West Winds of Wyoming (21 page)

Mr. Hutton was nestled in his bed, his face a warm-looking pink, dotted now with a multitude of tiny, red spots. He breathed deeply, making the sheet that was lying around his face ripple every time he exhaled. His damp chestnut hair stuck to his forehead, telling her his fever was still running hot.

Dr. Thorn had instructed to let the illness run its course—as if they could do otherwise—and see to his comfort. Do her best to keep his temperature down with drinks of cool water. If that didn’t work, and Mr. Hutton became agitated, she was to send Penny for Dr. Thorn right away.

Brenna’s mind warred with the questions of what the doctor meant by
too hot
and who would teach the class tomorrow. Guilt squeezed inside when she realized she was a bit relieved she’d been granted a reprieve from telling him she’d forgotten to order the math books. In no way was she happy he was sick, but she was relieved she’d have a little more time to rectify her blunder. Perhaps the books would arrive before he made it back to class.

When the teakettle whistled, Brenna hurried to sweep it off the heat. She poured the steaming water into a large mug, then found a knife, finely chopped a sprig of the willow bark, and dropped the bits into the blue-and-white cup. The tidbits floated around the surface like tiny boats. She set the concoction aside to steep. With that done, she tried the soup, making sure it was tepid and not hot.

A hacking cough sounded from the bedroom, followed by a groan, then a gasp. Mr. Hutton was awake.

When Brenna peeked in, his eyes moved to the doorway.

“Hello,” she said gently.

“I feel horrible. You should stay away.” His voice came out in a garbled, gravelly whisper.

“Yes, I know. I’ve made you some willow bark tea. It should help the pain in your throat and head. Would you like me to get it?”

He nodded.

Brenna departed and returned with the cup and a cloth. She set them on his bedside table. Grasping his upper arm, she helped him to sit up. When that was accomplished, she propped one of his pillows behind his back. His face scrunched as his Adam’s apple bobbed again. Why did a sore throat cause a greater impulse to swallow? She settled back in the chair and picked up the cup, stirring briskly to cool down the liquid. After a second she leaned forward and held out a spoonful of the liquid.

He blew on the tea first, then carefully sipped out of the spoon. They repeated the process several times. When he’d taken about a quarter of the cup, she set the mug aside and refreshed the damp cloth for his forehead.

“You don’t have to stay and take care of me, Mrs. Lane. I’m sure you have other things to do. Your children must need you. I can manage now.”

Did he think she was overstepping? “They’re all off at church.”

“Ah, yes. Church.”

He had an air of fragility about him. As though what he was saying and what he really wanted were two different things. He gazed at her and when he tried to swallow, his face pinched in pain.

“You let me worry about what I should be doing, Mr. Hutton. There’s nothing on my list of things to do that can’t wait a day or two.” She thought of Mr. Rose’s clothes. He’d never mentioned about being in any great hurry to get them. “Can you take the rest of the tea now?”

His eyes darted over to the table, and he winced.

“Your head still hurt?”

“Yes.”

“The tea will take a good half hour to get into your system. Until then, just lie back quietly and close your eyes—that is, after you finish the rest of the cup.”

Brenna helped him, then adjusted the folded cloth on his forehead. “When you feel better I have some chicken soup on the stove. It’s important that you keep up your strength. When your throat feels better, I’ll help you eat a little.”

He closed his eyes but one second later they popped open full of panic. “School starts tomorrow.”

“I know. I haven’t been able to think of anything else. What should we do? The children are excited to start back. Shall I tell them school’s been postponed for two or three weeks?”

She was aware of his scrutiny as the clock on the dresser marked the seconds. “No. It’s important to keep our schedule. You take the class, Mrs. Lane.”

Brenna straightened and blinked several times, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “Me?”

He nodded.

Dread rose inside her. No way in heaven was she able to do this. But also, she didn’t want to appear like a frightened child. She’d somehow get him to see the light. “You understand I have no teaching experience whatsoever.”

“I do now.”

“My expertise is with mending, cooking, and cleaning.”

His gaze softened, and a whisper of a smile play around his lips. “You can do it, Mrs. Lane. In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve come to see that you can do anything you set your mind to. You’re exceptional with the children. And patient. More patient than I, if I dare to say honestly. I’ll write up an outline that tells you what to do each day.”

She stood.
Tomorrow
was Monday. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a way to make him understand. “Anyone is more qualified than I am, Mr. Hutton. I don’t want this responsibility.” Her mind raced through the townspeople hoping to sway him away from this harebrained idea. “Maude Miller, Jessie Logan, Hannah Donovan come to mind. Or even Betty Brinkley. She was the chairwoman of the school board for years. I can’t think of a person better to take over for you.”

Holding the cup now, Mr. Hutton swallowed the rest of his willow bark tea and set the empty container back on the side table. “I don’t know any of those women beyond hello.” His voice sounded like a sick frog’s. “But I’ve observed you long enough to know you’ll do fine. And I’ll give you the pay that I’d be receiving for that time.”

He waved his hand, stopping her protestations, then cupped the front of his throat, pain shadowing his eyes. “I need to rest the inside of my pharynx, Mrs. Lane.” He punctuated his sentence with a scrunched-up face as he once again swallowed. “As far as I’m concerned, the subject is closed.”

When she didn’t respond he smiled, his face resembling one of Mrs. Hollyhock’s speckled hens, only red and not black. “Please? The children need you. I need you. And it won’t last forever.”

She was in over her head for sure. She should have known better—much better—than to volunteer for the board position. What had she been thinking? That led to this, and who knew what else could be next. She was just the daughter of a dirt-poor, illiterate miner, with no aspirations beyond putting food on the table and a roof over their heads.

