Читать книгу The Daddy List - Dewanna Pace - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Bass Parker struggled through the pain forcing himself awake. Strange images swarmed in his brain making no sense. A small girl with a gun. A tall woman with eyes the color of warm honey and hair the shade of ripening wheat. Dressed in black.

His mind began to surrender to sleep again, but Bass shook his head trying to ward off the darkness threatening to engulf him once more. Petula, not safe! His fists connecting with another man’s body. Gunfire. Bank robbers! The child and her mother. He must protect the innocents.

Bass bolted upright as reality rushed through him. He groaned and grabbed his left shoulder, praying the burning would subside as quickly as it had blazed. The sight of his half-bandaged body assured him he had somehow survived the shoot-out, but where was Pet? Was she hurt?

He concentrated harder. Vague images of her holding his hand, riding in the back of a wagon with his head in her lap, the sound of her voice thanking someone named Teague for coming with them to the ranch, all reassured Bass that Petula was alive. But had she managed to stay out of trouble? That was the question.

Taking stock of his surroundings, Bass found himself in someone’s home and the comfort of a bed. An armoire took up most of one wall in the room and a table and chair set next to the four-poster, offering a lamp for reading. No fancy lace curtains or doilies adorned the room that contained only practical, functional furnishings.

The sheets were clean and the patchwork quilt comfortable but frayed. He’d apparently kicked the quilt off due to the oppressive heat, but whoever attended him was kind enough to leave open a window to bring in a breeze. His host was certainly thoughtful.

He strained to remember who that might be.

You can stay with us.

The widow’s generous words came back to him. He’d been stunned by her offer. Surprised at the gentle care she’d given him in tending his wound until the doctor arrived. He hadn’t expected such charity from the woman who had avoided even written contact with him previously.

Despite being shot, he adjusted his feelings about stopping at High Plains instead of just sending money and messages by way of Banker Cardwell as he’d done before.

He was especially glad he’d come since the banker and the doctor both confirmed Daisy as Knox’s true widow. He needed to find out just how long the widow had known each of them and why in ’60 Knox had introduced another woman as his wife. He hoped Knox Trumbo would not prove himself to be anything other than the hero Bass thought him, but if this was truly the man’s wife and child, there was a mystery to be solved in the matter.

Bass pushed aside the sheet that barely covered him. He wore no shirt, most likely to allow for changing the bandages easier.

But bloomers? Whose idea of a joke was this?

“Petula, I’m awake,” he announced strongly. “Come here, please. I need you.” He knew full well she wouldn’t have dared be any part of changing his clothes. Or any other man’s, despite the scandal that followed her from one end of the country to the other.

“I’m comin’ in. You nekkid, Mr. Parker?” asked an oddly familiar voice from beyond the door.

When he remembered the light-toned, Southern accent, Bass scrambled to grab the sheet and quilt. He wouldn’t put anything past a little girl who toted a gun easily, empty or not. “I’m covered. Will you tell my sister that I need to speak with her, please?”

“Can’t.” Olivia Trumbo opened the door, carrying paper, a book and a pencil. “She’s off in the barn with Teague. It’s just you and me and Mama and Myrtle in the house right now. They’re fixin’ you somethin’ to eat and they’ll be up here in a minute.”

She grabbed the chair at the small reading table and scooted it next to the bed. Plopping herself down, Olivia rested the book on her lap and the papers on top of it, then stared him square in the eye. “Ya ready?”

“For what?” Bass pulled the quilt up a little higher despite the heat. How could a child feel so intimidating?

Because she’s capable of holding men hostage. He felt as if he had his back against the wall and couldn’t make a move without shocking him or her.

The little Trumbo’s amber eyes disappeared into her upper eyelashes, as if she were asking God to intervene for her.

“For my questions,” she said with a sigh of impatience. “I told ya at the bank, I wanted to ask ya some questions. But things got a little wicked and I had to wait. Now I got to catch ya while I can or Mama will make me leave ya alone ’til ya get better. Who knows how long that’ll be?”

“Why is my sister in the barn with that man?”

“I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not you.” The child’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Answer that and I’ll answer a question for you.”

