Читать книгу Lone Star Heiress - Winnie Griggs - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Thirty minutes after Mr. Parker left her room, Ivy had had enough of lying about in bed. She looked down at Rufus as she threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “I think exercise and fresh air are just the things to make me feel better.”

But first she had to find her clothes. She glanced around. Where were they? The garments had been muddy and damp. They’d also absorbed wet-dog smell from Rufus. Mr. Parker had probably decided to get the messy things out of the cabin and she couldn’t say she blamed him.

Ignoring Mr. Parker’s suggestion that she help herself to his friend’s clothing, Ivy turned instead to her own bag. As she crossed the room, she was pleased to find she wasn’t nearly as wobbly as she’d been earlier. It took her a bit longer to change than usual, but she did it and carefully placed the borrowed nightdress over the back of the chair.

She wished she had a mirror so she could see how she looked. Then she grimaced—maybe it was better that she didn’t. She likely looked a fright with her hair all a mess and her fingers stained from the berries. She pulled the comb from her saddlebag and tried to remove the worst of the tangles without disturbing the bandage. Then she quickly plaited a loose braid and let it fall down her back. With the bandage around her head, there wasn’t much else to be done with it. Besides, Mr. Parker had already seen it in much worse condition so it wasn’t as if this would shock him further.

Taking a deep breath and giving Rufus a pat, Ivy stepped out of the bedchamber. Her rescuer wasn’t anywhere in sight. She paused a moment to study her surroundings—she hadn’t been in any shape to pay attention when she’d first arrived.

To her right was a large fireplace. It was clean and tidy with wood stacked nearby. Facing the fireplace was the sofa she’d rested on when she’d first arrived. Thankfully she saw no signs of blood or dirt. There was a cozy little kitchen and a dining table across the room. The curtains at the windows and the apron hanging on a peg by the door spoke of a woman’s touch. Off to one side, a ladder led up to a small loft tucked in under the eaves.

On the opposite side of the common room was a curtained-off area. Another bedchamber, perhaps?

Rufus padded out the open front door and she heard him give a friendly woof. A masculine voice returned the greeting. Well, that solved the mystery of Mr. Parker’s whereabouts.

When she stepped outside, she was greeted by the sight of her missing clothing draped over the porch rail. A closer look showed that the pieces weren’t just airing out but were clean.

Had he actually done her laundry? She wasn’t normally missish, but the thought of him doing such a personal thing for her sent the warmth climbing up her neck and into her cheeks.

“Miss Feagan. What are you doing out of bed?”

She started at the sound of his voice. The sight of her clothes and thoughts of what it meant had momentarily made her forget she wasn’t alone.

Mr. Parker sat off to her right in a ladder-backed chair. He had a large pad of paper in his lap, a pencil in his hand and a frown on his face.

She quickly collected herself—his washing her clothes likely meant nothing more than that he liked everything around him to be all neat and tidy.

Besides, the question about what he was doing with that oversize pad of paper was much more interesting.

And a much safer focus for her thoughts.

As soon as Mr. Parker saw her glance at his paper, he closed the pad, set down his pencil and stood. “Are you sure you should be up so soon?”

Was it just worry for her well-being that put the edge in his tone, or was she intruding? Choosing to believe the former, Ivy brushed his concern aside with a wave of her hand. “I’m feeling much better, thank you. And Nana Dovie always says, sunshine and fresh air go a long way toward healing an ailing body.”

Ignoring his frown, she changed the subject. “Thank you for taking care of my clothes—seems I just keep getting deeper into your debt.”

His expression shifted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just tossed them in the lake when I went down to wash up earlier. It didn’t take much effort.”

She could tell he’d done more than soak her things—they’d had a good scrubbing. But she let it pass and instead sat in the rocker next to his chair. Then she pointed to his pad of paper. “Please don’t let me stop you from finishing whatever it was you were working on.”

He sat back down. “It’s just some idle sketching—nothing that can’t wait.”

This man was full of surprises. Intrigued, she leaned forward. “Mind if I look?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Help yourself.”

