Leah nodded. “Oh, he’ll do every step, from hauling the wash water to pressing the clothes once they’ve dried. Ethan, go help Hope then get to bed. You’ve an early start tomorrow.”
Red slumped. “What’re you gonna do?”
Hope pulled him from his chair, a knowing grin on her face. “None of your business, nosy boy. Now, come along.”
With a coy smile, Leah nodded toward the front door. “Would you join me on the porch, Mr.—Bo?”
While neither looked his way, Mae and Hope exuded an eager anticipation.
Blast it all. Being watched by all these womenfolk was unnerving. Bo rose, all too happy to escape their scrutiny.
As they exited the house, the kitchen erupted in whispers and giggles.
Chapter 6
Leah’s steps faltered. Could her sisters not hold their excited chatter even two more breaths until she and Bo were outside? She faced her guest as he grabbed his hat and closed the door behind him.
“Thank you.” And please overlook the giggling.
“For?”
For coming to dinner. For giving her a reason to dress up. For making her feel alive and feminine and not so very alone. At least for tonight.
“You’re really good with Ethan … and with helping me see how to handle him.”
A cockeyed smile tugged at his mouth. “Then you ain’t angry at my pushing more chores on him?”
“Not at all!”
“Red ain’t a bad boy, Leah. But he’s at a hard age. If you don’t get him going in the right direction now, he could wander into real trouble.”
She cocked her head. “Why do you call him Red?”
“It’s what he asked to be called.”
“Really? Why on earth—”
“I think it’s the name the McCready brothers call him.”
The kitchen window’s gingham curtain rustled, and three faces peeked out.
Leah craned her neck. “Dishes. Now.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard inside.
The curtain fluttered again, the faces disappearing.
Bo chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Got us a spy, do we?”
“More like three.” She chuckled herself. “We so rarely entertain company, it would appear the exhilaration of this unusual experience has caused my brother and sisters to forget their manners.”
He squinted at her. “An unusual experience. Is that what you call it?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I suppose so.” Truth was, the anticipation had caused her and her sisters to lose their ever-lovin’ minds as they prepared, but she wouldn’t admit that.
“Why don’t you? Entertain more, I mean. You’ve a fine family.”
“Thank you.” She drank in the intensity of his gaze. “Many reasons, I suppose.” Leah dropped her voice so as not to be overheard in the kitchen. “Mainly, Mae’s condition.”
“What is her condition?” He matched her tone.
His bluntness took her aback. Few asked such pointed questions. Then again, those who tiptoed around the issue were often those who stared or met Mae with such effusive greetings, only to gossip about her as they left. Perhaps more pointed questions were preferable.
“About three years ago, we all came down with an illness. Our heads ached, our throats hurt, body stiffness, fatigue.”
“Influenza?”
“So we thought. The illness lasted about a week, but as Ethan, Hope, and I began improving, Mae took a turn.” Her throat knotted. “She struggled for breath, and her body grew weak. Her legs began to waste.” Leah brought the back of her hand to her mouth then cleared her throat roughly.
“I’m sorry,” Bo whispered. His boots scuffed. “Reckon I’m nosin’ into things that don’t concern me.”
She looked up, startled to find herself staring at his solid chest. His hands hovered near her shoulders, as if to give her a comforting caress or maybe a hug, though once he saw her eyes open, he stepped back without contact.
Leah cleared her throat again. “I don’t mind your questions.” And oh, how she’d have welcomed his touch. “The memories of that time are … difficult. I was terrified I would lose her. Even three years later, the illness has its effects. She has no use of her right leg, and her breathing remains somewhat weakened. Doc Bates calls it a debility of the lower extremities. He gives no hope for improvement.”
“This happened after your parents died?”
“Yes. Mama died giving birth when I was Hope’s age. We lost her and our baby brother both. Papa left us five years ago after a rattler bite.”
He was quiet a moment. “You ain’t had it easy, have you?”
She hadn’t, though she didn’t desire sympathy. Only friendship. “We’re all born with a set of difficulties to endure. Those are mine.” A moment passed. “But then, you don’t strike me as a man who’s led the easiest life either.”
