“Hey!” Belinda protested. “I thought you were coming with us.”
If she went, everyone would see her. Would see her empty sleeve.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and the sound of the twins’ voices came and went, as if they’d passed Belinda to go downstairs.
Remembering the boys’ teasing made Daisy’s panic worse. Although their behavior had improved slightly since Audra’s return, Daisy could imagine several scenarios with them drawing attention to her in the usually crowded church.
She couldn’t face the entire congregation today.
She leaned her back against the door, tearfully whispering to Belinda through the portal that she couldn’t go. Across the room, her reflection in the mirror showed how pale she’d gone. She even felt light-headed.
Her father came next, asking if she was all right. Her throat was so clogged with tears that she couldn’t answer.
She heard his audible sigh, and then his boots clomped away from her door and downstairs.
She listened to the cacophony of voices and activity as they readied to leave. Then the total silence after they’d gone.
Enough.
She dried her tears on a handkerchief and wrestled herself out of the dress. She donned her plain gray working dress with the buttons in front and managed it with only a minor amount of aggravation.
And then what? She was trapped in her room. Alone.
Before she could get herself worked up into a tearful tirade again, there was a firm knock on her door.
For a moment, she thought maybe her father had come back for her, and panic set in.
“Daisy?”
Ricky’s voice.
“Go away.” She wiped at her face with her wrist. Her cheeks were hot and sticky from her tears. Had he been able to hear the tears in her voice?
There was scuffling from outside her door, as if he’d shifted his feet. “Um...I can’t.”
What? She couldn’t face him, not like this.
“I need your help.” His voice was slightly muffled through the door.
With what? What could she possibly do that he couldn’t?
But she was already feeling uncertain after the events of the morning and so she softened her voice instead of answering sharply as she wanted to. “What is it?”
“Matilda’s having her pups, and I think there’s something wrong.”
Oh, no. Daisy’s heart rose in her throat at the thought of the beloved family pet. The dog might be in danger if something went wrong as she birthed the pups. She knew Papa lost sheep every year during lambing season. But she couldn’t countenance the thought of her friend, of Matilda, suddenly being gone.
But...Daisy was a mess. Surely her face was blotchy and nose red from crying. Her hair had come loose from the pins Belinda had put in earlier.
But if Matilda was in distress, did those things really matter? The cowboy would see her, but he already knew about her arm... He could hardly think any less of her.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” she said through the door.
*
Moments earlier, Ricky had overheard Audra griping to the boss as they loaded up in the wagon. He’d just finished hitching up the pair and was holding the harness while everyone loaded in, and couldn’t help hearing her aggravated whisper, “She shouldn’t be allowed to miss Sunday services because she’s pouting.”
And from there, he’d guessed that Daisy hadn’t had a good morning. He had the strangest, strongest urge to see her. To make sure she was okay.
That’s all it could be. He couldn’t allow it to be more.
And Matilda’s labor had given him the excuse.
He waited in the half-open barn doorway, the warmth of the barn at his back. The family hadn’t been gone long, probably hadn’t even made it to town yet, but the wind had turned cold and there was a bite to it as it chapped his face. Probably a storm coming in. Hopefully not until after they got home this afternoon.
He watched Daisy come outside, walk down the porch steps. The wind tugged at her hair, coming loose from the braid hanging down her back. She self-consciously brushed it out of her face.
Her coat was unbuttoned and when she got closer, he saw the tip of her nose was rose pink. She looked peaked, still upset. She cut her eyes away, down to the side. Had she been crying? He couldn’t tell, but the thought that maybe she had didn’t set well with him, made his gut contract into a tight ball.
“Morning,” he greeted her. He hadn’t actually seen her when he’d stood in the hall outside her room, so he thought the greeting was still appropriate.
She nodded but didn’t say anything. She shivered, and so he moved out of her way, allowing her to cross into the barn.
“Temperature’s dropping,” he said. “Might be a storm coming.”
She glanced behind, eyes flicking to him briefly and holding on the slice of slate-gray sky outside, until he closed the door, shutting out the wind and leaving them with the scents of animals and clean, sweet hay.
There was a glass window high above the center aisle, one that must have cost a pretty penny to put in. The shaft of light from the window and the two lanterns he’d pulled close to the stall he’d put Matilda in were the only sources of light.
Daisy hesitated as he drew abreast of her. Maybe she tensed up because of the false intimacy of being alone out here. He didn’t know.
If she’d been one of the other women from his past, he might have taken advantage. He might’ve slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her closer so he could brush a kiss against her forehead. He might’ve teased her into feeling secure so he could kiss more than that.
But he wasn’t the same man he’d been before. And Daisy deserved to be treated better than that.
“She’s over here,” he said easily, hoping a casual manner would calm her. He led the way to the stall in the back corner of the barn, where he’d put the dog because it was quieter, and he didn’t want the animal riled up.
