Читать книгу Lone Star Heiress - Winnie Griggs - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Mitch kept a close eye on his injured charge as they traveled back to the cabin. He hadn’t been fooled by her assurances that she was okay. He’d seen the tremble in her hands, the glaze of pain in her eyes, and the way she fought to maintain focus. The sooner he got her to the cabin, the better. But jarring her too much wouldn’t do, either. He only hoped she had enough sense to let him know if she needed to stop.

The trip, which had taken only twenty minutes on his way out, took nearly an hour on the return. He paused their little caravan a few times to give her a rest from the jarring movements and make her drink some water, but otherwise he kept them moving at a slow, steady pace. At least there was no sign of fresh blood seeping from underneath her bandage. Perhaps the worst really was over.

Throughout that endless trip he tried to keep her talking, to make certain she was both conscious and aware. Fortunately, talking seemed to be something she enjoyed. Not that they had a coherent conversation. She mostly rambled and his contribution was limited to an occasional question whenever the pauses drew out.

Mitch learned she came from a small town called Nettles Gap and that she lived with someone she called Nana Dovie. He also learned the life history of her dog and her mule, and what great companions they’d been on this trip.

She continued to assure him she was all right whenever he inquired, but by the time he called for the third rest stop he could see she was starting to droop. So when the cabin finally came into view he wanted to shout, “Hallelujah.”

“Almost there,” he said bracingly.

She straightened and he could almost see her gather her strength as she squinted ahead.

He directed Seeley right up to the front porch before he called a halt. “Now you’re going to have to let go of the saddle horn and slide right down into my arms. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

To his surprise, she displayed none of the suspicion she’d exhibited earlier. Perhaps it was because she was exhausted and hurting, but he hoped it was at least partly because she had begun to trust him.

A moment later, she’d half slid, half fallen into his grasp. And for the second time he thought how nice she felt in his arms, how he wanted to protect her from harm.

“If you’ll set me down, I can walk from here.”

He ignored her and headed up the steps. She didn’t argue further, which in and of itself worried him. After a bit of tricky one-handed maneuvering, he got the door open without jostling her too badly, then carried her inside and set her on the sofa.

“I’m going to check your bandage. It won’t take but a minute, then you can lie down.”

Without a word, she slumped against the cushion and closed her eyes.

He watched her a moment. She looked so vulnerable, so achingly brave as she tried to hold herself together. His hand moved to brush a lock of hair from her forehead, then stopped just short of its goal. His hand slowly withdrew, as if it had a mind and conscience of its own.

This burgeoning awareness of her as more than a person in need of aid was dangerous and had to be smothered before it could go any further.

He turned and moved to the counter, ready to put some distance between them.

* * *

Ivy focused on remaining conscious, at least conscious enough to not fall over. She didn’t want to get blood and dirt all over his furniture. There were probably all sorts of other things she should be worried about, but for now the only thing getting through her foggy mind was the longing for the promised bed and the chance to sleep undisturbed.

She didn’t realize Rufus had followed them inside until he nudged her leg with a worried whine. She placed a hand on the dog’s head without opening her eyes. “I’m okay, boy. Just need to rest for a bit.”

Sometime later—she wasn’t sure how long—Mr. Parker returned. “Now, let’s have a look.” She felt the tug as he removed the cloth pad that had stuck to the blood.

“How does it look?” she asked.

“The bleeding’s stopped. I’m going to put a clean bandage on it and then let you rest while I cook some soup.”

As he pressed the cloth against her head a moment later, Ivy marveled at what an amazingly gentle touch he had for such a big man.

Then he was done. She opened her eyes to see him examining his work. He made a small adjustment to the bandage, then met her gaze. “Ready for your nap?”

She’d been ready. But she’d rather not be carried again. It was a mite too unsettling. “Yes. If you’ll lend me a hand and show me the way, I’d prefer to walk.”

He frowned, but finally nodded.

Good to know he wouldn’t just ignore her wishes willy-nilly.

He placed a hand at her elbow and helped her up. Then, slowly, led her to a door next to the fireplace.

