Abducted at the Altar

by Charlene Sands

  But he wouldn’t think about that.

  Tonight, he vowed he wouldn’t dream about Dorie McCabe and her sweetly innocent charms.

  Tonight, Shane planned on sleeping the sleep of the dead.

  And tomorrow, after Doc Renfrow gave him the okay, he’d head back to the Bar G.

  Where it was safe.

  Chapter Seven

  Dorie put away her sewing for the day and headed to the kitchen. She’d gotten up extra early to complete chores she’d neglected while she’d tended Shane. She’d baked biscuits, and churned butter to barter with Mr. Caruthers at his general store, then she’d done the wash, making sure Jeremiah had clean clothes to wear and they had fresh linens for their beds.

  Dorie smiled thinking how Jeremiah had kicked up a fuss when she’d climbed into bed with him the last night Shane had slept here; the two of them squeezing into the small confines of his bed. Jeremiah slapped her in the face with a wayward arm and then kicked her in the shins when he turned his body. And Dorie had realized something that night that hadn’t yet occurred to her. Her brother, though young in years, had grown into a strapping young man. It didn’t seem fitting to share a bed any longer, so she’d climbed out and had fallen asleep on the parlor horsehair sofa.

  Not that she slept too well. She’d worried over Shane and had peeked in on him at least three times that night. He’d slept soundly and she’d thanked the Almighty that he seemed on the path to recovery.

  Dorie cut up a flank of beef and added it to the pot, tossing in carrots and celery and small potatoes. She simmered the stew, stirring with care, wanting this meal to turn out perfectly.

  Jeremiah startled her when he slammed the back door. “You back from Shane’s place?”

  “Yep, just got back.”

  “How’s he doing today?” she asked.

  “Just fine, Dorie.”

  “But I mean, is he healing up good, or is he working himself into an early grave?”

  Jeremiah stole a biscuit from a basket Dorie had set out and before she could swipe at his hand, he grabbed another one. He took big bites out of both, a trick he’d learned when their mama was alive, so that she couldn’t possibly ask him to put one back into the basket. “Like I said, he’s fine. Just like he was yesterday and the day before that.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen him in three days and it’s time I found that out for myself. I’m making stew and when it’s done, I’m heading over there. Want to come along?”

  “Nope, I just got back. Don’t plan on going again.”

  “Okay, then,” Dorie said, stirring the stew and hoping her biscuits were soft and flaky enough for Shane’s taste. “I’ll bring him supper, but I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

  “As long as you leave me a portion of stew—a big portion. I worked up an appetite riding with Shane today.”

  Dorie stopped stirring to smile at Jeremiah. “And when have I ever left you without a meal, little brother?”

  Jeremiah shrugged and stole another biscuit from the basket. “Jeremiah!”

  He raced out the door before Dorie could catch him, but she wasn’t really angry with him. He was a good boy and she loved him with everything in her heart.

  While the stew simmered, Dorie entered her bedroom and faced the cheval mirror. Since her meetings each day with Mrs. Whitaker, she’d been painfully aware of her own lack of style. Dressing up hadn’t been a priority in her life. It’d been all she could do to put food on the table and make a good home life for her brother. But now, things had changed.

  Dorie had changed.

  She wanted more. She wanted to be a real lady. To dress like one and act like one. She wanted Shane to stand up and take notice. But the image reflected in the mirror didn’t give her much hope. She wore her clothes loose, for comfort and practicality. She often just knotted her curly locks up atop her head in bird nest fashion and most times her face needed a good washing. “Dorie, it’s time for you to grow up.”

  She shuffled through the bottom drawer of her armoire, pushing aside winter sweaters, to find a few of her mama’s old things. Dorie lifted out a pink-and-yellow calico dress that she remembered her mama wearing on special occasions. It wasn’t exactly fancy, but it was fashionable and clean, with puff sleeves and a bit of lace. Dorie took a good hard look at it, working up a few details that needed changing. Then, with her mind set, she pulled out her sewing needle to make a few minor adjustments to the bodice. Her mama wasn’t a large woman, but she certainly was bigger boned than Dorie.

