by Jillian Hart
"But, Pa, I want to stay and help."
"The doctor is here." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "The deputy will be in good hands. If anything changes, I'm sure Doc Frost will let us know. Come, now. Your stepmother is very concerned about your reputation."
"As you said, the doctor is here, as well." She was loath to put down her book. She glanced at the man on the pallet and felt tethered to him in a way she didn't understand. She needed to help him. "I'm in the middle of a scene. At least let me finish the part where the Range Rider is backed into a canyon and out of bullets. Please?"
"You'll have to dangle for a bit, I'm afraid." Pa held out one hand. "Perhaps you can sneak in here when no one is looking tomorrow and read the rest of the scene for the deputy. Not that he can probably hear you."
"He can." Reluctantly, she shut the book's cover. The lamplight caressed the man on the pallet, who was fighting a fever, sweat sluicing down his face and dampening his dark hair. Earlier, when she had rejoined the doctor after the supper dishes were done, Burke had been restless, tossing and turning. After two hours of reading, her throat may be scratchy but he was resting calmly.
"I promise not to leave his side." Dr. Frost withdrew his stethoscope from his medical bag, which sat at his feet. "His fever is the main concern. If it hasn't broken by morning'¦"
A lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to answer. Sadly, she pushed off the stool and backed away from the foot of the pallet. Would he die in the night? She resisted the urge to smooth his tangled hair and dry the sweat beading on his granite face.
"Lila, you're dawdling." Pa stood in the hallway, waiting to close the door. "The deputy is not your responsibility."
"It feels as if he is." It took effort to force her shoes to carry her across the threshold. She took one last glance over her shoulder, surely not the last time she would see him. He lay motionless as if only a shell, but she remembered his smile and his humor. She reluctantly placed one shoe on the bottom stair. She could not explain why with each step she took up the staircase, she left a piece of herself behind.
"Pray for him," Pa advised as he closed the door tight behind her. "It's all any of us can do for him now. He's in God's hands."
"Will you pray for him, too?"
"I already have many times. I hate seeing this happen to anyone so young."
"How do you know anything about him?" She clutched her book. He was just like the hero in her favorite series of novels. Maybe that explained the quick, innocent spark of her interest in him. "He hasn't been in the store, has he?"
"Not that I remember. A while back he stopped to help me when a spoke broke on the delivery wagon." Pa ambled into the fall of light from the upstairs lamps. "At least a few of the town's other deputies would have kept on going, but he dismounted, moseyed up and took over the repair. Expert at it, too. Had the spoke jury-rigged together and back in place in half the time I had been wrestling with it."
Not only an expert marksman but he excelled at wagon repair. Burke was definitely an interesting man. Lila crept down the hallway, where light spilled from the room she shared with Lark. "He struck me as the type of man who would stop and help someone in need."
"He never wanted so much as a thanks in return. I tried buying him lunch, inviting him to a home-cooked meal, but he wouldn't have it. He keeps to himself, that one." Pa lightly tweaked Lila's nose. "You get some rest, my dear. You worked hard to help the doctor today. You showed compassion your mother would be proud of."
"Thanks, Pa." She didn't know how to explain that she'd felt drawn, as if she had no other choice. That wasn't the same as compassion, more like duty and responsibility. She felt inadequate as her father padded toward the parlor where Eunice awaited him. Eunice put down her needlework to speak to him in low tones. Lila turned away, dragging her feet down the hall. Heaviness weighed on her, exhaustion that turned her bones to lead.
"Is he any better?" Lark popped into her doorway.
"No. His fever is severe." She bit her tongue to keep from telling how concerned the doctor had been. The shadows deepened in the hallway like living things seizing her. She could not give in to hopelessness. "I was going to pray for him again. Will you join me?"
"Yes." Lark locked her arm in Lila's and they ambled into the bedroom together.
"
"We surrender their spirits to the Lord." The minister's words lifted on the hot summer wind that stirred the grasses next to the open three graves.
Burke clasped his hands behind his back, bowed his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut. The images of those coffins sitting in the graves remained etched on the back of his lids. He was so sad no tears would come.
"They are in a much better place, little boy." Mrs. Dunlap rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Do not be sad. Think how happy they are in Heaven."
Her words did not comfort him. The sun blazed as if it were the house fire burning him up, too. He wished for Ginna's arms holding him tight around his middle. He wished for Pa's rumbling voice when he told a bedtime story and the comfort of Ma's gentle fingertips as she would clean away a swipe of dirt from his face. He wanted them back. More than anything, he wanted them back.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the minister went on, talking about things Burke did not understand.
He did not want to understand. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He'd never been so hot. Feelings bunched in his throat, as sharp as knives. The grief burned him up from the inside, the way the fire had burned the house. He wanted to be in Heaven, too. That's were Pa was and Ginna. He wanted his Ma. But dirt shoveled down on the coffins and he was alone.
"You are a good boy. Not a single tear." Mrs. Dunlap patted him on the top of his head. "Good, she's here. Do you see that nice lady?"
