“What happened to that horse you had that you called Ranger?” she asked.
He flicked her a glance. “Oh, I…” He hesitated and then said, “He was stolen.”
“What? When?”
“Shortly before you came.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He winced, and Sally regretted speaking the way she had.
“Sorry. I was just surprised. You mentioned him in your letters, and…” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Was it those outlaws?”
“I’m not sure.”
She eyed him carefully. “You didn’t want to worry me, I suppose.”
“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I should have told you. And folks are right about being careful when you’re home alone.”
“All right.” Her troubled thoughts churned. Why had Mark not mentioned this when they had discussed the outlaw gang with the Lewises and Sheriff Jackson? Maybe he had reported the theft earlier and not seen a need to bring it up again.
He was frowning again, and she decided it was best to speak of something else.
“Do you mind if I take the day and go on Wednesday?”
“Maybe Cam could drop you off and get supplies while you’re quilting.”
“Cam?” Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked them back. She didn’t want Cam squiring her around the county while Mark rode herd or whatever it was he did out there. “I’d rather stay home,” she said softly.
He still didn’t move, and she wasn’t sure he’d heard. After a long moment, he pulled in a deep breath. “You got something against Cam? Tell me if you do.”
“Not really. I’d just rather drive myself—or have you beside me.”
“Well…we’ll see.”
It was something, and she seized on it. “Oh, please, Mark. I plan to do up all the laundry tomorrow, and I’ll bake on Tuesday, even if it’s sweltering. Please, can’t you go along with me? I’d like it ever so much.”
His lips twitched. “What’s so great about having me take you?”
She smiled and sneaked her hand inside his elbow. “The girls will all see you bringing me, that’s what. I’d like for them to see that, the same as I liked writing to my mother about how you fixed the new room for me, and I liked having people at the store see you buying me yard goods.”
He glanced down at her. “That meant something to you?”
“It meant a lot. It meant my husband’s taking care of me, and the handsomest man in Beaumont wants me to have nice things.”
His lips twitched. “I do, Sally. I want you to be happy. Seeing you smile is just about the prettiest sight I ever saw.”
Sally began to hope that he would drive her on Wednesday and that she might be able to make slow progress in other directions.
That afternoon Mark built a fire ring on the dry earth at the edge of the garden behind the cabin. He piled enough of their precious stock of firewood to keep a fire going all day. Next he built a frame to suspend the big wash kettle from and got out the kettle and filled it with water. He also filled the copper boiler and four extra pails of water.
Sally watched with satisfaction at first, but as the afternoon wore on, she became uneasy. By suppertime, she knew he was preparing everything she would need so that he wouldn’t have to come home all day. What drove him so? Was he really doing anything, out there in the grazing land?
She rose before dawn on Monday, before she heard him stir. By the time she had her dress on and had opened the door, he was folding up his blankets.
They gazed at each other across the room.
“I’ll fix your breakfast,” she said.
“No need.”
“I want to. Let me do this.”
He nodded and set the blanket down. When she turned around again, he was out the door.
She stirred up pancake batter and fried some eggs and sausage. If he rode out without eating, she would give up.
Mark had told her once that he didn’t like coffee, but he seemed to drink it fairly often. Cam couldn’t get enough. She filled the pot and set it on the stove. The kitchen was already uncomfortably hot. At least Mark had readied things so she could do the wash outside.
She had a platter of pancakes ready when he and Cam came in. They both sat at the table, and she took over the sausage, sorghum, eggs, coffee, butter, and a dish of applesauce.
“Fine breakfast,” Cam said.
“Thank you.” Sally sat down beside them and bowed her head.
After a moment’s silence, Mark said quietly, “Lord, we thank You for this food. Amen.”
“Amen.” Sally opened her eyes and smiled. “What are you boys up to today?”
Mark said nothing. Cam glanced at him and then said, “Well, Mark’s going to clean out the spring. We’re concerned the water’s starting to slack off. And I’ll be working around here, so if you need more water or anything like that, I’ll be handy.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say thank you.
All morning she worked at the fire, first struggling to heat the water and then washing the clothes. She had quite a pile of towels and table linens, too. By noontime, she wished she hadn’t undertaken so much. In spite of all the water Mark had drawn, her multiple rinses required more. She finally sat down for a few minutes to rest before getting dinner. She still had one load left of the men’s grimy work clothes.
The kitchen wasn’t any cooler, but at least she was out of the sun. She put her arms on the table and laid her head down. Her skin felt leathery, and her eyes ached. Maybe she’d gotten too much sun, despite her bonnet. She could hear Cam sawing in the barn and wondered what he was making. Surely she could rest a couple of minutes before she started cooking.
“You all right?”
She sat bolt upright. Cam stood beside her, by the table, his hand on her shoulder.
“I must have dozed off.” She glanced toward the window, trying to judge the position of the sun. “It is noontime?”
“Yup, but if dinner’s not ready, it’s not a problem.”
