by Dinah McCall
Ah, well…I always have plenty of solitude. A little change is good for the soul.
Even though the house was quiet, it felt different—more alive. What was strange was that the energy from her unexpected guests was imbuing her with the same feelings. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this excited about a day, which didn’t say much for her social life. It was pitiful to admit that five strangers in her home had taken on monumental proportions of importance. Despite her proclivity for solitude, she was looking forward to what might unfold as she stepped outside.
The cold hit her like a slap to the face, sharp, biting and deceptively deadly. Still, it was nothing to what Molly and the boy had endured. Thank God they’d found them when they had. She didn’t think they would have survived another night without fire. Anxious to get the chores over with and get back inside, she picked up the milk bucket and headed toward the barn.
The crust on the snow crunched with each step she took, leaving perfect footprints from the house to the barn. Mildred heard her coming and bawled a welcome. Puppy woofed a soft hello back to the cow. Buttercup, the yellow barn cat, bounced out of a nearby storage room and wound herself around Deborah’s ankles as she entered the barn.
“Good morning, Buttercup. How are the kids?”
As if on cue, four half-grown kittens came piling out of the same storage room and began mewing loudly.
“I hear you,” Deborah said. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
She hung the milk bucket on a nail and went into the tack room to get cat food. When she turned around, Puppy was sitting in the doorway, watching her intently.
“Yes, Puppy, I see you. You’re gonna get your food, too.”
Having said that, she took the sack of dry cat food and filled three bowls. Two for the cats and one for Puppy. Puppy had been hanging out with cats most of her life and preferred to eat what her buddies ate. The way Deborah looked at it, Puppy was entitled to likes and dislikes, just like anyone else.
Mildred bawled again, only softer and in a lower tone. Deborah smiled as she filled a big grain scoop with sweet feed and put it in the manger. The old cow moved into position as calmly as she did every morning, eager to eat and to be relieved of the milk Deborah was after.
Half wondering where Farley was, Deborah took the milk bucket from the nail, moved a small milk stool into position and sat down. As always, she rubbed Mildred’s belly a couple of times, talking softly to her as she warmed her hands before touching the cow’s udders. Mildred munched slowly on her food, satisfied with what was going on. Deborah stroked the cow’s belly, reminding her what was about to occur, then pulled gently on two of the tightly swollen teats a few times, alternating strokes until Mildred’s milk began to flow.
Steam rose instantly as the warm milk hit the cold bucket. Deborah’s breath mingled with the steam coming from the cow’s warm belly, mixing familiar scents she’d known since childhood. Even though the cold made the chore uncomfortable, there was something satisfying about the routine. When Deborah was with the animals, the rest of the world and its troubles fell away. There was nothing to worry about, no one to save, no visions to endure. And so she sat, her forehead resting against Mildred’s side, squeezing the teats in strong, steady strokes until they were flaccid and the bucket contained all Mildred’s morning milk.
Deborah scooted the stool back, then got up, taking the bucket with her as she went. She paused long enough to pour the cats a bit of the fresh milk. They crowded around the bowl and drank until their treat was gone, then climbed up in the stack of hay bales and disappeared.
Puppy gazed longingly at the high-stacked bales, then woofed once before turning to look at Deborah.
“Come on,” she said. “You can go back in by the fire.”
Puppy wagged her tail and then led the way out of the barn. Deborah glanced at the sky as she hurried toward the house. It was overcast again. A sign of more snow. Smoke from the fireplace rose high above the roof, only to disperse into the atmosphere. The scent of burning wood and fresh pine from the nearby trees was strong in the air. She could almost taste the hot coffee waiting for her inside, and then remembered she would not be eating breakfast alone.
Unconsciously, her steps lengthened. By the time she reached the back porch, she was breathless. She reached for the screen door, then jumped when it opened before her.
“Oh!”
Mike reached out, took the bucket from her hands, then took her by the arm and helped her up the steps and inside the screened-in back porch. When the old collie bounded in between them, he grinned.
“Well, hello there, girl. You and Deborah have been up awful early.” Then he looked at Deborah. “What is it you call her?”
“Her name is Puppy,” Deborah said as she stomped the snow off her boots.
“Puppy?”
Deborah shrugged. “What can I say? Once upon a time, it fit.”
Mike arched an eyebrow, then slid an arm around Deborah’s waist and pulled her to him.
She didn’t resist.
“Don’t spill the milk,” she whispered.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” he said. And then he kissed her.
His lips were firm and warm, and he tasted slightly of coffee. Deborah wanted so much more of him than just the kiss, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not yet.
When she moaned beneath her breath, Mike’s mind went blank. Her lips had been cold, but they were warm now, and yielded to his demand without caution. It would be so easy to forget where they were, or that they weren’t alone.
He couldn’t believe how quickly this attraction had happened, but he wasn’t going to question a good thing. It had been years since he’d been this out of his head for a woman, and he didn’t want to mess up. He wanted Deborah in every way a man could want a woman. Just when they were at the point of forgetting propriety, Puppy barked.
Deborah drew back reluctantly, then glanced at the dog and smiled.
“She wants in by the fire.”
