Читать книгу Courting Miss Callie - Dorothy Clark - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Callie shrugged into her plain, green wool dress and fastened the fabric-covered buttons that marched single-file from the high collar band to the waist. A quick shake settled the full skirt over her petticoats and straightened the hem. Two small tugs pulled the long sleeves down to her wrists. Now, for her hair. She sighed, looked into the mirror over the washstand and undid the bow at the nape of her neck. The ribbon came free in her hand, and her thick, curly hair spread across her back and shoulders like a frothy, black cloud.

She frowned, grabbed her brush and turned from the mirror. An image of the smooth, thick roll of dark chestnut hair that graced the nape of Willa’s neck rose in her mind. She’d always envied Willa her well-behaved hair. She bent forward, brushed her silky curls toward the crown of her head, grabbed the green ribbon that matched her dress, then paused and listened to the muted sounds coming from the kitchen. Why was Sophia up so early? To prepare for her trip to Olville? A spasm hit her stomach.

She straightened and hurried to her door, her unrestrained curls bouncing on her shoulders and down her back. “Aunt Sophia, I need to—Ezra!” What was the man doing in the kitchen?

He pivoted. Stared. The pile of stovewood in his arms slipped and tumbled to the floor.

Her hair! She whirled back into her bedroom and slammed the door, her cheeks burning.

“Mercy...”

The word came through the door, gruff and sort of strangled sounding. Then came a sound of movement, followed by wood thudding against wood.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse, then walked to the washstand to finish her toilette. The reflection in the mirror of her long, flowing curls brought the heat surging back into her cheeks. Ezra Ryder had seen her looking like that.

She snatched up her brush and swept her hair toward her crown, wound the green ribbon around the thick mass and tied it off, capturing as many of the rebellious ends as possible. As always, several strands escaped.

She leaned toward the small, framed mirror, caught up the errant strands and jabbed them into the curly pile atop her head. That was better.

A quick twist of her wrist turned down the wick and snuffed the lamp. She tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against one of the panels. Silence. Had he gone? No matter. There was work to be done. She squared her shoulders, pulled the door open and strode out into the kitchen.

Empty.

Thank goodness! She collapsed against the worktable and blew her breath out in a sharp gust.

The back door opened.

She whipped around, watched in dismay as Ezra, his arms again loaded with stovewood, backed into the room, held the door from slamming with his booted foot, then turned toward the woodbox. Their gazes met. She stiffened, waited for his comment on her abandoned appearance at their earlier encounter.

He dipped his head. “Good morning, Callie. I’m sorry if I startled you earlier, but I noticed the woodbox was almost empty when I finished supper last night and thought I’d fill it.” He emptied the load in his arms into the box, straightened and smiled. “I wanted to be sure there was wood enough for you to make breakfast. And some of that good coffee.”

She gave a stiff nod.

“Well, I’ll get out of your way.” He stepped up beside her and picked up an old, dented lantern sitting on the worktable. The circle of golden light around them wavered. He nodded and headed for the back door.

He wasn’t going to say anything about her appearance? No comment about her long, curling tresses? No flowery compliments about her beauty? The tension in her shoulders eased. “If you’ve no pressing work to do, I can have coffee ready in a few minutes. It’s the least I can do in return for your bringing in the firewood.”

He stopped, and turned. “That’s not necessary—but there’s no work pressing enough to make me miss a good cup of coffee.”

It was impossible not to respond to his grin. Her lips tugged upward. “Then if you will light the lamps, I’ll start the coffee.” She turned to the stove and reached for the door to the firebox, felt the heat radiating off it and glanced at the dampers. They’d been opened a bit. “You started the fire?”

“Yes. I hope that’s all right?”

He was close behind her—too close. In her experience that meant he would try to steal a kiss. She braced herself, gripped a cooking fork and glanced over her shoulder. He was standing with his back toward her, lifting down one of the lamps that hung over the worktable. The tension flowed from her. “Of course. Thank you.”

She frowned, grabbed the coffeepot, lifted the tin of ground java off the shelf and inched to the side. She hadn’t thought about how close they would be while he was lighting the lamps. She scooped some of the coffee into the pot, replaced the tin on the shelf, then moved to the sink cupboard and ladled in water from the bucket.

