your stuff. Told 'em you'd be mad as hellfire when ya got here, and not to bother gettin' up 'less they heard me screamin' in pain."
"Like I could hurt ya." Was there nothing he wouldn't say? "Come on. The sooner ya get there, the sooner ya can lay down again."
"It's mighty nice of ya to help me like this, Ellis." He paused. "But I suppose you're only doin' it to get me into bed."
Hadn't she just told him where he needed to be? He was losing his mind to the fever, she decided.
"That's right," she said. "Ya need—" She stopped when a snort of humor escaped him. She had to slip out from under his arm or be pulled down with him as he started to crumple on the steps with laughter. She stood for a second or two, deeply concerned by the madness in his mind until she recalled their earlier conversation at the Steel Wheel.
Relieved that he wasn't as far gone with the fever as she had imagined, she hoped that between the coughing and hooting he'd choke to death for throwing her suspicions of his good deeds back in her face.
"Ah, Ellis, you sweet little thing," he said, gasping and chuckling intermittently. “Ya gotta get a sense of humor."
"Fool."
"Sorry," he said, though she could tell he was far from it. "I'm dizzy and feverish. I can't help it." She humphed and pulled on his arm to get him started again. He went right on talking.
"But I'm not completely senseless yet. I know why you're helpin' me like this." He bent his head below his armpit to see her face. "Ya pity me. I'm your act of charity for the day. Ain't that right? 'Cuz I know you wouldn't help somebody just because ya believe in one person bein' kind to another for no reason other than it's how things oughta be—Oops." He fell heavily against her and the wall. "Since we're all pretty much in the same boat."
"Why don't ya rest your mouth," she said, acutely conscious of the length and breadth of his overheated body pressed against hers. She struggled to keep them both from falling to the bottom of the stairs. "Mind what you're doin' here."
"I am. And I like it," he said, his voice low and seductive.
She strained under his weight to look at him. He was grinning like a hog in slop. In the time it took her to blink, a familiar light in his fever-glazed eyes stirred panic within her and brought the taste of salt and bile to the back of her throat. She was ready to scream, but when she blinked again the spark was gone.
"Which room is yours?" she asked breathlessly, forcing her voice to sound calm.
With a hand to the wall on either side of her, Bryce pushed himself away from her.
"Ellis?"
"What?" she answered absently, her hands on his waist in a vain attempt to turn him to the top of the stairs.
"Look at me." When she did, he squeezed his eyes closed as if trying to refocus them. When he reopened them, they were bright and glassy and filled with concern. "Why are ya tremblin' like that?"
“You're heavy. I thought I was gonna drop ya." Had she imagined that look in his eyes? Or had her memory been playing tricks on her? No. Blurry-eyed men with a raging fever were just as unpredictable as blurry-eyed men drunk on corn liquor, she reminded herself. She tried to smile at him. "Let's give it another shot here, huh?"
"Did I scare ya?"
"Course not," she lied. “We'll get on fine now if ya could just get turned 'round a bit."
"Ellis."
"What?"
"Don't lie to me. Look at ya. You're shaking like a leaf in the wind."
"That's 'cuz you're makin' me mad again," she said, a might sharp. "Think I got nothin' better to do than to stand on these here steps jawin' with ya?"
Abruptly, he pushed away from the wall and sagged into a heap at her feet. With his elbows on his knees, he supported his head on his fists, shaking it back and forth slowly.
"If I ever do somethin' that makes ya happy, will ya tell me?" he asked sadly.
Ellis stood in half wonderment, half horror. Bryce LaSalle was the oddest man she'd ever come across, and there was no making heads or tails of him. Why would he want to do something to make her happy? Why would he care? More important at the moment, however, was what to do with him?
She was visually measuring the distance to the top of the stairs and contemplating a scream for help when he started talking again.
"You're the oddest female I've ever come across, and for the life of me, I can't make heads nor tails of ya."
Ellis couldn't stop it. She laughed out loud.
"That's funny?" he asked, looking up at her, plainly thinking that her wit was badly warped.
Amused and smiling, she slid down the wall to sit beside him. "I was just thinkin' the same thing about you."
“You were?" He returned her smile. "That is funny, 'cuz I ain't a bit odd."
She laughed again.
"When you laugh it's like listenin' to music. Soft and full of life and energy," he said, growing serious. "And I swear I never saw anything prettier than the way you look when ya smile like that."