Leaning on him more than she cared to admit, Ivy stepped inside a cozy bedchamber. As soon as she was seated on the edge of the bed, her rescuer knelt down and unlaced her boots.

She studied his bent head, strangely entranced by the whorl of hair at the top. What would he do if she reached down and touched it? She stopped herself just short of acting on that thought. What was wrong with her? That knock on the head must have affected her more than she thought.

When he’d removed both her shoes, he hesitated a moment, then went to work removing her socks. The sensation of his hands on her skin sent little tingles through her that caught her unawares.

She must have made an inadvertent movement because he glanced up.

“Sorry if that was uncomfortable,” he said as he stood.

She wasn’t sure how to respond so said nothing.

He studied her uncertainly, and she wondered if he was worried about putting her to bed. But before she could reassure him that she could take it from here, he turned, suddenlike, and marched to a chest across the room. He came back with a bundle that he shoved at her.

As she took it, she realized it was a nightgown. But whose?

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I thought you might want to change. I don’t think Reggie would mind if you borrowed this.” He turned and quickly moved to the door.

Once there, however, he paused. “I’ll leave this open just a crack. If you need anything, call out.”

He smiled as Rufus padded in. “It appears you’ll have company.”

As he left, she had two completely unrelated thoughts. The first was that it was kind of him to allow her dog inside the cabin.

And the second was, just who was Reggie and what was she to him?

* * *

Mitch unsaddled, then fed and watered both Seeley and Miss Feagan’s mule. He patted the mule’s side as the animals dipped their heads in the feed trough. Jubal’s limping had gotten more pronounced the farther they’d walked. It would be best if he was allowed to rest for a couple of days before they set out again. Which meant a trip to town would not be on tomorrow’s agenda, not unless they left the animal behind.

Which posed another problem. Miss Feagan’s presence had become more than just an intrusion on his privacy. Now he had her reputation to worry about.

Of course, one could say that a woman who traveled alone in these backwoods probably wasn’t terribly concerned with her reputation, but he didn’t know the full story on that. Nor was that an excuse for him to treat the issue lightly.

There was nothing he could do to salvage the situation—it wasn’t as if he could snap his fingers and make a chaperone appear. He’d just have to do what he could to make her comfortable and hope for the best.

On the way back to the cabin, Mitch noticed the stack of firewood was low, so he grabbed the ax from the shed and spent the next twenty minutes replenishing the pile.

Wiping his face with the tail of his shirt, he decided a quick dip in the lake to cool off and clean up wouldn’t be amiss.

He quietly entered the house, wanting to check on the patient before he got out of hailing distance. He pushed her bedchamber door open just enough to look inside. The dog, lying beside the bed, lifted its head to stare at him. He stared back, keeping his demeanor impassive, and after a moment the dog lowered its head again. However, the animal’s watchful gaze never left Mitch’s face.

Miss Feagan, on the other hand, didn’t stir. She lay on her side under the covers with that thick mahogany braid of hers mostly unbound. He watched her a moment, assuring himself she was sleeping and hadn’t passed out again.

In sleep her expression lost most of the hardness that suspicion and pain had given it. With her hair flowing over her shoulder and that generous sprinkle of freckles, she had the look of a schoolgirl. The guilt he’d felt for his part in her fall washed over him again. Along with something protective and tender.

He wanted to find whoever was responsible for her and give them a piece of his mind for allowing her to end up in this situation. She deserved better.

Then Mitch remembered something he’d heard once about head injuries, something about not letting the injured party sleep too deeply. He hated to rouse her, but he’d hate it even more if he didn’t and she got worse.

He squeezed her hand while he said her name. He had to do it three times before her eyes opened.

She glanced up at him, obviously disoriented. “What is it?”

“Nothing important. Go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she closed her eyes and snuggled down deeper into the pillow. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. He’d repeat the process every thirty minutes for the next several hours, just to be safe.

