Raking her fingers through her loosened hair, she took a fortifying breath and glanced over at Addie, who, as if recognizing her mother’s stress, had been subdued all day and was now quietly cuddling with Noodle on the rug in front of the fireplace.
Crossing over to her daughter, Retta knelt, giving Noodle a pat on the head. “Addie, don’t go anywhere, Mama will be right back.”
Addie looked up from playing with her ragdoll. “Yes, Mama.”
“That’s my good girl.” She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, then retrieved the rifle from the front entrance. Her nerves frazzled, pacing the porch, she waited until the two riders got close enough for her to recognize her husband and Frank.
Relief swept through her. She returned the rifle to its safe spot, out of Addie’s reach, then lifted her skirts high enough so she could run out to meet them. Seeing her approach, Harrison jumped off his horse and opened his arms wide as she flew into them. He was dusty, his face was streaked with grime, and his hands were raw and bloodied, but she didn’t care. When his strong arms closed around her, her nerves calmed, even as her breath hitched on a sob, hot tears flooding her eyes.
Harrison attempted to soothe her, his quiet, “Hush now. Don’t cry,” finally easing some of the fear that’d been tormenting her all day.
Clutching his shirt, she pressed her face against his chest. “I’m not crying.” Then she gave a strangled laugh at her lie. “I’ve been horribly worried.”
“I’m sorry I was gone so long. But everything’s under control now.” The tone of his voice indicated perhaps things might be under control, but they weren’t all right. She lifted her face to his, not missing the hard lines bracketing his mouth or the hint of anger in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide.
Glancing over to Frank, she gasped. The man looked like he’d been trampled by a herd of wild stallions. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his clothes torn and stained, and his arm had been strapped in a sling made out of faded cotton. She could see how much his injured shoulder drooped.
Hadn’t Doc Sheaton at least thought to sponge off the grime, before he set Frank’s fracture?
Then she gave the makeshift sling another, closer study. And her irritation flared. “That’s not anything the Doc would use, Frank. In fact, it sure looks a lot like the fabric from one of your shirts. You haven’t been to town yet. Have you?”
Frank gave her what she assumed passed for a smile, but to her it looked more like a grimace due to the pain in his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Told you she’d notice.” Harrison’s voice held weariness as he caught her hand and gave it a tug to gain her attention. “Frank wouldn’t leave the mine until the men were pulled from the debris. I gave up arguing with him, and Dub helped me bring Clem to town. Wasn’t about to just leave him there, so Sheriff Lang volunteered to come out and let you know what happened.”
“Yanked me out of the hole this morning,” Frank said. “Kept telling ‘em I was fine, but you know how damned stubborn your husband is—”
“I know how stubborn you both are.” At Harrison’s soft snort, she turned on him. “You think this is amusing?” Fresh tears threatened to brim, and she blinked hard to keep them from falling. This was no time for showing weakness; they’d ride roughshod right over her.
Her spine stiffened. “Harrison, bring Frank into the house. He’s staying with us.”
Chapter 13
Frank slid off his horse. “That’s not necessary,” he began, as Harrison sputtered, “What, live here?” Both wore identical looks of horror.
Retta’s patience, already stretched thin, cracked. Maybe if she knocked their heads together, each might grow a bit of sense.
“That’s right.” She waved a hand in Frank’s direction. “Look at him. He’s a mess, and in pain.” She jabbed her finger toward her brother-by-marriage who’d opened his mouth, no doubt ready to tell fibs about how he felt. “Yes, you are. You’re just about cross-eyed from pain, not to mention stubborn as can be for not going to town and letting the Doc set your shoulder properly. You’re going to lie down on the sofa.” She paused, then brightened. “Better yet, I’m putting you in Addie’s room.”
“I’m not sleeping in a little girl’s room,” Frank grumbled.
Harrison covered his mouth with one grimy hand and smothered a cough.
