The Quality of Mercy

by Ari McKay

  He could hear Al in the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. Then the front door of the house opened, and he glanced quickly toward the hallway; it had to be Carlos, and Jules wished his heartbeat didn’t speed up at the thought of seeing Carlos again.

  When Carlos entered the room, he wasn’t alone. Robert Carruthers was behind him, and Carlos smiled proudly as he approached Jules’s chair, holding up a pair of wood crutches.

  “Look what the doctor has brought for you,” he said. “You will have some of the independence you have craved.”

  Jules reached for the crutches eagerly. The thought of being able to do certain things for himself without being a burden to Al or giving in to the temptation presented by Carlos was definitely appealing.

  “Thank you, Dr. Carruthers,” he said, giving the younger man a quick smile. “I take it this means you believe I’m well enough to use them?”

  “I believe you have two diligent guardians who’ll make sure you don’t overexert yourself by doing too much too soon,” Robert replied diplomatically. “Walk only as much as you need to for the next few days. You need to build your strength back up before you take any leisurely strolls around the grounds.”

  “All right.” Jules looked the crutches over, then propped them against his chair. He’d have to wait for Al to come back and help him stand before he could try them. “Al is making tea. Would you care to stay for a cup?”

  Robert gave a signal to Carlos, who nodded and headed back outside. “I’d love to, but perhaps another time? I have one more thing to give you, and then I must return to town. I have a few more patients to check on before I can go home to supper.”

  “Something else?” Jules frowned slightly, his gaze following Carlos out of the room, then looked back at Robert. “Pardon my manners, doctor. How is your wife faring? She’s such a kind and generous young woman.”

  “She’s also quite impatient for the baby to arrive,” Robert said with a quiet chuckle. “I count my blessings daily that she hasn’t had to go into confinement. I’ve no idea how I would convince her to stay in bed.”

  Jules smiled. “I can imagine. It seems as though force of will is a common trait in these parts. Please do give her my regards, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” Robert replied, and then he glanced at the door when footsteps sounded in the hall again. “Ah, Carlos is back with your second surprise.”

  Jules heard a faint squeaking sound before Carlos appeared, pushing a wheelchair.

  “This belonged to an elderly patient of mine,” Robert explained. “Her family donated it to my practice when she died since they had no further use for it themselves.”

  Jules looked the chair over. A wooden frame supported woven reeds for the seat and back, though someone had thoughtfully included a cushion to make it more comfortable. He’d read of such things, but he’d never actually seen one. Two large wheels were in front, as well as wooden rests for his feet. In the back, two smaller wheels kept the chair level, and there were handles on the seat back to allow someone to push it easily. He could see it might be useful, especially until he became accustomed to the crutches and built up the arm strength he was certain he lacked. “Thank you so much. I’m sure it will come in handy.”

  Carlos wheeled the chair over to Jules, offering an encouraging smile. “Would you like to try it?”

  Jules looked up at Carlos, feeling a mixture of longing and apprehension. Then he glanced at Robert Carruthers, who was watching him expectantly. There didn’t seem to be a graceful way to refuse, so he bit his lip and nodded. “All right. If you really don’t mind helping me into it.”

  Fortunately, Robert couldn’t see the heated gleam that appeared in Carlos’s eyes as he moved to stand in front of Jules’s chair. “Not at all,” he said as he bent and scooped Jules up in his arms, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  Stifling a gasp, Jules clutched Carlos’s shoulders, unable to ignore the warmth of Carlos’s skin beneath his shirt, or the way he could feel Carlos’s muscles flexing. Carlos had been well-built even as a twenty-year-old, but the strength Carlos displayed in lifting Jules and carrying him with such ease tormented Jules anew with thoughts of how Carlos’s body must look now.

  Keeping his eyes lowered, Jules waited until Carlos had settled him into the wheelchair, then cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he murmured, knowing his voice was probably far too husky.

  “My pleasure.” Carlos’s voice was low and husky as well, and he trailed his fingertips along Jules’s arm as he drew back.

