She held her breath until Theodore turned around.
At last she had his full attention. He stared at her, brow furrowed in concern, as she told him about Pa’s final posse ride. “Lawmen going out like this? It sends me into a state, especially since I know Tad. I’ve been panicking, but you couldn’t know why. I’m sorry if my actions confused or hurt you.”
Theodore looked back at the coffee display. “Don’t give it a second thought.”
Was he unwounded by her confession, or did conflict make him uncomfortable? Either way, they needed to work through this. “I have to think about it, Theodore. I don’t want to cause strife—”
“I’m more concerned about you.” His words made her relax. “I knew all your people were dead, but to relive your pa’s murder must ache something awful.”
“Yes, but I still have people. One, anyway. My brother Johnny is somewhere in California. I just sent him another letter, remember?” She’d announced it to the mercantile. Hadn’t he been listening to her?
“Oh, that’s right.” Theodore shrugged. “I’m glad you told me about your pa. We haven’t had much time to talk since you arrived, what with the store and you helping Mrs. Horner and all.”
Rebecca nodded. Maybe now that they’d had this discussion, they’d spend some time together courting—a benefit of their delayed wedding. “What about a picnic tomorrow? We could close the store for lunch.”
“Oh no, I could never close it. But maybe when Corny comes back from her break—”
Ding-a-ding. The door flung wide, startling Rebecca. Two dirt-caked men paused inside the doorway, one supporting the other by the waist. Jeroboam Jones held up the other man, who clutched his gut and whose downcast face was hidden by his Stetson Boss hat.
She didn’t need to see his face to know his identity. Her heart beat triple-time.
It was Tad, his green plaid shirt soaked in blood.
It hurt to lift his head, but Tad pushed through the sting so he could meet Rebecca’s gaze. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Then his knees gave way, completely contradicting his words.
Rebecca rushed forward, her weight gentle against him, but the touch still made him wince. “You need a doctor.”
“Wilkie ain’t at the barbershop, or he ain’t answerin’ the door.” Jeroboam shifted to better hold him upright.
“I meant a real doctor.” Rebecca tutted.
“All I need are bandages.” His gaze met Theodore’s, and his cousin reached for a spool of white gauze.
“You might need more, depending on what happened.” Rebecca bent, inspecting him.
“Gunshot, o’ course.” Jeroboam’s grip loosened. “We caught up to the Gang o’ Four, and they started shootin’.”
Tad winced but not from the pain of his wound. Rebecca lost her father in a similar fashion, and a quick glance assured Tad her jaw clenched. “That’s enough, Jeroboam. It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Flesh wound or not, you need to get this sewn up. Can you make it to the livery? If not, I can try to attend to you at Theodore’s desk in the stockroom.”
“The livery.” He and Theodore said it in tandem.
Maybe he should be insulted that his cousin didn’t want his mercantile turned into a makeshift hospital for his sake, but right now, all Tad wanted was a bed.
“Let’s go.” Rebecca took the wad of bandages from Theodore and asked for a bucket of other items, including a needle and astringent. “I assume you have soap at the livery.”
“We try to stay cleaner than the animals.” His attempt at a joke made her fist her hands on her hips.
“Doesn’t look like it today. I’ve seen hogs cleaner than you two.” She jutted her chin at the door. “Let’s go.”
Jeroboam’s strides were longer than hers, but the trio managed to hobble to the livery. Jeroboam shook his head. “Never before been so glad Ruby City’s small.”
Small enough for word to carry. Pa was already waiting in the wide livery door with Orr and the horses. At least Orr’s presence meant Tad didn’t have to explain everything. Pa took Rebecca’s place and helped him through the door to the house by the livery office, through the kitchen and parlor, to the lone bedchamber in the house.
“Not your bed, Pa. I’ll bleed on the quilts.”
“Take off his shirt,” Rebecca ordered.
Pa didn’t obey. “I’m not so sure you should stay for this, Becky.”
Tad winced as he unbuttoned the green plaid. “She’s done some nursing, Pa.”
“On Confederates,” Jeroboam muttered.