Something in his eyes darkened. “I haven’t.”
“Do you have family?”
He snorted. “Maybe somewhere. Ma’s dead. Died in Texas when I was six. Pa never stuck around long enough to get to know. And my older brother, Reese, sold me into indentured servitude to a cruel cuss of a blacksmith months after Ma’s passing.” He shrugged and jammed his hands into his pockets. “If either of them are still alive, I got no use for ’em.”
Leah’s jaw went slack. “Your brother sold you?”
“To Paul Cooper, a harsh, uncaring, often brutal man. Apparently, Reese sold fourteen years of my life to Coop. What he got for the promise of my serving this man, I have no idea. I never saw any money, and Reese dumped me with Coop and his wife and never looked back.”
“Oh Bo.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “I am so sorry. How could he do that?”
He squirmed from her grasp and pinned his attention on his horse tied nearby. “Like you said earlier, it’s pure selfishness, dumping your kin to seek your own happiness.” His voice shook.
She settled a hand over her aching heart. “That’s why you asked me why I hadn’t left my family to get married—”
“Yeah.” He slapped his hat against his thigh, the sound startling her.
“You’ve not seen Reese since?”
A muscle along his jaw popped. “Don’t care to.”
“And you’ve had only this man Coop’s influence. No motherly figure since your own ma—?”
“Coop’s wife, Anna, was good to me, but she died when I was nine.” He inhaled, the breath shaking as he released it. Whether from anger or pain, she wasn’t sure. “Coop and I packed our belongings and headed to California just after that. Didn’t realize it at the time, but in hindsight I think he might’ve murdered her and used the Gold Rush as an excuse to leave before anyone pieced it together.”
“Oh my word, Bo. And you stayed with this man fourteen years?”
He shook his head. “Eleven. I was seventeen years old when he came at me with a knife for some mistake I’d made. When the scuffle was over, I was the one left standing. Sheriff Yeldin’s uncle was the lawman in that town. It was his duty to arrest me for murder, and I stood trial. Fortunately, he also testified on my behalf. I got off on account of it being self-defense.”
Leah could find no words, only the desire to pull him into her arms and ease away the emotion etched in his features.
Before she could, Bo turned, his hazel eyes stormy. “I think I’ve spewed enough of my troubles. I should be heading back now before it gets too much later.” He tugged his Stetson into place. “Thank you for the tasty supper. It was a real nice evening until me and my big mouth ruined things.”
Thunderstruck, Leah stared.
“Bo, wait.” She found her tongue as he mounted his horse. “You’ve not ruined anything. You don’t have to leave.”
“Best if I do.” He scowled. “Thinking about Reese and Coop puts me in a foul mood.”
With a touch of his hat brim, he rode toward town.
Blast it all, why had he shared so much with Leah? He barely knew her, and he’d dumped his darkest
secrets, all at once. Idiot!
Thoughts circling like vultures, Bo descended into Elverton and steered Diego toward the Sierra Gold Saloon. About the only thing that stopped his thoughts from swirling was whiskey. Tonight, he’d need copious amounts of it.
The Sierra Gold was an upscale establishment. No saloon girls or women of ill repute. Just billiard tables and whiskey. Forget the billiards. He’d take a bottle, a glass, and a quiet table in a corner.
He tied Diego to the hitching post, entered, and sounding a sharp whistle, caught the owner, Orrin Jagg’s, attention. Without a word, the man nodded, grabbed a half-filled bottle and a glass, and handed them over.
“Thanks,” Bo mumbled. The crowd was sparse, so he parked himself at an out-of-the-way table and poured a drink.
“To Reese and Coop. May you both rot.” Bo tossed back the contents then poured a second glass.
As he reached for it, Sal Harper stumbled up and sat. “Don’t you know by now, it ain’t right, a man drinkin’ all by his lonesome.” The butcher wrenched the bottle from Bo’s hand and tipped it toward his mouth.
Bo caught his wrist. “Put it down.”
