Matt laid Jesse on the sofa ever so gently, and Ellie-May covered him with a quilt.
Bending over the boy, Matt tapped him gently on the cheek. “Jesse! Wake up.”
While Matt tried to get Jesse to respond, Ellie-May rushed into the kitchen and pumped water into a basin. Grabbing a clean sponge and towel, she quickly returned to the parlor.
Jesse was awake now but barely. He looked dazed and his eyes appeared unfocused. His face was a ghastly white, and a nasty red bump was centered on his forehead.
Ellie-May set the bowl on the low table and dipped a corner of the towel into the cool water. Squeezing it out, she then took her place next to Matt. “Jesse, I just want to wash the dirt off your face,” she said soothingly. “I promise not to hurt you.”
When Jesse made no response, Matt took the boy’s hand in his and held it tight. “Hold on, Ranger. You’re gonna be fine.” He sounded more positive than he looked.
Wishing she could think of something to say to erase Matt’s worried frown, Ellie-May gently dabbed at Jesse’s forehead, taking special care not to apply any pressure to his injury.
Standing at the end of the sofa, Alicia and Lionel watched with rounded eyes. “Is he gonna die?” Lionel asked, his voice as serious as his expression.
“He’ll be fine,” Ellie-May said, her confident tone belying her fears. She glanced up at Matt, hoping he would agree, but the lines of worry remained on his face.
When she finished sponging the dirt off Jesse’s forehead, she drew back so that Matt could take her place. “Jesse, what’s my name?” he asked.
When Jesse failed to answer, Matt tried again. “How old are you?” Matt asked several more questions, but each time received the same blank stare. Finally, he gave up.
His frown deepened, and Ellie-May laid her hand on his arm. He glanced at her hand for a second before covering it with his own. For several moments, they stood side by side, gazing at the boy like two anxious parents.
The front door flew open, and Anvil entered voice first. “I caught Jesse’s horse, and he’s now in the barn. He’s been watered and grained.”
Ellie-May drew her hand away. “Thank you, Anvil.”
Anvil’s gaze fell on Jesse. “Anything else I can do? Do you want me to fetch the doctor?”
She glanced up at Matt. “What do you think?”
Matt met her gaze. “If it’ll make you feel better. But there’s not much a doctor can do for head injuries. The important thing is to keep Jesse awake as much as possible.”
Ellie-May chewed on a fingernail. “We’ll let you know, Anvil.”
Anvil nodded, and after he’d left, Ellie-May drew in her breath and said a silent prayer. It promised to be a long night. “I’ll wake him every half hour,” she said.
Matt shook his head. “That’s not your responsibility. It’s mine. I’ll watch over him.” He drew his eyebrows together. “That is if you don’t mind me staying.”
“No, not at all,” she said, alarmed by the way her heart pounded at the prospect.
Alicia piped up. “I’ll play my music box to keep him awake.”
“That’ll be a big help,” Matt said.
Ellie-May smiled but said nothing. She wondered if Matt would feel that way after hearing the same tune for hours on end.
“Shouldn’t we let his pa know where he is?” she asked.
Matt’s jaw hardened. “Trust me. He won’t even know his son is gone.”
Ellie-May’s gaze lit on Jesse’s pale face, and her heart ached. Jesse had always tried to look and act so grown-up, but now he looked only young and vulnerable. How could his pa be so uncaring?
* * *
A sliver of sunlight slanted through the opening in the curtains early that morning, stirring Matt awake. His body stiff from sitting upright in a chair all night, he stood, yawning, and stretched.
Alicia had been as good as her word and had sung to her music box until her mother had finally made her go to bed around midnight. The box now sat silent as a brick, but the tinny tune and Alicia’s voice still ran through Matt’s head.
All the pretty little horses…
Shaking away the persistent tune, he wondered if he only imagined the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and flipped the lid open. It was nearly 6:00 a.m. The last time he’d checked on Jesse had been thirty minutes ago.
