Читать книгу Wolf Creek Wife - Penny Richards - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Blythe bade the last of her students goodbye and went to the desk to gather her lunch pail and shawl, thankful that the day was over and she wouldn’t have to face the never-ending string of mothers who came to chastise and condemn her. The past two days had been interminable. She wasn’t sure how she could make it through the rest of the week, much less the remainder of the school year.

The mother who’d shown up during the lunch recess had been particularly hostile as she’d read Blythe the riot act for behaving in a manner unfit for someone whose job it was to shape young minds and lives. Blythe had listened to the tirade in stony silence. In fact, she feared she’d blanked out during most of the bitter lecture. After two days of it, she could almost recite the familiar refrains by rote.

When the mother had finished her ranting, Blythe had assured the woman that nothing untoward had happened between her and William Slade, but the harpy had not been impressed with the explanation and stormed away, saying that she intended to talk to the mayor about finding a replacement.

As Blythe watched the portly matron stomp across the greening grass in front of the schoolhouse, she was thinking that the woman would have to stand in line. No doubt Homer was inundated with mothers with similar requests.

Once she got home, she shared a cup of coffee and a slice of pound cake with her mother and then went to change into her everyday clothes. As had become routine, she made her way outside to feed the dog that had taken up residence in the carriage house.

If his tail wagging was any indication, he was always happy to see her. She had no idea what Will Slade would say about the dog following her home. Truth to tell, she hadn’t been too happy at first, but she had to admit that it was nice not having to make the trip to the country every day to tend to his mutt.

When the dog was fed and watered, she decided to walk to Rachel’s and check on the patient, even though she was feeling a bit headachy and dizzy herself. She prayed she wasn’t taking whatever it was that the cantankerous Mr. Slade had.

According to the Wolf Creek grapevine, he was better. Or worse. She’d even heard that he had pneumonia. She didn’t want to start any new conversations about him with her family, so she’d refrained from asking her mother or brother if they’d heard how he was faring. Checking on his progress seemed the decent thing to do, so here she was.

The door to the surgery opened to reveal Danny, her half brother Gabe and Rachel’s son. His freckled face broke into a smile when he saw her standing there. “Hello, Aunt Blythe. What are you doing here?”

She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Hello, Danny. I came to see how Mr. Slade is doing.”

“Mama says he’s a lot better,” Danny told her. “You can go in and see him if you want.”

Go in and see him? Though she might have decided to see if he was feeling better, that did not include facing Will and his blatant animosity face-to-face. “Oh, no! I don’t want to intrude. I’d just like to speak to your mother.”

“Sure thing. I’ll go fetch her.”

Danny took off down the hall in a dead run, leaving Blythe standing by the door, twisting her gloves in her hands.

“How’s Banjo?”

The sound of the deep, raspy voice startled her so badly she gave a little gasp. Obviously, Will was awake and had heard her talking to Danny. Despite telling herself she shouldn’t, Blythe found her footsteps headed toward the room where the question originated.

Almost fearfully, she peeked around the corner.

“For cryin’ out loud,” he said in a grumpy voice. “Come on in. I don’t bite.”

Could have fooled me, Blythe thought, taking slow, tentative steps and stopping a few feet inside the doorway. Will lay propped up on some pillows, wearing his usual scowl and several days’ growth of beard. If she thought his appearance disreputable before, he looked ten times worse now. Scruffy. Tough. Dangerous. And, she thought grudgingly and not for the first time, he was also very handsome, despite his unkempt appearance.

His dark gaze was locked on her face, making her squirm. Searching her mind for some safe topic, she said the first words that came to mind, “I’m sorry. I have no idea how your banjo is.”

“What?” Will frowned and the expression in his eyes said without words he thought she had a few loose marbles rolling around inside her noggin.

She gave a slight shrug. “You asked how your banjo was. I’m afraid I have no idea how I’m supposed to know that.”

For a few seconds Will sat very still. Then he covered his mouth and coughed a few times. When he looked at her again, Blythe imagined she saw a glint of humor in his eyes. Silly notion! He wouldn’t know humor if it walked up and slapped him in the face.

“Uh... Banjo is my dog,” he explained. “Rachel told me you went to the farm to feed him and he followed you home.”

Blythe felt her face flame and resisted the impulse to place her hands against her hot cheeks. How embarrassing! He must think she was a fool. Most people did, it seemed. “Yes, he did. I’m sorry. I tried and tried to make him go back, and he just wouldn’t go.”

“He can be a bit hardheaded,” Will admitted. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, yes. He seems fine, and he eats well.” She gave a little shrug. “I’m not familiar with dogs, so I can’t say for sure. He’s staying in the carriage house.”

Silence reigned in the room for a few seconds. “Thank you for checking on him.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was another lull in the stilted conversation while Will stared at Blythe and she stared at the floor and chewed on her lower lip.

“What did he do when you first went out?” he said at last.

Blythe recalled the sheer terror and determination she’d felt the afternoon she’d gone out to his place and climbed down from the buggy.

“Well, I was afraid he’d tear me limb from limb,” she told him. “But when I got out of the carriage and tossed him some ham fat, he was fine.”

“That’s probably the best thing you could have done. He’s not really a mean dog, just very protective of his territory. His size alone keeps most people at a distance,” Will said.

Indeed. An unexpected image of herself as she must have looked, flat on her back, being held down by the huge animal, flashed through her mind. She clamped her lips together to suppress a smile, wondering what his owner would have said had he been there. She imagined it would have been amusing to anyone watching.