His friend’s smile faded. “Ease up there. I’m just funnin’ ya.” The slur to Sal’s words clued Bo in to just how long his friend had already been drinking.
“Ain’t in the mood.”
“Feeling fractious, are you?”
“Oh, shut up.” Bo swirled the liquid in his glass then drank. “What’s eatin’ you?”
“Got things on my mind.”
Sal offered a sympathetic smile. “You want the respectability of company, or are you determined to drink alone?”
Disinterested, Bo waved a hand. “Stay if you want, and help yourself to the bottle. But if you do, get a glass.”
The portly man lumbered toward the bar then returned. After pouring himself a glass, he looked Bo’s way. “A customer give you problems?”
Silent, Bo shook his head.
“One of your jobs go wrong?”
“Nope.”
The man thought. “Then what ruint your day?”
Bo swallowed another mouthful of whiskey.
Sal snapped his fingers. “I know.” A smirk rolled across the man’s face. “It’s that new kid. Red somebody. Heard he’s a little hellion.”
Bo smacked the table hard enough to rattle their glasses and cause the bottle to teeter. “Red Guthrie ain’t a hellion,” he growled.
Sal’s brows arched in surprise.
“He’s … confused, is all. Made a few bad choices.” Bo leaned across the table. “And if you think the kid’s a hellion, why’d you suggest he come ask me for a job?”
“Are you blind?” Sal leered. “Thought you’d like that pretty thing he calls a sister coming into your shop. She’s a looker—”
Bo’s right hand tightened around the glass. “She ain’t a thing. Her name’s Leah Guthrie, and you’ll show her respect.”
Irritation flashed on Sal’s face. “Who’s disrespecting her? I just like the view. Thought you’d appreciate such finery yourself.” He paused an instant then swore. “If it weren’t for all them kids she’s raisin’, especially that one with the crutches, I’d consider—”
Bo swung. As his fist connected, the whiskey glass, still in his hand, shattered on impact. Sal reeled backward in his chair, as pain lit Bo’s arm clear to the shoulder. Air rushed from his lungs as blood and glass covered his palm.
An oath dripped from his lips. What had he just done?
Several men rushed up, two ushering Sal a few steps away while more came to Bo’s side. Orrin Jagg dashed up then, cloth in hand, and wrapped the rag around Bo’s bloodied hand.
“We best get you to Doc’s place, Bo. That’s gonna need attention.” The barkeep nodded to the others, who guided him past the table.
As they passed, Sal grabbed Bo’s shirt, dragging him close. “You hit me.”
The men attempted to break them up, though Bo lunged closer. “I told you. You show that woman respect, especially because she’s raising her kin.”
Strong hands shoved him toward the door. Suddenly lightheaded, he turned toward the barkeep. “What do I owe you, Jagg?”
The saloon owner nearly guffawed. “We can settle up next time.”
Chapter 7
Fatigue pulled at Leah as she guided Samson into Elverton. She’d slept little after what Bo told her of his past. That and the worry that he’d left in a bad frame of mind. Was he angry at her for dredging up the memories? She wouldn’t have asked if she’d known it would spark the anger or hurt or … whatever she’d seen in his eyes. Yet he hadn’t been forced to tell her anything. She’d inquired, but he could’ve declined to answer if he wasn’t ready to tell her the harder details of his life.
Surely they weren’t all so hard … were they?
Leah drew the wagon to a stop outside the smithy, where bleary-eyed Ethan swung down from the bench. She remained on the seat, foot still poised on the brake as she stared at the shop’s double doors. Still closed. Her stomach knotted. They’d arrived thirty minutes later than anticipated, given Ethan’s laundry chores. Bo should’ve been to work by now.
Halfway to the doors, Ethan took notice and stopped. “Where’s Bo?”
She looped the reins around the brake and scrambled down, striding to the newly replaced window. Hands cupped around her eyes, she peered into the smithy. Dark. Still. No fire in the forge. The work space still tidy, with his various hammers, tongs, and other tools in their proper places. A shiver traced her spine.
Something was wrong.