She was very aware of his hand still resting solicitously on her shoulder. “No, no, I’ll get you something.” She jumped up, shoving the chair back and a little toward him, forcing him to let go. “I’m sorry, Cam. It will just take me a minute. There’s a bit of ham left from last night, and I’ve got a little bread left. Would you like a sandwich? Or I can make gravy in about five minutes.” She shot a guilty glance toward the stove. She hadn’t replenished the fire inside. “Or ten.”
“A sandwich is fine. I can make it myself. You oughta just sit there and relax, young lady. I could see you’ve been working hard all mornin’.”
“Oh, well, that’s Monday for you. Washing always takes awhile.”
“Whyn’t you sit right down again,” Cam said, walking toward her. “Let me bring you something for a change.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll get it.” Sally reached for the tin box on the shelf where she kept bread. The half loaf was in her hand when she felt him touch her again. This time, his fingers found her bare skin at the back of her neck.
“I don’t mind, Sally.”
She jumped and whirled toward him. “Don’t touch me.”
Cam stepped back, a look of innocence throwing her into confusion.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything. I just wanted to get the bread down for you.”
Sally took a breath, trying to sort things out. For a few seconds, she had felt that Cam was a threat to her. Was she wrong? She was tired, and she hadn’t liked Cam almost from the start. Was she imagining something that wasn’t there?
She made herself pull out a smile. “Why don’t you get yourself a cup of milk? There’s coffee on the stove, but I suppose it’s cooled off. Anyway, I know where everything is, and it will be quicker if I fix us both sandwiches by myself.”
“Sure, Sally. Whatever you say.”
Something in his tone rankled her. He sounded like a man hoping to appease an angry child.
S
he worked swiftly while he brought in the jug of milk and poured a tin cup full. She was determined to finish the meal preparation as soon as possible. A couple of minutes later, she plunked Cam’s plate in front of him. “There you go. I’m going to go stoke my laundry fire. I put some more water on to heat, and I want it to be warm when I finish eating.”
“I’ll do it for you,” Cam said.
“No, I’m fine. Go ahead and eat.”
Sally dashed out the door before he could stop her. She slowed immediately as the sun beat down on her. She hadn’t grabbed her bonnet. She’d have to move slowly and not stay out here long, but she had already determined that she wouldn’t go back inside until after Cam came out. She didn’t like being in there alone with him, whether justified or not.
As she had feared, the fire had died down to almost nothing. She stirred the ashes and found a few coals. The woodpile had shrunk considerably, but there was enough to heat this last cauldron, at least to warm it. She could rinse their trousers and shirts in cold water.
She picked up two sticks of dry, twisted wood. How far did Mark and Cam have to go to find even this poor fuel? Using the stove made more sense, except that firing it up on a day like this would make it far too hot for them to sleep inside. They could leave the windows open all night, and the cabin still wouldn’t be cool by morning. Maybe someday Mark would remember the idea of an outdoor oven.
Of course, Cam had been the one to bring that up first, and for that reason, Sally wouldn’t mention it. If one of them broached the subject, she would encourage them to go ahead with the project.
The feathery bark on the gnarled sticks caught fire suddenly, and the blaze leaped high. Sally jumped back, but not quickly enough. The hem of her skirt flared up in orange flames, with acrid smoke stinging her eyes.
“Oh!” Sally went to her knees and slapped at the burning cloth. The flames spread around the edge of the skirt, faster than she could quell them. The material seemed to melt away as a long, orange plume raced up the side of her skirt.
“Cam! Cam!” Her hands hurt as she clapped them over the worst part of the fire.
Rough hands grabbed her from behind and shoved her down.
“Roll!”
He pulled her over onto her side. Sally’s brain processed Cam’s presence and his command, and she rolled in the powdery dirt. Her calf screamed with pain, but she kept thrashing until he pressed heavily on her arm and back.
“Stop now, Sal. It’s over. It’s all right.”
She sat up, gasping and reached toward him. He grabbed her hands to pull her up, and she let out a little shriek.
“My hands!”
He turned them palm up and stared at her reddened flesh.
“What else?”
“My leg.”
“Your skirt’s still smoking. Stand up. We have to get it off.”
She stared at him. She would not disrobe in front of Cam, even if it killed her. But the water in her kettle was too warm to douse herself in.
“No. Get me a bucket of water.”
He opened his mouth and closed it then snatched an empty bucket from beside the fire pit. He wheeled and headed for the well.
Sally examined her skirt, separating the layers of burnt cloth carefully with her tender fingers. Her palms screamed with pain, but she had to make sure her skirt wouldn’t flare up again. At least it was her old, threadbare calico, not the new one. The fire had burned her leg, too, but Cam would never know how badly. She would make sure of that.
He came with the water, and she thrust both hands into the soothing coolness. After only a few seconds’ relief, the stinging, searing pain returned.
“Pour it over my skirt, please.”
Cam blinked and then stood back a pace. He swung the bucket, drenching the side where the flames had done the most damage. Sally braced herself for the shock of it, but it didn’t jar her as much as she had expected.
“I’m going in.” Her lips trembled, and her legs shook, too. She hoped she could make it inside without collapsing. “Can you bring me more water?”
