To Know Her by Name (7 page)

“But you're not that curious?”

Pup didn't immediately reply. “I knew what Govern was like. I'm sure you were hunting him for a good reason.”

McKay's face was a mixture of regret and resignation. “There was a good reason, but I'm still sorry he's dead. I really thought I could reason with him.”

“Then you didn't know Govern at all,” Pup said softly, and this time moved out the door.

6

“This is Mud,” Pup said by way of explanation the following afternoon.

McKay stared up at the grubby-looking man and then at Pup, but she had no other comment for him.

“There's hot water on the stove, Mud, and I'll be in the yard if you need me. Be careful around that wound or he'll be bleeding again.”

McKay could not believe his ears when she said this, walked from the room, and shut the door behind her.

“Did she mean something by that?” McKay asked with quiet incredulity the moment they were alone.

“Pup said you needed a bath and a message sent.” Mud took a step toward the door as he said this since he was not exactly thrilled with his task. “If she was wrong, I'll be on my way to town.”

McKay was surprised, but he wasn't about to let this opportunity slip away.

“As a matter of fact I would enjoy cleaning up some, and I'm quite desperate to send word to someone in Denver.”

Mud nodded, his face resigned. “I'll get some water. You got any shaving gear?”

“In the saddlebags,” McKay told him, and the two of them went to work. It wasn't without its embarrassment or pain, but Mud cracked a few jokes to lighten the mood, and the job got done. McKay was well spent by the time he wrote out his message, but he managed the words.

“The office might be closed,” Mud warned him as he put the scrap of paper in his pocket.

“All right.” At the moment McKay was too tired to care. His voice said as much. “At least I tried.”

Mud's heart was wrung with compassion. To be shot and weak and living with Pup Jennings, who didn't say two words in a month, must be almost more than any man could bear.

“I'll get there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. If you think of it you could also let that livery know that I haven't stolen their horse.”

Mud nodded and stuck his hand out. McKay shook it, a smile lighting his tired features.

“I'll stop back and let Pup know if I got the job done.”

McKay's brow creased with thought. “Why do people call her Pup?”

Mud's head went back with laughter, showing a surprisingly even line of teeth. “You stick around here long enough, and you'll figure it out.”

He exited on those words, and McKay was left on his own to ponder what he might have meant.

“He's all set,” Mud said by way of greeting when he found Pup hanging clothes. As a child he'd known what day of the week it was by the jobs his mother did. She always did laundry on Mondays, and always first thing in the morning. Pup did laundry when her clothes were dirty. And if they didn't dry before dark, she left them out all night.

“Is he bleeding again?”

“No, but that dressing needs to be changed. I concentrated on the rest of him. He gave me a note.”

“Good.”

“Do you want to read it?”

“Why would I need to do that?”

“He's living in your house, Pup! Don't you care?”

She didn't answer, so Mud took the paper and thrust it into her hand.

“I'm not delivering no message that brings even more people to this mountain than we've already got—so read it!”

Pup's eyes dropped to the paper that she held lightly in her fingers.

Carlyle Crawford

Denver Colorado.

GH dead. Laid up in Boulder.

Will contact when able. MH
.

She handed the note back to him.

“Send it,” Pup said simply. “If it draws a crowd, then we'll deal with it.”

Mud pushed the note back into his pocket and turned away. He'd tied his horse to a tree branch, and now went and climbed into the saddle. He spoke just before he rode out.

“He's weak, but it won't be long before he's up and around.”

Pup nodded. “Then he can be on his way.”

“Is that what you really want, Pup?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was better looking after I shaved him.”

Pup laughed at this, and Mud grinned at her before heeling his mount down the path.

“I've got some rabbit in the pan out here,” Pup said as she went to McKay's door much later that day. “Do you want some?”

“Yes, please.”

She started away, but McKay's voice stopped her.

“Callie?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for sending Mud.”

“You're welcome.”

She left, and McKay was given a few more moments to ponder how quiet she was. He had a sudden idea.

“I can try to manage this plate on my own,” he said as soon as she came back, “if you want to bring your own food in.”