She stifled a nervous shiver. If it were anyone besides Mr. Hutton doing the asking, she’d tell him no. Did he know how charming he looked, even sick as a trampled gopher, when he looked at her like that? His concerned hazel gaze seemed to reach deep into her heart.
Yes, he must. That’s why he’s doing it. Has probably charmed more than his fair share of women back East and I’m easy game. There, that expression—where he looks like a gloomy little pup—he knows he has me right where he wants me, and I have no power to tell him no. I may as well admit the truth. I’ll help him in whatever he needs, anytime he asks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

W
ith aching shoulders and a damp shirt, Charlie rode Georgia under the
COTTON RANCH
sign and asked his mare for an easy lope by squeezing his legs. At a leisurely pace, they made for the ranch house a quarter mile away. The sky had darkened earlier today and now several weighty gray clouds filled the horizon, promising a good dose of rain before long.

Even with him doing most of the work, Mrs. Hollyhock’s wash had taken two hours. He would have been able to get the chore done more quickly if the old woman hadn’t insisted on helping—while talking his head off. The yards of linen were awkward and tough to work with. He’d never imagined it took such strength to stir them in the boiling water with the wooden paddle. Then they had to hang them out. No wonder Brenna worried about her old friend doing such strenuous work.

Finally finished, he’d taken on her woodpile, split some logs and stacked them close to the back door. Once, feeling like he was being watched, he discovered Miss Beth Fairington peeking from behind the curtain in her bedroom. Then, with a few more odds and ends around the inn, the day had passed quickly.

As he drew closer to the house a prickle of alarm started in his belly. Chairs and tables were scattered about. He recognized Seth’s footstool. Nell’s bookcase. What was going on? Had they been raided? He didn’t see Nell, Seth, or Dog anywhere.

He urged Georgia faster, galloping into the yard. He dismounted in one motion and tossed his reins over the hitching rail. Fearful, he took the stairs two at a time and went inside. “Nell?” he shouted. The gutted kitchen—what had happened? His heart picked up at the thought of trouble. “Seth? Anyone here?”

Nell stepped out from behind the stairs, her gun strapped to her hip, her face sweaty and red, and her shirt unbuttoned and exposing her chemise. None of that meant a whit to Charlie. Her frightened eyes were what scared him. He covered the distance between them and gripped her by the shoulders. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

She straightened. Relief washed over her face. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. Spit it out.”

“When I heard your horse, I had a strange feeling and went inside. That’s all.”

Nell? Afraid of a rider? That doesn’t make any sense at all.
“Why didn’t you just wait to see who was coming? You would’ve been able to see me soon enough.” Aware he was still holding her by her shoulders, he gave a gentle shake. “Nell? What’s going on?”

She stepped back and his hands fell away. Embarrassment replaced the relief in her eyes.

“Nell?”

“Earlier today a rider was on the ridge watching me. I didn’t see him until I sat down in the yard.”

“Sat in the yard?”

She held out a red-tipped finger. The action reminded him of Maddie and he had to stifle the urge to kiss it and make it better.

“I bent my fingernail and the pain was unbearable. I sat down until most of the pain had passed.”

“You didn’t recognize him? You sure he wasn’t someone you know?”

The curls that had broken free from her braid bounced when she shook her head. “No. He was too far away.”

“And Dog? Did he put up a racket?” Charlie glanced around and out the door. “Where is the mutt, anyway?”

“Gone with Seth this morning.”

Her soulful amber eyes took him in from head to toe, almost making him blush. “You’re sure he was watching you?”

“Gosh, Charlie. Pretty sure.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What other business would he have up there?”

Charlie walked over to the counter in the empty kitchen and leaned back, studying her. The rider could’ve been anyone. A drifter. A rancher taking a short cut. But maybe it was his past catching up to him. Had Galante found him? He didn’t want to think that. He wanted to get his life back in order again with Maddie and start living—the sooner the better.

Nell’s fear was unusual, though. Strange, really, that she would be so shaken. “That’s your land up there?”

“Yes.”

“It’s clear to me you were fearful of him. Why, Nell? I have to admit I’m surprised. Seems you’ve stayed out here by yourself before with no problem. You obviously weren’t scared of being alone then. What’s changed?”

Nell turned away, pretending, he was sure, to glance out the window. Her hand went down and caressed the handle of her gun. “Nothin’, Charlie. The rider just gave me the creeps because once I spotted him I didn’t know how long he’d been watching me. Would you like someone peeping in on you?” Her tone was defensive. She glanced down and quickly buttoned her shirt. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

When she turned back, a shadow of insecurity crossed her eyes. In actuality, she was young. At most times, her toughness seemed to mask that fact, but she was having a hard time of it now. He wanted to close the distance between them again and this time wrap Nell into his embrace. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? Not much. On my next trip into the house, I strapped on my gun, making my job of lugging furniture around twice as difficult. When I looked up the hill again, he was gone.”

Something didn’t quite add up, but questioning her more now wasn’t going to get him anywhere. She’d also been skittish the day he’d arrived, when he’d met her in the barn at the end of her gun. That wasn’t the reception he’d been anticipating after talking with Sheriff Preston. He’d keep his wits about him and try to figure this out.

She took a deep breath and the smile returned to her face. “But you’re home now and I’m glad.”

The warmth in her smile charmed him. “And it’s this special thing you have with animals that tells you I’m a good guy, not like the stranger on the hill?”

“No. It’s your clean teeth and the nice way you take care of Georgia.”

Her impish smile zipped through his heart like a bolt of lightning, down his legs all the way to his feet, scorching the ground where he stood. “You’re teasing me?”

She shook her head. “I never tease, Charlie Rose. I thought you knew that by now.”