“Please try to eat. It’s good. I made this batch myself. And eat some toast if you can. It’s from bread I baked this morning.”
James picked up the spoon, glad for the diversion of eating. I must be running a fever to have such thoughts about her. I want to pull her against me. Smell her hair. For heaven’s sake, she’s the mother of a patient, but she’s also a beautiful woman. Get back to a safe topic.
“This looks delicious.” The broth was golden yellow with cubes of carrots and onions and chunks of chicken. It was dotted with black pepper and herbs. He sniffed—rosemary, perhaps. The first mouthful was pure, delicious heaven. The toast was warm and crisp with a hint of butter, perfect for a queasy stomach. He gazed up from the simple meal.
His hostess sat in her rocker, knitting needles clicking and a quiet smile on her face. This is what it feels like to be at home with her. This is what I’ve been missing. The thought came upon him so strongly he dropped the spoon.
Connie started to rise. “Do you want another spoon?”
“No, I’ll get this one.” He bent over, and a wave of nausea came over him. He clutched his head and sat up. When the wave passed, he slurped from the mug. The strong tea steadied him. “This is the same tea I had here a few weeks ago. It’s very unique.” Talk about safe things, you idiot. Stop staring at her mouth. Stop thinking about kissing her neck. You’re delirious.
“Isn’t it, though?” She sipped from her own mug. “Funny about this tea. It just showed up here one day. Someone must have left it as a gift. That’s all I can figure.”
“Well, your server brought it to me without my asking. Somehow, she knew I liked my brew strong.” He drank deeply, careful now not to spill a drop.
“Faye did that? She brought you something without asking?” Connie dropped the knitting into her lap. “Faye is a very a conscientious server. She’d never presume to know what a customer wanted. She’d check and double-check an order. Are you sure it was her?”
“No, the other one. Denise, Deanna, Diana, something like that.” He bit into a slice of toast and sighed. “So good.”
“James…” He looked over at Connie’s puzzled expression, her knitting forgotten. Her expression darkened, her smooth brows drawn together.
“There’s only me, Faye, and Doris working in the café. You must mean Faye. Tall, thin, wears spectacles.”
“No.” He picked up another slice. “She’s short, plump, and wears a jangly kind of bracelet. I know Doris. She’s a friend of Mrs. Cullen. This wasn’t Doris. This gal must be one of God’s angels.” He looked over at her with a crooked grin, only half-kidding.
“I think you have a fever.” She stood, put aside the knitting, and gathered up the dishes. “Angels don’t wear jangly bracelets. Really! Bed is the best place for you.”
He shrugged. “Who’s to say what God’s messengers wear? Nevertheless, I should be going. It’s late and not proper to be in your rooms.” He stood and swayed again. “If you can help me down the stairs...”
Connie shook her head. “I’ll help you lie down. You’ll sleep on this sofa tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll get you home.” Her hands steadied and warmed him.
“But your reputation. What will people say?” His protests died as the room tilted. He grabbed for the armrest and steadied himself.
“I don’t give a fig about what people will say. You’re too ill to walk home in the cold and snow, and I can’t leave Andrew to take you. It’s past midnight, and I won’t be waking anyone else up to do it. Besides, God knows we’re not doing anything improper, and He’s the only one we’re accountable to.”
James held up his arms in protest. “All right, I’ll rest for a few hours and slip out early in the morning. Thank you, Connie. I sincerely mean that.” He was rewarded with her warm smile and deep dimples. His stomach flipped, and it wasn’t due to the influenza.
“You’re welcome. Now take off those wet boots and lie down. Here’s a warm quilt.”
She turned and snagged one from the rocker. Tugging off the boots, he nearly toppled over. Connie eased him down on the sofa, and his last memory was of her tucking a quilt under his chin as he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Morning came, and James still sprawled on Connie’s couch. She touched his head when she awoke at three a.m. to do the baking. He was warm but resting well. She hurried down to the kitchen to heat the big oven. She’d send a message to the sheriff. Jason Reynolds could post a sign so that folks knew the doctor was unavailable at least for today.