She took the tablet and flipped it open. Then her eyes widened. She was looking at a perfect likeness of a hummingbird hovering over a morning glory. It was done all in pencil, but he’d somehow managed to capture the movement of the bird and the early morning dewiness of the flower with simple lines and a bit of shading.

She turned the page and found yet another remarkable work. It was his horse, contentedly grazing near an old wooden fence. A dandelion was bent by a breeze that had teased some of the fluff from the stalk. Again, the level of detail he’d managed to capture with just a pencil was remarkable.

When she turned the page yet again, she found an unfinished drawing. It was the view from the porch. The railings and support post were in the foreground, and beyond that was an open area and then a stand of brush and trees. A quick glance verified that he’d faithfully captured the image of the tree line up ahead.

She turned and found him watching her closely. Was he worried about her opinion? “These drawings are very good.”

Such God-given talent was surely a treasure to be nurtured and shared. He should be displaying them proudly, not trying to hide them away.

This Mr. Parker was definitely a puzzle—one she was coming to wish she had time to figure out.

* * *

Mitch had watched her closely as she studied his work. He rarely showed his sketches to anyone—it was only a hobby, after all, and much too personal to share casually.

Not that he cared much what others thought.

But her genuine smile of delight was oddly gratifying. “Thank you. It’s just something I do to pass the time.” He took the sketchbook and set it on the table, then changed the subject. “Are you hungry? There’s more soup on the stove.”

She shook her head, then went right back to the subject of his sketches. “Do you ever draw people?”

Was she hinting that she wanted him to sketch her? “Not often.”

“So you do sometimes,” she pressed. “I’d love to have you sketch Nana Dovie.”

That surprised him. “You might do better to get a photograph. Reggie, the lady who owns this cabin, is a photographer and her work is quite good.”

She wrinkled her nose consideringly. “I think I’d rather a sketch. Photographs seem so stiff.” Then she sighed. “Not that it matters. Nana Dovie would never travel this far for something she’d think was nonsensical.”

She looked around then, obviously done with the subject of his artwork. “Where are Jubal and your horse?”

“Around back.”

“And where does that trail lead?” she asked, waving to her left.

“There’s a small lake about three hundred yards down that way. It’s where the water I’ve been using comes from, and there’s good fishing there, too.”

Her eyes lit up. “Is there a spare fishing pole around here?”

“Several. They’re in the lean-to out back.”

“I’m pretty good with a pole and a hook,” she said with a hopeful glance his way.

“Perhaps tomorrow you can try your luck.”

Her sigh had a note of disappointment, but she grinned. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”

He returned her smile. “I look forward to seeing if the reality matches the boast.”

“Challenge accepted.” Then she stood. “Please, continue with your drawing. I’m going to plop down in that chair over in the sunshine and just enjoy the fresh air for a bit.”

Mitch opened his sketchbook as she settled into her chair. She ruffled the fur on her dog’s neck. When the mutt ran off, she leaned back and watched him, laughing and talking to the animal as if he could understand her.

Mitch tried to lose himself in his drawing again, to transfer the essence of the view before him onto the page. But the sound of Ivy’s laughter, the sight of her blissful enjoyment of her surroundings, was making it surprisingly difficult to do much of anything but look at her.

* * *

Ivy watched Rufus sniff the ground, obviously picking up the scent of some critter or other. It was nice out here—warm but with a breeze to stir her hair. She heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker in the distance.

The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, and she closed her eyes against the sudden glare. Rufus barked from what seemed like far away, and she wondered if he’d treed a squirrel. She heard buzzing and wondered idly if it was a bee or a deerfly. But it wasn’t really worth the effort to open her eyes to find out.

A moment later, someone cleared his throat right above her, breaking the stillness of the afternoon. Her eyes flew open to focus on Mr. Parker, standing beside her, his sketchbook in hand. Had he finished his drawing already?

Then she noticed the shadows had lengthened and she was no longer in full sunshine. The heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his amused glance. Despite the fact that she’d thought herself well rested, she’d fallen asleep again.