  A betraying shudder shook Jules’s body, but he kept his gaze averted. Placing his hands on the outer rims of the wheels, he finally looked at Dr. Carruthers again. “Any tips on how to get around in this?”

  Robert crouched down by the chair to show Jules the footrests, then helped him get his feet placed. He demonstrated the lever that would engage a brake, much like that on a carriage, and had Jules roll himself to the end of the room, then turn about and roll back. Jules was smiling with delight by the time he stopped, pleased at even this small ability to do things for himself.

  “Thank you so much,” he said, grasping Dr. Carruthers’s hand and shaking it warmly. “I can’t tell you how much it means to be able to do things for myself again.”

  “I understand.” Robert gave him a sympathetic smile and pressed Jules’s hand. “You aren’t the first vital, active patient I’ve had who has chafed at being dependent on others. I’m glad I could help restore some of your mobility.”

  Jules thanked him again, and then Robert took his leave, promising to convey Jules’s good wishes to his wife. Only a few moments later, Al entered, bearing a laden tray, and raised his eyebrows in surprise at finding his stepfather ensconced in a wheelchair.

  “Mrs. Ortega stopped by the kitchen door and wanted to chat. She brought us a pound cake,” Al explained as he settled the tray on the sofa table. “Looks like I missed out on an early Christmas.”

  “Dr. Carruthers brought it,” Jules replied, unable to suppress a grin as he wheeled himself over to the table. “Thank you, Al. This looks wonderful. Shall I pour?”

  “I will leave the two of you to your tea,” Carlos said. “If you need anything, I will be in my room.”

  “What are you talking about?” Al asked, clapping Carlos on the back. “I know Doc Carruthers isn’t the one who got Jules in that chair. You’ve earned a cup of tea, if you want it. Hasn’t he, Pa?”

  As uncomfortable as being in Carlos’s presence made him—especially since the reasons for it weren’t all Carlos’s fault—Jules bowed to the inevitable with as much grace as he could.

  “Of course,” he replied quietly. He reached for the teapot, noting Al had placed three cups on the tray in anticipation of Carlos joining them. After filling the cups, he placed one sugar cube in Carlos’s cup, then passed it to him, willing his fingers to be steady and not betray his emotions with trembling.

  Carlos accepted the cup with murmured thanks and took a seat. “Jules now has crutches to use as well as the chair. We must keep a close eye on him to make certain he behaves himself until he regains his strength,” he said to Al.

  Jules passed Al’s cup to him, and Al sat down on the sofa next to Carlos, looking at Jules across the table. “I remember having that terrible cough when I was fifteen, and you made me stay in bed even after I started to feel better. Didn’t want me to overdo things, as I recall. Are Carlos and I going to have to threaten you with locking you in your room so you won’t overtax yourself?”

  Jules couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering how Al had begged and pleaded and tried to wheedle his way out of bed in order to go on a church picnic. “I remember the reason you were so eager to be on your feet was a certain red-haired young lady in your Sunday school class,” he replied primly. “As I have no such lure into misbehavior, I doubt I will give you cause for concern.”

  “But you do have a lure to remain in bed.” Carlos fixed him with an innocent look.

  Jules couldn’t belie
ve what he’d heard, and he sputtered into his tea. He risked a quick glance at Al, who appeared puzzled, then gave Carlos a stern look. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.

  “A swift recovery so you may return to work.” Carlos took a sip of tea. “You must be anxious to return to your pupils.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Jules sipped his own tea, chagrined that Carlos had been able to tease him so blatantly in front of Al and get away with it. “I also wish to recover so I am not such an inconvenience to both of you.” He raised one hand to forestall the objections he knew Al would make. “Yes, I know you don’t mind. You’ve both told me so, but it most certainly is an inconvenience. One I wish to hold to a minimum.”

  “Only because you are stubborn,” Carlos said. “You want to give to others, but you refuse to let anyone give to you, even those who care for you.”

  Al nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Pa. Just concentrate on getting better, and Carlos and I will let you know if you get to be too much of a burden. Won’t we, Carlos?”