She hesitated then nodded. “Okay, Mama always says fair is fair. Your sister is learnin’ how to muck out a stall so Teague can keep him and his horse there. She only wanted to watch, but he told her she had to help if she was goin’ out there instead of helpin’ Mama. Said he’s gonna stick around here for a while to make sure Mama don’t need him to help with ya or anythin’.”

“Who is Teague?” Bass wondered if the man just offered his presence as a measure of protection or had other motivations for wanting to stay. Petula didn’t need to make male acquaintances here in High Plains until he could get back on his feet to chaperone her.

“Uh-uh. It’s my turn.” Olivia glanced down at her paper and readied her pencil. “How tall are ya countin’ them fancy boots?”

Bass reluctantly gave in to her stubbornness. “Six feet without. I never measured what I am with them on.”

“Mama would say about this much more, I’d guess.” She stretched her thumb and forefinger vertically.

Bass estimated. “About three inches?”

She nodded. “Yeah. She makes boots and stuff, so she’d know. That might do. How much money ya got?”

“Whoa there, that’s two questions for my one, and a man usually doesn’t disclose...tell...that kind of information about himself to a stranger.”

She put the book and paper on the edge of his bed and stuck the pencil through one of her braids to rest on her ear. The child stood and offered him her left hand. “You can call me Ollie. Now we ain’t strangers no more.”

Offering his hand, Bass leaned over and shook hers. “Bass Parker. Glad to meet you, miss. You can call me Bass.”

“Oh yeah,” she said when their hands released. She grabbed one edge of her overalls and curtsied. “I forgot. Mama said I have to do this when I meet somebody, but I like a good old handshake myself, don’t you?”

“I think mamas always know best.”

“Figured ya’d say that. So how ’bout it?” She grabbed her writing instruments then resumed the interview. “How much money do ya have, Bass?”

Persistent little soul. “Enough to pay for meals and board while we’re staying here.”

The child scratched down words then answered his second question. “Teague’s one of my pals. He comes and goes, but mostly he notices things. I watch him watchin’ other people. He does that real good. Says he likes to keep his eye out for bad men, so I think he must be some kinda special marshal or somethin’. He’s letting the sheriff chase the robbers this time. Somethin’ about jury’s-friction, whatever that is. I figure he’s gonna make sure the town’s safe during the races tomorrow while the sheriff and the posse’s gone.”

Ollie leaned in a little closer as though she was sharing a secret. “When I ask him about being a lawman, he says he won’t tell me I’m right and he ain’t bashful about telling me when I’m wrong. I’m sticking with it ’til I find out for sure, so he’ll see how smart I am, even if I’m only seven and a half. I got him on my for-sure list for Mama, though, if he’s a good man. And he seems pretty good so far.” She exhaled a long breath. “Whew! I ought to get two questions for that big ol’ answer.”

“So Teague is interested in your mother?” Not Petula, Bass was glad to know that. About the widow? She’d grieved more time than most did. He respected her for that. Showed love and devotion. Something Bass respected above all else.

Ollie shrugged. “He likes Mama just fine, but there ain’t no sparkin’ goin’ on. You know that kissy kind of stuff. Now, how ’bout you? Are ya good at kissin’ and do you think you’re handsome?”

Bass acted as if he was rubbing his chin in thought but he needed his hand to hide a grin. “I can answer the one and the other is none of your business, Little Friend.”

Her eyes rounded in surprise.

“I don’t discuss kissing with anyone but whoever I’m kissing and, as far as my looks go, I am not anywhere near as handsome as your daddy was.”

Her mouth gaped. “You knew my daddy? You seen him in real live person?”

Her astonishment hit Bass in the gut. He hadn’t realized Ollie had never seen her father.

Still, it made sense. Daisy must have been with child when he met Knox. Knox died after the war ended, killed in a battle by men who didn’t know a cease-fire had been agreed upon. He must have never made it to his new home in High Plains during his years of conscription. Never held his child in his arms.

Bass’s guilt worsened, twisted something deep in his heart. He owed Daisy Trumbo and Ollie much more than he realized. If only he hadn’t hired Knox, giving him the money to take his place in the war. Reasons that seemed so strong then didn’t measure up to the price the Trumbos had paid. No wonder the widow refused his help and his money. She obviously considered him, not the war, the reason Knox had lost his life. The reason Ollie had never met her father.