“You must think me a real lazybones.”

He smiled. “You have good reason to rest.” He reached down to help her rise. “Why don’t we head back inside? If you’re not hungry or tired, I can pull out a checkerboard, if you feel up to a game.”

She took his hand, accepting his assistance. “You’ll soon learn I rarely back down from a challenge.”

With a smile on his face, Mitch let her precede him back into the cabin. The woman was intriguing. She was certainly unpredictable. And seemingly unflappable.

And totally unlike any woman he’d met before.

Shaking off that thought—an exercise he seemed to be doing a lot of lately—he dug out the checkerboard and set it on the table.

As she sat across from him, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I assume you know how to play.”

She grinned. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how it goes.”

Miss Feagan proved to be an aggressive player, approaching the game with more verve than strategy. He won the first two games, though they were by no means runaway victories. Those defeats didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm, however. She merely grinned and vowed to get him next time.

He stood. “Before you try again, why don’t we eat?”

She grinned. “I came close to beating you just now. Are you by any chance wanting to fortify yourself before facing me again?”

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken that teasing tone with him. But he found he rather liked it. “I was thinking I needed to give you an opportunity to sharpen your wits so you’d have a fighting chance.”

“Ha!” She put her hands on her hips and glowered melodramatically. “That sounds like a challenge. I demand we play a third game so I can defend my honor as a checker player.”

“After we eat.” He moved toward the stove. “There ought to be just enough soup left for each of us to have a nice bowlful.” She stood, but he waved her back down. “Keep your seat. This won’t take but a minute.”

She ignored him. Naturally. “Don’t be silly.” She crossed to the counter. “The least I can do is set the table. I assume the dishes are kept in here.” She opened the cupboard, then reached inside.

A moment later Mitch saw her sway unsteadily, and he quickly crossed the space between them. “Whoa, there.” He took her elbow and put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She gave him a shaky smile. “Just got dizzy for a moment.”

“That does it.” He led her firmly back to the table. “I want you to sit here and not get up again until it’s time to turn in.”

“Don’t be silly. It was just—”

“No arguments.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

She stared at him mutinously for another heartbeat. Then she relaxed and gave him a pert grin. “I suppose,” she said, sitting with exaggerated care, “that if you insist on waiting on me, I should just let you.”

His lips quirked at that, and he gave a ceremonious bow. “At your service, m’lady.”

* * *

Ivy propped her elbows on the table and watched as Mr. Parker went back to the stove. He certainly was a puzzle of a man. Big as a grizzly but graceful as a wolf. All prickly and proper when it came to matters of propriety but able to take her teasing with good humor and even give it back to her at times. Able to carry heavy loads—like a fully grown woman—and with those same hands he could draw the most amazing pictures. And for all his stern exterior, she was beginning to believe he was soft as a mossy creek bank on the inside.

Maybe not such a puzzle after all—he was just a good man.

Rufus padded over and she reached down to pat his head. “Hello, boy. Getting restless, are you?” She glanced up at her host. “Has he eaten anything today?”

Mr. Parker turned and frowned down at Rufus. “I gave him a bit of pemmican and some broth earlier.”

She should have known he’d take care of her dog. He ladled the soup into two bowls. “I suppose the mutt can have anything left in the pot when we’ve eaten our fill tonight.”

He carried one of the bowls to the table and set it in front of her with a stern look. “I expect you to eat all of it. You need to keep your strength up.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned to fetch his own bowl.

Normally she’d get her back up at being ordered around, but she found herself smiling instead. He was being outlandishly high-handed, of course. But she also knew she’d scared him with her momentary light-headedness and this was likely how he dealt with it.

A moment later, he rejoined her at the table. As he settled into his seat, she met his gaze expectantly. “Would you like to say grace?”

Mr. Parker stilled and something she couldn’t read flitted across his expression. Was he not a praying man?