He adjusted the wick on the first lamp to a steady flame, hung it back on its hook over the worktable and moved to lift down the second lamp.

He certainly had broad shoulders for a lean man. She eyed the narrow space between his body and the stove, changed direction and walked around the other end of the table.

“Bringing in firewood and starting the fire brought back memories. It made me feel right at home.” He gave a soft, low chuckle that made her want to share the memories. “When we lived on the farm, I did those chores for my mother before I headed out to the barn to help my father.”

She set the coffeepot on the front stove plate where it would heat rapidly, and let her mind form a dream of such a life.

Light swayed side to side on the wall in front of her, shadows danced, then steadied. He’d hung the second lamp. She heard him step toward the dining table and let out a quiet breath of relief. He’d be out of the way now. She could start breakfast.

She turned toward the worktable, collided with his solid body and bounced backward toward the stove. He shot out his hands, grabbed her upper arms and yanked her back toward him.

“Sorry. I should have warned you I was behind you. I was after the lamp on the shelf. You didn’t burn yourself?”

She gazed up into his blue eyes warm with concern and shook her head. “No. You caught me in time.” Heat from his hands passed through her sleeves and warmed her skin, spread out into a shiver. She held herself from leaning forward to breathe in the blend of fresh air, hay, horses and witch hazel that clung to him.

“You’re trembling.”

His eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her mouth, jerked back up to her eyes. His brows knit together. His hands lifted from her arms and cold replaced the warmth. She shivered and stepped back.

“I think you were more shaken than you realize. Perhaps you should sit down and rest a moment.”

She shook her head, avoided his eyes. “I’m fine. And I’ve work to do. The guests will be wanting their breakfasts. Some of them like to leave at first light.”

Speaking of the commonplace settled her shaken nerves. She checked on the coffee, stepped to the pantry and gathered the dry ingredients for griddle cakes, placed them on the table and walked to the door. She draped her cloak around her shoulders, snatched the basket off its peg and stepped out onto the porch.

The sky was brightening in the east. Dawn was on the way. She’d have to hurry. She moved down the steps and headed for the buttery to get eggs and milk and bacon. Her steps lagged by the door. She glanced down the pathway where Ezra had come striding to her to ask for food and her mood went as gray as the sky in the west.

Why did he let them think he was a logger? What was he hiding? Mr. Ezra Ryder was most certainly a liar. She’d best not forget that just because he had a disarming smile and told charming tales of living on a farm.

* * *

Ezra turned at the sound of quick, light footsteps, spotted the tall, slender woman hurrying through the stream of sunlight coming in the barn door and stepped out of the stall. “Good morning, Mrs. Sheffield. May I be of service?”

Surprise swept across Sophia Sheffield’s face. “You’re still here, Ezra?”

He dipped his head in polite acknowledgment. “The stalls are cleaned, but I have not yet finished cleaning the barn.”

“Well, gracious, I didn’t mean you had to set the whole barn to rights in exchange for a meal and a night’s sleep.”

“We made a deal, Mrs. Sheffield. And I am a man of my word.” Would it work? Would she allow him to stay?

“Hmm.” Sophia gave a small nod and stepped to the stall on her left, peered inside and moved on to the next.

He thought of his head groom at home, tamped down his amusement and stood quietly and waited. It was odd being on the other end of such a decision—made one want to squirm. He’d be a little more patient and understanding of job applicants from now on.

“Where is Joseph?”

“He went to the apothecary to get some ointment. His back is troubling him.”

“I see.” Sophia turned to face him. “You’ve made an excellent job of cleaning these stalls, Ezra. You said you were raised on a farm?”

“Yes.”

“And did you handle the horses?”

He smiled and nodded. “I did indeed, madam. My father always said I had a gift for handling them.”

She nodded, gave him a speculative look. “Would you be interested in staying on to help Joseph? I would pay you a fair wage in addition to your meals. And you would keep your sleeping quarters in the equipment room.”

He hid his elation with a small bow. “I would be most appreciative of the opportunity, Mrs. Sheffield.”