While the oven heated, she removed the cloths from the pans of sourdough she’d prepared the night before and mixed the ingredients for a double batch of sugar cookies. Now that people were doing a bit of holiday shopping, they would often stop in for a cup of coffee and a cookie or two.
She reached to the top of the cupboard where she hid the colored sugar. Andy loved the sweetening and would pour it on everything if she let him. He argued that colored sugar made oatmeal taste better. If it tasted better, he’d eat more, and didn’t his ma want him to be big and strong? She grinned, recalling the conversation, and said a quick prayer of thanks that he was improving. At the last second, she added a wish that Margaret’s Ben was improving as well.
She worked quickly and efficiently as her attention drifted to the man asleep on her sofa. Her chest warmed as she pictured him asleep, silvery brown curls mussed up, mouth open slightly. I like having this man in my quarters. She dropped a loaf pan in surprise. Never mind that. I’m being silly. A man is the last thing I have time for, especially a busy doctor who can be cross and irritable. He needs to get well and out of here. Perhaps Arianna could take a look at him.
Arianna was the closest thing to a nurse Omaha had. This town needed another doctor. It was growing so fast. James definitely could use the help. So many people were sick with this illness. Connie slid the last sheet of cookies into the oven and rewarded herself with a cup of tea and a slice of still-warm sourdough slathered in butter. I really shouldn’t use so much butter, but it’s so tasty. It was almost time for Doris to come in and start cooking for the morning rush. But for now, she had the kitchen and café to herself—her time to savor the taste of tea and her own baking and best of all, the taste of success. And oh, how she’d worked for it.
Connie had been born to parents in Council Bluffs who thought it was her duty to raise all the younger children. As soon as she could, she’d escaped across the river to Omaha and found a job as a cook. Saving every nickel possible, she’d purchased the café, improved it, and perfected her recipes. Working as much as she did, she never planned to marry and certainly didn’t want children of her own. But God’s plans for her were different. Percy Simonson strode into her life with his blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and outgoing nature. He took her breath away. They were married, and a year later, Andrew arrived. She was happier than she could have ever imagined.
Then the unthinkable happened. Percy was shot during a bank robbery. He died before James could get to him. The doctor had been away delivering a baby. By the time he reached the sheriff, it was too late. Percy had lost too much blood.
Connie roused herself. No use dwelling on the past. Percy wouldn’t like that. He always said, “A soul best get busy living or get busy dying.” She had a little boy to care for. She got busy living. Swallowing the last of the tea, she shook off her thoughts and glanced at the clock. As soon as Doris came in, she’d go check on her two men upstairs and let Jason know the doctor would not be in.
* * *
James opened one eye, his head aching. He tried again, this time managing to open both eyes. Andrew, clad in a red union suit, stood over him. “Hi, Doc. I mean James. Whatcha doin’ here?” The boy’s eyes were clear and bright. His cheeks bloomed with health.
“I came to see you last night. Your mother was worried about you.” He swung his legs to the floor. “I guess I fell asleep. You look a world better.” He glanced down. He was still clothed but his feet clad only in stockings. His b
oots sat on the hearth.
“You sick? You don’t look so good. I never figured doctors get sick.” The boy rubbed his belly. “I feel lots better. I’m getting me some breakfast. Want sumthin’?”
At the mention of food, James’s stomach roiled. “No, no thanks. I should be going. He stood and fell back on the sofa. “Maybe I’ll rest a bit more.”
“Okie dokie. See ya.” The boy scampered out of the room. Moments later, he ran down the steps, shirt flapping and a pair of dungarees pulled on over the red undergarment. James moaned, turned his head toward the wall, and slept again.
* * *
Diana pulled Margaret’s toddler Ezra into her arms for a cuddle, her bell bracelet tinkling merrily. “Gather ’round children. Sing with me, ‘Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world…’” Everything was falling into place like the Lord promised. Now she would focus on Dr. Connor.
Chapter Ten
Connie peered out the large window. J.J. Dawson swung down from his elegant black buggy and hitched the big roan to the post. Pushing back his bowler with one finger, he glared at Wild Rose’s. The front door opened and closed as patrons entered and departed.