“I sewed up a Union sergeant after the First Battle of Independence. He didn’t complain about the results. But if one of you wants to do the sewing, go ahead.”
Pa, who’d stitched his share of lacerations to equine legs, shook his head. Jeroboam gulped. Orr patted the doorjamb. “I’ll go tend the horses.”
Rebecca turned to Jeroboam. “Fetch water, please. Lots of it. Uncle Giff, I need soap—ah, there’s the basin, never mind—but I could benefit from more light. Once Tad gets that shirt off, no one touches anything without clean hands.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they all said at once.
Where was Theodore? Tad had assumed he’d followed, but knowing him, a customer dropped in. Or he still loathed Tad too much to come.
Rebecca washed up at the basin while Pa helped Tad off with his shirt. When Pa tugged, the shirt stuck, making Tad gasp from the pain. But then the sting and ache was blessedly gone.
Rebecca perched on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry your shirt is ruined.”
“Me, too. I kind of liked that one.”
“So did I.” Maybe it was his imagination, but her cheeks flushed. “Let’s get this clean.”
Tad’s arm was going numb. “All I need is a bandage.”
“You need more than that.” Rebecca’s bloodied hands moved from his side to swipe his arm and chest with a towel. Why was she so bloody? His arm must be numb, if he hadn’t felt her ministering to his injuries. “You’re right about it being a flesh wound. The bullet grazed your shoulder and should heal just fine, but what’s this gash on your chest?”
Jeroboam returned with the bucket. “He fell off Solomon when he got shot, facedown on a rock.”
Pa leaned to stuff toweling under Tad. “Must’ve been some rock.”
“That’s enough.” Tad’s tone came out testy, but lying here bloodied and fussed over was not his idea of a pleasant afternoon. Pa’s bedroom was cramped with people, and—
“Yow, that hurt.”
“Sorry.” Rebecca didn’t look it. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “The area must be cleaned, though.”
Pa leaned against the headboard, making the bed jiggle. Tad winced from the motion, but Pa didn’t seem to notice. “Tad was in the war, Becky. Did he tell you about it?”
Rebecca glanced up. “He didn’t.”
Tad grunted. “I don’t count monitoring the Oregon Trail as being in the war, Pa.”
“But that’s just what President Lincoln needed from the men of Idaho Territory—safe communication routes between the east and west.” Pa shifted his weight from the bed frame, making it jiggle again. Ouch. “You wore a Union uniform and served your country. You should be proud.”
He was honored to have served, but he’d not endured what others had. Rebecca had seen far worse in Missouri and lost her brother Raymond, who’d undoubtedly protected more than a communication route—like companions.
He’d mustered out over a year ago, agreed to serve as deputy when Sheriff Adkins asked, and then the whole debacle with Dottie had started. Thinking about it made him tense up.
“Try to relax, Tad. And you fellows, no moving the bed.” Rebecca spared glances for Pa and Jeroboam. “But stay close in case I need you to hold Tad down.”
“I won’t need holding down.” But at the first pinch of the needle at his arm, he flinched. “Sorry. I won’t move again.”
“Give ‘im a bullet to bite,�
� Jeroboam offered.
“I’ve seen enough bullets today, thanks.” Tad gritted his teeth.
“And needles, I expect,” Rebecca teased under her breath. It didn’t hamper her focus, however, and she made quick work of tending his arm and chest. Soon enough, Tad was swathed in soft bandages with his head on the pillow and the quilt tucked up to his neck.
He started to sit up. “I need a shirt.”
“Why, pray tell? You aren’t leaving this room.” Rebecca dunked her bloodstained hands into the basin of clean water. Now that she wasn’t sewing anymore, her hands started to shake.
Tad’s eyes narrowed, watching those hands. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Not at the livery.” Pa winked. “I’ve got him covered today, Becky.”
“Thanks, Uncle Giff.” Her tone was sweet and grateful, as if Pa had just bestowed her with a pound of candy, but her hands still tremored. She hid them behind a towel.
“And I’ll cover your deputy duties today,” Jeroboam said. “Speaking of, I’d best git over to the office and report to Orr.”