“You can, and you will.” Retta laid a gentle hand on Frank’s good arm. Gazing up into his dirt-encrusted face, she spotted such weariness, beyond the bone-deep worry she knew plagued both brothers. She might not yet comprehend the extent of the damage the main mine suffered, but Sheriff Lang had revealed enough when he visited for her to understand that more than one miner had perished in the explosion. Their deaths would weigh heavily.
“Please, Frank.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Ease my mind and stay here, let me help you heal. I know you don’t want him to, but Doc Sheaton still needs to come out and examine you.” She frowned as she eyed the swollen, discolored skin under his neck and down his shoulder, where the sling held his arm in place. “At the very least, you’ve got a break in your shoulder. Maybe your collarbone, too. That’s pretty serious.”
“I can’t lay around, doing nothing,” he cut in, then jerked his chin toward Harrison. “We got too much work to do.”
“And you’re not going to be the one doing it,” Harrison rasped, “you stubborn jackass. Retta’s right. Not until your bones set.” He moved to his brother’s side, and Retta released Frank’s hand as Harrison curved a supporting arm around his back. “Let’s go. Addie can move into our room for a while.” He urged Frank toward the front door.
“I’m not gonna sleep in some little baby bed.” He hobbled through the kitchen toward the hall.
Harrison steered Frank inside the room. “It’s not a baby bed, and stop whining. That bed’s as big as the one Retta and I sleep in. You’ll be fine.”
Retta hurried before them to clear off the few toys scattered over the mattress, including a favorite blanket of Addie’s.
With a ragged sigh, Frank slumped on the edge of the bed, then stared down at himself. He struggled to stand. “I’m filthy. Let me up, I gotta go wash.”
Harrison pushed him down. “No, you don’t. Clean up later. Sleep now.” At Frank’s growl, he released a hard breath. “Frank, I’m weary to the bone and so are you. All I want to do is sleep a couple hours, then figure out what to do next. Stop goddamn fighting me for once.” He rubbed a grimy palm over his sweat-stiffened hair.
Retta’s heart clutched for them, two big, tough men laid low by this disaster. Wiping at her stinging eyes, this time her fingers came away wet. This would never do. She straightened, clearing her throat. “I’ll heat some water and bring in washrags for both of you. Some hot stew and biscuits would be easy to—”
“Unca Fank.” Addie tumbled through the doorway with Noodle in pursuit. Before Retta or Harrison could stop her, she’d leapt onto the far side of the bed and scampered on all fours. Even as Frank put out his good arm to block her, Addie’s pinafore tangled in her legs and she flopped on her face. With a giggle, she gained her knees, lurched toward Frank, then stopped, her mouth in a rounded O.
“Huwt.” She reached out a pudgy hand and touched an ugly bruise on his shoulder. “Ouch.” Leaning in sweetly, she pressed her mouth to the darkened mass in a smacking, wet kiss that probably did more harm than good on Frank’s torn up skin. “All bedda.” Curling on the mattress next to him, she batted her lashes outrageously.
Frank blinked a few times, then caught Retta’s eye with such a manly, yet helpless look on his face, it was all she could do not to either laugh at his panic, or choke back emotion at Addie’s endearing attempts to nurse her beloved Uncle Frank back to health.
“Well, Frank, I do believe the doctor here knows best.” Crooking a finger at Addie, Retta co
axed her daughter off the bed and pushed her out of the room with a pat to her bloomer-clad bottom. “Go on and play with Noodle. You can torture your poor uncle when he’s rested and feeling better.”
She returned to Frank’s bedside and caught the beginning of a grin on Harrison’s blackened face as he struggled to his feet, swaying a bit.
Retta lightly touched his shoulder. “Harrison, you have to get some sleep.”
“Yeah, I’m about to fall over if I don’t.” Harrison brushed a kiss over her mouth. His lips tasted of smoke and bitter minerals, but at least he was alive.
Slowly she eased back, and pinned a smile on her face as he staggered to the door. As soon as she heard his boot heels clomping down the hall, her backside hit the mattress and she covered her mouth to hold back a sob.
