In His Will (6 page)

The day already started building into a scorcher, and Sondra thought about changing into a lighter blouse after finishing here. First, though, she needed to add oyster shells to the feed. Searching around the barn, she spotted a small bag leaning against the wall next to the chicken feed. Unsure how much to use, she sat on the floor and cocked her head to read the bag. Still tired, she momentarily rested her cheek against another sack as she decided what else needed to be done.

❧

“Luna’s still sick.”

Her eyes shot open at the sound of Dylan’s voice.

“I noticed you already took care of the chickens—any questions?”

“No, I’m just getting oyster shells. I was figuring out how much, but it’s here on the label, so I’m set.”

Dylan fought to keep from shuffling his boots like a naughty eight-year-old. “Ma’am, I owe you an apology.”

He paused a moment when her face went a shade paler, but maybe after he cleared the air, she wouldn’t look quite so. . .wary. “I don’t hold with a man using his strength against a woman. The other day—well, I gave you ample cause to be scared. Not that I would ever do you any harm, but you don’t know me well enough to trust me yet. I stepped way over the line, prying into your personal business, too. You can be sure from here on out, I’ll keep my hands to myself and my big mouth shut.”

Her head dipped, and she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like, “Thanks.” Dylan figured that was the best he’d get out of her—better than he deserved.

He headed out to give the men their daily orders. When he finished, he remembered he needed to tell Sondra about the feed bill. Dylan looked around and realized he hadn’t seen her come back out of the barn. He found her exactly where he’d left her—sitting on the floor, her temple resting against a green-and-white-checkered feed sack. Sleepy-eyed, she stared at her hands in her lap.

She didn’t even realize he’d come close enough to touch her, so he quietly hunkered down to keep from startling her. Apparently, she’d lost track of the last twenty minutes. Dylan noted the dark circles under her eyes and her marked pallor.

He had stayed away all day yesterday in order for his temper to cool. At first, he could hardly fathom how a gent-down-to-the-sole-of-his-boots like Miller ever set aside his scruples enough to dally with a woman one-third his age. Then he admitted to himself that Sondra happened to be a stunning woman, and Miller probably didn’t stand a chance against her feminine wiles. At least he now understood why Miller left the ranch to her. His child should inherit the land. The fact that he’d been generous enough to leave Dylan any land or livestock bespoke a deep level of personal regard.

Dylan used that time to face the cold, hard truth and came to accept the disappointment—after a year, he wasn’t going to be able to buy the rest of the ranch. He owed it to the old man to help keep the place in prime condition until his child could take over. The years of commitment were staggering, but he’d do it for Miller.

Having arrived at that decision, getting along with Sondra ought to be easier. Certainly a working relationship between them needed to be forged. He’d offended Sondra. Now that he looked at her again, he revised his thinking once more. She seemed more like the lost-and-lonely variety. Presumably, she gravitated toward Miller in her grief, and things just kind of happened.

He felt guilty as a hound with a mouthful of chicken feathers. He’d spent the last thirty-six hours bitterly recriminating himself for how he’d treated her. He’d acted on sheer impulse and scared the daylights out of her. Dylan couldn’t remember ever being so out of control, and it disgusted him that he’d frightened a small, pregnant woman. He’d never been more serious in his life than when he’d vowed he’d never do that again.

Watching her now, Dylan purposefully kept his voice low and mild. “Ma’am, if you’re this miserable with morning sickness, why don’t you stay in bed until a bit later?”

“I haven’t had morning sickness for months,” she muttered.

He shelved that piece of information to process later. For now, helping her seemed to be the priority. He’d been foolish enough to give her cause to loathe his contact. Limited to making a connection with speech, he ventured, “You’re not sleeping worth a hoot, are you?”

Sondra gave him a helpless look, but she said nothing. Her defenseless expression cut him to the heart. The eloquent ache in her eyes transcended language. As if too exhausted to do or say a thing, she leaned back into the feed sack, and her eyes drifted shut.

