Shaking her head, the older woman reached for the tin cup. “I’ll place it. You find a chair and can sit on the other side of the screen for when he awakens.” She stooped next to the bed and set it on the wooden floor. When she came back, she smiled. “Smells like evergreens and spice, just like Christmas.”
Clari sat herself on a straight-back chair and pulled out the book. As long as the light held, she intended to immerse herself in the story. Although she’d be listening and hoping to hear Trevor’s breathing respond.
****
Trevor dreamt he was back home, surrounded by the evergreens, conifers, and pines of his father’s Cascade Mountain acreage. The piney-scent soothed him, rolled over him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he could swear he was really there. Walking up to the crest was tough, making his chest ache. So, he took a couple of deep breaths, and the walk grew easier. His breath didn’t rasp and echo so loud. Then he noticed the soft murmuring of an angel’s voice.
He rolled over to get closer and drifted, images of the words she read mixed with being at the logging camp, seeing his father, and his three younger brothers. Only they wouldn’t be little saplings, they’d be strapping young men in their late teens. And he’d ask his friend Natty Bumppo for help felling the trees for the cabin he would build for his bride. Maybe Natty’s friends Chingachgook and Uncas would help. What? No, those were characters in a book. One of his favorites.
He pried open his eyes and looked around. The soft voice continued speaking of Natty’s exploits. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smoke trail and inhaled. Balsam and spice. Then he looked over the edge of the bed and spotted one of Clari’s strange cones. On the farthest bed sat the housekeeper, watching him. Now there was a sight to wake to. After several deep breaths that allowed his chest to expand for the first time in days, he knew he was on the mend.
“You’re breathing normal.” Clari’s voice came through the privacy screen that now stood between his and Jake’s beds.
“Yeah. You must have thought we’d trapped a bear in here.” He froze and glanced at his left hand, trying to remember where it had been when he awoke. He ran his other hand over his face, feeling the prickly stubble, and was surprised one look at him hadn’t sent her running.
“I’m glad the raucherkegel helped. You can keep it.”
Myrna stood, creating obvious scraping noises as she did. “Seems the patient is doing well, Miss Rochester. Let’s give the man some privacy.”
“Uh, all right.”
A scratching sound came from the other side of the screen. Maybe a chair, but the object must be lighter. His brain was still fuzzy from too many days of being sick.
“Trevor, think you’re feeling up to coming to the house for supper, or shall I send Jake out with a tray?”
“A tray is fine.” Now that he could breathe better, his sleep would restore his energy.
“Oh.”
Was that disappointment he heard in Clari’s voice? Why should that matter? Unless she was eating with the Hawksens. He shoved himself to a sitting position, and this time the room didn’t swim in his vision. Leaning to the side, he scooped up the cup with the smoldering cone and waved the smoke toward his face, like he’d seen Clari do. Each breath was easier, and he felt his strength returning.
With quick steps, Clari walked from behind the screen and across the length of the bunkhouse.
He watched each of her graceful movements, how she held her shoulders back and her chin up, and realized just how much he’d missed seeing her since they parted. “Thanks for coming out here for me.” Idiot. Heat flushed through him. “Um, I mean, thanks for bringing out the stinky candle to help me breathe.”
She paused in the doorway, looked over her shoulder, and smiled. “I wanted to show the friend who rescued me how much I care.”
The door shut behind her parting words but they resounded through his mind. Friend…I care, Friend…I care.
Chapter Four
On the walk back to the main house, Clari kept her chin tucked close to her chest, partly to keep her neck warm but mostly, because she didn’t want to meet the housekeeper’s gaze. Making that last statement had been bold and forward. For a single second, she cringed to think of the repercussions if the words she’d spoken got back to Aunt Alda.
But then Clari let her heart acknowledge the strong feelings she had for her handsome rescuer. That’s how she’d always think of Trevor. I acted like Cassandra Morgeson and spoke of what was in my heart. Now, there would be no mistake about her admiration the next time she and Trevor met. For good or for bad.