“She was agitated when I checked on her first thing this morning. I put her in here, just like I would one of the dogs at home.” He spared a brief thought for Breanna’s little white dog. That thing had a habit of following him and his brothers around.
He shook off the thoughts of home.
“At first she was kinda making a nest, but she’s been down like that for hours. And nothing’s happened.” The black dog lay on her side, panting heavily. Lethargic.
He’d seen plenty of animals giving birth and knew how things were supposed to go. He’d even seen a few not make it. And he really didn’t want anything to happen to Daisy’s dog. Not if there was a chance they could help her.
The horses stamped and settled around them as he explained how he’d washed up and checked the dog’s birth canal and thought he could feel a pup stuck up in there.
“My hands are too large to fit and do her any good.”
“You want me to...help deliver Matilda’s puppy?”
Daisy’s voice was slightly incredulous. She half turned and looked as if she might bolt from the barn entirely.
“Yeah. I do.”
She shook her head. Her expression was shuttered, and she wouldn’t look at him. Isolated. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Before she could say anything, he took her limp wrist and placed her hand, palm down, against his other open hand. The stark contrast of her slender, pale hand against his tanned, rough fingers made his stomach clench in an unexpected way. Her skin was soft, so soft.
He cleared his throat. “Sure seems like your hand is small enough to me.”
He’d meant the action to shock her out of her fear. He hadn’t realized he would feel the bolt of attraction like lightning down his spine.
She looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes. He tried to keep his gaze steady and reassuring as he gazed down on her.
The dog gave a muffled whine from inside the stall, seeming to reaffirm Ricky’s request.
“If you don’t help her, the
re’s a chance she might not make it,” he said softly.
And that seemed to get through to her. She blinked once. Jerked her hand away.
She knelt next to the dog in the soft hay he’d spread there earlier. For a moment, she rested her hand on the dog’s stomach, and just stayed there, quiet. More of her hair had come loose and fallen over her cheek, blocking him from seeing her face, flowing almost all the way to the ground.
She whispered something he couldn’t make out to the dog. He liked that she had compassion for the animal. And then she looked up at him.
“All right.”
All right.
He nodded. “I’ll grab the soap. You’ll need to wash up.” He knew some about infections from his brother Maxwell, a doctor.
He brought a bucket of fresh, ice-cold water and the lye soap he and the hands kept around for when they needed a good washing.
She was still sitting by the dog, that long hair falling down around her.
She must’ve sensed him staring at her because she looked back over her shoulder at him. “What?”
“Your hair.”
She brushed it back over her shoulder, frowning. “It’s all fallen out.”
She sighed, and he was afraid she’d use an excuse to leave. She stood up, not quite facing him. “You’ll have to help me...I can’t do anything with it by myself.”
She gave him her back and he stared helplessly at the mass of curls that was still partially pinned to her head. Only some of it had tumbled down.
“Ah...” He hesitated. Was it inappropriate to touch her hair? Did they have a choice? The dog needed her help, and if they didn’t tie it back it would be in the way.
“You’ll have to take the pins out,” she said impatiently.
He swallowed hard, and found his hands were shaking slightly as he put his fingers into the softness of her hair. The pins were small, and tricky, but he had them out in a few moments. He stuffed them into his pockets.
“Can you braid it?” she asked. Was there a tremulous note to her voice?
“Probably.”
It had been close to a decade since Breanna had been small and he’d had to help Jonas with her hair. More recently, he’d braided leather together for a tie.
But this was completely different. Separating the thick curtain of her hair, tucking the hanks where they were supposed to go...
It felt too intimate. Like something a husband would do for his wife.
The soft strands hung up on his calloused fingers. Standing so close, the scent of something flowery stuck in his nose and the bottom of his belly fell out.
He fumbled, his fingers tangled in the thick masses.
“Sorry,” he mumbled when he’d accidentally yanked her hair one too many times.
Finally he got done. And then realized he didn’t have anything to tie it off.
“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, and lit out of there as if his britches were on fire.
*
Daisy held on to the end of her braid, face hot. Ricky had flipped the hair over her shoulder before he’d jogged away and ducked into the tack room. At least the barn was dimly lit. Maybe he hadn’t seen the blush that had spread up her chest and neck and into her face.
Her heart beat frantically. She wanted to escape—escape the fine tension that had swept through her body at the feel of his hands in her hair, escape the pity she knew he must feel for her. She couldn’t even braid her own hair. She had to have help, like a little child.
She wanted to leave, escape the embarrassment. But she couldn’t abandon Matilda.
He had been right. She’d seen it when he’d placed her palm against his. Her hand was small and fine-boned. She could help the dog when he couldn’t.
Pride lay by the wayside. She wished he hadn’t had to help her with her hair, but that didn’t matter. Matilda needed assistance. That’s all it could be. No matter if he was an attractive cowboy, she was damaged.
He was gone longer than it probably should’ve taken, but returned with a short length of twine and quickly tied off her hair.