Returning the watch to his pocket, he ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his chin, prickly with day-old whiskers. He’d been so focused on Jesse the night before, he’d paid scant attention to the surroundings. Accustomed to sleeping in a tent or hotel, he was surprised by how much he enjoyed waking in a real home.
Next to his chair, a well-read Bible with a worn leather cover took up residence on a polished side table along with an equally dog-eared Webster’s Dictionary. A needlepoint plaque reading “God Bless Our Home” hung over the front door. A carefully stitched sampler was nailed to one wall next to a knickknack shelf filled with a collection of porcelain cats. Crocheted doilies protected the arms and backs of sofa and chairs. The only untidy thing in the room was an overflowing wicker sewing basket next to the hearth.
A shaft of light glanced off the mantel, drawing Matt’s gaze to the daguerreotype draped in black ribbon. Moving to the fireplace for a closer look, he willed the picture to reveal something about its subject. Instead, Neal Blackwell stared back as if challenging him to a duel.
He’d seen the same look on Neal’s son, but one striking thing separated the two—a deep-rooted sadness inherent in Neal’s face.
Sighing, Matt returned to the sofa. If there were answers to be found in that room, they were safely hidden beneath a layer of domesticity.
He leaned over the sleeping boy. “Wake up, son,” he said softly and gave Jesse a gentle shake.
This time, Jesse’s eyes flickered open without much encouragement. Sighing with relief, Matt dabbed Jesse’s parched lips with a wet sponge. Slipping his arm under the boy’s head, he lifted a glass of water to Jesse’s mouth.
“Take a drink.”
Jesse took a sip.
Matt set the glass down and lowered Jesse’s head back onto the pillow. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.
Jesse glanced around the room and gave a slight shake of the head. He was still pale, but today his eyes looked more focused.
“You’re at Mrs. Blackwell’s farm.” Matt spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly. “Do you know how you got here?”
Again, Jesse shook his head.
“You were thrown from a horse.” Matt waited for that information to sink in before asking, “Do you remember why you wanted to see me?”
Jesse frowned as if chasing after an elusive memory. “How do you know I wanted to see you?”
It wasn’t the response Matt had hoped for, but it was a start. At least Jesse was more alert than he had been the night before. His memory loss wasn’t too surprising, given the way he’d banged his head, but it was still worrisome. It wouldn’t hurt to have the doctor take a look.
“You came barreling toward the farm like your tail was on fire, calling my name. That’s how I know.”
Jesse gazed up at him with a blank expression. “Can’t remember,” he said and struggled to sit up.
Matt arranged the pillows behind the boy’s back. “Take it easy, son.” He stepped back. “What do you remember? Do you know your name?” The reply took so long in coming, Matt had almost given up when at last the boy spoke.
“Name’s Jesse.”
Relief rushed through Matt only to be crushed a moment later when the boy added, “Jesse Taggert, Texas Ranger.”
“Well, you got some of it right,” Matt said.
Jesse studied him with narrowed eyes. “You told me to change my name.”
Matt’s gaze sharpened. It sure did lo
ok and sound like Jesse was back, or almost back, to his old self. “I didn’t tell you to change your name to mine.”
“It’s the only one I could think of.”
“Think harder.”
“All right, I will!” Jesse said. The determined look Matt had come to dread returned full force. Today, however, it was a welcomed sight.
Not wanting to further upset the boy, Matt quickly changed the subject. “Where’d you get the horse?”
Jesse had a pinched look as if trying to remember. “From the stables.”
“Figured as much.”
“I…I told them it was Ranger business and you’d pay for it.”
Matt stared at him. “What do you think I am? Your bank?”
“No, but you are my boss.”
“I’m not your—” Matt blew out his breath. Arguing with the boy while he was still recuperating was not an option. “Sounds like some of your memory is back. Still can’t remember why you wanted to see me?”
Jesse’s forehead creased. “No. But it was important. I know it was.”