He swaggered through the door and yanked down the cheerful bells, throwing them on the counter. Several people looked up and then returned to their food. Connie stepped back into the shadows as he scowled at Margaret waiting on a table of customers. He waited until she finished and followed her into the kitchen. When he began to yell at his sister-in-law, Connie slipped into the kitchen behind him. In his fury, he didn’t notice.
“Just what in tarnation is going on in here? What are all these people doing?” His face glowed bright red. Margaret backed up. Connie ground her teeth and heaved in a deep breath. She’d been expecting him. Word must have gotten out about the new brisk business at Wild Rose’s.
“It’s lunch time, Jeremy. I’m serving customers.” Margaret averted her eyes, smoothed her apron, and tried to move around him. He stopped her with a meaty hand on her arm. “This is not what we wanted,” he hollered. “This is not what I told you to do.”
Connie eased a quiet step forward. She wanted to slap the beast for his treatment of the young widow. No wonder Margaret was scared of him. The man was a tyrant. An over-blown nasty tyrant.
Margaret winced. “It’s not what you want. It’s what Mrs. Simonson wants. She’s my boss, not you. I refuse to let you ruin her business any more. This is her place. Get it? I work for her. Now let go before I scream.”
Connie silently cheered her on and held her breath. He was setting himself up beautifully.
He sneered, leaning in until he and his sister-in-law stood nose-to-nose. “Do you really think anyone cares what happens to you and your mob of snot-nosed kids?”
“Yes, I do.” She shoved hard, and he released his grip. “Connie cares about me. She’s a widow too.” She glared at him, and he backed up one step. “She understands my problems.”
He growled like a grizzly bear. “So what? The two of you can’t stop me. I am the banker in this town. I’m the one with the money, the power. I’m a man. I’ll crush you both. You’re just stupid little girls.”
“No, you won’t, and no we aren’t.” Connie stepped up behind him, and with her stood the sheriff.
Jason Reynolds grabbed Dawson and wrenched his arms back behind him. “Dawson, I witnessed you threatening this woman and putting your hands on her.” With a click, the banker’s hands were cuffed. Reynolds pushed him into a chair. “Now, sit there and shut up.”
Margaret put a hand on the table and steadied herself. “Sheriff, where did you come from?”
“I was in the dining room, waiting for a cup of coffee, when I noticed Dawson here following you. The expression on his face wasn’t peaceful. He was so busy yelling at you, he didn’t hear me step in.” His tone softened. “Mrs. Dawson, are you all right?”
Margaret poured a glass of water from a pitcher and drank. “Yes, I am. How do you know me? I mean, how did you know to be here?”
“Aw, shut up woman.” Dawson snarled. “You talk too much. Always did.” He twisted in the chair. “You have no right to hold me like this. I demand to see my lawyer. I demand you notify William Prescott at once.” His face was so red, he looked as if he was about to burst.
The sheriff rocked back on his boot heels. “I think I can locate Prescott for you.” He glanced at Margaret and Connie and winked. He swung open the kitchen door. “Prescott! Hey, Billy! Get in here. Someone’s asking for you.”
William Prescott strolled in, and Connie grinned as Margaret gasped at the handsome young man. “What’s he doing here? He’s J.J.’s lawyer?”
Billy stepped over and bowed slightly. “Ladies.” He faced J.J. and, with a calm voice said, “Hello, Dawson. Lucky for me, these walls are thin, and I heard everything you and your sister said to each other.” He leaned back against the counter, eyes twinkling.
“Sister-in-law. Now listen to me, young man. This sheriff has illegally detained me. I insist you have him remove these cuffs. Now!” He thumped the floor with his feet.
“I won’t be doing that. You see, I’m not your lawyer. I’m their lawyer.” Billy lifted his square chin toward the women. Margaret clasped her hands together. “You are?” She squeaked. ”But I can’t afford...”
“Yes, you can. Mrs. Simonson retained my services the Monday after you and she had a meeting. She contacted Sheriff Reynolds here and suggested Dawson may be showing up to check on her business interests. We just happened to be here for an early lunch.” He turned back to Dawson. “I’m afraid you’ll need to contact another attorney to represent you.”
