He reached into the side of his chair and pulled out the iron pipe he kept there. The doctor said that if he built up his arms and chest muscles, he would take him to the Flagstaff observatory. Though the doctor now stayed away, Donny meant him to keep his promise. So day after day he pumped the iron up and down. Even at night when sleep escaped him, he lay in bed and worked with the pipe, raising his arms to the ceiling.
It hurt, though—it hurt a lot. Sometimes his muscles and shoulders felt so sore he could hardly sleep.
Both hands on the pipe, he lifted it over his head, counting each up-and-down movement. Today he made it all the way to eight before his muscles began to burn.
Tucking the pipe back into the seat, he breathed out and held his breath. The doctor said he needed to build up his lung capacity, and that might help his asthma. The breathing exercises were harder to do than the physical ones and so far the longest he could hold his breath was only a few seconds.
Donny reached his arms over the chair arms and grabbed hold of the wheels. In the past, he’d not been strong enough to move the wheelchair himself, but now he managed to move it a couple of inches along the verandah’s wooden boards.
Sweating, he rested a moment and waited until he caught his breath before trying again. He pressed down on the wheels with everything he had. This time his chair caught on a loose board. He jerked his torso back and forth.
“Come on, come on.” The chair suddenly lunged forward, picking up speed as it rolled toward the steps.
He fumbled with the wheels. “Stop,” he gasped. “Stop!”
The front wheel hit the top step with a bump. The chair tilted, pitching him forward. He sailed over the steps and hit the ground hard.
Molly stifled a yawn. She’d spent the last two nights sleeping in Orbit’s stall trying to calm him. The first night away from his mother Orbit paced all night, his loud whinnies keeping the cowhands awake and upsetting the other horses.
She held up her hand. Orbit poked at the hay in her palm. “Come on, you can do it. It’s good. Yum, yum.”
This time, instead of pulling away, Orbit took the hay in his mouth.
Molly grinned. “See? I told you it was good to eat.” While the horse chewed, Molly reached for another handful of hay.
Ruckus ran into the stables, shouting, “Molly, quick, you’re needed at the house.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” she gasped, but Ruckus had vanished as quickly as he’d come. Dropping the hay, she shot out of the stall, slammed the gate shut, and ran. A group of cowboys were gathered in front of the verandah. Alarmed by the overturned wheelchair, a cold knot of fear caught in her throat.
Heart beating madly, she pushed through the circle of cowhands. “What happened, what—”
Donny lay sprawled on the ground. His eyes were open but he looked deathly white. She dropped to her knees by his side. “Donny, speak to me. Oh, God.”
“Looks like he fell down the steps,” Stretch said. “We found him all laid out like Sunday’s going-to-meeting suit.”
She leaned closer. “Tell me where it hurts.”
Donny turned his head toward her. “Molly, I flew. I flew through the air like a bird.”
She checked his head, neck, and back, but he didn’t seem to be injured.
“Would you like us to take him to his room, ma’am?” Stretch asked.
“Yes, please.”
Stretch knuckled Wishbone on the arm. “Give me a hand.”
Stretch lifted Donny under the arms, Wishbone grabbed his feet, and they carried Donny up the steps and into the house.
“I flew like an eagle,” Donny called.
Next to her, Brodie turned the wheelchair upright. “Where do you want me to put it?”
“On the verandah will be fine,” she said.
He stood looking at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck beneath his ponytail. “He’s gonna be all right,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation added, “He’s tough like his sister.”
It was the first civil word he’d spoken to her since the day she’d frozen in front of the stallion.
“Thank you, Brodie.” She hurried up the steps and into the house.
Caleb sat at the table in the small but tidy kitchen eating breakfast, Aunt Bessie in the chair opposite. She wore a blue and white flannelette wrapper with a drawstring waist, but it wasn’t her apparel that grabbed his attention. It was her face. Something about it looked . . .
Paint.
Catching himself staring, he lowered his gaze to his plate. “You make the best cackleberries I’ve ever eaten.” He mopped up the yellow yolk with a piece of fresh-baked bread.
“Why, thank you, Caleb.” Aunt Bessie smoothed her wrapper.
Something in her voice caught his attention. Obviously she had something on her mind. “Everything all right?”
“Not entirely. As you know, my nephew is getting married next week.”
“It’s the talk of the town,” Caleb assured her, knowing she would be pleased.
She gave him a quick smile that faded into a frown. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Cactus Patch has a serious alcohol problem.”
Indeed, he had noticed. Hardly a morning went by that he wasn’t greeted by a steady stream of men wanting relief from hangovers. A doctor could almost build a practice solely on treating town drunks.
“I’m afraid it’s a problem in most western towns,” he said. Boredom, economic problems, and loneliness were all contributing factors.
Aunt Bessie let out a sigh. “Not only do I have to worry about the preacher staying sober but my singer and pianist as well. Somehow I have to find a way to keep the three of them sober.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about Reverend Bland.”