“Where do you think he is?” Ethan peered through the bottom of the high window.
She paced to the corral to the left of the building. The handsome dun he’d ridden to the house the night before was missing. “Not here, it would seem.”
“You two ganged up to make me do my laundry before work, and now he doesn’t even have the decency to be here?” Ethan heaved a big breath. “He’s gonna get an earful from me.”
“Leah? Leah Guthrie.” The faraway call drew her attention toward the corner, where Rosalind Bates hurried toward them.
As Doc’s wife approached, Leah hurried to meet her, Ethan keeping pace. “Is everything all right?”
Winded, Mrs. Bates drew up next to Leah. “He was so worried about you last night. Just kept asking for someone to be sure and tell you.”
“Who? Tell me what?”
“Mr. Allen.” She gulped a deep breath. “He was in a fight last night. Despite his pain, he wouldn’t settle until someone promised to tell you and Ethan where he was this morning.”
“Is he badly injured?”
“Just his hand, dear. Doc worked on it for hours last night.”
Ethan stepped forward. “Can we see him?”
“Of course. He’s asleep now, but I expect he’d like the company.” She leaned discreetly toward Leah. “Most men do, don’t you know.”
She didn’t. But if Bo was half as adamant as Mrs. Bates described, she would be there when he awoke.
Bo roused slowly, his mind all too willing to stay adrift in the haze. Several times, he pried his eyes open, only for them to close of their own volition.
“You figure he’ll wake soon?”
At Red’s quiet question and the answering whisper Bo couldn’t quite grasp, his mind lurched. Strange images of himself laid out on the smithy floor formed in his thoughts, and his heart pounded. Had something happened?
Red better not be standing over him with Burl and Jess McCready—
“I’m awake.” Bo pushed up onto his right elbow, causing lightning to shoot through his hand and up his arm. He sagged.
“Ethan, get Doc. Quickly!”
Hurried footsteps punctuated the stillness as warm hands guided him onto his back. “Easy, now. Don’t tear your stitches.”
He cradled the offending hand against his chest. Stitches? Bo forced his eyes open. Leah Guthrie looked down on him, but this was not the smithy, and not
his house. Didn’t look like a room in the Guthrie household either.
“You’re at Doc Bates’s office.” Leah spoke as if reading the questions in his mind. “You cut your hand.”
“Right.” Memories took shape. He’d hit Sal Harper with his whiskey glass in his hand. Idiot.
Pain still racing through his right side, he gingerly freed his arms from the quilt. The covering shifted to the middle of his chest, and Leah gasped. Bo traced her wide-eyed gaze to his bare chest—straight to the mark inflicted on him years earlier.
Leah shook. “Coop branded you?”
He covered the three-inch mark with his hand. “It doesn’t hurt—”
She gulped a breath, looked as if she might speak, but Red and Doc entered, Doc carrying a couple short, narrow lengths of wood.
“You’d better not have torn any of your stitches, Allen,” Doc growled. “I spent half the night repairing that hand, and I’m in no frame of mind to repeat the process.”
Half the night? He remembered being brought to Doc’s door, and Doc suggesting he’d need surgery. But once he was stretched on the table, Mrs. Bates administering ether, he remembered nothing more until now.
Leah stepped back and beckoned Red. Doc moved into her former spot and, after laying aside the wood he’d carried in, helped Bo sit up, propped up by pillows.
Awkwardness threaded through him as he tried to cover Coop’s mark. To his credit, Doc pretended not to notice, though Leah still shook after seeing it. When Red’s gaze fell on the scar and he turned questioning eyes on his sister, Leah shoved the boy toward the door.
“Ethan and I are going to run an errand. We’ll return shortly.”
As they departed, Bo sank back, tension draining from him.
Doc flicked a glance toward the door then to him. “Something going on between you two?”
“No.”
“You look like a man trying to impress someone, Allen.”
“I ain’t trying to impress anyone.” More like trying not to scare her off completely. But when had that changed? Only a morning or so ago, he’d told her how wrong she was for inviting a man like him to supper.
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