Summer Breeze

by Catherine Anderson

  “Darby plumbed it in for me.” She gestured at a closed door to his left. “He added on a water closet as well. I have a bathtub, a flushing commode, and a Mosley gas water heater from Montgomery Ward.”

  Joseph noticed a hand-cylinder laundry machine beside the range, the fill-up hose disconnected from the stove’s water reservoir, the drain hose running from the machine to a hole in the wooden floor. That was a step up from his place. He had a fully equipped water closet, but he still did his laundry the old-fashioned way on the back porch. Last autumn, after getting his house finished, he’d thought about ordering a laundry machine, and he still might yet. But it wasn’t one of those things that he felt he couldn’t live without.

  She noticed him staring past her at the door next to the range. It was barred shut with a thick pine plank. “The cellar,” she explained. “It used to be Ma’s pantry. Darby ripped up part of the floor, dug it out underneath, and built steps down into it. I needed a place to cure meat, make pickles and cheese, and store my home-canned goods.”

  As Joseph took in the details that he’d overlooked last night, he couldn’t help but marvel. Darby had added every possible amenity to her confined living area, making sure that she had everything she could need or want. Even more amazing, she’d made it all pretty as could be with colorful rag rugs on the wood floor and curtains over the boarded-up windows, lace panels to the left on the back door, blue gingham to the right over the sink. On the kitchen table there was even a porcelain vase filled with silk and velvet geraniums. He guessed the fake flowers were from Montgomery Ward, too. Caitlin had ordered some a while back to brighten up their house during the winter.

  “This is really something,” he said.

  Turning from the stove, she inspected the room with hollow eyes. “It loses its charm after a while.”

  She pushed at her hair, which had gone curlier since last night, little golden wisps springing every which way. Joseph wondered if it was as soft as it looked and found himself itching to touch it.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed,” she informed him. “Then I’ll start breakfast.”

  Joseph hated to use up her food. He wasn’t an invited guest, after all. But until Ace showed up to relieve him later that day, he was stuck here without any rations of his own. “That’d be nice. I’ll be sure to replace whatever I eat, plus extra to repay you for your trouble.”

  She gave him a curious look. “You’re here at Darby’s request to look after me. Providing your meals is the least I can do.”

  Joseph was pleased that she seemed to have accepted the situation at some point during the night. She wasn’t exactly relaxed with him yet, but at least she was no longer jumping out of her skin.

  “I’ll replace what I eat, all the same,” he insisted. “ ‘Appetite’ is my middle name.”

  Her soft mouth curved up sweetly at the corners. “Well, I’d best get to it, then.”

  “While you’re getting dressed and fixing breakfast, I’ll see to the chores. Did you ever empty the wood box and bring in the milk?”

  “What milk?”

  She truly hadn’t registered anything he’d said to her through the door last night, he realized. “I milked both the cows last night and left the buckets just outside the wood box.”

  “Oh.” She pushed at her hair again. “No, I didn’t bring it in. I doubt I even can. Unless the buckets are in the safe, they’re too heavy for me to lift.”

  “If you’ll take the wood out, I’ll put them inside for you.”

  She shook her head. “Just add the milk to the hog slop for now.”

  It seemed a terrible waste of good milk. “You sure?”

  “I’ve enough aged cheese and butter to do me for weeks. Until Darby’s back to sell the extra to Mr. Gilpatrick at the general store, there’s no point in my making more.”

  Joseph hadn’t planned on making frequent trips into town. Now he understood why Darby kept two cows and so many chickens, because the surplus milk and eggs brought in a small income. If Rachel depended on the money to meet her expenses, it might put her in a financial bind if she made nothing during Darby’s recuperation.

  “I can take your stuff to Gilpatrick’s until Darby’s back on his feet.”

  “That’s generous of you.” A ghost of a smile touched her lovely mouth again. “We’ll talk about it. For today, the pigs will enjoy the milk.”