“Then you will help Joseph with the horses as well as cleaning the stalls, but mind you, my guests’ horses must be fed and cared for as their owners dictate.”

“I understand.”

“Very well. You may start your employment by hitching Star to the shay and bringing it to the back door. Come to the kitchen when it’s ready.” She turned and walked away, the dust motes disturbed by the hems of her long skirts dancing in the sunlight as she neared the open doors.

He listened to her soft footfalls hurrying toward the hotel and let his smile free. He’d done it. His hard work had earned him employment with Sophia Sheffield and, more importantly, the opportunity to get to know Callie Conner. The way she had looked this morning... He yanked his thoughts from the memory, spun on his heel and headed for Star’s stall.

* * *

Callie stiffened at the opening of the door. It was too soon for Sophia to return from her trip to the post office, and Joe never came to the kitchen except for meals. It had to be Ezra. Presumptuous of him to enter without knocking. Warmth climbed into her cheeks at the memory of him holding her so close earlier. If he thought...

She turned from stirring the stew simmering over the fire, the spoon she’d been using held like a weapon in front of her. “Aunt Sophia!” She glanced at the basket on Sophia’s arm. It was empty. “You’re back early. Is something wrong?”

Her aunt placed the basket on the table, removed her bonnet and looked across the kitchen at her. “I chanced to meet Doctor Palmer on my way to the mercantile. Charlotte Deering had her baby early. She had a rough time of it.”

Concern shot through her. “Is Charlotte all right? And the baby?”

“Thankfully, yes.” Sophia draped her shawl over a chair and smoothed back her hair. “Doctor Palmer decided to check on her last night on his way home from a call at the Hoffmans. She’d been in labor all day and was weak and exhausted. The baby was in the wrong position. She never could have birthed it on her own. He said it was a near thing, but he was able to save them both—though the baby is only a little scrap of a thing.”

“Thank the good Lord Doctor Palmer chanced to stop by.”

“Yes. He says Charlotte has to stay in bed until she mends or she could bleed to death, and that she has no one to do for her or her little ones. Charley’s gone downriver with the rafts.”

Tears stung her eyes at the thought of the young woman’s plight. “Perhaps we could bring Charlotte and the children here and I could care for her. She could have my bed and—” Shock turned her mute when Sophia shook her head. Her aunt was the most generous person she’d ever known. Why would she refuse?

“I offered to bring Charlotte and the children here, but Doctor Palmer said it would not be safe to move her. So, I told him I would send meals and see the chores are taken care of meanwhile. But we must hurry. Charlotte is alone with those small children. What have you on hand?”

She should have known. She smiled as Sophia joined her and glanced down at the pot of food hanging over the fire.

“That’s venison stew. And there’s bread and apple butter. And I’m sure the children would like some doughnuts.” She pointed to the crusty, brown rounds draining on the slotted rack resting atop the dishpan she used to mix the dough for bread.

“Wonderful. The stew should help Charlotte regain her strength. And those little ones— Yes, Cora?”

“There’s two gentlemen want rooms, Mrs. Sheffield. And Mr. Betz is wanting to leave. He’s got Mr. Totten holding the trolley out front for him.” The maid scuttled back to her work.

“Oh, bother!” Sophia scowled and headed for the hallway that led to the front of the hotel. “Gather the food into a basket, Callie—and don’t forget oatmeal and a bit of sugar. Sweetened oatmeal water might keep the baby alive until Charlotte is able to nurse him. Oh, and take extra broth from the stew. Get as much of it into Charlotte as you can.”

“Me?”

Sophia paused at the door, turned to look at her. “Why, yes. I cannot leave the hotel. Now, hurry, dear. Ezra will be bringing the shay for you any moment. Tell him I said he’s to wait and bring you home. He can occupy himself doing any heavy chores. And don’t hurry, dear. Wait until you have those children in bed for the night before leaving. I’ll manage supper. It won’t be the first time.”

“But—” she stopped, shook her head and picked up a large, wicker basket off the floor at the end of the fireplace.

“What is it, dear?”

“Nothing really. It’s only that I thought Ezra would be gone by now.”

“Oh. He did an excellent job on the stalls. I’ve asked him to stay.”