He didn’t meet her eyes as he turned away to bend and retrieve the soap and water. She wondered if he’d been uncomfortable, having to help her with such a simple thing.
She firmed her lips. “You’ll have to help me wash up,” she said quietly. As if he didn’t know that already.
He nodded and worked up a lather between his hands, then scrubbed her hand and wrist vigorously.
He kept his head down as he worked the soap into her skin. “My brother’s a doctor,” he said. “He says washing good will keep infection and such away from humans...seems like the same could be true for animals.”
His skin against hers...tingles shot up her arm. And she didn’t think they were because of his brisk scrubbing.
Was she attracted to him?
She was. The realization was an uncomfortable pressure beneath her sternum.
He kept talking, face still down as he concentrated on what he was doing. “You ever watch a sheep give birth?”
“Of course.” She’d grown up working the ranch with her family. She knew what to expect. Mostly.
Was there a slight pink tinge to his cheekbones? She couldn’t see the whole of his face but was he...blushing?
“This’ll probably be similar.” His blush remained—longer than it should have if he was simply embarrassed about talking about animal husbandry.
Had he somehow sensed that she was attracted to him?
Her discomfort grew as he lifted the bucket and ran the cold water over her hand and wrist. The soap rinsed clean, but her discomfort remained.
His work with the bridle-hanger thing meant he wanted to help her. Did he see her as a charity case? The thought rankled.
Matilda groaned again.
There wasn’t time to worry about the cowboy or his motives right now. The animal needed her help.
She knelt in the straw at the dog’s hindquarters, accepting Ricky’s hand beneath her elbow when she wobbled, saving her from putting her hand down in the dirty straw.
He knelt across from her, behind Matilda’s back.
This time, he looked straight at her, as one of his powerful hands stroked down the dog’s back. “You can do this,” he said firmly. Confidently.
She followed his directions and soon her hand was clamped in a viselike grip.
It didn’t let up. And it didn’t let up. She began to lose feeling in her fingertips.
“Are you certain about this?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Mostly,” he answered with a cowboy grin, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. “I’ve seen my brother do the same for a cow—”
“A cow!” she gasped. “I can’t feel my fingers—”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t edge her way in any farther, not without leverage. And with her legs tucked up in her skirt, she didn’t have anything to lean against.
She needed her other arm. The one she didn’t have.
“I can’t,” she gasped.
She was going to fail Matilda.
Ricky shifted around, his boots bumping her feet once, and his palm met her lower back. It gave her the leverage she needed and she attempted to push against nature.
Then the terrible pressure eased around her hand.
Ricky still had a hand on Matilda’s belly and must’ve felt the contraction ease.
“That’s it,” he said.
Blood rushed into Daisy’s hand, pricking like painful needles. She felt her way forward in the tight space.
And her fingertips brushed against something.
She inhaled deeply through her nose.
“Feel something?” Ricky asked, and for the first time he sounded anxious.
She jerked a nod.
“Can you grasp it?”
She didn’t know. Everything was so tight.
She edged forward. And felt the beginnings of another contraction tightening around her
hand.
She began to panic.
And pushed forward until she got her first finger and thumb wedged on opposite sides of what felt like...a tiny nose.
If she couldn’t get it this time, she probably wouldn’t be able to do it again.
“You’ve got it?”
She nodded, barely, and gripped with all her might.
Ricky’s hand cupped her elbow and she pulled and with the contraction bearing down, there was a hesitation and then a rush of movement. She caught the puppy in her palm and let it rest there. It was the largest pup she’d ever seen, black as night. She could feel its heart beating against her palm, and then its chest expanded as it took its first breath.
She was witnessing a miracle.
Matilda gave a huff, almost as if saying, finally, it’s done. The mama dog grunted and raised her head, turning and shuffling around to the pup. She began vigorously licking it and the pup took another deep inhale and squeaked.
Daisy set the pup down in the hay as gently as possible and let Matilda take over. The dog seemed more active, though she still panted and remained lying down. Were there more puppies to come?
“We did it.” She looked up at the cowboy at her side. Her voice emerged tremulous and she realized she was shaking all over. Emotion swirled through her, but not like the chilling fear she’d felt earlier that morning in her bedroom. This was different. Better.
He laid his hand on her shoulder.
“You did it,” he said.
Something sparked in the air between them; some intangible connection wavered in the air.
He was closer than she expected—about a foot separated them. With attraction flaring between them...
She was intensely aware of him as a man. Her face flushed. Her heart pounded in her throat and up through her ears.
He leaned slightly toward her, his lips parting on a breath.
And then he cut the connection between them abruptly. He pushed up to his feet and ducked out of the stall. One hand came to grip the back of his neck.
Heart pounding with something unidentifiable, all of the reasons she’d wanted to avoid him came rushing back.
She wiped her hand on a rag he’d left behind and followed him out of the stall.
Chapter Eight
A Cowboy for Christmas (Mills & Boon Love Inspired Historical) (Wyoming Legacy - Book 5) Page 8