“Of course. But won’t you let me carry you?”
“No!”
She limped toward the house, trying to hold together the edges of her tattered skirt. She gave that up after Cam turned away to go back to the well.
Her hands throbbed mercilessly when she tried to lift her skirt to mount the steps. She held them up and looked at them. Blisters were forming, and the rest of her palms were angry, red welts. Her fingertips also held blisters in various stages of development. She staggered up the steps, taking the risk of tripping on her hems.
She had reached the bedroom door when Cam came in behind her.
“Here, let me—”
“Don’t touch me.” The words she had spoken a quarter of an hour earlier struck her with a force that made her shiver. “I can take care of myself,” she said. “Just set the pail inside my room, please.”
She stood aside while Cam obeyed. He came out and paused before her.
“Leave me,” she said.
“I’ll go find Mark.”
“No. He doesn’t want to be here.” She wished she hadn’t said that. The appraising look in Cam’s eyes told her he parsed her words and reached conclusions, ones she didn’t want him to make.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “I’ll be outside. Call for me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“Thank you.”
She waited until he went out. In her bedroom, she closed the door and tried to unbutton the waistband of her skirt. Her seared fingertips sent lances of pain through her when they encountered the hard button. She clenched her teeth and forced the button through the buttonhole. From there, she was able to ease what was left of the skirt down, followed by her cotton petticoat. Ma always wore woolen skirts when she worked over an open fire. Sally should have followed her example, though in this heat she might have swooned wearing wool. She had brought one old winter woolen dress from St. Louis, thinking she would probably never wear it in Texas.
She stepped out of the circle of charred fabric and sat down on her bed. At once she wished she had asked Cam to fill her wash basin. She would not call him back, not for anything.
She got up slowly and hobbled to the water bucket. Bending over, she immersed her hands in the water for several seconds and then splashed a handful on her calf. A large red patch discolored the outside of her left leg below the knee. A smaller spot, about two inches long and half an inch wide, went deeper. The skin was peeling away. She wondered if Mark had any burn salve. If not, she would put butter on it—but she wouldn’t go out to the kitchen for it now. Cam could walk into the main room at any moment, and she wasn’t dressed.
She took a cloth from the washstand and soaked it then limped back to the bed. Cautiously, she worked her way onto the mattress and lay back on her pillow. Her hands and leg hurt so fiercely she wanted to cry out. Tears gushed from her eyes. If Ma were here, she would know what to put on the burns, and she would fix some soothing tea.
Dear God, please help me.
She lay staring at the board ceiling and tried not to scream.
CHAPTER 18
Johnny rode wearily into the barnyard. He was getting home later than usual, and the sun was already lowering. He’d spent half the day cleaning the spring and the other half bringing in some cattle that had broken through a weak place in a stretch of fence on his farthest boundary line. After two hours of chasing them up and down the hills, he’d finally gotten them inside the fence. Then had come the job of repairing it so they couldn’t get out again.
Cam was standing near the corral gate, obviously waiting for him. Before Johnny had even hit the ground, he blurted out, “Sally’s hurt.”
“What happened?”
“Burned herself doing the laundry.”
Johnny’s breath whooshed out of him. “How bad?”
“She said she can take care of herself,
but I looked in the cabin a little while ago, and she hasn’t started the stove or anything. Her hands are the worst, I think, where she tried to beat it out.”
Johnny dropped Reckless’s reins and ran for the cabin. The front door was wide open, but the bedroom door was shut. He threw it open. Sally raised her head from her pillow and blinked at him.
“Mark?”
He stepped over a heap of discarded clothing, went to her side, and knelt by the bed. “Sally, are you all right?”
She looked around as though dazed, then back at him. “I must have slept.”
Her hair was damp, clinging in strands to her forehead. He pushed it back gently. “How bad is it?”
She raised her hands and stared at her palms. In the dim light, he could see that they were swollen. A blister the size of a silver dollar disfigured her right palm, and smaller ones had formed on her fingers. He took her wrist gingerly and turned her left hand toward him. It was even worse.
“Oh, Sally, I’m so sorry!”
“My skirt caught. It happened so fast.”
“Your skirt?”
She nodded, and he noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks. “My leg hurts, but my hands…”
She hadn’t put the quilt over herself, but one of the linen sheets covered her from her waist down. He pushed it aside.
“Don’t,” she choked.
His face heated. “I need to, Sally. It’s all right.”
He’d never seen a woman’s bare limbs before. He tried not to think about that but just concentrated on her burn. If this were his own leg he was looking at, what would he be thinking?
“Do you have any salve?” she asked.
“I…there might be something in the barn.” Tears spilled over his eyes, and he swiped at them with his cuff. “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”
“Cam…” She stared at him, her lips trembling. “If Cam wasn’t here…”
“Thank God he was.”
She nodded slowly.
“I’ll find something to put on the burns.”
“It’s suppertime, isn’t it?” Her hoarse voice tore at him.
“Don’t think about that. I don’t want you to get up.”
The Outlaw Takes a Bride Page 19