But then he bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we thank You for providing this food we are about to partake of, and for the blessings You have bestowed on us this day.” He paused a heartbeat, then added, “We also ask that You restore good health to Miss Feagan.”

“And to Jubal, as well,” Ivy interjected quickly. “Amen.”

Mr. Parker echoed her amen, then picked up his spoon. Before taking a bite, he glanced her way. “Earlier you mentioned you might have an inheritance waiting for you in Turnabout. If you don’t mind my asking, what did you mean by might?”

“Reverend Tomlin got a letter a few days ago that said if Robert Feagan’s daughter was still alive then there was an inheritance waiting for her in Turnabout. And I’m Robert Feagan’s daughter so I just figured I’d head on over to check it out.”

“Just like that?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never been one to let others make decisions for me.” She grinned. “And I’m also not very patient. Nana Dovie says it’s one of my biggest faults.”

“And the letter didn’t give you any other details?”

“No, and I’m more than a tad curious.” Then she realized he might be able to fill in some of the blanks for her. “Do you know a man named Drum Mosley?”

“Only well enough to exchange greetings. He owns a large ranch outside of town. Is he a relative?”

Something in his tone made her think he knew more than he was saying. “No. But it seems he knew my father. According to the letter, he’s been holding something in trust on my father’s behalf and if I can prove I’m my father’s child, he’ll turn it over to me, whatever it is.”

“My condolences on the loss of your father.”

She shrugged. “Thanks. But he passed on when I was just a babe, so I didn’t know him.”

“Drum’s expecting you, then?”

“Don’t know about that.”

“You didn’t send a response to his letter?”

“I figured there wasn’t much use since I’d get there at about the same time as a letter.” She grimaced. “Or at least I would have if I hadn’t run into these delays.” She’d had enough of talking about herself. She’d much rather learn more about him. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Anything specific you’d like to know?”

“Do you have any family?”

“I have two sisters.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Both are younger.”

She imagined he’d make a fine older brother, always there to look out for his little sisters. “I’ve always wished I was part of a larger family,” she said wistfully. “Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t ask for a better person than Nana Dovie to raise me, but it always seemed kind of lonesome out in the country with no other young’uns to play with.”

She dipped her spoon back in her bowl. “So, how often do you get to see them?”

“Not often. They’re both happily married. Erica, the elder of the two, married a doctor and they moved to San Francisco. They now have four children—three girls and a boy. Katie, my baby sister, married an Italian concert pianist, of all things, and spends much of her time in Europe. They have three little boys.”

“Oh, my goodness, your family is scattered all over creation. No wonder you don’t see them often.”

“We keep in touch with letters.”

“What about your parents?”

“They’ve both passed on.”

So he was an orphan, too. “I’m sorry.” She hesitated a moment, then plunged in with a more personal question. “And you never married?”

From the way his expression immediately closed off, she knew she’d overstepped. “That was rude—forget I asked. Sometimes I speak before I think.”

“I married once. She, also, has passed away.”

Now she really felt bad. Obviously it still stirred up painful memories. “I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling the words were entirely inadequate.

“I appreciate your sympathy.” He stood. “Looks like you finished your soup. Would you like another serving?”

He obviously wanted to put some distance between them, and she didn’t blame him. “No, thank you—I’m full.” She stood, as well. “I should probably check on Jubal before it gets dark.”.

But he shook his head. “I’ll take care of that. Why don’t you feed Rufus?”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own animal.”

“Then take care of your dog.”

She bit her tongue, trying to remember that, despite his bossiness, he meant well. She gave a short nod.

For tonight, she’d hold her peace. But come tomorrow it would be a different story.

* * *

Mitch added a couple of buckets of water to the trough.

He’d felt like a fraud earlier when he’d said grace, especially when he’d looked up afterward to see the soft approval in Ivy Feagan’s eyes.

Though he went to church services regularly and attended meals in friends’ homes, where prayers were offered, it had been a long time since he’d truly prayed himself, much less done so publicly. But he did believe in the Almighty and he’d felt strangely reluctant to refuse her request.