Mike sighed, then reluctantly turned Deborah loose.
“And you probably do, too. What do I do with this?” he asked, holding up the bucket of milk.
“Give it to me. I’ll strain it up out here, then wash the bucket inside.”
“I can help,” Mike said.
“Have you ever done this before?” she asked.
He paused, then grinned. “Done what?” he asked.
Deborah made a face at him.
“I never did get the hang of flirting, so quit it. We’re talking about straining milk, not having sex.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike said.
“You forget who you’re talking to,” Deborah said. She took the milk out of his hands and poured it through a strainer into a large crock jar, then covered the jar with a clean cotton cloth and carried the bucket inside to wash.
The warmth of the house was almost intoxicating.
“Ooh, it feels good to be warm,” Deborah said as she took off her coat and hung it on the hook by the back door. “Who’s up besides you?”
Mike’s grin widened.
When he didn’t answer, Deborah looked up. Immediately, it dawned on her what she’d said.
“I’ll rephrase the question. Who’s awake besides you?”
“Everyone, or I’d offer to—”
Deborah laughed out loud. She had never had these kinds of conversations with a man, and yet instead of offending her, his ingenuous honesty just struck her as funny.
Mike watched the surprise, then the delight, spreading across her face and ignored the ache of want in his belly. She was so pretty when she let down her guard, and her laughter…God, it was a force of nature.
“You need to do something with your hands besides what you’re thinking,” Deborah said, and handed him the milk bucket and the strainer. “Here…please wash these well with hot, soapy water. You can hang them on the nails just outside the kitchen door.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mike said, and pr
etended dismay at being misunderstood.
Deborah laughed again, only softer.
“You are such a fake,” she said. “But a lovable one, nonetheless.”
Mike paused. “Am I? Am I really?”
“Really what?” Deborah muttered as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Lovable?”
Deborah paused in the act of stirring sugar into her coffee and looked up at him. The fun in his voice and expression was gone. She sighed.
“Something tells me I’m going to regret being so open with you, but yes…you are a lovable man, Mike O’Ryan.”
He nodded, then straightened his shoulders as if he’d just been divested of a huge weight and headed for the sink.
Deborah took a sip of her coffee, added a bit more sugar and stirred, then sipped again. It was perfect. As soon as Mike took the bucket and strainer to the back porch, she washed her hands, got a package of bacon from the fridge and began fixing breakfast. While Mike went outside to bring in more firewood, she began frying bacon. In the middle of taking the last perfectly fried strips out of the skillet, she heard Johnny squeal. The sound was unfamiliar, and she couldn’t tell whether it was panic or pleasure, so she hurried to the living room to investigate.
He and Puppy had found each other.
James was stirring the fire, and Mike was standing by with a fresh log to put on the fire as she came into the room.
“Is everything all right?” Deborah asked, somewhat shocked by her old dog’s puppy-like behavior.
“Good morning,” James said. “Compared to the past two mornings, this one’s a beaut.”
She wouldn’t look at Mike for fear he would make her blush, but she knew he was looking at her and remembering their kiss.
Johnny squealed again as Puppy nosed the spot beneath his ear and then licked his chin.
At that point Evan came running. He’d managed to pull on his jeans, but he was still wet from his shower. The minute he entered the living room, his gaze went straight to his son.
“Johnny?”
Johnny rolled over on his back and then looked up.
“Dad! Look at the cool dog!”
Evan breathed a sigh of relief, then thrust his fingers through his hair, combing it away from his face. Without his eye patch, the devastation of his injuries was accentuated, yet he couldn’t have cared less. He’d heard what sounded like a scream and reacted.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “My heart nearly stopped.”
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said. “I didn’t know she would get so excited. I can put her outside.”
“No!” Johnny cried, and threw his arms around the old collie’s neck. “No, Dad, please! We’ll be quiet. I promise.”
Evan knelt at his son’s feet, then ruffled Johnny’s hair.
“It’s okay, son,” he said softly. “I overreacted.” Having apologized to Johnny, he then smiled at the old dog. “Hey, girl. What’s your name?”
“Her name is Puppy,” Deborah said.
“That’s a cool name,” Johnny said, and then picked up the dog’s front foot and shook it, as if it was a hand. “Hello, Puppy. My name is Johnny. Pleased to meet you.”
Puppy woofed, as if acknowledging the introduction, which made everyone laugh. Satisfied that all was well, Johnny grinned and resumed his wrestling match with the dog, who seemed to be enjoying it as much as he was.
Evan went back to finish dressing, while James and Mike returned to the fire.
It occurred to Deborah that one of her new guests was missing.
“Has anyone seen Molly this morning?” she asked.
Both men shook their heads. It was Johnny who answered.
“She’s still sleeping,” he said.
Deborah frowned, wondering how the young woman could sleep through all this.
“I’ll just peek in on her before I finish making breakfast,” she said.
As Johnny said, Molly appeared to be sleeping. Evan had obviously slipped out of bed when his son had awakened and carefully covered her back up. Her dark hair was fanned across her pillow, her body curled into a ball beneath the covers.
