The Loner (13 page)

Dora snorted. “As I recall, you were set to marry some other fellow in two weeks. What happened to him?”

“I didn’t—We didn’t—I changed my mind,” she said.

“And butted into Billy’s life like a she-goat in heat,” Dora said, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve wanted my son ever since you laid eyes on him, and the minute he came back you latched onto him.”

“It’s not like that,” Summer protested. “Billy and I…” They’d been friends, just friends, for so many years. And they still were friends, with one little difference. They were also husband and wife. So what if she was physically attracted to Billy Coburn? That wasn’t why she’d married him, no matter what Dora thought. It wasn’t
even going to be a real marriage, although Summer had no intention of telling Dora that.

“Billy doesn’t need the likes of you in his life,” Dora said. “Rich, self-centered, selfish, inconsiderate—”

“That’s enough,” Summer said. She tried not to let the words hurt her. “I would never do anything—”

“Because of you, Billy left home and hasn’t been back these two years,” Dora said bitterly.

“How can you blame me—”

“If you hadn’t come sniffing around Billy, Blackjack never would’ve sicced his hired dogs on my son. I never would’ve told Blackjack the truth, and he never would’ve told Billy. Now you’re back to cause more trouble.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re a pampered brat looking for fun and games. Well, Billy isn’t some fancy pair of boots you can wear once and toss away. Best for all concerned if you pick up those bags and leave now, before you hurt my son again.”

Summer stood her ground against Dora’s verbal assault, but she was reeling. She’d known Dora wasn’t going to welcome her. But she hadn’t expected this vicious attack.

She took a deep breath and said, “I’m not leaving, Mrs. Coburn.”

“You won’t like it here,” Dora promised. “There’ll be no one to cater to your whims, no one to come at your beck and call.”

“I never expected there would be.”

“If I were healthy—” Dora cut herself off and grabbed at her chest.

“Are you all right?” Summer said, crossing toward her.

“Stay away from me,” Dora bit out.

Summer saw the pain on Dora’s face. “Would you like something cold to drink? A glass of iced tea?” she suggested, not knowing what else to do.

Dora eyed her suspiciously. “Tea. You know where to find everything?”

No sense pretending she didn’t. “Yes, I do,” Summer said. She’d spent enough time at Billy’s house when Dora and Emma were at church to know her way around the house. “Where’s Emma?” she asked as she found two fruit jars in the cupboard and headed for the refrigerator.

“Taking a nap.”

That would have sounded odd, except Summer knew Emma was pregnant. She debated whether to say anything, then decided there was no sense pretending about this, either. “Billy told me Emma’s pregnant. How far along is she?”

“Twenty weeks.”

Summer did the math in her head. Five months. She popped some ice cubes out of the tray in the freezer, then poured herself and Dora each a glass of tea, before returning the half-gallon tea jar to the refrigerator—which she noticed was filled with Tupperware containers that held what she supposed must be leftovers. Her mother gave the leftovers to the servants.

She placed Dora’s tea in front of her along with a paper towel, when she couldn’t find any napkins, then leaned back against the kitchen counter with her own tea in her hand, rather than joining Dora at the table, since
she so obviously wasn’t welcome there. She took a sip and asked, “Why aren’t you in bed, too?”

It took so long for Dora to speak that Summer thought the older woman wasn’t going to answer her. Dora sighed and said, “Got tired of lying around hurting. I can hurt just as easy sitting up.”

Summer was surprised at Dora’s admission. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

Dora shrugged. And winced. “Some.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Summer wasn’t sure what Billy’s mother might need in the way of nursing care, but she was willing to do anything she could to help.

“You can turn around and go back where you came from.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Summer said. “For Billy’s sake.”

“My boy can take care of himself,” Dora insisted.

“It isn’t himself he’s worried about,” Summer said. “It’s Will.” She hesitated. “And you.”

Dora took a sip of tea and set it back down. “What is it you think you can do for me, Mizz Blackthorne?”

“I’m a Coburn now,” Summer said.

“You’ll always be a Blackthorne, missy,” Dora shot back.

Frustrated by the older woman’s animosity, Summer said, “I’m only here to help.”

