Dorothy Garlock (24 page)

“No!” The strangled cry brust from her throat. “Noooo . . .” she whispered hoarsely, and the word was a sob in her throat. She rolled her head from side to side. The eyes that clung to Willa’s face were wild and bright. “That . . . that bastard come in my h-house! I gotta get up. Fanny’ll come. Fanny’ll . . . run him off—”

“Don’t move!” Willa said quickly. “We’ve got your leg
laid out straight. Mr. Coe is making splints to keep it still until the doctor gets here.”

“I ain’t . . . havin’ no dad-blasted butcher—” Maud almost choked on the words.

“Calm down. Please lie quietly. It’ll not hurt nearly as much if you stay still. Mr. Coe has some laudanum. It’ll help you rest until the doctor gets here.”

“No!” Maud’s claw-like hand clutched at Willa. “Noooo . . .” she screeched. “He’ll kill me!”

“No,” Willa said soothingly. “I’ll be here. He’ll set your leg and look at your hip. He’ll tell me how to take care of you.”

“He’ll kill m-me—” Maud began to cry.

“Doctors take an oath to help people—”

“Not the doctor, ya stupid fool! Smith! Smith will . . . kill me!”

“Smith? You’re wrong. He helped me get you up here. He has sent someone to fetch the doctor.”

“He’ll kill me!” Maud tried to rear up, but Willa held her down.

“Don’t distress yourself, Mrs. Eastwood. Mr. Bowman won’t harm you. I would bet my life on it.”

“But . . . but . . . he killed Oliver!” Maud began to cry in earnest.

Willa looked down at the woman in open-mouthed amazement. Why would she say such a thing unless it were true? Willa tried not to think of it as she washed as much of Maud as she could without disturbing her leg and her hip and then worked a nightdress over her head. The dresser drawers were full of gowns, stockings and underclothing that had never been worn. When she finished dressing Maud she found a hairbrush and brushed her hair and plaited it.

“Don’t worry about anything but staying still. I’ll be right
here with you. No one will hurt you. I promise. I’ve had some experience in nursing, Mrs. Eastwood. My mother was a good nurse and she taught me a lot. You need to eat something, then rest as much as you can. I know you’re in pain, but don’t you feel better now that you’re clean?”

It was hard to gauge Maud’s reaction to what was being done for her. After her storm of weeping she lay as limp as a rag, her eyes closed. She continued to breathe steadily.

Willa carried the pail of water to the water closet at the end of the hall. She wondered if she could dump the water in the closet bowl, but decided against it because it looked as if it hadn’t been used for years.

She paused unnoticed in the doorway of the kitchen when she reached it. Smith was scraping the inside of an iron skillet. Water on the cookstove was sending up a cloud of steam. A washtub had been brought in and placed on two facing kitchen chairs. It was full of dirty dishes and hot soapy water. Jo Bell, with her arms in dishwater up to her elbows, was washing the dishes and putting them in another tub of hot water. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She sniffed and every so often she sobbed.

“Hush up your dammed snivelling and scald the dishes. Godamighty! You make more noise than a dying calf.” The hard tone in Smith’s voice left no room for argument.

Willa was sure that no man had ever talked to Jo Bell in that tone of voice and that she was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that she hadn’t charmed Smith as she had charmed other men.

The kitchen now looked and smelled like a different room. The cabinet had been washed; its doors and drawers hung open to allow it to dry. The tin flour bin and sifter had been washed. The table, chairs, and even the cookstove had been scrubbed. Cobwebs had been swept from the walls and ceiling
and the floor was still wet with soapsuds. The rank offensive odor had been replaced with the scent of wet wood and strong lye soap.

Smith turned to face Willa. Neither spoke while they studied each other. His blond hair was damp with sweat and curled close to his head. He was tall and broad and, she supposed, handsome in a completely masculine way. Willa seemed to lose herself in the depth of his green eyes. He appeared to be less dangerous here than he had been at Byers’ Station, but Maud’s words continued to pound in her head.
He killed Oliver.
She wanted to ask him if it were true; and if he had done such a terrible deed, why was he still here.