  “Indeed we will,” Carlos replied, his voice quiet but firm. “There is no shame in receiving care. Think of the pleasure you gain from helping others and realize that Al and I gain that same pleasure from helping you.”

  Jules regarded Carlos, raising one eyebrow. He knew exactly what kind of pleasure was on Carlos’s mind, and he didn’t dare allow too much contact between them. Carlos had seduced him once with shameful ease, and Jules had to remain strong to keep it from happening again.

  “I appreciate your help,” he said finally. “But I am eager to be on my own two feet again.”

  “See?” Carlos gave Al a conspiratorial look. “Stubborn.”

  “Wait one moment.” Jules looked back and forth between the two of them, suddenly suspicious. “Have you two been discussing me behind my back?”

  Carlos focused intently on his tea and cleared his throat. “We have had conversations about the… challenges of being your caretaker.”

  Jules went rigid, uncertain whether he should be offended, angry, or simply resigned. Then he caught Al’s anxious expression, and he rubbed his forehead. “I suppose I should be grateful the two of you get along, and you are both willing to take care of me at all,” he said at last. “But I can’t help but feel like I have two naughty students telling tales out of class!”

  “Fortunately, you are in no condition to punish us,” Carlos replied, the twinkle returning to his dark eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, neither of us wishes to relinquish our caretaking duties. We only want to see you well and whole again.”

  Jules drank his tea and listened while Al and Carlos discussed the pregnant mares and the young stallion that Carlos was teaching Al to break. He didn’t realize how tired he had become until he realized Al was standing beside him, taking his teacup and placing it on the table.

  “How about a rest for you before dinner?” Al asked. “Think you can wheel yourself to your bedroom?”

  “Certainly.” Jules managed to get the chair pointed in the direction of the bedrooms, then set off, pleased with his mobility. He glanced back as he left, finding Carlos gazing at him with an expression both wistful and affectionate.

  “Thank you for helping me into the wheelchair, Carlos,” he said quietly, then turned his gaze ahead.

  It would be all too easy to let Carlos close again, and he needed to be on his guard. Otherwise he was going to find himself right back where he had been ten years ago, and when Carlos grew tired of him once again, Jules knew that the pain would be far more than any mere broken bone.

  Chapter Eleven

  CARLOS EXITED Carmencita’s stall, satisfied the mare was doing well during her pregnancy. He had a vested interest in keeping a close eye on her, not only because he was in charge of breeding the horses but also because Corazon was the foal’s sire. He’d been asked to let Corazon serve as a stud many times, but he rarely agreed. There had been a few times when the offered stud fee was too high to resist, but he’d never gotten to see the resulting foal. Carmencita’s foal would be the first of Corazon’s offspring he’d both see and help raise, and he was eager to find out how good the mix would be. He was hoping the foal would be solid black, like Corazon.

  The stables were empty except for one other cowboy, and when Carlos saw it was Caleb, he tried not to grimace. He was finding it harder to pretend he didn’t notice Caleb’s interest, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it, in hopes Caleb would give up and set his sights on someone else.

  Unfortunately, he seemed to be out of luck, because Caleb grinned at him, his blue eyes sliding down Carlos’s body in a frankly appraising look. Caleb sauntered over and stopped in front of Carlos, cocking his head to one side.

  “So how’s the big stud doing today?” he drawled.

  Carlos mustered a polite smile and pretended Caleb was referring only to Corazon. “He is well, and so are the mares. I believe we will have several healthy foals to add to Bent Oak’s stables.”

  Caleb stepped closer and brushed Carlos’s shoulder, letting his hand linger. “You’re a little mussed. Working with horses can get awful sweaty and messy, can’t it?”

  “So can any job on a ranch,” Carlos replied, keeping his tone brisk. Caleb was a handsome young man, but he wasn’t who Carlos wanted, and Caleb’s touch didn’t excite him.