  An hour later, Rachel was still inside the water closet, unable to open the door to reenter the kitchen. It was madness. She knew that. But the kitchen no longer felt safe, and the water closet did. She wished she’d thought to come in here last night. With the walls all around her, she might have gotten some rest. Tonight, she promised herself, she would gather up her bedding and create a makeshift bed in the bathtub.

  First, however, she had to find the courage to open the door and return to the kitchen. Again and again, she grasped the lock to turn it, but each time she lost her courage and dropped her arm. What if someone’s out there? She knew it was an irrational fear. Joseph Paxton had proven to her satisfaction that he was there to help, not do her harm, and he was probably already back in the dining room standing guard.

  Joseph shuffled his deck of cards to play another round of patience, a one-person game that irritated him to no end because he so seldom won. As he dealt the hand, he kept one ear cocked toward the kitchen, wondering what on earth was keeping Rachel. The coffee had been at a full boil when he returned to the house and was still boiling. If the pot didn’t go dry, and that was a big if, the stuff was going to be strong enough to peel paint off walls. He’d thought never to meet a woman who stayed in the water closet longer than his younger sister, Eden, but this one took the prize.

  Was Rachel ailing? He recalled her pallor and the circles under her eyes. He’d laid both off on exhaustion, but maybe she was sick.

  “Mr. Paxton?”

  Her voice was so faint that Joseph thought for a moment he had imagined it. Then she called to him again, slightly louder this time. He tossed down the cards and pushed quickly up from the chair. “Yo?”

  “Are you back in the dining room?” she asked through the water closet door.

  What did she think, that he was answering from outside? “Yes, ma’am, I’m here.”

  Long silence. Then, “Is there anyone in the kitchen?”

  Joseph almost chuckled, but he could tell by her tone that she meant the question seriously. “No, ma’am.”

  “Would you look, please?”

  Joseph poked his head through the hole and dutifully scanned the room. “Uh-oh. I lied. There is someone in your kitchen.”

  Alarm laced her voice when she replied, “There is?”

  Joseph eyed his recalcitrant dog, who had taken up squatting rights on Rachel’s bed. “Yep,” he said. “He’s a red-gold scoundrel with a white streak on his nose. At the moment, he’s curled up on your sheets, letting fleas hop off, willy-nilly.”

  The water closet door came ajar, and her pretty face appeared in the opening. She studied the dog. Then she poked her head out to carefully examine the rest of the room.

  When she finally emerged from the water closet, Joseph was stunned. Beautiful didn’t describe the lady by half. With her golden hair in a swirling coronet atop her head, he could see the fine shape of her skull and the graceful column of her slender neck. Shimmering tendrils had escaped from her hasty coiffure to curl at her nape and above her dainty ears to frame the perfect oval of her face. Despite the ravages of exhaustion, she was absolutely lovely.

  Though her outfit was everyday practical, Joseph suddenly felt scruffy. Fingering the stubble on his jaw, he skimmed her figure with purely masculine appreciation. Though he’d glimpsed her delightful curves through the folds of her nightgown last night, there was a lot to be said for a formfitting shirtwaist and a skirt with organ-pipe pleats at the back. The lady was made like an hourglass, with ample breasts and a small waist, enhanced by a wide belt. As she hurried across the room to rescue th
e coffee, Joseph’s eyes shifted with every swing of her hips.

  Grabbing a cloth to move the coffeepot away from the heat, she said, “Consternation! This coffee must be as thick as soup by now.” She stepped to the sink for a cup of cold tap water, then returned to pour it inside the pot to settle the grounds. “If it isn’t ruined, it’ll be a miracle.”

  To please a woman so lovely, Joseph could have drunk kerosene and sworn he liked it. “I’m not fussy.” The moment he spoke, he wanted to kick himself. His voice had gone gravelly with lust. He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m used to coffee made by sleepy cowpokes over an open fire. It’s always boiled to a fare-thee-well.”

  “Mmm.” She filled two mugs. Smiling shyly, she brought one to him. “Nothing smells quite so good as coffee on the crisp morning air.”

  Joseph remained at the opening, one shoulder resting against the boards. Half expecting her to request that he step back, he was pleasantly surprised when she walked right up to him.

  “Here you are.”