Once inside the warm kitchen filled with wonderful scents and laughter, Clari shook off any foreboding and enjoyed being in the company of friendly women. Both ladies dashed around the kitchen, putting last-minute touches on the meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, and home-canned peas.
“I insist on pitching in. What can I do?” Clari looked around for a task.
Mrs. Hawksen brushed strawberry-blonde wisps of hair off her forehead and pointed. “Under those clothes be loaves of fresh bread. Will ye slice them and stack them on a plate?”
Easy enough. She washed her hands at the sink and set to her task. As she worked, the door kept opening as first Mr. Hawksen and the boys entered, and then an older man she hadn’t met. Knowing she was being silly, she still hoped each time the door opened that Trevor would join the group.
The men crowded the sink to wash up.
So, she carried the heaping plates to the table then slid into a chair, out of the way.
The younger boy climbed into the chair beside her and gawked with light green eyes. “Who be you?”
So cute, he sounds just like his mama. “My name’s Clari. What’s yours?”
“Daffin.”
“No, little buddy, that’s Davin.” Mr. Hawksen scooped up the little boy and tickled his tummy. “Let’s get those hands washed.”
Like a well-practiced routine, the women set platters and bowls of food in the center of the table, added a few little plates of butter mounds, and then set small glasses of milk in front of the boys.
“Y’all better eat. It’s not getting any hotter.” Mrs. MacElroy stood near the stove, pouring coffee from the metal pot into cups arranged on a tray.
A moment was spared for a brief grace, spoken to deities that Clari hadn’t heard of before, but her interest was piqued.
Mrs. Hawksen dished up food on her sons’ plates. “Ye’ve met some of the hands at the mercantile, right?”
Clari glanced around the table, nodded at those she knew, and stopped her gaze at the older man. “I’m Clari Rochester, niece of the Othmanns. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Pleasure, ma’am. I’m Tully, the foreman here.”
“And my husband, don’t be forgetting that important fact.” Myrna nudged his shoulder with her hip as she passed out the coffee.
The conversation settled into requests for food to be passed and then faded as hungry people enjoyed the bounty before them.
Boots sounded on the porch and the door swung open. A pale Trevor stood, gripping the door knob and swaying a few inches. He hadn’t shaved but his hair was slicked back with water, and his left hand was tucked into his coat pocket.
Clari’s pulse kicked up. “It’s Trevor.” The words slipped out on a breathy sigh before she could hold them in.
“Well, well, well.” Mr. Hawksen nodded, his gaze flitting between Trevor and Clari.
“Hey, look who’s out of his deathbed.” Jake jumped up, scooted his chair to one side then hauled one from the edge of the room.
“Thanks, Jake.”
Doesn’t anyone else see the man isn’t even steady on his feet? Clari wanted to rush to him and help him to his chair. But she bit her tongue and just watched.
With slow steps, he muscled his way across the five feet of open floor to the closest chair and sank with a groan. Shrugging off his coat, he left it between his body and the chair. He met her gaze and gave her
a quick smile before taking the plate Myrna had already loaded with food.
The meal went as well as any could that involved three young children. Milk was spilled, kids refused to eat their vegetables, and the baby woke in the middle, sobbing her little heart out.
“I’ll go.” Clari was almost done with her meal so she stood. “Will she let me change her?”
“The wee one just wants to be dry.” Mrs. Hawksen smiled and sagged back in her chair. “T’would be a blessing. Turn right at the doorway and follow the cries. Clean nappies be on the table near the bassinet.”
Once outside of the room, Clari drew a full breath. Now that she’d admitted her feelings for Trevor to herself, she knew they must show clear as day on her face. Muttering nonsense words, Clari soothed little Maeve and took care of her sanitary needs then pulled on a fresh nightgown she found in a stack of clean clothes.
Maeve gurgled and waved her tiny fists in the air.