Full of remorse, Bass struggled to find appropriate words. Finally, he whispered, “Your daddy was a truly heroic man, Ollie. Handsome and gallant to the ladies, brave and a leader to his men. Knox won many battles. I followed all his victories in the papers, wrote him letters to say how proud I was of him. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I want to help your mother if she’ll let me.”

By doing so, he could put his guilt about the whole matter behind him and lead him and his sister to a better place. A happier path.

“Then you was his friend?”

“I’d like to think so.” Bass looked around the room, studying the furnishings. The widow had a right to be living much better than this. He could help make that happen if she’d just let him. “Do you know if there’s a stone marker on your father’s grave yet?”

“There’s a perfectly good wooden cross posted,” announced Daisy Trumbo, entering the room with a tea service, “and fresh flowers when the weather allows.”

Tall and thin, she reminded him of a stalk of wheat standing defiant to the wind, exuding a strong silent will that he suspected couldn’t be buffeted easily.

“I help clean up the grave real good every time, don’t I, Mama?” Ollie glanced up from her chair.

“You sure do, honey.”

Behind the widow, carrying another tray, followed a woman whose body was as round as it was tall. Gray hair streaked through her temples and in the chignon pinned atop her head, making her dark hair look salted. Her green eyes could have cut him, they appeared so sharp in color.

“Your money’s still in the bank where you sent it.”

The rotund woman answered what he’d really wanted to know from the widow, challenging him with a lift of double chins.

Bass waited until his hostess set her tray on the table and actually looked at him before shifting his gaze toward the interfering woman. “Is this your cook?”

“I’m Myrtle,” the angry-looking woman spoke for herself. “Cook and most everything else around here, mister. Particularly, friend and protector to the Trumbos. Daisy’s already told me what I need to know about you.”

Bass introduced himself properly anyway to both women since he’d never really officially met Daisy. “We stopped in town wanting to visit with you, Mrs. Trumbo, before continuing on to California, where we’ve sent our things. I hope you’ll change your mind about accepting the money or at least allow me to erect a memorial to Knox in the town square. I’m sure you’d like to see that he has a more permanent marker for his grave. I won’t feel I’ve done him justice until I take that worry off your mind.”

“You should have thought about that when you hired him to take your place fighting.” The cook glared at Bass. “She didn’t want your coward’s money then, she sure doesn’t now.”

“Now, Myrtie.” Daisy held up one palm as if to ward off her cook’s fierce defense. “Why don’t you set your tray down and go about your duties. I’ll feed our guest so he’ll get some rest and be able to get on his way sooner.”

That was the politest way Bass had ever been told neither he nor his money were welcome, but he was determined to put his guilt at rest. To convince her that she should accept his offerings. His stomach rumbled as he got a whiff of something that smelled wonderful.

“Drink this first.” Daisy poured from the tea service and handed him a cup, squarely meeting his gaze. “Verbena tea with a touch of mint will strengthen you faster. That’s the point here, Mr. Parker. I owe you for saving my and Ollie’s lives earlier, but that’s where this ends. I want nothing else from you than for you to get well and continue on down the road.”

“Clear enough.” He took a sip of the tea. She intended to continue fighting his good intentions. He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t go on to California with no closure about Knox. He must somehow make her understand he felt it a duty he owed them and he didn’t leave duties undone. As soon as a room at the hotel or boardinghouse became available, he’d thank her for her caregiving and find another way to convince her to take the money she should have accepted long ago.

But first he needed to find out what had happened to his clothes. “May I ask who put these bloomers on me and why?”

She hesitated and looked uncomfortable for a moment. “We left your belongings at Doc’s office and my supplies at the mercantile to be quicker. I had to pick up Ollie and we thought it best to get you here as soon as possible and settled in, then go back and load everything else. Teague will help me fetch them in a—”

“Stop spit and sputtering about those bloomers, Parker.” Myrtle’s fists rounded on her hips now that her hands were free of the tray. “That handsome drink of water out there and me managed to put those on ya. Bloomers was all we had handy. You best be glad Daisy had an old pair and she’s so tall. Otherwise, you’d be wearing mine.”