Ellie-May entered the room, carrying a steaming mug. “Good morning,” she said in a cheery voice. She looked as bright and fresh as morning dew, and Matt suddenly had a hard time catching his breath.
“Morning,” he said.
“Was that Jesse’s voice I heard?” she asked.
“It sure enough was,” Matt said. “He has some of his memory back, but not all.”
Aware, suddenly, that Jesse was staring at him with an annoying know-it-all smirk, Matt slanted a nod at the cup in her hand. “I sure do hope that’s for me.”
“It is,” she said with a bright smile that ramped up his already fast-beating heart. She handed him the mug, handle first, and he took a sip.
“Just as I like it,” he said with an appreciative grin. “Scalding hot and barefooted.”
Laughing softly, she moved to the sofa and bent over Jesse. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m okay,” Jesse said. “’Cept my head hurts.”
She straightened Jesse’s blanket. “A cup of willow tea will fix that,” she said.
Jesse brightened. “Can I have some flapjacks to go with it? And bacon and eggs and—”
Matt raised his free hand, palm out. “Whoa, there, Ranger. We don’t want to eat Mrs. Blackwell out of house and home.”
Ellie-May dimpled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to keep a chicken or two in reserve,” she said. “Flapjacks, bacon, and eggs coming up.”
* * *
After breakfast, Matt insisted upon helping to clean up, but Ellie-May declined his offer. “You’re a guest,” she said.
She might not have much in the way of book learning, but she knew how to treat company. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want his help. The kitchen was small, and she already felt overwhelmed by his nearness. Even when they were a distance apart, the space between them seemed to crackle as if on fire.
Strange as it seemed, she’d even sensed his presence in the parlor last night as she’d lain in bed.
“Jesse’s a guest,” he said. “I’m just riding shotgun. Besides, how else can I show off my impeccable kitchen skills?”
She laughed. Since he appeared determined to help her, she finally gave in and handed him a flour-sack towel. “Impeccable, eh? This I’ve got to see.”
He grinned back, and her heart did a funny flip-flop. Normally, he was clean-shaven and neatly dressed. Today, he looked disheveled, and whiskers shadowed his strong jaw. Oddly enough, his rumpled appearance only enhanced his good looks.
She was surprised—shocked—to find herself longing to feel the rough stubble on his chin and run her fingers through his mussed hair. After her husband died, she’d never thought to be attracted to another man. Never wanted to be.
Shaken by the knowledge that some change had taken place within her, she turned to the sink and scrubbed a plate like her life depended on it. Such thoughts would never do. As long as Matt was in town poking around, he could still be a danger to her and her children—especially now that Roberts had been caught—and she’d best not forget it.
Seemingly oblivious to the battle she fought within, Matt stood mere inches away, ready to dry. Now, as always, he seemed to command the space around him.
His nearness put her nerves on edge, making it difficult to breathe. Though she tried not to look directly at him, she was aware of his every move, could feel the heat of his body, smell his masculine scent. She could even count each breath he took.
When his arm inadvertently brushed against hers, Ellie-May nearly dropped a dish. Heart racing, she tightened her hold on the plate and dipped it in the rinse water. Handing it to him, she was careful to avoid physical contact. But even when they weren’t touching, she couldn’t escape his embracing warmth.
Moistening her lips, she forced herself to breathe. “You really don’t have to do this,” she said.
Matt wiped the plate dry. “It’s the least I can do for the hospitality you’ve shown me and the boy. Soon as we’re done here, I’ll take him home and we’ll get out of your hair.” He held up the plate. “See? Impeccable.”
Laughing, she reached for the next dirty plate and turned serious. “Please…let Jesse stay.” Meeting his gaze, she beseeched him. “At least till we know for sure he’s okay and has fully recovered.”
Matt tilted his head, and the golden light of approval in his eyes almost made her drop a second plate.