The bed shifted, and dimly she registered the feel of a wide palm on her head, patting her hair as if she were a child. “Gonna be all right, little sister.” Frank’s voice was thick with exhaustion. His hand dropped away and landed with a thud on his chest, disturbing the sling that held his other arm immobile. “Damn it all to hell and back,” he seethed.
When she looked up, alarmed, and turned toward him, he waved her concern away. “I’d sure like some of those biscuits you talked about. Got any?”
“I know what you’re trying to do.” She huffed, exasperated at the stubbornness of men in general. “Sidetracking me won’t work, Frank Carter. I’ve got a bit of laudanum I brought from Bolster, and you’re going to take some for the pain. If I have to pour it down your throat myself.”
With that, Retta bounced off the bed and strode toward the door, ignoring his raspy, “Damned ornery woman.”
~ ~ ~
A short nap hadn’t done much to improve Harrison’s mood, any more than a fast scrub in tepid well water. If he’d had more time, he’d have taken a towel and a bar of soap to Bonney Creek and washed up there. But he wasn’t about to leave the ranch, not with Frank helpless inside and his wife and child in danger. Not until they knew exactly what had happened at the mine. He had his suspicions.
Proving them might not be so easy.
Shrugging into a fresh shirt, he dug a clean pair of dungarees from the folded pile Retta had left earlier, hurriedly buttoning up and shoving in his shirttails. He’d burn the clothes he’d been wearing at the mine. Torn and bloody, they were too far gone to repair.
Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen, and he remembered Retta had promised stew and biscuits. Famished, Harrison slicked back his wet hair, and followed his nose down the hall to the kitchen.
The room was empty, the biscuits stacked on a plate near the stove, all golden brown and fat, just begging him to snatch one. Maybe he’d grab two, and see if Frank was awake for a pre-dinner sampling.
A knock at the back door had him dropping the biscuit back on the pile. Who would come to the back when they could use the front like civilized folk? Striding down the hall, Harrison whipped the door open.
And stared at Cat Purdue—the last person he expected to see at the ranch—standing on the stoop with her customary half-smile curving her mouth. “Cat? What are you doing here?”
When she raised a slender, arched brow, he waved her forward. “Come on inside.” Glancing around the backyard to see if anyone else came with her, he spotted one of the horses usually stabled at the Lucky Lady. “Did you ride out here alone? Not a smart thing for a woman to do.”
“Nobody bothers me, Harrison.” Lifting the hem of her plum riding skirt, she revealed the knife strapped to her ankle, right above her leather half-boot. “I know how to use this and I’ve got good aim.”
“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.” Harrison gestured toward the kitchen, waiting until she’d reached the table and settled gracefully on one of the chairs. He took the seat across from her, noting her polished appearance, not a hair out of place.
Had she come to see Frank? “My brother is all right,” he began.
“Why should I care about that fool? I merely stopped by to deliver a package.” She produced a frilly bag and fished a bottle from its depths, setting it on the table with a thump. “Here. Laudanum. Your wife might already have some. With the pain I know Frank’s in, an extra bottle might come in handy. Bet he won’t take any of it.” She relaxed against the chair, smoothing her riding gloves over her hands.
Harrison wasn’t mollified by her casual demeanor one bit. Fingering the bottle, he picked it up and studied it. “Where did you get this from, Cat?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised what the girls at the Lucky Lady receive as payment, sometimes.” At his raised brows, she hastily amended, “Not me, of course. I only serve the drinks and sing for my supper.” Cat fussed with the jaunty hat she wore, playing with the purple plume curling along its crown, then straightening the satin frogs decorating her short-waist jacket. “Not that your rude brother would believe it. He likes to think the worst of me.”
Behind her lovely, slanted green eyes lay a sadness even Harrison could spot. Sighing, he set down the bottle of medicine and propped his elbows on the table. “Do you want me to say anything to him?” God knew how stubborn Frank could be, especially in matters of the heart. And for all Cat’s supposed indifference, she seemed just as stubborn.