Ollie giggled.

The widow shooed Ollie out of the chair and took her place. “Why don’t you and Myrtle go see about those poor chickens or they’re going to lay sour eggs. You can ask him more questions tomorrow after he’s good and rested.”

“Ahh, Mama,” Ollie grumbled. “He was tellin’ me all about Daddy. He said he met him.”

The widow’s body stiffened and long golden lashes closed over her eyes. It took her a second, but she finally spoke quietly. “After you get your chores done, Ollie, I want you to take a bath and scrub yourself good. Don’t worry about the bathwater. I’ll pour it out later.”

“But I took one last night, Mama. Can’t I skip one?” Ollie complained.

“I won’t have you running around at the race tomorrow looking like a dust storm. You know what your uncles will say.”

“Uncle Maddox will dunk me in the horse trough and pin me to a clothesline, but that’s kinda fun sometimes.”

“They’ll be out here afterward trying to tell me how to raise you, that’s what.” The widow exhaled a breath, obviously attempting to keep calm. “I’d like to skip at least one gathering without them knocking on my door afterward to tell me what I’m doing wrong with you, please.”

“Best come on now, before you get yourself in a heap of trouble,” Myrtle warned, taking Ollie in tow and heading out the door, deliberately raising her voice but looking over her shoulder at Bass. “Ain’t you learned when your mama’s about to blow her top at somebody and doesn’t want you to see it? Let’s go ruffle some chicken feathers.”

Bass waited for the yelling to begin, but instead Widow Trumbo stared quietly at his cup.

“Are you finished with your tea? Would you like some more?”

He handed it back to her, aware something had changed in her but he couldn’t define what. “No, thank you. It tasted as good as it smelled, though.”

She stood and took a cover off a bowl on the other tray, grabbed it and a spoon then sat back down. “This is stew. Are you ready to eat now?”

Her words were neither friendly nor stiff, just precise and efficient to the task. Bass wondered if this was the quiet that came before her storm.

He blinked at her unwavering gaze. A yawn filled him, though he tried to squelch it. “I’m suddenly feeling a little sleepy again, although I am hungry. I’m not sure I won’t spill it.”

“I intend to feed you.” She leaned over to offer him a spoonful of stew. “Doc gave us something to put in the tea to make you rest. Take a bite. You need to eat as much as you can.”

Bass accepted the spoonful and enjoyed the beef, particularly the broth. He appreciated her treating him with such kindness, though he suspected she was doing her best to hold her temper in check.

She lifted another scoop after he finished the first. “I make one demand of you while you’re in my home, Mr. Parker.” The authority in her voice brooked no argument. “You and your sister are not to talk to my child about Knox without my permission. I, alone, will tell her what she needs to know about him.”

Petula knew so little of Knox, she would be no threat in the matter. Bass sipped the second spoonful as he mulled over why Widow Trumbo might want him to keep such information secret from her daughter. Did it have anything to do with the other woman he’d thought was Knox’s wife? Did Daisy know about her?

“Mama,” Ollie hollered from downstairs. “All the uncles just rode up. Uncle Maddox looks madder than a rooster run out of the chicken coop.”

“Tell him I’ll be right down.” Daisy stood and offered Bass the bowl. “You’ll have to finish this without my help.”

Bass shook his head. “I don’t want any more. Please put it on the tray before you go.”

Her cheeks paled, though her back stiffened once again as she braced herself to face this new turn of events.

The widow had quite a day so far. A daughter who’d held hostages, surviving a shoot-out, saving his life and now nursing someone she clearly didn’t want in her home. Rarely had he seen such grace under pressure.

Bass thought he should ease her mind before she went downstairs to face the new trouble that had come calling. “Mrs. Trumbo...Daisy...I give you my word. I won’t talk with Ollie anymore about Knox unless you say it’s all right.”

“I’ll hold you to it, then, Mr. Parker.” Her hand trembled as she set down the bowl, rattling the porcelain against the tray. “But you may not have to concern yourself with it after today. Her uncles may take her away from me if they found out you’re here.”