Читать книгу Her Guardian Rancher - Brenda Minton - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Emma came in from the barn on Thursday morning to find her granddad in the kitchen making up a cold remedy concoction that smelled a little bit like mint and a whole lot like something he’d cleaned out of the corral. He held the cup up, his grin a little lopsided beneath his shaggy mustache. His overalls, loose over an old cotton T-shirt, reminded her he’d lost weight recently. But he was still her granddad, her hero. She wanted him to live forever.

From the bedroom she could hear Jamie coughing. “I’m going to call the doctor.”

Art pushed the cup into her hand. “Give her a sip of this. It’ll help that cough.”

She held the brew to her nose. “Art, what in the world is in this?”

“Mint to clear up her cough, some spices from the cabinet and a little cayenne.”

“We can’t give her this. She’ll choke.”

His mustache twitched. “It always worked for you.”

“No, it didn’t. I poured it out and then made a face so you would think it worked.”

“And here I thought I’d invented a cold cure.”

She set the cup down and gave him a tight hug. “You cured a lot of things, Granddad. Like loneliness and broken hearts. But you can’t cure that cough. You can’t cure her. And I know you want to.”

His blue eyes watered. With a hand that trembled a bit more than it had a year ago, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. “I’d give this farm to cure her.”

“I know you would. So would I.” Emma brushed a hand down his arm, then turned her attention to the kitchen cabinet, intent on finding the right cough medicine and the inhaler that would clear her daughter’s lungs.

But the asthma and the cold were the least of their problems.

The coughing started up again. She hurried down the hall to the room she shared with her daughter. The teenage posters of Emma’s high school years had been taken off the walls and replaced with pictures of kittens and puppies. The twin beds were covered with quilts that Art’s wife, a grandmother Emma had never known, had made.

Jamie was curled on her side, her blue eyes seeking Emma as she walked through the door. She’d seemed to be getting over this virus, but last night she’d taken a turn for the worse. Emma had known they would be seeing the doctor today.

“Hey, kiddo, need something for that cough?”

Jamie sniffled and rubbed her blanket against her face. Her cheeks were red and her eyes watery. Emma had given her something for the fever before she went out to the barn an hour ago. A hand to her daughter’s forehead proved that this time a dose of over-the-counter fever reducer wasn’t going to cut it. She leaned to kiss Jamie’s cheek and managed a reassuring smile.

“We’re going to get you dressed and take you to the doctor, okay?”

Jamie nodded and crawled into Emma’s lap. Emma brushed a hand through the silky curls.

“Mama,” Jamie cried, her voice weak.

“I know, honey. Sit up and take this medicine, and then I’ll call Duke and tell him I won’t be in today.”

“Everything okay in here?” Art’s gruff but tender voice called from the doorway.

Emma glanced back over her shoulder. “We’re good. But we’re going to take a drive in to town to see Dr. Ted. You want to go?”

“Nah, I’ll stay here. But if you need anything, you call and I’ll head to town straightaway.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. I think we just need something stronger than what I can buy at the pharmacy.”

“That would be my guess.” Her granddad stepped into the room, his smile tender for his great-granddaughter. “Ladybug, you need to get better so we can start learning to ride that pony of yours.”

Jamie smiled a weak little smile, but her eyes lit up. “Blacky.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He’s a pretty little pony.” Art brushed a hand through her hair. “Now, you be a good girl for your mommy and I’ll make chicken noodle soup for you for dinner. They say that’s a good cure for a cold. Better than my tea, I’ve been told.”

Jamie grinned and the tension surrounding Emma’s heart eased just a bit. “We’ll be home soon, Art. Don’t try to fix that tractor by yourself. We’ll work on it together. If it has to wait until tomorrow, that’s fine.”

Art frowned. “Now, don’t go getting sassy with me. I’ve been working on tractors since before you were born. I’m old, but I’m not feeble or ready for the rest home just yet.”

“I agree, but there is no use getting hurt.”

“No, there isn’t. But you don’t need to worry about me.” He gave her a quick hug. “Go call the doctor.”

An hour later Emma was carrying Jamie through the Braswell Hospital toward the pediatric unit, where Dr. Ted assured her they had a bed waiting. He wanted to put Jamie on intravenous antibiotics and to run some tests. In Emma’s arms, Jamie felt too light, too small to be facing something so overwhelming.

Emma felt so alone. She suddenly wanted her granddad there with her. Then she started thinking about Daron McKay, and how he’d been watching over them for the past three years. Right now she wouldn’t even complain about him being where he wasn’t invited. Because never in her life had she felt so alone. And never had she wanted company more than she did at that moment.

As she approached the nurses’ station, a somewhat familiar face stepped out from behind the desk. Samantha Martin, now Jenkins, smiled at the two of them. Duke’s younger sister had a friendly openness about her. She’d married a couple of years ago, and from the tiny bump near her waistline, it appeared she might be expecting.

“Ted said you were on your way up.” Samantha touched Jamie’s brow and offered a reassuring smile. “And you’ve got quite a fever. Let’s get you in bed and see if we can get you cooled down.”