Pa scooped an armload of soiled towels, and then he and Jeroboam left. Traitors, all of them. “I don’t need to rest, you know. I’m fine.”
“I’d say rest is exactly what you need.”
Tad scooted to the edge of the bed. “It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.” The sting wasn’t nearly as sharp as her glare.
“It will.” Then she turned her back and plopped her nursing tools into Theodore’s bucket. Her hands didn’t seem to be shaking anymore, but he didn’t have to be her real husband to notice the pinched set to her lips and the tension in her shoulders.
“I know my riding out must have brought back memories of your father. Stitching me up maybe reminded you of the war, too, since you probably haven’t sewn up a gunshot wound since then.” He started to stand, but his head got all cottony inside and his vision dulled to gray, so he resumed his spot on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry to bring all that up for you.”
She spun back, her eyes shooting fire. “You think this is about my father? Or the war?”
Uh-oh. “I guess I was wrong, then. You just seem distraught. Is it because the Gang got away?” Had he failed her by not capturing the brigands who robbed her at gunpoint?
“I am not distraught about the Gang.” Each syllable came out as sharp and icy as her glare. “You are more of a mule than Madge is, if you can’t figure out why I’m upset.”
Not her pa. Or the war. His shoulder was aching worse now and his mind was thick. He hadn’t a clue what she could be upset about. She had Theodore and a stable future. A roof over her head. His pa wrapped around her little finger, and Tad, her soon-to-be cousin, trying to protect her. “If it’s not because I failed you or this stirred up unpleasant memories, then what?”
“Failed?” She clutched the bucket to her chest like a shield. “You didn’t fail me. Nor did you stir up old memories. You gave me new ones, awful ones. You rode off and I spent two days watching and worrying, and when you finally did come back, you’d been shot off your horse. You could be dead right now.”
“But I’m not.”
Her eyes blazed, as if his protest made things worse. “I’m so angry at you, Thaddeus Percival Fordham. I almost can’t bear it. No, there’s no almost about it. I can’t bear looking at you anymore, that’s how angry I am. I’m going home, and you’re going to stay in that bed until morning, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Uncle Giff to tie you down.”
She slammed the bedroom door behind her.
Tad’s jaw was still wide open as a fresh-caught trout’s when the noise of her plowing out the front door echoed through the thin walls of the living quarters. He’d never been so shocked in his life—and it wasn’t because of her display of temper, or even that she was angry at him for getting shot, because that made sense, considering what happened to her father.
She was worried about him. And not only that, but Rebecca Mary Rice remembered his middle name.
He leaned back against the pillow and started to laugh. Ouch. That hurt his chest. Just as well, since he had no business being happy that Rebecca worried about him or recalled his full name.
But he couldn’t help smiling, which didn’t hurt a lick, while he lay in the narrow bed.
Despite numerous scrubbings, Tad’s blood was still under Rebecca’s fingernails the next morning. She’d washed untold times, cleaned dishes, and rubbed bloodstains from the blue dress she wore yesterday when she stitched Tad up. Now that she’d finished breakfast and baking three dozen cookies, she stood at the sink, poking, scraping, and scouring before she dumped out the water, marched upstairs, and took a paring knife to her nails, cutting them to the quick.
There. Now all physical traces of yesterday were gone from her sight.
Too bad she couldn’t say the same about the remaining traces that another person couldn’t see: the memory of Tad, his shirt soaked in blood, his flesh ragged from the graze of a bullet. The way her stomach clenched all night, thinking of what might have happened if the bullet had been a few inches to the right, or if he’d fallen down a slope. Not to mention, embarrassment over chiding him.
Not that she didn’t still feel justified for giving him what for, though. He should learn to think twice about risk and the effect his dangerous job had on people who cared about him, like his father. He wasn’t as invincible as he probably thought he was. Knowing Tad, he’d probably disregard her instructions and already be working, busting his stitches.
She should check on those stitches and change the bandage. With a sigh, Rebecca donned her bonnet and scooped up the nursing bag she’d prepared last night, containing needle, thread, scissors, bandages, and balm.
“Mrs. Horner?”