“You know there isn’t another lawyer in this entire town. What am I supposed to do?” Dawson scraped back his chair and stood, but Reynolds’s big hand pushed him down again.
“From the look on your face, I’d suggest you calm down. The doctor is unavailable today, and if you don’t control yourself, you’re gonna bust a gut.” Reynolds hauled Dawson from the chair. “Now, let’s go. You’re in my custody until you find yourself a lawyer. There’s a telegraph machine at the jail. We’ll find you an attorney. I hear there’s one in Lincoln. Move it.”
The two men hustled the banker out the back door as Margaret slumped forward, her head in her hands. Connie pressed a cool cloth to her employee’s forehead.
“It’s over now. I told you we’d work something out.”
* * *
“I demand you release me this instant, you imbeciles.” J.J. Dawson struggled between the two younger men as they led him to a wagon. “And what about my horse and buggy? They’re out front.”
“We’ll tie your horse to the back of the wagon. Then we’ll see he gets to the livery stable. Paddy Murphy will care for him.” Jason climbed onto the wagon seat and pulled the heavy man up with Reynolds pushing from behind.
“When we get to the jail, we’ll let you send a telegram.” Jason lifted the reins and soon, they arrived at the sheriff’s office. They assisted Dawson down from the wagon. He stumbled, cursing as he fell into the dirty street. They shook their heads and hauled him upright.
“You have yet to charge me with any crime.” J.J. twisted around in the front of the building. People stood in the street, staring and pointing at him. “You’re ruining my position in this town. I am the owner of the bank and a member of the school board.” He ducked his head at the stares of the citizens. A nearby cowboy chuckled at him from his horse.
“You’re the one ruining your reputation.” Jason eased him into the jail and to the back cell. “You want to know what you’re charged with? One, extortion, which is the illegal use of one’s official position or powers to obtain property, funds, or patronage. Two, slander, for calling your sister-in-law stupid, and three, harassment of a law enforcement officer. Shall I go on?”
J.J. hung his head and shuffled his feet.
The sheriff uncuffed him and opened the cell door. “Get in. When you decide who you want as a lawy
er, I’ll send notice.” The door slammed shut and clicked as he turned the key in the lock. “Just holler, Mr. Bank Owner/School Board Member.”
Chapter Eleven
“You gonna sleep all day?” Andy was back, a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. He chomped off a big bite, chewed, and plunked down at the end of the sofa.
“I thought you were going for breakfast. That looks like lunch to me.” James struggled to push off the quilt and sit up. His stomach rumbled but wasn’t queasy.
“I did. Now it’s lunchtime. You slept all morning.” The boy drained his milk. “Ma said to check on you. You better?”
James palmed his own forehead. No temperature, hunger pangs—good. He stood up. Not dizzy. Good again. “I do feel better. I guess I should be going.”
The boy shook his head and chewed. After he swallowed, he said, “Ma said to bring you sumthin’ to eat. She wants to know do you want chicken soup or a sandwich? Mine’s ham.”
“I think I’d like some more of that chicken soup.”
Andy jumped up. “Okay.” He skipped down the staircase.
James looked around the bright room. The mantle clock chimed once, marking the half hour. I must have needed the sleep. He shuffled a few steps to the whatnot in the corner. The top shelf held a rose-printed vase filled with dried wild prairie roses. On the second shelf was a photograph of Andy as a baby in his mother’s arms, Percy standing behind them, as proud as a papa could be. James carried it to the window for a better look. They were a handsome family. A touch of longing spread through him, and he returned it to the shelf.
The third shelf held the image of him and Connie taken the day of the birthday party. On the back Connie had written, “With my dear friend, James.” He stared at the grainy image. Dear friend. Being married to his job wasn’t enough. He wanted a relationship with Connie. She wasn’t Phoebe. She’d understand about the long hours he worked. She worked hard too. She was smart, kind, and pretty. Just what he needed. Time to start living again.
Christmas Bells (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Page 7