Emma followed Samantha down the hall and into a room with green walls and a view of an open field that lay beyond the hospital grounds. Samantha took over, placing Jamie in the bed, covering her with a light blanket and then kissing her forehead. Emma stood back, watching as the nurse moved about the room, turning the television on to a cartoon station and opening the curtains to give a clearer view of cattle grazing in the distance.

Emma stepped into the hall to take a deep breath. She could do this. They would survive. She closed her eyes to say a heartfelt prayer for her daughter.

* * *

When Daron pulled up to the office, Boone’s truck was parked in front. Daron parked next to it and got out. Hard rain was falling from a sky heavy with clouds. He hurried through the front door, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a chair to dry.

“You look bad,” Boone said, surveying him critically.

“Thanks. It’s pouring.”

“How’d last night’s job go?” Boone poured him a cup of coffee. “Here. That ought to help.”

“Or rot my insides.” He sat down and put his booted feet on the top of the desk. “Not bad. The senator is a hard one to stay close to. Works the crowd like a...”

“Politician?” Boone offered.

“Yes, something like that.” He tossed his cowboy hat on his desk and ran a hand through hair that tended to curl in this weather. Daron took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Let Lucy make the coffee next time.”

“You say the most hurtful things,” Boone shot back, his mouth curving.

“Hurtful but honest.” He took another sip of coffee and decided it wasn’t worth it. “I’m going to Duke’s for lunch. And coffee.”

“Or maybe you’re just hoping Emma is there. She’s going to get tired of your version of babysitting. Or is this courting, Daron McKay–style?”

“I’m not babysitting or courting. Where did you get that? I’m...” He rubbed a hand across his cheek. Man, he needed to shave. “I’m just doing what I promised.”

Boone held up a hand to cut him off. “Stop. Andy volunteered to go with us.”

“I trusted Afiza.”

“Yeah, you did. And we trusted her brother. That doesn’t make you Emma Shaw’s keeper. It isn’t your fault Andy divorced her, or that he didn’t list her as a beneficiary.”

“You’d think his family would want to help out.”

“But they don’t,” Boone said. They’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “You can’t make sense of what doesn’t make sense, my friend. So either you keep hounding her, trying to help when she doesn’t want it. Or you walk away and let her live her life. The problem is, if you don’t mind me saying so, that you kind of like being in her life. You’re attached to Jamie. You like Art.”

“They’re pretty easy to like.” He grabbed the mail piled on his desk and started opening envelopes. A few checks they’d been waiting for.

A letter from his mom. Why would she send a letter rather than call? He slid his knife under the flap of the envelope and pulled out a card. No, it was an invitation. He glanced over it.

“Something good?” Boone asked as he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“My mom, making a point.”

“What’s that?”

Daron glanced at the photograph on the front of the invitation, of a smiling blonde and her too-handsome fiancé. He opened the card and read over the details. “My ex-fiancée is getting married. This is my mom’s way of letting me know I’ve missed the boat.”

“It isn’t like there aren’t plenty of boats out there.” Boone lifted his cup of coffee in salute, and the light glinted off his wedding band.

“Spoken like a man who is tragically in love.”

“Nothing tragic about it, my friend. So, will you go?”

Daron glanced over the invitation and then shot it into the wastepaper basket. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to run to the bank and make a deposit that will keep us solvent and help you pay off that pretty house you’ve built your wife.”

He was heading for the door when the phone rang. He waited as Boone answered. Then he waited because the call seemed serious.

“Well?”

“First-responder call.” Boone shot him a look that unsettled him.

“Who?”

“Art Lewis. He’s cut his finger pretty badly and Emma isn’t there.”

“I’ll drive on out there and make sure he’s okay,” Daron said as he headed out the door, Boone behind him.

“Might as well,” Boone agreed. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”

As they left town, the fire truck and rescue unit were leaving the rural fire station that served the Martin’s Crossing and Braswell area. Daron flipped on the first-responder light on his dash and fell in behind the emergency units.

It took less than ten minutes and he was pulling up to the small home where Emma lived with her grandfather. Art was on the porch, a towel wrapped around his hand. Daron jumped from his truck and hurried past the other first responders.

“What happened?” he asked as he reached the porch.

Art grimaced. “That tractor. I’ve been trying to get that nut loosened up for ages, and of course today it came loose and my hand slipped. I cut a hunk out of my thumb.”

Art started to unwrap his hand and show Daron and Boone, who had joined him on the front porch.

Daron stopped him. “No, that’s okay. Keep it wrapped. And you’re pale, so why don’t we take a seat and let the guys check you out?”

A first responder grinned as he stepped into the group and took over. “Art, you have a way of finding trouble. Wasn’t it just last year that you set—”

Art cut him off. “Let’s not go over the list of past sins or we’ll be here all day.”

The first responder took a look at the gash and shook his head. “You’re bleeding pretty good here, Art. I think we need to get you to Braswell.”

“Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m not going to bleed out.” Art started rewrapping the wound.

“We’re going to dress this a little better,” the first responder told him. “Let’s get you to the ambulance and we’ll be in Braswell before you know it.”

