by Unknown
"Yes, ma'am, unfortunately," he said with a wry grin.
"Lordy, ain't no wonder they're in a mess!"
After one final inspection for red streaks, Blair stood and began issuing orders. "Warren, please get the foot-tub. I noticed it hanging by the back door. Tillie, I'll need that kettle of water that's heating on the stove," She hurried over to a cabinet and searched diligently through jars and tins of various medicines, herbs, and root powders. Distress was evident on her face as she placed each item aside. "It's a good thing no one has been sick while I've been gone. All of this medicine is too old now, it's lost its potency." She tapped her forefinger against her cheek and mused aloud, "It's a little early in the season for any . . . no-wait. Tillie, do we have any Epsom salts?"
"Yes, Ah think so. It'll be in the bathing room."
"Please get it for me." Placing her hands on her hips, and ignoring the terrific pounding of her heart, she turned to face Adam. "I want to set the record straight right now. I realize we did not get off on the right foot yesterday—no pun intended—but I hope you understand the position I was in."
Smirking, Adam leaned back in the chair. "I thought you were worried about my feet. I didn't know I was about to get an apology."
"I am, and you're not," she stated, answering each of his challenges curtly. "What I am getting at is that I don't want you to think I am being deliberately cruel when I start treating your feet, and they badly need treatment. I counted eight red streaks on the soles, and there are more forming on the arches and on the insteps. The tops are so raw, they look like they've been pulverized." Not sure he understood how serious it was, she added, "Since you seem an intelligent man, you know as well as I, that a raw sore can quickly turn gangrenous."
"Go on," he said, the muscles in his cheeks tensing. She now had his complete attention. When he was a young boy, one of their neighbors cut his leg almost all off with a scythe and had been unable to go for help. Gangrene set in and when they found him, he was more dead than alive and half out of his mind from agony. Adam's father had immediately sent the young Adam out of the room. The neighbor died only a few minutes later. Adam always wondered if his father had anything to do with ending the man's misery, but the events of that day were something they never discussed.
"I don't want to alarm you needlessly because I am positive we caught it in time. Since your feet are so raw, the treatments will be extremely painful, and you will have to follow my instructions to the letter. That means they will have to soak every few hours until all signs of any redness disappear. Then ointment and bandages will have to be diligently applied. You also will have to stay off of them for at least a week."
"A week!" He shook his head stubbornly "No, that's too long. I can't afford to waste that much time."
"Then I suggest you get yourself fitted for crutches or a coffin because you will soon need one or the other," she muttered grimly.
Adam drummed his fingers on the table. "I realize I might offend you by asking this, but . . . well, is there a doctor in these parts anywhere?"
Warren grunted his disapproval. "Yeah, but Adam, the old man is at least sixty-five years old, and I haven't seen him sober in the past three years. I wouldn't trust a sway-backed nag to his care."
"He is still a medical doctor and Adam . . . Mr. Cahill may prefer him." Blair was so worried he would chose old Doc Brady, she could hardly lift her voice above a whisper.
For a long, agonizing moment, Adam measured her with a cool, appraising look, then he asked Warren, "Before I decide, I'd like to know which one of your sisters will take care of me: the dirty-faced little squirt I met yesterday, the prissy snob who was out in the yard a while ago, or this pretty little lady with the soft voice and sweet manner?" His brows lifted significantly when he saw her blush and the beginnings of a smile tip the corners of her mouth. Again, the question gnawed at him. How could someone as feminine as she, behave like the obnoxious brat he met yesterday?
Warren guffawed, then said, "It'll be this one, but if I understood her correctly, you might think it's my other sister . . . the one you haven't met. She's half-wildcat, and the other half is pure de old devil!"
Adam shrugged his shoulders in mock resignation. "Since I've always had a fondness for devils and wildcats, I guess I had better accept your offer." He slowly stroked his chin. "If you don't mind, though, do you think we could eat before the torture begins? I'm about to starve to death."