“That’s mighty generous of you,” he said, his voice warm. “But you’ve got your hands full as it is.”
“Jesse’s no trouble,” she said. “And it will only be for a day or two. You know he won’t get the care he needs at home.” It was the truth, however much she hated saying it.
Matt hesitated. “If you’re sure it’s okay.”
“I am. But you should talk to his pa. Let him know where Jesse is. It’s…only right.”
Matt scoffed. “I’ll talk to him. It’s high time someone did.”
Ellie-May studied him. “If you think you’re gonna change him, forget it,” she said. “If you shot Patrick James full of lead, you’d see no blood. All you’d see is the devil’s water.”
“I owe it to Jesse to at least try,” he said.
She reached for the last of the dirty plates and scrubbed it clean. “You really care for Jesse, don’t you?”
“I guess you could say he grows on you.” Matt set a dry plate atop the stack on the counter. “What’s the story with his pa?”
Sighing, Ellie-May reached for a dish towel and wiped her hands dry. She wished she’d done more to help Jesse after his mother died, but after Neal’s death, there had been so much to do. Taking care of the farm and her own children had been a full-time job.
“Jesse’s father took his wife’s death hard,” she said. “That’s when he started drinking.” As much as she hated to admit it, she had been tempted to drown her own sorrows following Neal’s death. Had it not been for Alicia and Lionel, she might have done just that, as distasteful as it now seemed.
“Losing someone is no excuse for neglecting a child,” Matt said and, after a short pause, added, “You lost your husband, and I don’t see you ignoring Lionel and Alicia.”
Blushing at the faint praise, she moistened her lips. “I wasn’t to blame for Neal’s death.”
His gaze sharpened. “Are you saying James was responsible for his wife’s death?”
“He thinks he was,” she said and quickly explained. “Jesse’s ma had stomach pains. Patrick thought it was something she ate and sent her to bed. It turned out to be her appendix. He blames himself for not fetching the doctor sooner.”
Matt shook his head. “Even with a doctor’s care, there’s no guarantee that things would have turned out any differently.”
Ellie-May inhaled sharpl
y. Since finding that money under her porch, she better understood Patrick James’s need to take the blame for his wife’s death. She’d thought up a dozen ways to blame herself for what Neal had done. Accepting blame provided an answer when no other one could be found.
“We all told him that, even Doc Avery. But”—she shrugged—“nothing we said changed his mind.” Taking the damp flour-sack towel from Matt, she hung it on a hook to dry. “I wish you could have known him before his wife died. You wouldn’t think he was the same man. He was a cabinetmaker and made the most beautiful furniture.”
“I think I may have seen some of his work at his house,” Matt said.
“No doubt you did.” She sighed. “I feel sorry for Jesse. I wish there was more I could do.”
Matt held her gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish I could, too. But I’m not gonna be around much longer to watch out for him. I have to get back to my company.”
“Does…that mean you’ve completed your business here?” she asked. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she hated the thought of him leaving, even as she worried about him staying.
“More or less,” he said. “Roberts is in jail. It’s up to the judge to decide his fate.”
His answer gave her small comfort. There was no telling what Roberts might say to save his own neck. He might even tell the judge the money was hidden on her farm—anything for leniency. Then it would be known that Neal wasn’t the hero everyone thought he was.
Oh yes, she had plenty of reason to worry.
21
Matt found Jesse’s pa exactly where he’d expected to find him—at the Wandering Dog Saloon. Though it was still early afternoon, the place was already buzzing with activity. It was the first of June, and that meant payday for local cowhands.
The rattle of chips at a poker table competed with the drone of a faro dealer’s voice at another. Someone played a harmonica, and a good-time girl dressed in a purple gown weaved in and out of tables, looking for a fast buck.
Ignoring the curious and, in Hal Spencer’s case, hostile stares directed at him, Matt walked up to the slumped form at the corner table. He didn’t want any trouble, but he was keeping his eyes and ears open in case it came a-calling.
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