  A short time later and after a quick washing, she combed her hair until it shone, then fitted a ribbon around the tresses to keep them off her face. She donned her mama’s calico dress, with a few newly added touches, and gazed at herself in the mirror.

  “Better,” she said quietly, liking the way the soft colors made her complexion glow. The dress fit her hips perfectly, and the puff of material at the top of her shoulders, flaring down tighter to her wrists, made her feel more feminine than she had since…well, since her mama would dress her up for Sunday services as a young girl.

  In the kitchen, she covered the pot of stew with its lid and placed it inside a small crate, topped with the red-checkered lined basket of biscuits. She stuck her head out the back door. “I’m leaving now,” she announced to Jeremiah, who was whittling on a piece of wood on the back porch. “I’m walking to Shane’s house. Your stew’s sitting on the cookstove.”

  “See you later,” he said, never taking his eyes from his task.

  And then Dorie made the trek to Shane’s house, hoping to surprise him.

  Dorie walked up the path to Shane’s house, just as she viewed a buggy pulling away. She craned her neck to see the driver’s face, and was struck by a jolting shock. Her stomach clenched when she noticed Shane standing on his front porch, smiling warmly, waving farewell to Mrs. Roberta McPherson. The young and newly widowed milliner returned his smile.

  Dorie came to a dead halt and held her breath as unfettered jealousy swept through her. What was Roberta doing here putting a smile on Shane’s face? she wondered. Why, her husband wasn’t dead a year yet. Dorie knew there were more than a few men waiting in line for her, Roberta being so pretty and all, so why’d she showed up at Shane’s place?

  Dorie stood frozen, her mind spinning. The crate of food in her arms weighing her down, she decided to find out what was going on before she dropped the darn thing. She marched straight ahead, catching Shane before he entered his front door.

  “Shane? Shane Graham, wait up!”

  Shane turned just as she climbed up the steps. “Dorie?”

  Well, she’d surprised him all right, but his face lost all the warmth he’d held for Roberta just seconds ago. “What are you doing here?”

  She’d hoped for a friendlier greeting. Dorie shifted the crate in her arms and when he finally noticed her burden, he relieved her of it. “Here, let me take that.”

  “It’s supper. I made you your favorite, beef stew and, well, you can see I brought a basket of biscuits, too.”

  Shane looked down at the crate. “Biscuits?”

  “Yes, I hope you like them. I made the whole meal for us to share tonight. There’s more to do.”

  “I thought you were taking lessons from Mrs. Whitaker?”

  “I am. She’s been such a help to me. I see her for an hour or two every day. But you and I have more to learn about each other.”

  Shane nodded. “Okay, come in and thank you kindly for the meal.”

  “Are you hungry, Shane?” she asked as she strode into Shane’s house, when all she really wanted to know was why Roberta McPherson had come calling. Mrs. Whitaker had warned her about blurting out the first thing that popped into her head; Dorie took heed and commended herself for the restraint.

  Shane patted his stomach and cast her a look of regret. “Not really.”

  With the sun fading on the horizon, Dorie realized that she might have dallied too long at home. She glanced around the parlor, catching a
quick glimpse of Shane’s small dining room. Dishes lay atop the table—a table that had been set for two with a cluster of fresh day lilies in a vase between the plates. “Shane, why was Roberta McPherson here?” Dorie asked, ignoring Mrs. Whitaker’s instruction in favor of easing her curiosity.

  Shane scratched his head. He hesitated long enough to make Dorie’s nerves go raw, and when he answered there was a hint of guilt in his voice. “Roberta found out about my injury. She brought over supper.”

  “You ate supper with her?” Dorie asked, unable to disguise the accusation in her tone.

  “She’s just being neighborly, Dorie. Nothing wrong in that.”

  Dorie looked over at the crate of food she’d brought that wouldn’t get eaten now. Then she remembered she’d dressed up special for Shane tonight and he hadn’t even noticed. Not when he’d just had supper with someone like Roberta. Dorie couldn’t compete with her natural beauty and refinement. She wore the most fashionable clothes and designed the most colorful hats. Her shop was the envy of all the young girls who couldn’t afford to buy such things.