Keeping her face as straight as possible, Blair said in her most serious tone, "I'm sure a few more minutes won't make any difference. After all, every condemned man should receive a last meal." She could not help but chuckle at the startled expression that suddenly swept across Adam's face.
Chapter 8
The table had been cleared and the food put away when Blair entered the dining room carrying a kettle of hot water and a foot tub. Setting the tub down in front of Adam, she then filled it with water. As if they wanted no part of the ordeal ahead, Tillie busied herself in the kitchen and Warren went to put away the wagon and check on Adam's horse,
"All right, Mr. Cahill, no more stalling. It’s time to soak your feet," Blair said, a mellow smile curving her lips as she placed her hands akimbo.
Adam stared skeptically at the steam rising from the foot tub and wondered if the girl had a sadistic streak no one knew about. "The water looks awfully hot ... are you sure I’m supposed to put my raw feet in there?" He tested the warmth with the tip of his toe, withdrawing it quickly at the heat. "That blasted water is so hot, it will probably dissolve them," he vehemently protested.
She pretended total indifference although she would have been reluctant to put her feet into such hot water, and they were not even sore or raw. Yet. his frantic expression amused her. "Nonsense, sugar melts whereas salt lumps. The worst that can possibly happen is that you might have two lumps to walk on instead of feet."
He shot her a withering glare, then grumbled, "If that's your idea of a joke . . . it’s a poor one."
"Oh, you men! You are all alike — squeamish over a little discomfort." Sticking her hand into the pan of water, Blair quickly swished it around, then dried it on a towel. She brandished it triumphantly. "See, it didn't melt and it didn't lump. Now, please, put your feet into the tub!"
Adam started to do as she requested, then he balked like a stubborn mule. Realizing it would take a more subtle persuasion, she tried a different tactic. "Mr. Cahill, please, I know your feet are hurting terribly, but they have to soak . . . and you don't want Warren to know he could tolerate more pain than you ... do you?"
She glanced about and lowered her voice in a conspiratory tone. "Please don't ever tell him I told you this or he would have my hide. Several years ago, he injured his feet in much the same manner. Only . . . well, to put it nicely, too tight boots were not the culprit, an outraged husband was." She quirked her brows then coyishly lowered her lashes. "Nevertheless, he was able to tolerate my treatments, and he did it without one word of complaint."
"Oh, he did, did he!" Without another word, Adam tightly shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, and plunged his raw feet into the tub of steaming water.
After Adam's feet had been soaked and thoroughly cleansed, Blair persuaded him to take a sleeping powder and lie down for a few hours. She suspected he only protested out of pride because it was extremely obvious he was in severe pain.
Earlier, during the meal, Warren had voiced his opinion that she should not go herb and root gathering alone since there were cattle rustlers in the area. He offered to take her, but stated they would have to go later in the afternoon, after he attended to a few chores that needed his immediate attention.
While waiting for Warren to finish, Blair wandered about the ranch, allowing her mind to drift from one thought to another while familiarizing herself with the changes that had been made over the years. And, as they seemed to do since she had met Adam, her thoughts settled on him, on her femininity, and o
n some of the conclusions she had reached.
Although innocent and sheltered for much of her life in respects to a man and woman relationship, she had just started blossoming into full womanhood when she met Albert. Then after being humiliated and betrayed by him, her confidence in herself as a woman plummeted. What she needed now was a man to restore her confidence. A man to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her she was beautiful, to reassure her that she was every bit as desirable as a white woman. That particular thought was disturbing. She had never thought herself any better or any worse than other girls because of her mixed blood. But after what she'd overheard Albert saying, followed by Miss Pettibone's ugly accusations, the words half-breed had taken root in her mind like a bad seed. Now, there seemed to be a driving force deep inside her to prove that she was no different from other women.