“I’m dying. Nobody can help that.”

Summer didn’t know what to say. She settled for “I’m sorry.”

“Mom? Who are you talking to?”

At the sound of Emma’s voice, Summer braced
herself. She’d had little or no contact with Billy’s sister, but Emma had been present two years ago when Dora caught Summer kissing Billy on their front porch and called her a Jezebel and a fornicator. If Blackjack’s experience with the Creed kids was any guide, Emma would likewise have learned from her parents to hate all Blackthornes.

Summer prepared herself for the animosity she expected by taking a fortifying sip of iced tea.

Emma stopped in the doorway. She was wearing a Western shirt with the tails tucked into a pair of jeans that weren’t zipped all the way up, making her pregnancy obvious, because her rounded stomach was at such odds with the rest of her tall, rail-thin body.

Emma’s gaze shot from Summer to the two bags by the door and back to Summer again at the same time as she pulled the tails out of her jeans so they overlapped the open zipper. “What’s going on?”

“Billy and I got married this morning,” Summer said. “I’m here to help out in whatever way I can.”

To Summer’s surprise, Emma didn’t raise her voice or stomp around the room ranting about the mean and ornery Blackthornes. She simply said, “I don’t see how you’re going to be any help around here.”

Summer was stung by Emma’s dismissal of her. Of course, she’d realized the same thing herself. But she wanted to help. Surely that counted for something. “I’m willing to learn whatever I need to know.”

Emma crossed her arms and said, “Mom, you should be in bed.”

“I’m fine, Emma.”

“I can see you’re in pain,” Emma said.

“Lying down isn’t going to change that,” Dora said. “Why don’t you get Summer started on the laundry? Will’s about out of the cloth diapers Billy brought with him. The disposables are too expensive for everyday.”

Summer opened her mouth to object, saw the challenging look on Dora’s face, and shut it again. Billy had said Emma usually took care of the housekeeping, but this was obviously a test to see if Summer had really meant what she’d said. “Sure,” she said to Emma. “Let’s go.”

“Follow me,” Emma said.

If Summer had thought about it, she would have realized that she hadn’t seen a washer or dryer in the house. They turned out to be hooked up in a little wooden room at one end of the back porch. Emma opened the shed door and Summer was assailed by the strong odor of ammonia.

“We leave the dirty diapers soaking in a pail of water till we’re ready to wash them,” Emma said. “You’ll need to wring them out before you put them in the washer.”

Summer stared at the washing machine. To say it was ancient would be paying it a compliment. She wondered whether she should mention to Emma that she’d never done laundry in her life, and that she had no idea how to operate a washer.

Emma had apparently assumed the worst, because she quickly explained how to start the machine, then showed Summer where the Tide and borax could be found and how much to use.

“The dryer doesn’t work,” Emma said. “When the
machine quits, you’ll need to hang the diapers on the line out back. Here’s a basket you can use to carry the diapers in. We leave the clothespins on the line.”

A moment later Emma was gone and Summer was alone. She took the lid off the diaper pail and reeled backward. “Whoa. That’s really rank.”

She reminded herself that this was a test—which both women expected her to fail. After all, she was a pampered Blackthorne, who supposedly never dirtied her hands with difficult jobs. Summer grinned. They should have seen her at the last roundup, castrating and branding calves. She’d seen and smelled far worse than what was facing her in that diaper pail.

But she’d done her ranch work wearing gloves. This job required her to reach into the pail with her bare hands, pick up a stinky diaper, and wring it out. Summer grimaced, but reminded herself women had been doing this work for as long as they’d been spinning cloth. She held her breath and reached into the pail.

Once the washer was started, she realized she might as well head back inside until it was done. She didn’t knock before she entered the house this time, and she found Emma and Dora sitting at the table in earnest conversation. Emma stopped talking the instant the screen door opened.

“There’s nothing for me to do until the washer’s done.” Summer felt foolish explaining her reappearance, because it should have been obvious why she was back. She resisted the urge to ask for another chore to keep her busy. Instead, she went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands, then refilled her glass of iced tea.

She was aware the whole time that the conversation
behind her had lapsed. She turned and leaned back against the counter. Emma eyed her, then glanced at her mother.