“Is something funny?”

“Not really,” she said. “At least not when it happened. I was furious, actually!”

“What did happen?”

“He knocked me down. Banjo.”

“He did what? When?”

“That first day. I guess he got impatient for his supper, and as soon as I got down from the buggy, he jumped up and put his paws on my shoulders. The next thing I knew, I was on my back and he was licking me in the face.”

Recalling the disgusting slobber and his dreadful breath, she gave a little shudder. There was nothing funny about that. “It was really, really horrible.”

Will looked appalled. “Blast that miserable mutt,” he said and then mumbled something beneath his breath. “Look, Miss Granville, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for causing you so much trouble.”

“Please don’t concern yourself about it. I think he may be getting fond of me.”

“He must be if he followed you home. He doesn’t take to many people so fast.”

The topic of the dog talked out, silence ruled again. Blythe knew he was staring at her, but she kept her gaze fixed anywhere but on him. It was time to go, she thought. She’d done what she’d come to do, so there was no reason to prolong the agony for either of them.

Surprising herself, she dared to glance at him and heard herself say, “You must be feeling much improved. You’re more alert and you look much...better.”

He gave a disgruntled snort and scrubbed a palm over his hairy cheek and chin. The utterly masculine gesture caused a little hitch in her breathing.

“I imagine I look like a hobo off the train. But I am feeling better,” he said.

“Someone said you had pneumonia.”

“The old Wolf Creek grapevine, huh?”

“Well, yes.”

At the conversation’s casual turn to the two of them being the prime topic of the talk around town, they both grew very still.

“Yes,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “Rachel says that if you hadn’t happened by, I might not have made it. Thank you.”

The two simple words sounded genuine and he looked sincere.

“Then I’m glad I came along when I did,” she told him, a little surprised to realize that despite her present circumstances, she meant it. How could she be sorry for playing the Good Samaritan and doing what the Lord expected of her, what she expected of herself? She clasped her hands together.

“Well, I should be going. I just wanted to check on you and let you know your dog is fine.”

“I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble,” he said again, repeating his previous words almost verbatim.

“Oh, Banjo isn’t really a problem,” she assured him.

“I’m not just talking about Banjo, Miss Granville. I’m talking about all the trouble.”

* * *

Will saw all the color drain from her face. She seemed to actually wilt. Her brown eyes drifted closed and she pressed her lips together in a prim line. Which was a crying shame, Will thought. Lips as pretty as hers should never do anything but smile. Berating himself for thinking of her in such a personal way and for finding anything about her attractive, he watched as she straightened her small frame and lifted her round chin, changing from a shy woman to one of confidence and dignity. Unlike Martha’s quick change in attitude from anger to victim, the transformation in Blythe’s demeanor was impressive, something no doubt passed on from generation to generation of well-heeled young ladies.

“There’s no need to trouble yourself, Mr. Slade,” she assured him in a clipped, no-nonsense tone as she raked an errant strand of brown hair behind her ear. “I’ve become accustomed to dealing with things of this nature. The people who know me will accept the truth, and those who don’t...well, some people refuse to let the facts of a situation alter their viewpoint. I’m sure it will all go away eventually.”

Become accustomed? Will thought, once more admiring her poise. No one should have to become accustomed to being the subject of everyone’s dinnertime conversation. She was right about the rest, though. Why was it that most people seemed to want to believe the worst?

“The preacher and your brother think that I should—”

“I’ve heard what they think,” she interrupted. “And I well remember your answer.”

Will had no memory of anything he’d said at his place, but knowing it must not have been good, he felt the heat of embarrassment rising in his face. “It’s nothing against you, Miss Granville,” he told her. “It’s just that my first marriage wasn’t a very good one, and at this point in my life I don’t think it’s anything I’m ready to try again, which I’m sure you of all people can understand.”

The barest hint of a cynical smile lifted one corner of her mouth, but there was no denying the mortification in her eyes. “Indeed I do.”

“So you understand my position,” he stated.

If possible, she grew even paler. “Yes.”

Will hated that the situation was making her life more difficult, but, short of marriage, he had no idea how to fix things.

“Please don’t worry about me, Mr. Slade,” she told him. “I know my brother and half the town expects you to marry me to save my reputation, but I see no reason why you should pay the piper for a choice I made. I’m a grown woman, and I weighed the pros and cons before I made my decision.”

That revelation was a surprise and more than a little humbling. “You decided to stay, knowing there was the possibility it would put you in a bad light again?”

She nodded. “It seemed to me that it was the Christian thing to do,” she told him. “And, besides, I really didn’t have much choice. It was clear that you needed help, and just as clear that I couldn’t get back to town.” She gave a slight lift of her narrow shoulders. “Word gets out and people talk. It’s the way things are.”

“I guess I’m wondering why you made that choice, especially since you came here trying to escape similar circumstances.”

“That’s why.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I’m afraid I’m confused.”

The jaded smile on her lips was out of place on her innocent-looking face. “Since I was already the talk of the town, I didn’t see how things could get any worse. Besides,” she added, “I hate storms and the dark. I couldn’t imagine riding to town for help in the middle of a thunderstorm in the dead of night. I’m not familiar with the area and I was afraid I’d get lost. And there was the small problem of you being far too ill for me to leave, even for a couple of hours.”