It all boiled down to the simple, undeniable fact that she needed a man to love her, to restore her confidence. A real man like Adam. Her heart began to pound. Her head throbbed from the idea that had crept into her mind then exploding into a million shards of light. Feeling limp and weak from such thoughts, she forcibly ejected them from her consciousness.
I must think about something else. Not knowing how Adam feels about me—especially after I humiliated him the way I did—I shouldn't allow myself to have romantic thoughts about him.
Fighting her battle of personal restraint, Blair ambled aimlessly about the yard. Walking out to the split rail fence that surrounded the barn and stables, she leaned against it and gazed toward the house. Her mind was in such a jumbled state of turmoil, she was once again apprehensive about the entire situation concerning Warren. He simply was not himself. What happened to the stern, domineering man who had ruled the family with an iron fist? The Warren she knew would have been furious with her for appearing home without warning or permission and for embarrassing his friend, especially the unladylike way she did it. Although so much had happened this morning, he really hadn't had the opportunity to scold her; however, that wouldn't have stopped him before. Men! Just when she thought she had them figured out, they changed.
Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned toward the fence row beyond the main barn and watched the mare running toward the timberline that began where the pasture ended. The mare was kicking up dust that swirled haphazardly before settling down again behind her. It was a beautiful sight, but it made Blair wary.
Why was the pasture so dusty this time of the year? With normal winter rains and cool spring weather, it shouldn't have been so dry. Then she remembered that Coy had referred to a drought in his letters, and there had even been a mention of it in the newspapers, but she had no idea it was this bad. Even though the countryside had sprouted green pastures, thick clover, bluebonnets, and black-eyed Susans, Blair knew the spring foliage would not last long if it did not rain soon. By the last part of May-usually still quite mild for this section of the country-the surrounding area could resemble late August after being scorched by the hot summer sun. Without ample range grass, and since they would soon lose grazing access to the north, their cattle would die.
Again, an uneasiness slipped over her. It seemed as though everything in her life was changing; the government giving away the people's land, the ranch, Warren, her grandfather and Tillie getting old, and she had the most uncanny sensation that her life's destiny had been altered the moment she met Adam Cahill. It was as if she was chasing a wild, runaway wind and was powerless to stop it.
Suddenly she straightened and put a hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she saw a rider coming up the road. Four years had dimmed her memory very little. By the casual manner he sat in the saddle, she would have known him anywhere. It was Coy. Her foreboding feeling instantly disappeared at the sight of him.
Whipping off the bonnet Tillie had insisted she wear, Blair started waving it over her head and calling his name. Coy reined his horse, and even from the distance she could see the white gleam of his teeth as he smiled.
"Blair! Blair!" he shouted, digging his spurs into the horse, and came charging toward her. Not waiting for his mount to stop, Coy leaped from the saddle, tossed his wide-brimmed hat aside and, whooping with joy, ran and lifted Blair. Her melodious laughter rippled through the air as he whirled her around and around.
"You scamp, put me down. You'll make me dizzy."
"Sis, you're the last person I expected to see, but dog-gone it, you’re a sight for sore eyes!" Hugging her again, then stepping backward, he appraised her for a moment before letting out a long, low whistle. "Boy, have you changed! When you left you were nothing but a snot-nosed brat, but now. . . you're a pretty woman. If you weren't my sister, you might even be downright beautiful!"
Blair laughingly remarked, "I see you still have a certain flair for words . . . you old silver-tongued devil. And you’ve changed, too," she said admiringly.
He was tall, slender, but his shoulders were wide and powerful. From the way he had lifted and whirled her about with ease, he was strong, too. He had a wide, generous mouth, ebony-colored eyes, and his skin appeared to be bronzed by the sun. His hair was straight and blacker than midnight and, as usual, was in dire need of a sharp pair of scissors.
Mischievous lights danced in her green eyes as she reached out and stroked his smooth face. "Tell me, how often do you shave now? I remember how you used to run to the mirror every morning and search frantically for one whisker, or even a sign of peach fuzz."