  Dorie included.

  “I see,” she said, looking down at her boots, holding back anger and disappointment. She’d wanted to surprise Shane with his favorite meal and, instead, she’d been the one surprised.

  “I didn’t know she was coming over,” he said. “But if I had, I wouldn’t have encouraged it.”

  Dorie’s head shot up with renewed hope. “You wouldn’t?”

  Shane shook his head. “No, Roberta is nice enough, but I let her know I still planned on marrying Marilee Barkley. Roberta is a friend and that’s all. She understood.”

  “Well, she might have understood, but I sure don’t.”

  Shane sighed and set the crate onto the kitchen table. “Let’s not go through that again, Dorie.” He lifted the cover from the pot. “You know, this stew looks good. Have you eaten?”

  Dorie followed him inside his kitchen, shaking her head. “No. I thought to eat with you.”

  Shane took in her appearance, his gaze traveling down the length of her from her new style of hair, stopping at her cinched-in waist, then on to the tip of her booted toes. He glanced once again at the stew. “Sit down and join me. I think I’ve got room enough to try some of this.”

  Dorie sat while Shane picked up two plates and forks and set them down on the table. Then he ladled out a portion of stew for each of them. Dorie didn’t mind eating with Shane in his kitchen, while Roberta had set a fancy table for him in his small dining room. At least he was willing to try the meal she’d cooked especially for him.

  “I appreciate you cooking for me, Dorie, honest I do.” He took up his fork and dug into the food. “I also appreciate you saving my life.” He took a moment to chew his food then glanced over at her. “It’s delicious.”

  Dorie beamed with delight. “It is?”

  “Best stew I’ve had in a long time.”

  Dorie’s heart soared. “Thank you.”

  “As I was saying, I realized when I got back home that I wasn’t a very good patient.”

  “No, you were fine.”

  “I was bad-tempered and grouchy and I didn’t treat you right.”

  Dorie smiled and lifted the fork to her mouth. “You treated me just fine, Shane.”

  Shane stared at her lips for a long moment, then blinked away whatever thought had entered his mind. “So, you admit I was grouchy?”

  Dorie chewed on her food slowly. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’m saying it for you. Fact is, without your help and Jeremiah finding me, then coming here to help out this week, I doubt I’d be sitting here eating a meal with you.” He took hold of her hand and squeezed. “What I’m saying is, thank you.”

  A lump formed in Dorie’s throat. She looked deep into Shane’s grass-green eyes, her heart tumbling over itself. “You’re welcome.”

  Shane nodded and continued to eat until he’d emptied his plate. Dorie knew a measure of complete joy and didn’t even mind that Shane hadn’t touched one of her biscuits.

  “You’re looking well,” she said. “Are you healing?”

  Shane touched his side, pushing aside the material of his plaid shirt a bit. “I’m healing better than I thought. The stitches come out tomorrow. There’ll be a scar but that doesn’t matter as long as I have my full strength back.”

  “That’s good news. Not about the scar,” she said, thinking of his manly body, all muscle and firm skin. She hated to think he’d be marred in any way, but he was right. As long as he felt healthy and strong, that should be all that mattered. “I mean to say that scars don’t bother me. I have one myself.”

  “You?” Shane scanned her body from top to bottom, looking for one. Then he came to his own conclusion. “No, you don’t.”

  “I sure do,” she said with a knowing smile. “I was eight years old and fell about ten feet out of a tree. I landed right smack on a bundle of pinecones. One stuck me—” she lifted her hip slightly and pointed with arrowlike precision just beyond her hip, to her derriere “—right here.”

  Shane glanced to where she pointed and took a big swallow.

  “It bled like a son-of-a-gun.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oops, I mean to say, it bled quite heavily, and when Mama finally stopped the bleeding, there was a hole the size of…well, a big hole on my cheek.”

  Shane didn’t say one thing.