The curious stillness between them, the waiting uneasy silence that deepened, seemed to push them apart. Only Willa’s thick-lashed eyes and the faint color that lay across her cheeks betrayed the fact that she was not completely at ease.

“You’ve done a lot in a short time,” she said, feeling the need to break the terrible silence.

“Billy and Charlie helped.” Smith continued to study her thoughtfully. Damp hair stuck to her forehead and she looked tired enough to drop. “Maud still alive?” he asked bluntly.

“Of course, or I’d have told you. It’s hard to tell if she’s sleeping or if she’s just ignoring me.”

“Billy will be in to help you put the splints on her leg.”

“I’d like to do that before I try to feed her something. Afterwards I’ll give her a few drops of the laudanum. She’s in a lot of pain.” Willa crossed the room to the door and threw the water out into the yard. “Where is Buddy?”

“He’s all right. He’s with Charlie.”

“I . . . wish I was—”

Willa glanced at Jo Bell and away. Embarrassed, she didn’t think the girl’s comment worthy of a response. She glanced quickly at Smith and saw the frown on his face deepen.

“Mrs. Eastwood’s room is so full I hardly have room to move around. Will it be all right if I take some of the things out and put them in the storage room at the end of the hall?”

Smith shrugged. “Do what you want if you can stand her yelling about it.” His voice was brisk.

“There are quilting frames, coats and dresses, and stacks of catalogs. There’s even a stereopticon still in the box. Other boxes with views of Norway, Sweden and Denmark look as if they’ve never been opened. I’ll need help getting that stuff out of there.”

“Charlie will help you.”

“How come Charlie can help her ‘n’ he can’t help me?” Jo Bell broke into a fresh spat of sobbing.

Shocked by the intensity of her disgust with the girl, Willa hurriedly left the room.

Smith watched her go. Willa Hammer was unlike any woman he had ever met—soft, pretty as a wild rose, calm, sensible, and compassionate. He wondered for a brief instant about this awful physical attraction he felt for her. He needed a woman, he decided, any woman to whisper sexy words in his ear, to look at him with a lustful look in her eyes.

He scowled. Hell, he didn’t need a woman who would tie him down. He swore to himself. He’d sure made a mess of things. He’d give a farm in Georgia, if he had one, if he hadn’t kissed her and started all these fanciful wonderings.

*  *  *

By evening Willa was so tired she felt dull and dim-witted. Maud’s room was clean and she slept, her leg held in the splints and wrapped with soft cloth. Fresh air came in through the partly opened window. The room was neat; and although it was not as clean as Willa wanted it to be, it would have to do. A china pitcher and bowl sat on the commode and clean
towels hung on the rack above. A lamp with a clean chimney sat on the bedside table and cast a rosy light over the room.

Charlie had been wonderful help. After carrying out the boxes and quilting frames, he had found a rocking chair in one of the other rooms, cleaned off the dust and cobwebs and set it beside Maud’s bed. It had been his idea to ask Billy for a bucket with a lid for the soiled pads Willa took from between Maud’s legs.

Maud had become increasingly more difficult. When Willa tried to feed her the beef stew, she raved that Smith was going to poison her and refused to open her mouth. Willa reassured her by eating from the bowl and managed to get her to accept a few bites of food. After the meal Willa slipped a few drops of the laudanum in Maud’s drinking water and soon after that she was asleep.

Willa dropped wearily down in the chair beside the bed, leaned her head against the high back and watched the shadows created by the flickering lamplight play on the walls. She’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. The full day of hard work had taken a toll on her strength. She was so tired that she had no desire to stir from where she sat. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the dreamless state between repose and wakefulness. One second she was awake and the next she was asleep.

“Willa.”

From far away she heard someone speak her name. She opened her eyes, and as her vision cleared, she saw the tall man standing in the doorway. It was Smith. His intense green eyes were on her face. She looked at him dully for a moment, dark circles emphasizing the blueness of her eyes.

“Flitter! I must have fallen asleep.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Come on down and eat your supper.”