The accomplishment made Clari glad for her time spent here at Shady Oaks. She hoped many more visits would be in her future. She arrived back in the kitchen in time to deliver Maeve to her mother and then help Mrs. MacElroy clear the dishes to the counter. As she leaned close to collect Trevor’s plate, she couldn’t resist whispering, “Thought you’d like to know I learned baby-tending by doing.” The spiciness of the scented smoke clung to his skin.
He glanced up and winked. “You looked like a natural.”
The remainder of the meal passed in a flurry of serving pumpkin pie and whipped cream, pouring fresh coffee, and enjoying the banter that hopped from friend to friend. Clari had to fight to concentrate on any one conversation and not keep looking Trevor’s way.
Mr. Hawksen raised a hand and waited for the voices to quiet. He leaned forward, lifted his coffee cup, and then looked directly at her. “Thanks go to Miss Rochester for her miracle cure that has brought our friend Trevor back to the land of the living.”
Cheers and whistles resounded in the air.
Clari dipped her head, then thought of how her story heroines would act, and lifted her chin. “You are all welcome. I had to help make him well.” Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. To calm her fluttering nerves, she placed a hand on her chest and met Trevor’s gaze. “Otherwise, who would be there next time to rescue me?”
He rested his forearms on the table and leaned as far as his stomach would allow. “I could always just teach you how to control a horse.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them away. A grin broke out on her lips, and she nodded. “Yes please. When can we start lessons?”
****
On Sunday, Trevor arrived at the mercantile fifteen minutes before church services. He wore his best shirt and trousers and had even shined his boots. He knocked on the locked door and then turned to survey the activity on the street. The air was crisp and the sky held only high wispy clouds. Riders and buggies shared the road on their way to town. People walked along the board walks toward the tall steepled building.
A feeling of contentment like he hadn’t known in a long time filled his thoughts. Several days after Clari’s visit when she’d brought the unpronounceable remedy, he’d discovered a mysterious flat envelope under his bed. He had a vague memory of the scratching sound right before she left the bunkhouse. Since he’d never seen it before, he figured she’d left it for him, even though the address was a publisher called Double-Nickel Stories and the author was a C.R. Madison.
A lock scraped, and the door opened, setting off the bell.
Trevor turned and gazed into the stern face of Fritz Othmann. He had to swallow past a sudden lump in his dry throat. “Good morning, sir.”
“Morning, Driscoll.” The man ran a broad hand over his balding head. He wore his long john tops and his suspenders hung by his hips. “Store’s closed today.”
“I’m not here to purchase anything, but I’ve come to speak with you, sir.”
“Me?” He waved a beckoning hand. “Come inside out of the cold.”
Trevor walked inside and pulled off his hat. Now that he was here, he realized he should have planned what he was going to say. The matter was too important to use the wrong words.
Footsteps sounded on the second floor and started down the stairs.
“Back upstairs.” Without looking to whom he spoke, Mr. Othmann pointed his finger upward.
“Who’s here, Fritz? In this an emergency?”
“No emergency. Give us a few minutes.” He looked over his shoulder and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Upstairs, please, Alda.”
Trevor looked at the room’s ceiling and wondered where Clari’s room was. Had she heard his voice? Could she guess why he was here? After he’d read the story she wrote based on his rescue, he’d wanted to charge into town and demand to know if she’d really intended to sell it. To question her if she had intended to ask him first. Then the more times he’d read the story, the more he’d realized that she saw him as a whole man capable of doing anything. Even fighting off non-existent coyotes and eagles. As soon as she saw him here, dressed as he was, she’d know his reason.
“Uh, Driscoll, you got something to ask me?”
Trevor cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I’ve come to ask permission to court your niece. I have a steady job at Shady Oaks. The Hawksens can vouch I don’t smoke, and I don’t gamble away my pay. I can’t swear I don’t imbibe in alcohol, but I do only take a drink or two in moderation. I—”
“You can stop there. I’ve seen you around town and know you to be an honest man.” Mr. Othmann stuck out his hand, and finally he smiled. “I give my consent.”
They shook hands, and Trevor winced at the burly man’s hard grip. As surreptitiously as he could, he ran a finger along the inside of the collar that had suddenly become stiffer.