Mitch started to ease back out when he spotted the pile of dirty clothing she’d left on the floor. She’d need something clean to wear whenever she recovered enough to leave the bed. He crossed the room under Rufus’s watchful gaze, gathered up the discarded clothing, then left, pulling the door behind him until only the barest crack remained.

Pausing just long enough to give the soup simmering on the stove another stir, he headed back out.

* * *

Ivy frowned as a soft woof intruded on the peace of her sleep. Rufus did it again and she reluctantly gave up on trying to sink back into oblivion.

“What is it, Rufus?” Even to her, her tone sounded petulant. Then she saw Mr. Parker standing in the doorway and her cheeks heated.

“Sorry if I disturbed you,” he said. “I was just checking to see if you were ready for some soup. If you’d rather continue sleeping, though, the food will keep until you’re ready.”

She eased herself up against the pillows, wincing at the throbbing of her head. “Actually, food sounds good.” Her cheeks heated again as her stomach loudly echoed those sentiments. She certainly wasn’t making a very good impression. “If you give me a minute to collect myself, I’ll join you at the table.” She wondered if there was a robe in that trunk he’d pulled the nightgown from.

But he shook his head. “You stay put and I’ll fetch you a bowl.”

Before she could argue, he changed the subject. “How’s your head?”

“Better.” Not exactly a lie. The throbbing had eased.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted her knife resting in easy reach on the bedside table. It was likely his way of trying to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from him, and her heart softened a little more. He really was a very kind, honorable man. She was no longer worried about his intentions, even though she was still at his mercy.

He stepped closer. “Mind if I check?”

It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her injury, and she turned to give him access to the back of her head. As he bent nearer to study the bandage, she felt suddenly shy and vulnerable. Both feelings were foreign to her and that made her edgy and unsettled. It didn’t help that as he checked the bandage, his hands brushed against the nape of her neck and she shivered in reaction.

It was just an aftereffect of her fall, she told herself.

He stilled. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She tried to keep her tone light. “I guess I’m more woozy than I’d thought.”

“Understandable.” He straightened and stepped back. “I’ll get that soup. Food and rest are what you need.”

He was right—that was all she needed. Then she’d be back to her old self.

She tried to shake off those earlier feelings as she settled more comfortably and watched him exit. Better to focus on the savory smell wafting in from the kitchen. If the aroma was any indication, he was as good a cook as he was a caretaker.

Rufus plastered his front paws onto the mattress. “Hello, boy. I guess I haven’t been very good company the past—” She paused. How long had she slept? Ivy glanced toward the window and frowned at the lengthening shadows. It had obviously been more than an hour or so.

Then her brow furrowed as hazy images of him repeatedly checking in on her floated at the edge of her memory. Had that really happened? Or had she dreamed it?

When he returned a few minutes later carrying a steaming bowl balanced on a tray, she edged up straighter. “How long was I asleep?”

“About six hours.”

“Oh, my goodness. You must think me an awful slugabed.”

“Rest is the best medicine at times like this.”

As he helped her settle the tray onto her lap, she inhaled appreciatively. “Smells good.”

He gave a small smile. “Only because you’re hungry. I don’t usually cook for anyone but myself and I make no claims that it’s more than passable.”

“I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself.” She picked up the spoon, then frowned when he pulled up a chair. “Aren’t you going to eat something, too?”

“I ate earlier. I’ll get more later.” He settled back in the chair. “I thought I’d keep you company, if that’s okay?”

What was he up to?

Then she took herself to task. She had to stop being so suspicious of menfolk—not everyone was a mean-spirited polecat like Lester Stokes. Mr. Parker was nice and seemed to expect nothing in return. He probably just wanted to make sure she didn’t faint into her bowl while she ate.

She tasted a spoonful, then smiled. “As I suspected, this is a good sight better than merely passable.”

He spread his hands as if to dispute her words but didn’t say anything.

Feeling the need to fill the silence, she asked after her mule. “How’s Jubal doing after that long walk here?”

“He’s had some feed and water, and now he and Seeley are grazing.” He met her gaze squarely. “As for the hoof, I think you were right about the stone bruise. I let him soak it in warm water to try to draw out the infection, but he’s going to need a couple days’ rest, I’m afraid.”