Dylan eliminated the small space between them. “Bedtime, city-girl,” he whispered in Sondra’s fiery hair as he hitched her high against his chest. In just those few seconds, scorching heat burned through her shirt and his. Resting his jaw along her temple, he confirmed her fever. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

Six

“Not sick,” Sondra muttered, “just pregnant.”

“You’re hot as the devil’s skillet.” He strode toward the door. “Luna probably gave you whatever he has.”

“Just hot.” Being jostled seemed to awaken her a bit. “Need to change into a cooler blouse.”

“Sondra, you’re burning up.”

“No time to be sick. I’ll just get a drink of water and—”

“Go straight to bed,” Dylan cut in. “If you want, I’ll even bring you a baby chick to hold.”

“Don’t start being nice to me now,” she whispered brokenly. “Don’t you dare. I can’t take it.”

His heart twisted. The woman in his arms was weak and small as a freshly hatched chick, and—his thoughts stalled when her baby somersaulted. Dylan felt the movement clearly to the marrow of his bones. No matter what feelings he had about getting saddled with watching her ranch and missing the chance to purchase the land he craved, he still couldn’t abandon his basic protective urge.

“Put me down. I can walk. I promise I’ll take a nap in a little while.”

“Shush. You’ll take more than a nap. You’re staying in bed ’til Doc gives you an all clear.”

“The doctor in town won’t take care of me.”

He carried her across the barnyard, and Nickels hightailed it to intercept them. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sondra whispered faintly.

“Nothing, my foot! She’s taken sick.” Dylan kept right on moving. He shouldered his way into her door. Suddenly, Sondra’s fingers scrabbled across his chest as she weakly tried to push away. Dylan reflexively tightened his hold.

Sondra let out a garbled, frantic, “Sick!”

That one word turned out to be a very pale warning for how violently ill she got. She’d been weak before that episode; afterward the woman was positively helpless. Dylan carried Sondra to the master bedroom, laid her on the bed, and gritted his teeth at the sight of her. The woman was just plain too thin. Dylan turned her face back to his. “Where do you keep your nighties?”

“Don’t fit anymore,” she quavered. “I wear Kenny’s T-shirts. Second drawer.”

Dylan yanked open the drawer. A dead man’s shirts lay there in two neatly folded stacks.
They’re just shirts.
“Here.”

“Thank you.” Hotter than hot, she still took the thin cotton garment from him.

Dylan left her some privacy, then stalked back in the room only long enough to take her temperature and follow it up with a glass of water. Needing to put some space between them, he went back out to the living room and plopped down on the couch as he grabbed for the phone.

It wasn’t until then he noticed the stacks of boxes with a moving company’s name emblazoned across them. Here and there, she’d already set out a few things. The place smelled of fresh-baked bread and lemon furniture polish. Instead of the well-worn, slightly dusty-and-rumpled look, the living room now carried a tidy, welcoming air. The woman acted like a little hen, setting up her nest.

Dylan mentally kicked himself. He should have asked his sister to round up a few neighbors to come help Sondra settle in. As soon as she got well, he’d pass the word that the little gal needed a bit of company and a helping hand to finish sprucing up the place. In spite of her feisty streak, he sensed a shyness about her. He’d nudge Teresa to help Sondra move in and make friends. She wouldn’t be well enough to go to church day after tomorrow, but he’d invite her to start going to worship once she recovered. The worn-looking Bible on the end table told him her heart was in the right place.

He sighed and dialed the doctor. “Michelle? Dylan Ward. Let me talk to Doc.”

“You okay, Dylan?”

“I’m fine. Listen—Sondra Thankful is sick. Probably the flu, but I don’t like the way she looks.”

“Isn’t she the pregnant woman who came in yesterday?”

He didn’t know she’d already gotten hooked up with Doc. It showed common sense and caution. “Yeah, she’s in the family way.”