Othmann stepped to the doorway, stretched up, and clanged the bell several times. He looked at Trevor and shrugged. “Easier than climbing the stairs. Excuse me while I finished dressing for service.”
Whispers preceded the women’s descent down the stairs. Then they hushed when they spotted him standing at the doorway.
Wide-eyed, Clari stepped forward. “Morning, Trevor. I wasn’t expecting you.”
The yellow blouse and navy skirt she wore accented her trim figure. “I wanted to surprise you and escort you to church services today.”
Biting her lower lip, she glanced over her shoulder toward her aunt. She shook her head and turned back, frowning. “I’m not so sure—”
Heavy footsteps sounded behind the counter, and Fritz walked back into the store. “Go on, you two. The man has my permission to court you.” He stopped in front of his wife so that his wide body blocked her view. “Only you can get my tie on straight. Will you help, Alda dear?”
Clari turned away from the whispering couple and stared. “You want to court me?” She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and wrapped her scarf around her neck.
After jamming his hat on his head, he took the coat from her hands and helped her put it on, then ushered her through the door to gain a speck of privacy. “Isn’t that the next logical step? First…rescuer, then…beau? Or do I have that wrong?” He affected a puzzled look and scratched a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “I’m not really sure, because I don’t remember reading that in the story.”
She stopped buttoning her coat and looked up, eyes shining. “You read it? Did you like my gift? You know I was planning to send it to a publisher. I had even brought it along that day, hoping Mrs. Hawksen’s wagon would meet the incoming stagecoach. But when I saw how sick you were, I realized you needed it more than I wanted to see it in print.” Her gaze flicked to the side and back then she took a step closer. “Please tell me you’re not angry.”
Such a wonderful gift. He couldn’t hold back his grin any longer. “How could I be angry over a story titled A Hero In His Own Time?” His throat tightened worse than when he faced Fritz Othmann. “Tell me, is that how you see me?”
Clari grabbed his gloved hands and drew them up between their bodies. “Yes, ever since I first met you, I’ve thought of you as my hero. I watched you rescue that toddler from in front of the wagon, and I’ve seen you helping Mrs. Hawksen. Jake told me all about how you round up and drive cattle, train horses, shoot rattlesnakes, and do other cowboy things. I appreciated your action the day you stepped in when that awful Mr. O’Shea was being too forward. Even from across the room, you made me feel safe and protected.”
One thing he had to get clear before they crossed the street and displayed themselves as a courting couple. He eased his left hand from her grasp and lifted it between them. “My hand, the injury doesn’t—”
Smiling, she shook her head. “I’ve seen worse, but that’s a story for another day.”
Worse? His gut clenched. He’d have to learn about that. “Maybe we can fit in a riding lesson between church and the Christmas eve supper at Shady Oaks.”
“You’re really going to teach me?” She grabbed his forearms and squeezed. “Riding a horse on my own means freedom and exploration and adventures.” Grinning, she pulled away and twirled in circles, arms held straight out. “This is the greatest thing you could do for me.” All of a sudden, she stopped, bent over at the waist, and placed a hand at the base of her throat, sucking in deep breaths.
Concern flashed through him, and he rushed to her side. “Are you all right? Do you have the darned candle?”
“Just a spin or two too many.” She straightened and flashed a wide smile. “Thank you for believing in my ability to handle a horse. Having my independence means the world to me.”
Relieved she seemed to be breathing well, he stuck out his crooked elbow and waited for her to grab tight. Together, they walked the wooden planks to the steps and then crossed the hard-packed street.
Halfway there, she stopped and turned to stare, wide eyed. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, but we’ve already given each other our presents. What will we do?”
“All I need is you, sweet Clari.” He looked into her dark brown eyes and saw his future—the woman who would keep him on his toes for years with her stories and her antics. Although the urge to kiss her was strong, he wanted to wait for privacy. “You’re the best gift this man’s ever received.”
Storybook Hero (Dorado, Texas 2) Page 4