He didn't want to look, but he did. He tugged at his buttoned collar because the air was suffocating him. A lady in a black dress climbed down from a buckboard. Her hair was pulled back so tight it stretched her face. Not a speck of dust rising up from her footsteps on the street dared to settle on her skirt. She walked like a soldier, like someone who did not like little boys.
"Is this him?" She had a rough voice, like the wood Pa had split to make the kitchen table before he sanded it. "Is this the orphan?"
He did not know what an orphan was.
"Yes, poor thing." Mrs. Dunlap gave him a little push between the shoulder blades. "We would offer to keep him but we've raised our own. At our age, it would be too much."
"I understand. He's not your obligation." Stern lines kept the black dressed lady's mouth from hardly moving when she talked. "He looks small for his age."
"He took a bad case of diphtheria last year. I remember his mother feared losing him."
"The scrawny ones have a hard time being adopted." The frown lines dug deeper on either side of her mouth. "Come along, boy. I don't want any nonsense from you."
"No, ma'am." He glanced over his shoulder but Mrs. Dunlap simply nodded as if he were to go with this stranger. The minister clapped him on the shoulder and walked away. Everyone left except for the man with the shovel tossing dirt into Ma's grave.
Blistering heat scalded his eyes and felt likely to peel away his flesh. He took one step with the black dressed lady and all light faded from the sky, all color from the earth. There was only darkness as he died inside. No longer his ma's little boy, his pa's only son, his sister's baby brother, he was nothing at all.
Chapter Four
The morning felt unnaturally quiet as Lila splashed in the washbasin in the
corner of the bedroom. Maybe it was the early hour, that's what she tried to tell herself as foreboding trembled through her. Outside the curtained window, no birds sang, no shadows moved, even the wind held its breath as if waiting. She knew, because she'd peeked between the closed curtains. Clouds stood ominous in the sky, heavy like black wool and pressing on the air.
"Lila!" Lark punched her pillow and groggily yawned. "What time is it?"
"It's daylight." She dropped her toothbrush into the holder, gave a final glance in the mirror, fluffed her bangs with her fingers and spun on her heels. "Don't worry, I'm done. Just be glad you're not old enough to work in the store yet."
"I wish, but Eunice doesn't trust me to." Lark yawned again, hauled the covers over her head and muttered incomprehensibly. She didn't move, drifting back to her dreams.
Lila quietly closed the door, her skirts rustling as she tiptoed down the hallway. The house was silent, the kitchen dark, the cookstove unlit. Looked like the coast was clear. Eunice wasn't up yet to thwart her morning mission. She intended to check on Burke and nothing would stop her. Not even the terrible tight sick feeling digging deep into her stomach.
She was afraid for him. She had lain awake half the night listening for any sound that might hint to her how the deputy was doing. The doctor did not leave, no one came to assist him and the downstairs remained silent as she descended the stairs. She avoided the squeaky spots and pushed through the door into the store.
Dr. Frost stood at the front counter, rolling down his shirtsleeves, his medical bag on the floor beside him. Exhaustion lined his grim face and his shoulders slumped as if with defeat. Had Burke died? Her knees gave out and she clutched the door. Cold horror breezed though her, leaving her unable to speak.
"Lila. Good." The doctor reached for his bag. "I've got another patient to check on. Will you stay with the deputy?"
"You mean he's alive?" The words rasped out of her tight throat and her dry mouth.
"His fever broke an hour ago. The worst is over."
Thank You, Lord. Her knees felt firmer. "He lost so much blood. He will recover, won't he?"
"He's otherwise healthy and in his prime. I don't see why not." The doctor managed a small smile. "I have other patients to tend to. I won't be long. Keep watch over him, Lila, will you?"
"With my life." Her attention rolled back to Burke. She couldn't help it. Her fingers tingled as if unable to forget the memory of touching him. It was an odd sensation that was part lovely and part sweet.
The front door opened with the chime of the bell, but her attention was on the storeroom. Faint light filtered into the small hallway from the single window. A thin muslin curtain did its best to hold back the sun, but large streaks spilled onto the floor and the pickle barrels and onto the pallet. The deputy lay on his back, the sheet to his chin, breathing normally in sleep. She'd never seen a more welcome sight.
"Lila, what are you doing down here on your own with a man?" Eunice's scolding echoed in the store. Her skirts snapped as she stalked closer. "Do you have no common sense?"
"The doctor asked me to keep an eye on him." She hurried into the hall, praying her stepmother would not wake him. "He's improved. Isn't that a blessing?"
"The blessing would be having him out of this building. That is what I'm praying for." Eunice tapped her foot impatiently. "There is no chaperone here. No one to safeguard you."
"I don't need a chaperone. I don't need safeguarding." It wasn't easy keeping her frustration out of her tone. Eunice was a practical woman, something her father appreciated very much. She loved Pa and arguing with his wife would only upset him. Lila sighed. "I have work to do down here before I can open the store."
"I suppose Lark can help me in the kitchen." Eunice's gaze narrowed as if she were trying to ferret out the truth. "You will stay an appropriate distance from him, and I will come down to check on you. Don't think I won't. I won't have anyone in this town saying I didn't handle this situation properly."