But Cat waved a dismissing hand. “No. He can think what he likes.” She rose, shaking out her skirt. “Just make him swallow some of that laudanum. You might have to pinch his nose and wait until he opens his mouth to breathe. That’s the way children are made to take their medicine.”
Harrison followed her as she glided to the back door. “You can stay a while, if you want. Maybe meet my wife, Retta. She’s in the parlor with our daughter.”
“I’ve no wish to intrude on your happy family, Harrison. Another time, perhaps.” Cat paused at the door, her hand on the latch, and turned. The smile she offered was genuine, as was the concern in her eyes. “I hope Frank heals, and I hope you find answers regarding what caused the explosion at your mine. I’m heading to the Washburn place next. Thought I’d help with Clem’s leg.”
She opened the door, then added as an afterthought, “I was apprenticing with a doctor back East when my, well, that’s another story entirely. If I can assist Doc Sheaton when he makes his rounds, I will have done my civic duty.”
She strode to her horse and swung into the saddle with the ease of years of practice. Harrison stood on the stoop and watched as she turned her horse toward the mine, and the cluster of miners’ cottages there.
“She’s not what I expected at all.” Retta’s soft voice gave him a start, and Harrison glanced over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, Noodle in her arms, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. She nodded toward the disappearing flume of dust as Cat galloped away. “I listened a bit,” she confided breezily, though she blushed at the confession. “I figured she might want to ask you about Frank. Maybe I’m wrong, but I sense some feelings between them.”
Harrison rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah. Hard ones, I think. Frank doesn’t say much, and Cat’s pretty tight-lipped.” He slipped an arm about Retta’s shoulder, relieved when she left it there as they headed for the kitchen.
As she broke away to set the pup on the floor, then stirred the stew, Harrison leaned against the pantry and watched his lovely wife tend to their meal. No malice, no judgement, not a single speck of resentment shone in her eyes or on her face at knowing Cat Purdue, a reputed saloon woman with loose morals, had come into her home. Anywhere else, Harrison knew the scandal would have thrown Retta’s reputation into question.
He had a feeling Retta took everyone at face value, assigning no blame to lives gone awry or circumstances beyond someone’s control.
To get his mind off the sweet temptation of her shapely curves and fresh-faced beauty, he asked, “Has Frank woke up at all?”
One corner of her mouth curled in a smile. “Funny you should ask. Currently your brother is asleep, while your daughter has decided he’ll look quite dashing with his beard plaited.”
“What?” Harrison bolted for Addie’s room. “This, I’ve got to see.”
“Don’t you dare wake him.” Retta caught hold of his arm and tugged him away from the door. “It was hard to get him comfortable so he’d actually doze off. Right now Addie’s happy and Frank is sleeping like the dead. Time enough to see how he reacts when he wakes up, but Addie thinks she’s ‘healing’ Unca Fank. I’m sure not going to interfere.”
Chapter 14
The next morning, Retta peeked around the door of Addie’s room, smiling to see Frank slouched on the edge of the mattress. When he lifted his head, she spotted Addie’s handiwork on his beard, entwined into twisted tufts that vaguely resembled braids. Behind her, Harrison snorted.
Hearing them, Frank squinted one eye and glared.
“Can you two keep it down?” Groaning, he shifted. “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a mule.” He carefully straightened, slapping both hands on his spine.
Retta bit her lip to hold back her mirth. Harrison wasn’t as polite and began laughing uproariously.
“Gonna let me in on the joke?” Frank asked, confused. He reached up to tug at his beard, as he so often did when in contemplation, halting when he felt the loose plaits. One brow, puffy over his swollen eye, quirked in amusement. “Addie?”
“Yep.”
“Little stinker.” Frank ran his fingers through his beard to untangle it as he rose stiffly from the bed. “I’ll be ready to leave when you are.”
The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1) Page 12