Oh! He set her cheeks on fire and her heart to racing. Hummingbirds took wing in her abdomen and, curiously, she wanted to cry. Lordy, this man said the most uncommon things at the most peculiar moments. Taking no chances, she put her hand to his brow and found it burning hot.
"I'll laugh for ya again tomorrow. But if we don't tend to this fever, you're gonna get brain fried," she said, regretfully dismissing his sweet talk as delirium. A man was likely to say most anything when he was pegged out with a sickness.
"Auk!" he bellowed as if pained by a frustration he could no longer tolerate. "There ya go again! Disregardin' what I say like I don't know beans from bird eggs or straight up when I see it."
"Well, when ya talk like that I wonder if ya do," she said, standing to pull on his arm once again, refusing to believe he was anywhere near sane. “You are the beatin'est man."
"At least I ain't prickly."
"Ha! Every time I open my mouth ya fly off in every which direction."
"I don't. You ask anyone who knows me. I'm known for bein' slow goin' and easy tempered."
"This little girl hurtin' you, Bryce?" came Buck's voice from the top of the stairs. "I heard ya yellin' and came runnin'."
Ellis and Bryce turned to look at him. His flannel robe was tied askew and his hair was rumpled. He was straight-faced, but it didn't look as if he could hold in his mirth much longer.
They both spoke at once.
"Lord in heaven, am I glad to see ya. I need help."
'Tell her how slow goin' and easy tempered I am."
"He's slow goin' and easy tempered," Buck said in a dry matter-of-fact tone of voice as he stepped down to help Ellis drag his brother up the few remaining stairs to the top.
"She thinks she's the only one who can look at a fistful of fingers and count five," Bryce complained, falling back on the landing like a dead man and closing his eyes with a weary groan.
"Oh, that's not very nice," Anne said, joining the party. "Bryce can actually count ten fingers if he uses both hands."
"See, Miss Prickly," Bryce said without looking at her. “Tell her I know pretty when I see it, too."
"He does," they said, nodding at each other in agreement.
"The poison from his sickness is givin' him a fever. I think his brain's goin’ soft," Ellis said, too relieved to see Anne and Buck to pay heed to the strange way they talked. "I was tryin' to get him into a bed."
"But not for what you're thinkin' and not because she likes me," Bryce spoke up from the floor without opening his eyes. "She's feelin' pity for me."
Ellis sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Ya do look a bit peaked, brother," Buck said, leaning over him for a closer look. He slid his hands under his brother's arms and started dragging him toward a door on the left.
"I caught a chill standing out in the cold last night," Bryce explained offhandedly, hardly aware of what was happening to him. "My bones ache. I wanna die. Maybe I shoulda let her shoot me."
"Let who shoot you?" she asked, following the men into Bryce's room and silently asking Ellis to help her make up the bed.
"Ellis."
Ellis blushed hot all over when Anne and Buck looked at her.
She shrugged. "I mighta," she said truthfully. "But I ain't got a gun."
"She ain't got a knife either," Bryce said, sounding drowsy as Buck lowered him carefully to the floor beside the bed, straddling each leg to remove his boots. "But she can skin a pig with that tongue of hers."
Anne started to laugh. From the other side of the bed she smiled at Ellis and finished tucking in the sheets. "If he weren't so sick, I could really love this. I don't think he's talked this much in all the time I've known him."
"That caps the stack," Ellis said, amazed. "Chews my ears till they're close to bleedin' every chance he gets. And he's so dang ornery, I . . ."
"Bryce?" Anne frowned. "Why, there isn't an ornery bone in his body, Ellis. He's the sweetest, gentlest man I've ever met." When Buck muttered something under the strain of removing his brother's boots, she added, "After you, sweetheart."
Buck shot his wife a dazzling grin and a look so bursting with love that it pulled at something shallow and selfish inside Ellis. She wished that just once in her life someone would smile at her in the same way.
Bryce groaned in misery, and the women stepped up the pace of their efforts. When the bed was made, Buck and Ellis each took an arm, urging Bryce up off the floor and onto the clean sheets. She couldn't settle her gaze on any one object in the room when Buck reached for the buttons on his brother's blue denims. He stepped to the end of the bed and began to pull off Bryce's socks and pants.
Ellis was hypnotized by the slow movement of the waistband hugging Bryce's hips. It inched away to reveal lean flesh still golden brown from the summer sun, and a thin line of coarse dark hair that tapered lower and lower. ...
"I'll get the aspirin and some cold cloths," she heard Anne say, shattering the direction of her thoughts. She released a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding and quickly followed Anne from the room.
Sweet Dreamin' Baby Page 6