  She smelled of roses, a faint, wonderful scent that drifted enticingly up to him. As he took the cup, his fingertips grazed hers. Joseph had heard of men being poleaxed by the sight of a beautiful woman, but he’d never heard tell of anyone’s toes going numb.

  His reaction to her troubled him. Love ’em and leave ’em had always been his creed. He liked women and particularly enjoyed the generous-natured ones, but that was as far as it ever went, a fleeting, mutual pleasure that began in the wee hours and ended long before the first cock crowed.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t wake up properly without a good cup of coffee.”

  She wiped her hand on her skirt, whether to remove the taint of his touch or to rub away a bit of moisture from the cup, he didn’t know. Joseph wished that he’d thought to bring a clean shirt and razor. Around a pretty lady like her, a man wanted to look his best.

  Without thinking, he took a big slug of coffee. Fire. The scalding liquid seared the inside of his mouth. He almost choked and spat. Instead, he managed to swallow. Bad mistake. He felt the burn clear to his gonads.

  “Are you all right?”

  He’d singed all his tongue hairs and blistered the little thingy that dangled at the back of his throat. That wasn’t to mention that his stomach was on fire. “I’m fine,” he lied. “This is right fine coffee.” It was the bitterest coffin varnish that he’d ever tasted in his life.

  Bewilderment filled her eyes. Then, as if pushing the questions aside, she hustled back to the stove, the back hem of her skirt trailing gracefully behind her. With well-practiced efficiency, she donned a pretty white apron with a spray of embroidered flowers curving up from the hem to border a large front pocket. Then she vanished into the cellar only to reappear a moment later with a slab of bacon, which she set about slicing.

  “Don’t cut yourself.”

  She glanced up. “No worries. In large part, I’ve spent the last five years perfecting my culinary skills, Mr. Paxton. Aside from needlework and reading, I haven’t much else to do, and Darby’s a man who enjoys his food.”

  Weren’t most men? Joseph recalled the lecture he’d given his dog yesterday about bachelors who met their waterloo over a supper plate. Somehow, the warning seemed to have lost some of its salt this morning. If it ever happened that he followed in his older brother’s footsteps and settled down with one woman for the rest of his days, he hoped she would be as easy on the eyes as Rachel Hollister.

  And just what the hell was he thinking?

  Joseph leaned his head through the hole and gave his dog an accusing glare. Turncoat. “Get off that bed, you spoiled mutt.” And don’t go making yourself at home.

  This was a temporary situation. The moment that Darby got back on his feet, Joseph would be out of here faster than a cat with its tail on fire. “Come on!” He snapped his fingers. “You’re a dirty cur. I’m sure Miss Hollister doesn’t want your fleas.”

  “I haven’t noticed him scratching,” she observed from her work spot at the table. “And I truly don’t mind his being on the bed. My dog, Denver, used to sleep with me all the time.”

  A woman after his heart. That thought didn’t sit well, either. He took a chair at the table to drink his coffee. The purely awful taste made him feel better. A man would have to be out of his mind to tie up with a woman who couldn’t make better coffee than this. Coffee was one of the mainstays of Joseph’s diet.

  Just then he heard Rachel spewing and sputtering. He craned his neck to see her bent over the sink, spitting and scrubbing her mouth with one hand, her other holding a coffee cup out from her body as if it contained poison.

  “This is horrible!” she cried. She emptied the cup and advanced on the coffeepot. “How can you drink such awful stuff?”

  Joseph thought it was a good remedy for what ailed him, namely a purely irrational, inexplicable, imbecilic attraction to a crazy woman.

  Rachel was none too pleased when Joseph Paxton informed her that he meant to leave for part of the afternoon. He stood at the opening, ducking his hatless head to see through, his blond hair trailing forward over his sturdy shoulders.

  “But one of my windows is wide open!” she reminded him. “And my wall has a huge hole in it! Surely you can’t mean to leave me here alone.”

  “Of course I don’t mean to leave you here alone. I told Darby I’d look after you, and I mean to see that you’re looked after.” He flashed her a cajoling grin. “Have a little faith.”