Poor Jubal—she hoped she hadn’t done him permanent harm. But this also meant more delays. Nana Dovie would be worried if she didn’t hear something from her soon. But that wasn’t Mr. Parker’s fault. “It was real nice of you to be looking out for him. And me, too, of course.”

“And how are you feeling now that you’ve had something to eat?”

The way he looked at her one would think he actually cared about her, not just the trouble she was causing. “Much better.” She deposited her spoon in the now empty bowl. “That nap and this meal have fixed me right up.” No need to burden him with her aching head and shaky feeling.

But Mr. Parker didn’t look convinced. “You shouldn’t attempt anything that requires effort today. You need to give yourself time to heal.”

Be that as it may, Ivy certainly didn’t intend to spend what was left of the day in bed.

“Mind if I ask how you came to be out here alone?” he asked.

She took a sip from her glass, trying to decide how much to tell him. She wasn’t much on sharing her personal business with strangers, even kind-hearted ones. “I’ve got business to take care of over in Turnabout. And this shortcut seemed the fastest way to get there.”

“You said you were from somewhere called Nettles Gap? How far away is that?”

“Don’t know how many miles, exactly, but I set out at sunup the day before yesterday.”

He stiffened. “Two days alone on the road.”

It was nice of him to be concerned, but she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “I wasn’t really alone,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I had Rufus and Jubal with me. And I took precautions.”

But his frown deepened. “By precautions I assume you mean that getup you were wearing and that knife you pulled out of your pocket.”

He made it sound as if her efforts had been ineffective at best.

“And a dog and mule are hardly adequate escorts for a young lady. Wasn’t your family at all concerned about your safety?”

Ivy blinked. Hadn’t anyone called her a lady in a long time.

But she quickly pushed that thought away. He could talk about her precautions all he wanted, but no one was going to lay blame at Nana Dovie’s door.

“Nana Dovie cares about me something fierce—don’t you be thinking she doesn’t. But she wasn’t in any condition to come with me.” No, sir, she wasn’t about to let anyone speak ill of Nana Dovie, not even someone who’d been as nice as this gent.

But he didn’t seem to take offense. “You mentioned this Nana Dovie before. Who is she?”

“Her name’s Dovie Jacobs, and she’s sort of my mother.”

His brow went up. “Sort of?”

How to explain? “When you get right down to it, Nana Dovie isn’t exactly blood kin. But she’s family just the same. She took me in and raised me when my folks passed on. I was just a babe at the time.”

“Sounds like a special lady.”

Ivy nodded, pleased he’d understood. “And now that she’s getting on in years and needs someone to take care of her, I aim to do my best to return the favor.”

“So what was so important that you had to leave her side and set out alone?”

Ivy stiffened. “You sure do ask a passel of nosey questions.”

Mr. Parker grimaced. “My apologies for prying. I’m afraid I’ve been cursed with a curious mind. I suppose that’s why I became a schoolteacher.”

She leaned back, diverted by this bit of information. “You’re a schoolteacher? I guess that means you have a lot of book learning.” That didn’t surprise her much—he seemed like the educated type.

His lips quirked up at that. “I do like a good book.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all. I wouldn’t dare.”

Not certain how to respond to that, she took another sip from her glass.

This time he broke the silence. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Why are you traveling to Turnabout?”

He was like a hound on a scent—he just didn’t give up.

“I learned a few days ago that I might have an inheritance waiting there. And I aim to find out, ’cause if I do, I plan to sell whatever it is so Nana Dovie and I can pay off some debts and make some purchases we sorely need.”

“I see.”

It was time for her to ask a few questions of her own. “Are you familiar with Turnabout?”

He nodded. “I’ve lived there two years now.”

“You mean this cabin isn’t your home?” A heartbeat later, she realized she should’ve figured that out when he said he was a schoolteacher. He’d need to live in a town where there were actual schools and students, not out in the woods.