“I'm not hungry right now,” she informed him calmly. “Do you want help with this?”

“I can do it on my—” McKay began, but he stopped short. “Yes, thank you,” he finally managed, and watched as she settled down with the plate, holding it competently so he could eat.

Tonight the food was different. She had not thrown everything into a stewpot as usual. The plate held mashed potatoes, pieces of rabbit, and an unidentified green, leafy pile. The rabbit took some chewing, and the potatoes were only half-mashed and very dry. The green leafy stuff was not completely tasteless, but even after McKay had it in his mouth he did not recognize it. The coffee, however, was delicious.

“You make good coffee.”

“Thank you.”

McKay chewed for a moment. “You don't say much, do you?”

“Not if I don't have anything to say.”

He wasn't at all surprised by her logic. Having spent only a few days in her presence, McKay was still certain that he had her figured out. She was clearly a simple woman with simple tastes. She hadn't been willing to go into town for him, but she'd found someone who was. Even if she hadn't done that, he could not fault her care of him; he would have certainly died without her intervention.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Callie?”

“No.”

“How long had Govern been here when I arrived?”

“Not long. Twenty minutes, half an hour at the most.”

“What was he doing?”

“Looking for money.”

McKay stopped to take a bite, his face thoughtful.

“What day is this again?”

“Wednesday. You were shot a week ago yesterday.”

“And I bled a lot?”

“Yes.”

“But the bullet's out?”

“Yes.”

“What are the chances Mud will actually send that telegram?”

“If he can send it, he will.”

“And the horse—if Mud gets to the livery—is the owner going to come looking for his horse?”

“Where'd you go? Mickey's?”

“Yeah.”

“He'll be fine. He'll charge you for every day, but he doesn't rile easily.”

“Have you seen Jubal lately?”

If he had planned to surprise her, it didn't work.

“No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“What's he going to say when he learns that Govern is dead?”

“I can't say as he'll be too happy, but he won't be surprised.”

“Do you know Jubal very well?”

“About as well as I knew Govern.”

“And you don't have any clue as to where he might be?”

“No.”

She continued to hold the plate, offering the coffee once in a while. McKay began to know real pity for her. What a lonely life she led, but then maybe it wasn't. In truth she didn't appear to be all that bright; she showed so little curiosity or interest in things. Maybe it was like that when you were so cut off from town. If this were all she'd ever known, then she probably wasn't lonely at all.

“Do you want more?”

“No, I'm done. Thank you.”

“I have some berries if you'd like something sweet.”

McKay looked into her face. Her voice was kind and so were her actions, but her face was so difficult to read.

“I appreciate the offer of the berries—they sound good—but I've had enough. Thank you.”

She nodded, and McKay felt at a loss to say more. Pup left a moment later but was back swiftly, clean rags in her hand to change his dressing. Neither one of them spoke while she worked, but McKay's mind was busy. He lay looking at the door for a long time after she left. His Bible lay on the bed next to him, and without opening it he placed his hand on the cover. There was really no way for him to repay Callie Jennings for all she had done, but just maybe he could give her something that held greater value than gold.

He planned to pray for her for quite some time, but all of a sudden he was tired. If he'd been home, his father or mother might have sat with him until he slept, but here he was left alone. That very fact caused him to pray all the more for his hostess, but sleep still crept in to claim him. In fact, he was out hard when Pup came to check on him.

She stood quietly by the side of the bed. Even without McKay's eyes on her, her face was unreadable. He would have been surprised to know that she was silently agreeing with Mud. Without a week's worth of growth on his face, McKay Harrington was very good-looking indeed.

Pup stepped from the cabin the next morning and nearly fell over Mud. He was sitting on her front porch, half-lying actually, his head in his hands.

“Another all-nighter, Mud?” she inquired kindly.

“Yeah. Percy always warns me to start home even if it's dark, but I never listen. You got some coffee?”

“Yeah. I'll get you a cup.”

Pup brought two and then sank down on the step next to her neighbor. They drank in silence for a time, and Pup refilled their cups. The sun was breaking through the trees when Mud spoke.