“In the parlor.” Mrs. Horner was curled up with a crochet hook and a skein of yellow yarn. “My niece in Nevada is in the family way. I thought I’d send a blanket for the little one.”
“How thoughtful. She’ll love it.” The just-begun project didn’t look like a blanket yet, but the yarn seemed fuzzy and soft. Rebecca smiled. “I’m heading to the livery to check Tad’s wound—”
A firm rap sounded on the front door. “Perhaps not yet.”
Mrs. Horner offered a wheezy laugh before she fell into another coughing fit, poor thing. She tried to stand, but Rebecca waved her down and strode to the door.
The sight of the lean gentleman on the porch made her stomach swoop. Why would he be here, hat in hand, if he didn’t have bad news? “Uncle Giff, is Tad worse?”
His brows shot up to his hairline. “No, Becky, he’s fine.”
The grip that had clutched her stomach all night loosened. Tad was hale. Whole. Thank You, Jesus. She stepped back. “Forgive my rudeness. Please, come in.”
“Forgive me for worrying you. Say, is that cinnamon I smell?” Tad’s father stepped into the parlor. “Hello, Jolene.”
“Giff.” Mrs. Horner bolted to her feet, dropping her duckling-yellow yarn and hook in her haste.
Uncle Giff bent to retrieve the bundle. “How’s your cough?”
“Much better.”
Not exactly. Mrs. Horner did seem better, but that cough still lingered and—oh. She and Uncle Giff grinned sheepishly at each other, their fingers lingering over the exchange of the yarn and hook.
Rebecca would give them a moment to themselves. “Care for coffee and cookies?”
“I can’t say no to good cooking and the company of two fine ladies.” He sat beside Mrs. Horner, and Rebecca hurried to the kitchen to fix a plate and pour cups. She could hear their voices from the parlor as Mrs. Horner inquired about Tad. Rebecca couldn’t help straining to hear.
“Wilkie stopped by. He says Tad’s wound looks good and that Becky did a fine job with the stitches and the bandaging.”
Fine praise indeed, from the barber. Rebecca chuckled. Now that she knew Tad fared well, everything felt lighter, from her spirits to her limbs. She filled the cream pitcher and added spoons to the tray.
“You and I know what that sort of loss feels like, don’t we, Jolene?” Uncle Giff’s tone was softer than Rebecca had heard it. “It’s only been three years since your Herbert passed.”
“But we never had any children, not like you. Losing them when they’re small like that? And then your wife?” She tutted.
Tad had siblings? Rebecca chewed her lip.
It got quiet in the parlor, and Rebecca had been gone too long already. She carried the tray into the parlor.
“Thanks, dearie,” Mrs. Horner said with a sigh. “I wish we could help Wilkie.”
“Tad’s tried getting him to join us when the preacher comes through every few months, but so far, he’s refused.” Uncle Giff took a cup of coffee. “In the meantime, I’m glad God brought you to Ruby City, Becky. We sure needed you yesterday.”
They needed her? But she’d come to Ruby City for Theodore. No, that wasn’t quite right. She’d wanted a family, since she didn’t know where Johnny was or if he got her letters. She’d come to Idaho Territory for herself, so God could make her whole and full and warm.
Maybe God didn’t bring her to Ruby City just for her sake. Maybe she could give something to this community, which was full of folks who’d seen troubles of their own.
Wilkie grieved a wife and baby. That mining family who’d come into the mercantile, the Evanses, knew lack. Ulysses flirted and teased to ease his loneliness. Mrs. Horner and Uncle Giff might be lonesome, too, although the way they were sneaking glances at each other indicated they might not be for much longer. Longbeard Pegg wasn’t just lonely; he stayed apart from the others.
Cornelia might not be Rebecca’s favorite person in town, but Rebecca couldn’t know what ache she hid in her heart. It might not bother her that she wore too-large dresses, but she seemed to no longer wish to be viewed as a child. If Mrs. Horner was right, Cornelia experienced unrequited affection, which was sure to be painful.
Then, of course, there was Theodore and Tad, who’d let Dottie come between them months ago and hadn’t spoken much since.
My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho Page 10