She stood and looked down at Maud to be sure she was
still sleeping, then rounded the end of the bed and headed for the door. Smith moved out of the way and she passed through. A lamp had been lit at the top of the stairs and another in the hallway below. The house was as quiet as a tomb.

“It’s a lovely house,” Willa said as they descended the stairs. “Lovely and sad. It should be lived in.”

“Only the kitchen has been lived in for the last six years.”

“Was it ever a happy place?”

“I wouldn’t know. It was off-limits to me.”

“Mice are happy here,” she said in an attempt at humor.

“They’ve got the run of the place. I’ve a notion to bring in a couple of barn cats. They’d clean them out in a hurry.”

“I hope the mice don’t chew up the books.”

“You like books?” They were at the kitchen door.

She paused and looked up at him. “I love books. If you have books and like to read, you’ll never be lonely.”

“I never had much time for it.”

“There’s a wonderful library here—”

“I know, but I’ve not seen it.”

Willa walked ahead of him into the well-lighted kitchen. It was spotlessly clean. A cloth covered the table. The lamp chimneys glistened and the copper teakettle sent up a plume of steam. A lamp sat on the table, another in a wall bracket over the work counter. A delicious aroma came from the pot bubbling on the stove.

“A good cleaning does wonders,” Willa said softly, then smiled, causing her eyes to glow. “It smells different, too.”

“Amen to that. Billy sent in a pot of stew and fresh bread.”

“I didn’t realize it, but I’m starved.”

“Sit down and dig in,” Smith took a bowl from the shelf above the work counter and filled it from the pot on the stove.

“I can do that. I’m not used to being waited on.” Willa was at the wash basin washing her hands.

“I’m not used to waiting on anyone, so we’re even. Sit.”

She did, and helped herself to a slice of sourdough bread and spread it with butter.

“Has everyone else had supper?”

“All but the little twit. She was so put out because she had to work that she refused supper, thinking to make her brother feel guilty.”

“Does he? Feel guilty, I mean.”

“I suppose so. Habits of years are seldom broken in a day. He keeps making excuses for her.”

Smith placed the bowl and a spoon on the table, then returned to the stove and poured coffee into two heavy china cups.

“Where is she?”

“In the wagon.” He sat down across from Willa and fastened his hands around his cup.

“She can’t stay out there by herself.”

“She can tonight. Later when the men come in she’ll have to stay in here. She’d start a war among that wild bunch.”

“How many men work here?”

“Six beside me, Plenty and Billy. Sant Rudy, a friend of mine, comes and goes as it suits him.”

“This is beautiful country. I wish I knew more about ranching.”

“Planning to take up land?” His eyes teased her.

“No.” She laughed lightly. “I plan to make my living fixing clocks.”

“Good Lord. I never heard of a woman clock-fixer.”

“You have now. I’m good at it, too.”

“Old Maud must have a couple around here that need fixing.”

“Why do you call her
old
Maud?” Willa wished immediately that she hadn’t asked the question when she saw the smile leave his eyes. A crimson tide flooded her face. “I’m
sorry. That was rude of me. Papa Igor told me repeatedly that it was not polite to pry into a person’s private affairs.”

Smith shrugged. “If that’s the case, I shouldn’t ask you about yours.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Jo Bell told you how I came to be with them. She took great delight in the telling.”

“I remember.”

Willa placed the spoon beside the bowl. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears when she looked at the man sitting across from her.

“Papa Igor did not deserve to be hanged,” she said quietly and with great dignity. “He did nothing any other man would not have done in his place. I don’t know why they burned our house and ran me out of town unless it was ignorant superstition. They might have killed me if Mr. Frank hadn’t come along and pulled me up in his wagon. I’ll tell you about it if you like. I have nothing to hide.”

Smith’s eyes searched hers for a long silent moment. He swallowed dryly as he realized she was refusing to humiliate herself by letting tears fill her eyes. A well of protectiveness surged up within him. He could see the heaving of her breasts even though the dress she wore was loose, and the thought of the sweet softness he had felt when he had held her, caused his own heart to lurch suddenly.

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

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