“I’m going to be here awhile,” Summer pointed out, setting her tea on the counter. “You might as well finish whatever it was you were saying.”

“This is family business,” Emma said. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Billy and I are married,” Summer said. “That makes me family.”

“That makes you Billy’s wife,” Emma corrected. “You can never be part of this family.”

Summer felt the flush burning its way up her throat, until she could feel the heat of it in her cheeks. Her stomach had twisted into a knot. Her hands were trembling, and she stuck them in her back pockets.

She didn’t know why Emma’s statement upset her so badly. The truth was, her marriage to Billy was intended to be a temporary situation. All she had to do was get along with Billy’s mother and sister for two years. She didn’t have to love them. And they didn’t have to like her.

“I have no intention of trying to horn in on your precious family,” Summer said irritably.

“Keep your voice down,” Emma said. “You’ll wake Will.”

At that moment, Will let out a howl.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Emma said, shoving her chair back in disgust.

“Don’t worry yourself,” Summer said, moving past her. “I woke him up. I’ll take care of him.” She marched from the kitchen in high dudgeon, realizing only as she
crossed the threshold into Billy’s bedroom that she had no idea how to comfort a crying child.

However, she’d helped deliver her share of calves and colts. How hard could it be?

Will was standing in the crib, and he greeted her appearance with an anguished wail. “It’s okay, Will,” Summer said in the voice she would have used with a newborn foal. “I’m Summer. I’m going to take care of you.”

Will wailed unhappily.

Summer glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Emma or Dora or both at any second. When no help arrived, she turned back to Will. She reached out a tentative hand to caress his sweat-damp curls, and he screeched as though she’d ripped them out at the roots.

She pulled her hand back and said, “This is silly, Will. I’m not going to hurt you.” She tried to think of what Billy had told her—that children only needed to be fed and kept dry and loved. “You’re probably hungry,” Summer said. “And no doubt you’re wet. I think maybe we better start with the loving part, since that seems to be what you need most.”

She knew that with horses you had to be firm and show who was boss, or the animal would never obey you. She slid her hands under Will’s armpits and lifted him surely and carefully into her arms. “There now,” she said, as Will settled onto her left hip. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Will stared at her from large, wide eyes every bit as dark as Billy’s, teardrops suspended from his lower eyelashes. Then he looked past her toward the door, pointed, and said, “Go see Daddy.”

“Your daddy’s working right now. He’ll be back soon.” She felt inside the leg of the romper Will was wearing and discovered he was sopping wet. “I think we’d better change this diaper.”

Really, she thought. How hard could it be?

She looked around the room for clean diapers and found a couple near his crib, along with powder and some Wet Wipes. That made sense. Remove the diaper, swipe the kid’s bottom clean, powder it, then put on another diaper. She’d seen enough movies to know that was the routine.

And enough movies making fun of helpless dads trying to perform this simple procedure to fear that it wasn’t as easy as it looked.

She collected the supplies she needed on the bed, then laid Will down, unsnapped the romper and pulled it up to expose the diaper and rubber pants. So far, so good. She tugged off the rubber pants and realized the soaked diaper was leaving a wet mark on Billy’s bedspread. She hurried to get the pins unpinned and pulled the diaper off.

Which was when she experienced the first glitch in the process.

Will immediately rolled over and started crawling away from her. She’d stuck the pins in the bedspread as she took each one out, but she was left holding a wet diaper. She looked for the diaper pail, which she realized had been moved outside so the diapers could be washed. She couldn’t leave Will alone long enough to take it out there, so she just dropped it on the floor and went scurrying around the bed to intercept the child as he dropped off the other side onto his feet.

“You can walk!” she exclaimed as Will headed for the door lickety-split.

“Daddy daddy daddy!” Will shouted.

Summer scooped him up with a laugh. “Caught you!” she said.

Will struggled to get down. When Summer held on he said, “Down down down!”

“Diaper first, young man,” Summer said, carting him back around to the side of the bed where she’d left everything. The instant she lay him on his back he rolled over and tried to escape again. She grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him back. “Come on, Will,” she said. “You need a diaper.”