  Over the course of the morning, Rachel had catalogued his features, which were chiseled and irregular, his bladelike nose a little too large and sporting a knot along the bridge, his squared jawline accentuated just a bit too strongly by tendon, and his cheekbones just a shade too prominent. Only somehow the overall effect was attractive, especially when he spoke or grinned as he was now. His mouth was full and mobile, a distractingly soft and expressive feature for an otherwise rugged countenance that lent him a boyish appeal. She also liked his blue eyes. When they twinkled with warmth, she felt as if she’d just swallowed a dozen live pollywogs.

  “While I’m gone, my brother Ace is going to stand guard,” he explained.

  His brother? Rachel had come to accept Joseph’s presence in the dining room, and she was even starting to trust him a little. But that was where her high-mindedness ended. If he had his way, every citizen of No Name would soon be traipsing through her house.

  “No.”

  “Now, Miss Hollister, Ace is a champion fellow. You’ll like him.”

  “I don’t care how champion he is. I won’t have him inside my house, and that’ll be the end of it.” She whirled away from the barricade and advanced on the sink to finish washing the breakfast dishes. “You tore the boards from my window, broke out the glass, frightened me into blowing a hole through my barricade, and now you’re leaving?”

  “I have important business to take care of.”

  “What important business?”

  He took so long to reply that she glanced over her shoulder. All the laughter had left his eyes, and their usual sky blue had gone stormy dark. “My brother David is—”

  “How many brothers do you have?” she asked, her tone waspish.

  “Three. Ace, David, and Esa. David’s the marshal who was here last night. Today he’s going to question a couple people to see if he can find out who shot Darby. Since I’m as eager to find out as he is, I’d like to ride along.”

  Rachel returned her gaze to the plate in her hands. An iridescent soap bubble slid brightly over the white porcelain surface, caught at the fluted edge, hovered there in trembling splendor for an instant, and then vanished as if it had never been.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of her little sister, Tansy, who had glided so brightly through life and then had vanished just as completely as the bubble. No one wanted her killer to be caught more than Rachel did. If there was a connection between the attack on her family and the attack on Darby yesterday, how could she, in good conscience, ask Jose
ph Paxton not to leave?

  Chapter Six

  Jebediah Pritchard owned the spread that adjoined the Hollister ranch to the north. The Pritchard home was little more than a one-room shack, its shake roof sagging along the center pitch, the two front windows covered with tattered isinglass, and the porch littered with all manner of objects, most of which needed to be thrown on a garbage heap. A fat brown hen had made her nest in a washtub to the left of the battered front door, inarguable proof that the Pritchards bathed infrequently.

  As David and Joseph rode up, Jeb came out onto the dilapidated porch. A short, beefy individual with grizzled brown hair, beady brown eyes, and skin darkened by sun and grime, he stood with his trunklike legs slightly spread, a shotgun cradled in one arm. The creases on his unshaven face were a slightly deeper brown where dirt and body oil had collected. His attire of the day was the same outfit that he’d been wearing for over a year, patched and faded dungarees over white longhandles that had long since gone gray with filth.

  Content to let David do the talking since he was the one wearing the badge, Joseph relaxed in the saddle and lighted a cigarette. At least, he pretended to relax. He’d learned early on never to let down his guard around polecats or sidewinders.

  “Whatcha want?” Jeb demanded.

  Joseph exhaled smoke, thinking that that was a hell of a way to greet one’s neighbors. Evidently Joseph and his brother thought alike, for David replied, “That’s a downright unfriendly way to say hello, Jeb.”

  Silver-streaked, stringy brown hair drifting in the crisp afternoon breeze, Jeb leaned slightly forward to spew a stream of brown spittle through a gap in his decayed front teeth. The tobacco juice nearly struck the front hoof of David’s gelding. “I’m never friendly to a man wearin’ a badge.”

  “Ah, now.”

  “Don’t you ‘ah, now’ me. I know why you’re here, sniffin’ around. It’s because Darby McClintoch got hisself shot in the back yesterday. Well, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t know nothin’ about it.”