“Sorry, Dylan. I tried to explain it to her yesterday. Doc doesn’t treat pregnant women. His malpractice insurance is too high if he does.”

“I’m asking him for advice about the flu, not the baby.”

“He can’t advise you since the patient is pregnant.”

They went round and round until Dylan hung up in disgust. Then he heard Sondra stumble into the bathroom and retch. She slumped against the side of the tub afterward. “I’m okay. You can go home.”

“Not a chance.” Dylan lifted her and slipped her back into bed. She’d started shivering, so he tucked the sheet back up to her neck. “Let me make a few phone calls. You need to see a doctor—have him give you a quick look-see.”

He ended up driving her back to her old obstetrician over an hour away. Luckily, the office was on the ground floor, because Sondra adamantly insisted upon walking in under her own steam. The receptionist jumped to her feet as soon as she spotted Sondra. “Come on in. I have an empty exam room.”

Sondra shuffled toward the connecting door, and Dylan’s hand shot out to twist the knob. He warned under his breath, “I’m coming back there with you. Don’t you dare kick up a fuss.”

Sondra’s legs began to buckle. Wordlessly he scooped her up, strode forward, and laid her in the room. She’d grown even hotter during the ride, and her lethargy couldn’t bode well. Bright red fever flags rode her cheeks, but otherwise, the woman was whiter than the paper on the exam table.

The doctor came in. His face puckered with concern. He peeked at something on her chart, set it aside, and drew closer to examine Sondra. Within mere minutes, he observed, “Mrs. Thankful, you’ve obviously contracted a nasty virus.”

Sondra lay there, eyes closed, silent as a stone. Dylan wondered if she’d passed out.

The doctor continued, “You’re badly dehydrated again.”

Her eyes fluttered open. They were luminescent from tears and fever. “Please don’t put me back in the hospital.”

Back in the hospital?
She’d been in the hospital already for something? Dylan scowled. This didn’t sound good at all. Sondra didn’t look any better than she sounded. Hopeless. That’s how she looked. Her faint voice carried that tone, too.

The nurse gave her arm a compassionate stroke. “Sondra, at least there’s someone at the hospital to take care of you.”

Horrified by that justification, Dylan blurted out, “I’ll take care of her.”

❧

Much later that evening, Dylan turned off the bedroom light. He’d never seen a more pathetic sight. From the nurse’s comments while they waited for a bag of IV fluid to finish draining into Sondra, Dylan gleaned she’d reached her sixth month of pregnancy. Kenny accompanied her to the doctor’s office for her very first visit and impressed the nurse with how proud and attentive he’d been.

And I thought the kid was Miller’s.
She clings to a stupid flannel shirt—I was an idiot to ignore how deeply she loved her husband and make such an assumption.
The thermometer registered her as too hot to wear one of those flannel jobs, but Dylan knew how much comfort she got from them, so he’d quietly tucked a shirt under the sheet with her when he’d gotten her back home.

She curled around it, smiled like she’d been given the key to heaven’s pearly gates, and slipped right off to sleep.

On top of it all, Dylan felt a terrible sense of emptiness. He’d never once had a woman love him. Not like that. Not with all of her heart, the kind of love that went even beyond the grave. Sure, there had been girlfriends—but none of them ever came close to working out. Ken Thankful might be dead, but he’d been an incredibly lucky man to have had that kind of utter devotion.

Seven

It had been a bad night. Sondra looked completely wiped out. Bless her heart, though, she’d never once complained. In fact, Dylan found her up twice and scolded her for not calling out to get help.

As the sun peeked through the window, Dylan brought her some juice and set a plate of crackers at the bedside. “Sondra, I’ve called my sister, Teresa. She’s coming to stay with you. I think you’ll like her.”

She stared bleakly at the wall and nodded.

Worry speared through him. “Still feeling the baby move?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Those kicks are a reminder of your husband’s love.”

She weakly rested a hand on her tummy. “This is all I have left. It’s just him and me now.”