“This cabin belongs to friends of mine,” he explained. “They let me borrow it for a few days.”

“Oh.” Her mind made a totally irrelevant connection. “Then this Reggie whose clothes I’m wearing...”

“Is the owner of this place.”

So, Reggie wasn’t his wife, then.

Not that that was important.

“And speaking of that,” he continued, “I still think you should take it easy today. But if you do decide you want to sit out on the porch, you’ll find more of Reggie’s clothing in that chest. Oh, and your saddlebags are on top of the trunk if you need any of your own things.”

“Thank you. But how far away is Turnabout?”

“It’s about a four-hour ride from here.”

She glanced toward the window. How much daylight was left?

As if reading her mind, he gave her a stern look. “Don’t even think about trying to travel today. Even if you were up to it—which I very much doubt—your mule is not. Besides, it’ll be dark in less than three hours.”

She blew a stray tendril of hair off her forehead in frustration. He was right, of course. But that didn’t make it easier to accept.

“I want you to know,” he said, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “that I am an honorable, God-fearing man. You’re perfectly safe in my company and I plan to spend the night outside so you can sleep without worry about your reputation.”

As if that would stop any true gossipmonger’s tongue from wagging if word got out. “I appreciate you trying to do what’s proper and all, but there’s no need for that, considering the circumstances.” It said a good deal about him that he was worried about propriety and her feelings, but if he only knew how unnecessary that really was...

Not that she planned to enlighten him.

“Nevertheless, I feel it’s important that we attend to all the proper social conventions while we’re out here.”

She’d be hanged if she’d let him make her even more beholden to him. “If you’re going to be that muleheaded about it, then I should be the one sleeping outside. After all, your friends loaned this place to you, not me. I’m the intruder here.”

He stiffened as if she’d insulted him. “If you think I’ll allow that, then you must have a very low opinion of me.”

Have mercy, the man could certainly look intimidating when he got up on his high horse. Not that such tactics would work on her. “I just think it’s silly to worry about such things at a time like this. If it makes you feel better, Rufus can sleep in here with me and be my chaperone. Why, I’ll even bar the door.”

He stood. “I think I’ll get a bite to eat. Would you like more soup?”

Did he take her for a simpleton? “Mr. Parker, now you’re the one who’s sidestepping the question. Do I have your word that you’ll sleep under this roof tonight?”

His lips compressed and he was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.

Ivy leaned back, reassured.

She might not know him well, but she knew in her gut that he was absolutely a man of his word.

* * *

Mitch sat at the table, absently eating his soup. If temperament was any indication, Miss Feagan was definitely regaining her strength. She was quickly turning into one of the most independent-minded, strong-willed, intriguing women he’d ever met.

But there were pros and cons to that. While she might make interesting company, she would also need watching to make certain she didn’t take on more than she could handle.

He’d been pleased to see color back in her cheeks. And her hands had almost been steady as she’d ladled up the soup. So physically it appeared she really was on the mend.

That just left the other issue.

He stood and stepped out onto the porch, frustrated by the situation. He wouldn’t sleep in the house with her, of course. But that was just for his own conscience. If word got out that they’d been here alone overnight, she’d be just as ruined as if he’d spent the night in her room.

He had trouble believing she was as unconcerned by the situation as she would have him think. Perhaps she was just being pragmatic. Or perhaps she wanted to relieve him of any guilt he might be feeling.

Or perhaps it was just that she recognized as much as he did that, other than giving them clear consciences, his sleeping outside wouldn’t do much good if word of their situation got out.

Whatever her reasons, however, he intended to adhere to the proprieties as much as possible. A clear conscience was something to strive for. The promise he’d made was to sleep under the roof, and he would keep his word—the roof covered the porch, as well.

Besides, it wasn’t just her reputation at stake. As a schoolteacher, it was important that he keep his own conduct above reproach.

What a tangle.

There’d been a time when he would have prayed for direction, but that time had long passed. He and God had stopped communicating with each other some time ago. Ever since that tragic night over two years ago.

The night he’d killed his wife and unborn child.