"Yes'm." She thought of Pa and how it would hurt him if she was anything less than respectful to her stepmother. She bit her lip to keep silent. She thought of all the good Eunice did'kept the house, fussed over Lark, made sure the business ran smoothly. She was a great comfort to Pa's life.
"I don't want you going into the room. Do you hear me? Don't you step foot beyond the threshold as long as you are alone with him. I need your word, Lila."
"You have it." She pushed aside the misery threatening to take over.
"This is for your own good, you'll see." Pleased, Eunice smiled and patted Lila's cheek. "I'll have Lark bring down your breakfast. Don't forget about the herring barrel. I want this floor spotless before a single customer arrives."
There was no way to avoid the fish barrel. Lila sighed and went in search of the mop. She found it on the floor right where she'd left it yesterday afternoon. The sudsy water had to be changed and that would lead her to the back door. Eunice said she couldn't go inside the room so she kept her toes on this side of the threshold.
Shadows hid him. The lamp's wick was out and the muted light from the window fell across his chest but couldn't reach his face. She bit back her frustration. She needed to see him. Maybe it was her sense of responsibility returning. Yes, that had to be it. She was a very responsible sort. She had also given her word to the doctor she would watch over him. His breathing remained regular and his slumber deep. If she had the wish to lay her hand across his forehead to make sure the fever was truly gone for good, she did not take a step forward. She'd made a promise to her stepmother.
It took all her strength to tear away from the doorway. She had a floor to scrub clean, barrels to move and the front section of boardwalk to sweep. That would keep her busy and perhaps take her mind off the man.
It did not.
"
Burke came to consciousness slowly. First there was only shadow and a distant pain that constricted his breathing. As he surfaced, he was aware of a muslin sheet beneath him and over him, the softness of a feather pillow, the scent of pickles, herring and something he couldn't quite recognize. Cinnamon, maybe? His mind remained foggy and it took effort to try to open his eyes.
Where was he? He struggled to force his eyelids apart. Sunlight spilled through a nearby window and exploded like dynamite in his skull. He ignored the discomfort but he couldn't see much through the glare. Shelves full of canned goods, cartons and stacks of bulky sacks. He heard the scrape of a chair nearby and in the distance the muffled rattle of a wagon passing by on a street, no, a narrow alley, judging by the echoing clip-clop of a horse's hooves. He was somewhere in town. Pain radiated through him. He was hurt. His mind remained foggy. What had happened?
It was the dreams he remembered. The red ashes raining down from the sky, the flash of lightning in the storm, the dirt tumbling into his mother's grave. He could still feel Ginna's arms around him, although he hadn't been that boy in twenty years. He tried to lift his head and a sharp-edged blade of pain sliced through the dullness in his foggy brain. He exhaled sharply. Laudanum. He'd been under its effects before. This wasn't the first time he'd been shot in the line of duty.
"Burke?" He recognized the voice, soft like a melody, as gentle as a hymn, as arresting as a sonnet. Skirts rustled and a chair scraped closer this time. "Good morning, Deputy. Can you hear me?"
Lila. He remembered her. She hovered over him, burnished with the blazing light. Her green-blue eyes studied him and he could read the concern. For him. His heart thumped. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered with concern for him. He licked his lips and found them cracked. Hi
s tongue felt like sand. He tried to speak but no sound came. Just pain.
"You must be thirsty." She slipped from his view. All light bled from the room. The tap of her shoes, the rustle of her petticoats and the drip of water told him she was not far away, but he could not summon the strength to turn his head so much as an inch to find her.
Vulnerable. Defenseless. He didn't like being either. He was alone in the world, he had to keep his guards up. His pulse kicked, galloping frantically. It all came back to him. The assignment, arriving in town, holding back when he saw Cheever riding shotgun with Slim's gang. That didn't stop Cheever from shooting him. The outlaw must be still mad over his pa's death.
"Here you are." She returned, coming between him and the blinding sunshine and touched a tin cup to his lips. "Drink slowly. You can have only a few sips at a time."
The cold water wet his lips and rolled across his tongue. He swallowed, wanting to grab the cup from her and drain it dry to the last drop, but he could not summon the strength to lift his arms.
"If you keep that down, I will give you a few sips more." Cinnamon-brown braids tumbled over her shoulder and curly gossamer wisps framed her soft oval face. She had high cheekbones and a dainty nose, long dark lashes and a full rosebud mouth made for smiling or, he suspected, singing hymns in the church choir.
He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. He waited while she turned away to put down the cup, hating that she had moved out of his sight again. This wasn't like him. He knew better than to get tangled up with a woman like her.
"The doctor ran out to check on another patient and to get a bite of lunch." She returned and folded the edge of the sheet lying across his chest. Her feather-soft touch soothed him, but he could not accept it. He could not get used to it. Unaware, she gave the edge of the sheet a final pat and straightened up. She reached for something, a book, as it turned out, a paperback serial. "I was reading to you while you slept. I hope you don't mind. Dr. Frost said it might help you to hear a friendly voice."