  “It’s healed now but there’s a scar that goes clear down to my—”

  “I think I’ll try a biscuit,” he interrupted, reaching over to grab a biscuit. He stuffed it into his mouth and began to chew. And chew. And chew. Once he swallowed, he took a look at the basket of biscuits as if trying to puzzle something out. “The sun’s almost down, Dorie. I’ll have to drive you home soon.”

  “But I thought we could spend some more time together. We need to finish—”

  “Shh!” Shane interrupted. “Listen.” He sat up straighter in the chair, then stood abruptly. “Did you hear that? I think it’s my heifer. She’s ready to drop her calf.”

  Dorie sat quietly, listening. She heard a loud sound, not quite a mooing but definitely an animal in pain. “Yes, I hear it. We’d best check on her.”

  But Shane had already dashed out the back door. She found him outside in a corral on bended knees checking the heifer.

  “Is she okay?”

  Shane shook his head. “Don’t think so. The calf’s wedged up inside her and she’ll never get her out without help. Dorie, run to the barn and get my gloves.”

  Dorie returned with two pairs of gloves. She handed Shane a pair and then slid her hands into the other. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  “I’m helping.”

  “You ever pull a calf before?”

  “No, have you?”

  Shane nodded. “About a dozen times. Now, step back. I can get this.”

  Dorie stepped back and watched, while Shane struggled, the heifer struggled and nothing much happened. The heifer made another anguished sound. “Damn, the calf’s wedged in there real good, coming hoof first.”

  Shane broke out in a sweat and he breathed in, putting a hand to his side. He winced in pain and Dorie realized he hadn’t fully recovered. He’d used all his strength and at that awkward angle, he still couldn’t pull out the calf.

  There was just enough room for Dorie to put her hands on the calf’s legs, while Shane grabbed the hoofs. “Let me help,” she said. “Together, we’ll get it out.”

  Shane balked for half a second, until the heifer cried out again. “We can try. Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

  Dorie pulled from the side, while Shane grabbed hold of the hoofs from the cow’s back end. They yanked hard, both making grunting sounds. Dorie lost her balance, bumped into Shane and they both fell into hard packed mud.

  “Sorry!” Quickly, they righted themselves and grabbed hold again. When they tugged again, they felt some give and Shane shot her a look of triumph
. “Here we go.”

  The heifer made her last final grunt, the calf slid out and both Shane and Dorie wound up in the mud again, this time, successful; the newly delivered calf squirming beside them.

  Dorie sat full out in the mud, staring at the calf. “Is she going to live?”

  “She sure is.” Shane stood and reached down to help Dorie. “And so is her mama.”

  Dorie righted herself and turned her attention to the baby calf she helped deliver, then glanced at the new mother. “What’s wrong with her?”

  The cow’s back end had dropped down to the ground and she seemed unable to move. “Sometimes new mamas get paralyzed from the delivery. She’ll be up and around soon as the shock wears off.”

  “And her calf?”

  Shane bent down to lift her up in his arms. “She’ll be fine, too.” He carried her away from the muddy area and set her down in a batch of clean straw. “There you go, little one. Your mama will be paying you a visit soon.”

  Shane turned to Dorie, taking in her appearance. “Darn it, you got your pretty new dress all muddy. Even got some in your hair.”

  Dorie rejoiced that Shane had noticed her dress. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll wash and it wasn’t new, just something of my mama’s I fixed up.”

  Shane glanced down at the new calf, watching her breathe. “Even still, you looked pretty in it. And I liked the way you put up your hair. Now, you’re all a mess.”

  Looking at Shane, Dorie thought he looked a mess, too, but never more handsome and appealing.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Now?” Shane looked up at her. “Now, we clean up a little and I’ll take you home.”

  Inside the kitchen, Shane handed Dorie a cloth he’d soaked with fresh warm water. “Here, it’s the best I could do.”

  Dorie accepted the cloth and began wiping down her dress.

  “Uh, you might want to start with your face first, before you dirty that all up.”

  Dorie let out a gasp and ran her hand down her face. “My face.” She began mopping furiously at her cheeks. “How on earth—”