Deborah started to back out of the room when something caught her attention. Frowning, she moved closer, then stopped at the bedside to look closer.
Molly’s cheeks were bright red, as if she’d gotten overheated. That in itself wasn’t so unusual, except that the room was fairly cool.
Lightly, she laid the back of her hand against Molly’s forehead. She was burning up.
“Evan!”
The bathroom door flew back. Evan was standing in the doorway, completely dressed, eye patch and all. When he saw Deborah leaning over the bed, he frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Then he realized her attention was on Molly. “Molly? Is something wrong with Molly?”
“She’s burning up with a fever. Did you notice anything during the night? Was she restless? Did she get up very often?”
Evan rushed to the bedside.
“Sick? She’s sick?”
“Or hurt. It could be an infection. We paid so much attention to Johnny last night that I’m afraid I neglected to check her as thoroughly.” Her frown deepened. “Still, I helped her into the tub and didn’t see any deep cuts or puncture wounds.”
“What do we do?” Evan asked.
“I need to check her. If you would just leave the—”
“You’ll need help turning her over. Besides, she put herself in harm’s way for my son. I’m not leaving her.”
Deborah didn’t argue. He was right about one thing: she would need the help.
“Okay,” Deborah said. “Let me check her stomach first. If she has internal injuries, I think her belly will be distended.”
“Jesus,” Evan muttered, and helped Deborah pull back the covers.
He was all but holding his breath as Deborah made a thorough check of Molly’s body. Seeing the slender limbs so battered and bruised made him sick, imagining the blows she must have suffered to get this way. When Deborah pulled the nightgown up a bit farther, they both gasped at the size of the bruise just above her rib cage.
“God…what could cause that?” he asked. “Can you tell if her ribs are broken?”
“Not much telling what she hit…or what hit her,” Deborah said. “As for her ribs…they feel okay. There’s nothing obviously wrong. That’s not to say she might not have cracked ribs, but nothing feels out of place.”
“Thank God,” Evan said.
“Exactly,” Deborah said. “Now…help me roll her onto her side.”
When Molly didn’t once object to being disturbed, Evan feared the worst.
“Shouldn’t she be talking to us, or objecting to being undressed…or something?” he asked as he helped Deborah turn Molly over.
Deborah started to answer, then gasped.
“Oh, Lord,” she said, and leaned closer, feeling along the wound on Deborah’s back.
“What?” Evan asked.
“Here…down low on her back. I don’t know why I didn’t see this last night.”
Evan shifted position so he could see better. There was a dark streak just beneath the top layer of her skin, while the area around it was a swollen and red.
“What the hell is that?” Evan asked.
Deborah pushed gently at the streak. It didn’t move.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But there’s something under her skin.”
“I’m going to get Dad,” Evan said.
“No. Stay here with her,” Deborah said. “I’m going to get my first aid kit. I’ll tell him.”
“What are you going to do?” Evan asked.
“Whatever that is, it isn’t supposed to be there, so we need to get it out.”
Molly moaned.
Deborah glanced at her nervously, then ran from the room, leaving Evan and Molly alone.
Evan felt the heat emanating from her skin, and wanted to pick her up in his lap and rock her as he had his little boy. She’d come out of that crash with
injuries like this and yet she’d never said a word. Her whole focus had been on keeping herself and Johnny alive.
He pulled the covers back up over her body, then sat down on the bed beside her. Without thinking, he reached for her hand. When her fingers curled around his, his belly knotted. Had she heard them talking about her, or was that just reflex? Was she scared? God knew he was. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, then cupped the side of her cheek.
“Molly, can you hear me?”
A tear slid from beneath her eyelids and onto his fingers.
“Ah, honey…don’t be afraid. You’re not alone. You were there for my son. I’m here for you.”
When she heard his voice, she took a slow, deep breath, then tried to reach the place on her back that was inflamed.
“Somethin’…hurts….”
Evan laid a hand on her arm.
“We know, Molly. We’re going to make it better.”
Her eyelids fluttered; then, slowly, she opened her eyes.
“No, no…go ’way. Leave me ’lone. Don’t wanna die.”
Evan’s gut knotted. She must think he was the killer. “It’s okay, Molly. It’s me. Evan. You’re safe, and I promise I won’t let you die.”
Seconds later, Deborah came rushing back into the room. Mike was right behind her.
“Where’s Johnny?” Evan asked.
“Dad’s with him,” Mike said. “What’s going on here?”
“Molly was injured in the crash, and she never said a word. We should have known. We should have asked, but we were all so focused on Johnny….”
Mike heard the guilt in Evan’s voice.
“As you should have been,” Mike argued, as he moved closer to the bed, then reached for the covers. “Let me see the wound.” He winced as he saw the inflammation. “Damn. That’s a mess.”
“Here,” Deborah said, handing him a couple of large bath towels. “Scoot these beneath her.”
Mike unfolded the towels, then tucked them under Molly, who felt the pressure and tried to roll over.
“No, Molly. You need to lie still. Can you hear me, honey? It’s Deborah. You need to lie still so I can doctor your wound.”
“Hurts,” Molly mumbled.
“I know, and I’m so sorry I didn’t see it before.”