  “True enough.” Caleb didn’t seem at all daunted by Carlos’s manner. He seemed accustomed to getting what—and who—he wanted. Caleb’s hands went to the buttons of his own plaid shirt, and he unfastened one, then another, in a way calculated to keep Carlos’s attention. “I get pretty hot myself, doing chores.”

  Carlos gaped at him, at a loss for words. He didn’t want to admit he knew what Caleb was doing, and bolting out of the stables would be too rude, so he wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Carlos!”

  Over Caleb’s shoulder, Carlos saw Gil enter the stables and wave to him, and Carlos almost sagged with relief.

  “Good afternoon, Caleb.” Gil greeted the young man politely as he approached before turning his attention to Carlos. “Are you busy?”

  “I was checking the mares, but I am finished now. Is there something you need?” Carlos asked hopefully.

  “As a matter of fact, there is.” Gil gave Caleb an apologetic look. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I need to speak with Carlos.”

  “Sure, Mr. Porter.” Caleb gave Carlos a warm glance. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and then he sauntered out of the stables.

  “What did you need to speak with me about?” Carlos asked once Caleb was gone, and Gil glanced back to make sure Caleb was out of earshot before replying.

  “Nothing,” he admitted, looking like a mischievous imp. “I was on my way to visit Jules, and I saw him come in here. I know you check the mares around this time, so I thought you might want rescuing.”

  Laughing, Carlos clapped Gil on the shoulder. “You are right! Perhaps I should accompany you to see Jules in case Caleb is lingering in the yard in hopes of collaring me again,” he said, trying to sound casual.

  “It might not be a bad idea,” Gil said as he headed to the exit, beckoning for Carlos to follow. “I have a proposal for Jules. Maybe you can help convince him to accept.”

  Carlos was burning with curiosity about the proposal, but he knew Gil well enough to know asking would be useless. Gil was tight-lipped—a holdover from his reserved Boston upbringing—and he would discuss it when they were with Jules, not before.

  When they arrived at the foreman’s house, Gil knocked before opening the door and peeking inside. “Jules? Are you awake?”

  “I’m in the kitchen!” Jules called out, his voice sounding from the back of the house. “Please, come on back!”

  Carlos followed Gil into the house and back to the kitchen, keeping a step or two behind since this was Gil’s venture, and he was merely an observer.

  “We aren’t interrupting anything, I hope?” Gil asked as he entered the kitchen and smil
ed warmly at Jules.

  Jules returned the smile, then looked behind Gil at Carlos before ducking his head and glancing down at his hands. He had a big bowl of potatoes in front of him on the table, and he was peeling them into a basin on his lap. “No, not at all. Consuela Ortega stopped by, and I asked her to bring me some chores that I could do to help out. Everyone around here works so hard, and I was feeling rather useless, especially now that I have the wheelchair to get around in.”

  “That is why I wanted to talk to you,” Gil said, taking a seat at the table adjacent to Jules. “You said you wanted me to put you to work.”

  “I meant it.” Jules leaned forward, his expression eager. “I want to contribute. I’ve never been able to just lie about. I’m willing to do anything I can. You’ve given me so much, and I want to repay you if I can.”

  “Matt and I have been talking, and I believe we’ve come up with something you can do that won’t be too taxing and won’t require you to move around much.” Gil clasped his hands on the table and leaned toward Jules. “A number of our hands have expressed regret over their lack of formal education. I thought perhaps you could teach them while you recuperate. Reading, writing, basic arithmetic—that sort of thing.”

  Carlos’s eyebrows climbed as he listened, and he felt a little swell of hope. Perhaps if Jules enjoyed teaching the hands, he would consider remaining at the ranch even after his leg was healed.

  “Teach the hands?” Jules looked thoughtful, but Carlos saw the hunger in his eyes. Jules truly loved to teach, so Carlos wasn’t surprised when Jules nodded slowly. “I can do that. How many hands will there be? Did you want me to teach them individually or as a class?”

  “I know of about twenty who have expressed interest,” Gil replied. “I will give you their names, and you may set everything up as you see fit. If you prefer to work with a class, I can offer you space with tables and benches and a storage room where you may keep whatever supplies you need.”