Art planted his feet on the porch. “I only called you young roosters because I thought you’d bandage it up. I didn’t expect you to haul me in.”

“Well, Art, there are just some things we can’t do in the field.” The first responder held his own, but the corner of his mouth flirted with a smile.

“I’m not in a field. I’m on my cotton-picking front porch.”

Daron laughed and earned himself a glare from the older man. “Art, I’ll call Emma. She’ll be glad you went to the hospital. Is she at Duke’s?”

“No, she had to take Jamie in to the doctor. I figured she’d be home by now, but you never know what the wait time is going to be.”

“Is Jamie still sick?” Daron asked as the first responder continued to look Art over. They had moved him to a chair.

Art glanced down at his injured hand and then back at Daron. He grimaced a bit as the first responder cleaned the wound. “Yeah, son, she’s still sick. But she’s strong and her mama has faith.” Art turned his attention back to the first responder, who now seemed to be trying to help him to his feet. “Son, I said I’m not going. I can drive myself if I need stitches.”

Boone walked up behind Art, his beat-up cowboy hat pulled low over his brow and a look on his face that told the first responders to take a step back. “Art, how about we drive you to Braswell to the ER? They can sew you up. Plus, you can check on Emma and Jamie while you’re there.”

Art pushed himself out of the chair. “Now, that’s an idea. Thank you all for coming. I’ll just take Boone’s offer and let you all go on back to your jobs, or whatever you were doing before I got you called out here.”

Daron shot Boone a look. “Really?”

Boone arched a brow and grinned. “We don’t have anything else on the calendar for today, do we?”

“No, nothing else. And we both love to get Emma riled up. Let’s go, Art.” Daron led the older man down the steps and to his truck. “You aren’t going to bleed all over my new truck, are you?”

Art stumbled a bit, but his voice, when he answered, was still strong. “I reckon if I do, you can get it cleaned up.”

Daron laughed. “Yeah, I reckon.”

The three of them crowded into the front of Daron’s truck, Art in the middle. Boone leaned back in the seat like he was in his beat-up old recliner and happy as he could be.

“Now that it’s just us,” Art started, “why don’t you tell me what you think Pete Shaw wanted the other night?”

Daron pulled onto the main road. “You knew that Pete was out there?”

“No, not at first. I heard Emma shout and then heard Pete mumble something about her trying to kill him. I was heading for my bedroom door when I heard you say something and I just figure you’re a few years younger, so you might as well handle things.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Art. And I’m not sure what Pete’s after.”

“I guess I just figured you had some idea, since you’re patrolling the place like an overworked guard dog.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art shot him a look. “It isn’t like you can hide a pearly white Ford King Ranch like this. I’m old, I get up at night and I’ve seen you driving by like you’re keeping an eye on the place. Emma has seen you. I guess she told you to mind your own business.”

Daron kept driving. “I’m not patrolling. I’m just driving by on a public street.”

“Call it what you want,” Art said. “I call it patrolling. Emma calls it being a nuisance. I reckon you have your reasons.”

“I’d like to be able to help out, Art.”

“There’s nothing you can help with, Daron. I know you mean well, but we’ve got it handled. We’ve struggled a bit, but things aren’t so bad we can’t deal with it. This hand might slow down patching up that roof, but we got a tarp on it yesterday and that’ll hold us over until I can climb up there.”

“But what about Pete?” Boone asked, entering the conversation with a quiet question. “What’s he after?”

“He’s an addict who believes there’s more money than what he got. Emma has other concerns without Pete stirring up trouble for her. I told her to call his parents but she won’t. She doesn’t want anything to do with Andy’s family.”

“Don’t you think they’d like to know Jamie?” Boone asked, his tone casual.

Art guffawed at that. “They know they have a granddaughter. But they’re the kind that thinks they’re better than others, and that Emma wasn’t quite what they wanted for their son. They encouraged the divorce. I can’t say I wasn’t glad when the marriage ended, as Andy wasn’t particularly nice to my granddaughter, but I’m sorry his family lost him.”

“Art, what’s wrong with Jamie?” Daron tried to ease back into the conversation, but he saw from the corner of his eye that it didn’t work.

“Now, that’s something you’ll have to ask Emma. And I reckon if she wanted you to know, she’d tell you.”

“She’s been too busy telling him to leave her alone,” Boone added.

Daron didn’t thank his friend for his special brand of humor. He wanted answers, and this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He drove faster, telling himself he wanted to get Art to the ER a little quicker.

It wasn’t the truth. What he wanted was to get to Emma’s side, sooner rather than later. He could tell himself it was because he was worried about Jamie, which he was. Or he could blame it on a need to keep Andy’s widow safe.

He needed to keep a promise to a dying friend. When he’d made the promise to Andy, it was about a woman he didn’t know and a baby not yet born.

Now he knew them. He knew Emma as a woman of strength and faith. She loved her little girl. She loved her grandfather.

Unconditional love.

Watching her, being around them, it made him want to be a better man. The kind of man she allowed into her life.