He toed the ground with his boot and grinned sheepishly. "The first year you were gone, I had the grand total of six hairs on my face. They were about two inches long before Warren told me if I didn't shave, he'd pull them out, even if he had to sit on me to do it. Needless to say, I decided to shave. I borrowed his pearl-handled straight razor, lathered up my face, and damned if those hairs didn't put nicks in his razor. They were as strong as wire. I knew Warren would be madder than hell — you remember how he was about that razor—so I rode over to Collin's house. He just laughed at me and asked when was the last time I'd seen an Indian wearing a beard. Then he explained that as far as he knew, Indians didn't have facial hair except for a few wild ones that grew in occasionally. I guess I don't have to tell you that I now pull them out." He wagged his finger threateningly at her. And so help me, if you ever tell Warren what happened to his razor . . ."
"What did happen to it?" she wanted to know. Surely you didn't . . ."
"No, I'm not a complete fool. I took it out and buried it."
"You didn't!"
"I sure did," he said adamantly. "I wasn't about to let him see it in that condition. I still wouldn't be able to eat sitting down."
Blair hushed him when she saw Warren walk out the front door and stride swiftly toward them. His face was grim and his lips were set in a hard, thin line.
"It's about time you made it home," he remarked with biting sarcasm. "I'm getting tired of having to send a man to look for you every time I send you on an errand. I hope you remembered to bring the mail."
"I did, it's right here in my saddle bag." Coy unbuckled the leather strap and handed the envelopes to Warren, who tucked them under his arm.
"Now that you're here, you can take Blair up to the north pastures and help her gather wild roots and herbs."
Coy grinned at Blair. "Still doctoring, huh?"
Warren spoke without giving Blair a chance to reply. "She'd better be, there's an injured man in the house."
"One of the hands?" he asked anxiously.
"No, a friend of mine. I'm sure you remember me mentioning Adam Cahill."
"The deputy marshal? Yeah, don't you remember? I even met him that time I went with you to Fort Smith."
Warren wasted no effort mincing words, "Be on your way now, but don't dally all afternoon, I might need you around here. Unless some of the hands come in, we'll be working until midnight catching up on the chores." Without waiting for any sort of reply, he turned and marched staunchly ba
ck to the house.
Watching his retreating form with heavy eyes, Blair sadly shook her head. "For awhile this morning, I thought he had changed. But it looks as though good ol' Warren is as bossy, bad-tempered, and domineering as ever."
"Aww, he's not so bad, Sis. With the drought and the homesteaders coming in, he just has a lot of worries on his mind, that's all." Coy draped his arm around her shoulder and started walking toward the barn. "Let's not discuss Warren. We have too many other things to catch up on." He stopped abruptly and, peered at her suspiciously. "It just occurred to me, you're not supposed to be here! You didn't . . . run away from school ... did you?"
"No."
"Well that's a relief."
"I was . . . expelled," she said in a small voice.
All traces of amusement vanished, his expression became taut. "If this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny. You are just teasing . . . aren't you?"
She replied pensively, "I wish I were."
Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned on his heel, paced about the bam a few moments, then stopped in front of her. "When did this happen?"
"Last week. I just arrived home yesterday."
"And Warren isn't furious?"
"I . . . haven't had a chance to tell him yet."
He slowly shook his head. "Oh, hell! I have a feeling you'll get a chance sooner than you expect. It so happens there was a letter in that mail packet from Miss Pettibone. It's my guess she's telling him all about it."
To Blair's dismay, her voice broke slightly "The old biddy said she would write him. I can imagine how she has twisted and distorted everything that happened."
"If only I had known, I would have thrown the letter away." He was curious to know what Blair could have possibly done to cause her to be expelled, but decided not to press for information. He knew she would tell him eventually.
"There's no sense in your getting in trouble too, and knowing Warren, he would have found out." She tried to smile but it was a pitiful attempt.