The words had come naturally to him, as if riding a horse again after a long convalescence.

Had God, knowing his heart, been offended by his prayer?

Which, for some reason, brought his thoughts around to that moment when Ivy had asked him if he was married.

It had taken all of his control not to react as the painful memories returned. Sweet-tempered, turn-the-other-cheek Gretchen, the woman he’d vowed to cherish and protect, hadn’t deserved the violent, senseless death that had been her lot. And he may not have actually pulled the trigger, but her death was as much his fault as if he had.

He could never forgive himself for that.

Mitch pushed away those fruitless thoughts and focused on Jubal. He firmly nudged the animal, forcing him to take a few reluctant steps, and studied his gait. It was quickly apparent that the mule would indeed need more time before he could make the trip to Turnabout.

“Sorry you had to make that long walk this morning, but it couldn’t be helped.” He gave the animal a handful of oats and patted his side. “But I’ll make you as comfortable as I can while you recover.”

He dug out another scoop of grain and turned to Seeley. “Here you go.” He stroked the animal’s nose. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you?”

As he tended to the animals, his thoughts drifted back to Miss Feagan’s mention of that possible inheritance. The conversation had raised as many questions as it had answered. If her father had been dead for all these years, then why was she just now hearing about her inheritance?

And it was even stranger that Drum Mosley was involved. The man had a reputation as a penny-pincher. Mitch couldn’t picture him voluntarily giving away any of his holdings. Then again, he vaguely remembered hearing that Drum had taken to his sickbed recently. Perhaps the rancher was getting his affairs in order.

Whatever the case, it was none of his business. As soon as he could get her to Turnabout, his involvement in her affairs would be over.

He picked up the water bucket and headed back to the cabin, ignoring the little voice inside him that whispered his involvement in Miss Feagan’s affairs was actually just beginning.

When Mitch returned to the cabin, the dishes had been cleaned and put away, and the checkerboard set up for another game.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he said with what he considered commendable restraint. He should have known she wouldn’t take it easy.

She waved toward the game board. “Didn’t want anything standing in the way of my getting my revenge.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather turn in? I wouldn’t want you to suffer yet a third defeat.”

“That does it. Sit yourself down and prepare to eat those words.”

And to his surprise, she actually won.

Mitch found himself smiling as she crowed about her victory. Then he started collecting the checkers. “I believe I’d better quit while I’m ahead. And dusk settled in while we weren’t looking, so it’s time to call it a night. It’s been a long day and we both could use some rest.”

She grimaced. “All I’ve done today is rest.”

But since she followed that statement with a broad yawn, he had no compunction in insisting. “Is there anything you need before you retire?” he asked as he stood.

Miss Feagan shook her head. “I’ll be fine, thank you. Good night.” She crossed the room then paused and eyed him suspiciously. “You do remember you promised not to sleep outside, don’t you?”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t bring that up again. But maybe it was best that she knew his plans so she could speak honestly if questions came up later. “What I promised was to sleep under this roof. I’m going to drag the mattress from the other bed out to the porch. It’s a nice night and I’ll be quite comfortable.” He raised a hand to stop the protest already forming on her lips. “My mind is made up.”

She crossed her arms, glaring at him, frustration etched on her face. “It just doesn’t seem right.”

“Still, the decision is mine so you’ll just have to accept it.”

She glared a moment longer, then lifted her hands in surrender. “Have it your way.”

As she turned to her room, he called out, “Take Rufus with you.”

Just before she closed her door, Mitch thought he heard her mutter something that contained the phrase “more stubborn than Jubal.”

He grinned as he wrestled the unwieldy mattress out the front door. She certainly wasn’t bashful about speaking her mind. But at least she was smart enough to know when arguments were useless.

His smile faded as he stretched out on the mattress and stared out at the stars. If he was being entirely honest with himself, despite his desire for solitude, he hadn’t really minded her presence here today. Which was troubling.

Because he had to hold himself apart. He couldn’t risk hurting someone else the way he’d hurt Gretchen.