“Maybe so, but keeping the other two sober is like trying to rub the V off a liberty head nickel. Is there anything you can do to cure them of drinking?”
“You mean like a vaccination?” Had she not looked so serious he might have laughed, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Some people had a strange idea about what vaccinations could do. One man had even asked him to vaccinate a wife addicted to ordering from the Montgomery Ward catalog. “I’m afraid not.”
Aunt Bessie pushed a gray strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “Are you planning to bring Molly to the wedding?”
His heart thumped. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“What a lovely girl.” She gave him a motherly smile. “A pity that she’s got her heart set on becoming Miss Walker’s heiress.” Her lips puckered as if the very thought was distasteful.
“I’m aware of Molly’s plans.”
“And did you also know that Miss Walker forbids anyone inheriting the ranch to marry?”
His fork froze in midair. “Forbids?”
“Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous in your life? It goes against nature. Why, the good Lord must be shaking in His boots at such nonsense.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Caleb placed his fork on his plate and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “What would happen if Moll . . . Miss Hatfield . . . were to marry?”
“She would lose her rights to the ranch. It’s all legal, even though it goes against God’s will. I hear Miss Walker doesn’t do anything without her lawyer.”
Caleb sat perfectly still. Why would anyone—especially someone like Molly—agree to such a thing?
Donny! Practically everything she did was for her brother, including forfeiting any sort of happiness for herself.
Aunt Bessie leaned toward him as if sensing she’d lost his attention. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t know that she would make any man a good wife. I heard that she was a dance hall girl back in Dobson Creek.”
He knew she was a singer but a dance hall girl? It would certainly explain a lot about her, including her choice of attire and the graceful way she moved. He still warmed to the memory of her singing and dancing in the barn.
“I take it you don’t t
hink a dance hall girl would make a good wife?”
“Mercy! Don’t get me wrong. I believe in keeping an open mind, but you don’t want to open it so far as to come unhinged.”
“I should say not,” he said lightly.
“Why, even Luke’s fiancée had a questionable background, but I never held that against her. It seems to go with the times, doesn’t it? Backgrounds just aren’t what they used to be.”
“I have a hard time believing Miss Tenney led a less than spotless life.” The few times he’d run into the blacksmith’s fiancée, she’d looked like a lady. Spoke like one too.
“Looks can be deceiving. You’d never know by looking at her that she writes dime novels, and one was even banned in Boston. Still, I told myself open mind, open mind. But a dance hall girl . . .” She shook her head.
“Just exactly what kind of wife does your . . . open mind think I need?” he asked, curious.
“A fine doctor like you needs a good, upright Christian woman,” she said.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, preferably one with green eyes. Startled by the unbidden thought, he dropped his fork and reached for his coffee cup.
Aunt Bessie continued, “She has to be kind and considerate and willing to let you put your patients’ needs before her own.”
He took a sip of the hot brew. “Nothing less would do,” he murmured. And she must have the voice of an angel. Yet another memory of Molly singing flashed in his head.
“Fortunately, I happen to know a couple of young women who fit the bill. If you like, I’d be happy to invite one or even both to Sunday dinner.”
Caleb stood and cleared his plate, setting it in the sink. “That’s very kind of you, but a bit premature. I’m not ready to take a wife.” That much was true, but since Aunt Bessie looked about to argue the point, he quickly grabbed a Meat Fibrine Dog Cake and walked outside to feed Magic.
Molly was nothing more than a distraction. Pretty as a picture, she was, with the voice of an angel, but a distraction nonetheless. If he told himself that enough times, he might even come to believe it.
Chapter 20
Molly let herself into the doctor’s office, setting off a jangle of merry bells.
“I’ll be right with you,” Caleb called from behind a half-open door.
She swallowed hard and sat on one of the chairs lining one wall. Just being in his office made her feel . . . what? Nervous? Anxious? Confused?
She’d thought long and hard about making this trip but didn’t know what else to do. Caleb was the only doctor in town.
Still shaken by Donny’s accident, she blamed Caleb for filling his head with all those crazy notions. Thank God he hadn’t been seriously injured when his wheelchair flew down the steps, but there had been other incidents just as worrisome. Only that morning she found him on the bedroom floor. She was a nervous wreck worrying about what her brother would do next.
The door sprang all the way open and Caleb filled the doorway. He seemed to sap the very air out of the room with his presence and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
His hair was mussed and he looked tired, as if he’d been up all night. Faint lines lightly etched his normally smooth face and his shirt and trousers were wrinkled as if he’d slept in them.
He looked surprised to see her. “Molly. Is everything all right?”
She stood with a casualness she didn’t feel. Somehow he always made her feel like a confused schoolgirl who didn’t know her own mind. She dug her fingers into the velvet fringe handbag and fought for control. The handbag didn’t go with her divided skirt, checkered shirt, and wide-brimmed hat, but it was the only one she owned.
“No, it’s not all right.”
He frowned. “Come inside.” He stepped aside to let her into the examination room and then led her into his office. Magic greeted her with wagging tail and she stooped to pet him.
“Have a seat.”
She straightened and decided to remain standing. “I won’t take up much of your time.” Perhaps if she remained standing she could keep her wits about her.
“How is your cough?”
“Much improved, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I . . . I apologize for my . . . behavior the other day . . . about Donny. You did what you thought best.”
Caleb sat on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his broad chest. “So did you.”
“At least we’re in accord about something,” she said.
“We both want what’s best for your brother. We just have different ideas on how to achieve it.” He studied her and her cheeks grew warm under his scrutiny. “Since you’re here, may I assume that you’re having second thoughts about dismissing me?”
“You assume incorrectly.” She sounded unbearably prim even to her own ears.
“What a pity. So why are you here?”
“I’m here because I ran out of Donny’s asthma medicine.”
He dropped his relaxed easy manner and assumed an air of professionalism. “What do you usually give him?”
“Nitrate of Amyl.”
He grimaced. “That’s a dangerous drug.” He rose to reach into a high cabinet. “Try this,” he said, closing the cabinet door. “It’s safer and just as effective.” He handed her a small bottle labeled Vial of Lobelia. “How is Donny otherwise?”
She slipped the medication into her handbag. “He’s fine now, no thanks to you.”
“What did I do?”
“You put all those fancy ideas into his head. Now he thinks he can fly.”
Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “Fly?”
“Just the other day he took a tumble from the verandah. He could have been seriously injured. Fortunately, he didn’t suffer more than a few bumps and bruises. And this morning”—she shuddered at the memory—”this morning I found him on the floor of his room.”
“And you think I had something to do with all this?”
She took a deep breath. “He’s not been the same since you worked with him. He’s more moody and difficult to handle. You put all those ideas into his head.”
Caleb shook his head. “I didn’t put them there. Becoming more independent is part of growing up.”
“If he injures himself he won’t have a chance to grow up.”
He reached for both her hands, and warm shivers shot up her arms.
“Molly, I want to help.”
Her breath caught in her chest and she couldn’t think, let alone speak.
He stared down at her calloused palms before meeting her gaze. Feeling self-conscious, she pulled her hands away.
“Let me work with him,” he said. “I can teach him safe ways to move.”
Something in his eyes made her hesitate. He looked at her more like a friend than a doctor, and this only added to her turmoil. “He’s the only family I have,” she whispered at last. “If anything happens to him . . .”
“I’ll do my best to make sure nothing does.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I’m not promising miracles, but I can help him. From what you say, I’ve already helped. Admit it.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I used to trust Donny to stay where I put him, but no more.”
He folded his arms. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
Wanting to believe what he said was true, her resistance crumbled. “I can’t pay much.”
He shrugged. “Seeing Donny improve will be payment enough.”
“And you won’t treat him like an animal.”
“Never did, never will.”
“I don’t want him on the floor,” she said.
His jaw tightened. “If I’m to help your brother, I have to do it my way. If you question my methods or limit the way I do things, then nothing will get accomplished. I’ll work your brother hard, and I expect him to give me everything he’s got in return. If my expectations seem harsh, it’s only for Donny’s own good.”
Oddly enough Brodie expressed a similar opinion about training horses. Brodie
’s methods seemed harsh at times, but he got results. Still, she wasn’t sure she had the stomach for what Caleb proposed.
“If I agree to your . . . conditions, will you agree to mine?”
Caleb slid off the desk, standing tall in front of her, but she did not back down. “Probably not,” he said, “but go on.”
“You will work with Donny only in my presence.” Tough training methods might work on horses, but her brother required a gentler approach.
“Absolutely not.”
“He’s my brother.”
“I’m his doctor.”
“Only if I say so!”
They stood practically toe to toe. If she wasn’t so much shorter, their noses would have touched.
“Sorry. I can’t work under your conditions,” he said.
Surprised at his unwillingness to meet her demands, she refused to back down. “Then we have no further business.”
His expression changed, like the closing of a door. “The medicine I gave you should help with the asthma. Have him drink tea. Don’t know what it is exactly, but there’s something in tea that seems to help asthmatics.”
“Thank you,” she said, slipping the strings of her handbag over her wrist. The room was small, but the two of them seemed miles apart and she regretted it more than she could say.
She looked away from his steady gaze and turned.
She let herself out but stood for several moments on the boardwalk in front of his office. She was shaking, but whether from disappointment or something else, she didn’t know. Loud voices wafted from the saloon across the way, followed by a gunshot. The marshal practically sprang out of his office and raced across the street.
Shuddering, Molly walked around a drunken man sprawled facedown in the dirt. She’d grown accustomed to such sights in Dobson Creek and never given it much thought. Today the man’s self-imposed helplessness filled her with disgust.
Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) Page 15
