Finally, he leaned forward. She was so grateful that he’d taken the initiative that she met him and their noses collided. Not discouraged, she fitted her lips to his and herself to the kiss. His lips were warm and soft, not objectionable. But he remained like that, not seeming to breathe or move, until she opened her eyes and dared a peek.
His eyes were shut.
Abby raised her hand and placed it along his collar.
He brought a hand to her waist.
Still their lips were fused, but unmoving.
Maybe he hadn’t had much practice, she thought with a start. She allowed herself to breathe and lean into him, turning her head slightly, changing the alignment of their mouths.
He took the encouragement, wrapped his other arm around her and intensified the kiss by holding her tighter.
Abby felt no rush of sensation, no liquid fire chug through her veins. But that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? To stay in control of herself? To have a tight rein on her passions? He was making it easy. Just as she’d never experienced fire and loss of restraint with Jed, she wouldn’t have to fear it with Everett.
All of Brock’s gibes rose up to take bites of her confidence. You don’t really want Matthews. She snuggled all the tighter against the man she planned to marry. She would prove Brock Kincaid wrong if it killed her.
Perhaps Everett just needed a little more warming up to turn the effect upon her. She ran her hands inside his coat jacket and touched him through his shirt, finding him warm and solid, if not as broad or muscled as Brock.
His breathing picked up pace, and he spread a hand around her waist. This was more like it.
Jonathon has a real father, and you’re denying him.
She wasn’t denying anyone anything by making a sound marriage choice. She touched Everett’s hair, not as long, not as silky as Brock’s. He pulled his lips away to kiss her neck. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but no tremors ran through her body.
Boldly, she took his hand and placed it over her breast through her layers of clothing. His whole arm grew rigid and he didn’t move his hand. She kissed him again, waiting for the pleasure to begin, waiting for him to make a move that set her on fire. She hated Brock’s overconfident demeanor, his lack of care, his manipulative purpose and the coarse words.
This was the kind of man she wanted.
Everett pulled his hand back and released Abby as though she was a red-hot iron. She felt nothing. No regret, no shame, no desire. Nothing.
If he found her desirable, he hadn’t showed it. Perhaps that was the difference between a gentleman and gunslinger.
“This wasn’t wise,” he said, adjusting his collar and his jacket.
It certainly hadn’t been. She’d set out to prove something to herself—to prove Brock wrong.
And instead she’d proved him right.
A spring blizzard whipped itself into a fury during the night. Drifts against the front of the building prevented Abby from seeing out.
“There’s nothing out there!” Jonathon cried. “Mama, where’d the town go?”
“The town’s still there,” she replied. “We just can’t see out our windows because of the snow.”
Jonathon ran toward the door and she shouted, “No! Don’t open the door!”
“Why not?”
“Because the snow’s as deep against it as against the windows and it might fall right inside.”
“What’re we gonna do?”
“We’re going to bundle up good and go out though our upstairs door, down to the street and shovel our way to the front to get it cleared. We had to do this when you were a baby,” she told him.
“You mean, you and my papa?”
The word drew her up short. Jonathon knew nothing different. Jed had been his “papa.”
“Yes, me and your papa. Now, let’s go get our wraps on.”
The chore was a lark to Jonathon. He cheerfully donned his sweaters and coat and hat and mittens and extra socks, and tied his boots, then, with Dilly on his heels, plowed his way down the stairs and plunged into a snowdrift. Laughing, Abby pulled him out and handed him a shovel, wondering how long he’d be able to lift the heavy tool and the wet snow.
Together, they made a path through the snow, which in some places rose over their heads. The dog tired of watching and bounded away to sniff to his heart’s content. Perspiring from the exertion, Abby peeled back her neck scarf and took in lungfuls of frigid air that burned in her chest.
Jonathon soon tired of shoveling and played in a pile of snow. From around the corner of the building, Abby heard him talking to someone. “Who’s there?” she called.
Mr. Waverly appeared, using Jonathon’s shovel as a cane, and made his feeble way along the path Abby had dug. “Jest me,” he said. “Come to give ya a hand.”
“Well, bless your heart, Mr. Waverly,” she said, grateful to her cold toes that anyone should be so kind as to offer help. The sounds of other storekeepers working on their buildings had reached her while she labored, and she knew Sam would be late, as usual. It would never occur to Everett that she might need help, but then he had his duties at the telegraph office.
The old man bent to dip the shovel into the snow, caught his balance, raised the tool and somehow tossed snow on the pile near his shoulder. Abby watched another painstaking dip and toss, and then returned to her task. They’d made their way across the dock to within a few feet of the door when a call echoed across the snow.
“Abby! Abby!”
Dilly answered the call with a bark.
Abby straightened, her aching back catching painfully, and peered about. Sam Rowland romped over a drift and burst into their cleared path, spilling snow. Out of breath, he panted, “It’s time. You have to come. I sent Lionel’s boy to go get Haley, but no telling how long she will be.”
“Wouldn’t you just know it? Baby has to choose a day like this to come into the world.” Abby glanced around. Jonathon had come to see what the commotion was about. “I’ll go get Laine,” she decided aloud.
“I’ll keep an eye on the store for you,” Mr. Waverly offered.
It was unlikely that there’d be very many customers, anyway. “Just keep a tally and I’ll add purchases to people’s bills later—if anyone stops by,” Abby instructed him.
She glanced at Jonathon. Mary’s baby could come immediately or it could take hours yet. The school bell hadn’t rung that morning, so Kate Kincaid must not have made her way to the schoolhouse yet. “If the bell rings, you go on to school,” she told her son. “If it doesn’t, run on up and knock on Daisy’s door. She’ll dry you off and feed you. You just tell her where I went.”
“Okay, Mama.”
Abby propped her shovel against the storefront and followed behind Sam as he blazed a path to Laine’s. Her friend lived with her father and brother, but they were off on another enterprising trip and had been gone for nearly a week. “Where are they?” Abby asked.
“I think they have taken a patent for a new trap to the capital,” she explained.
The silence wrought by their absence was always noticed by the townspeople. Normally, several times a week, the sound of icy rivers being dynamited to bring fish to the surface echoed across the landscape.
“Mary Rowland is having her baby,” Abby explained. “I’d feel a whole lot better if you were there with me.”
“She approves of my coming?” Laine asked uncertainly.
Sam was waiting outside. “I think she’ll be grateful to have us both there,” Abby told her.
Laine put on her coat and boots and, slipping and sliding, their breath creating white clouds in the air, the trio marched toward the street, where Sam owned a small house.
Sam ushered them in, and after removing their wraps, the two women found Mary Rowlands in her bed, her face pale and dotted with perspiration. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said breathlessly. “I thought I was going to have this baby alone!”
“We wouldn’t let that happen,” Abby assured her.
“I had no idea,” Mary said, her blue eyes open wide with fright. “I had no idea it would hurt this bad.”
“The good thing is you’ll forget all about it once you have that little one to hold,” Abby told her, but she and Laine exchanged a look.
“I don’t know….” Mary bit her lip and tensed her body.
“What shall I do?” Sam asked.
“Bring hot water, soap, towels and clean sheets,” Laine told him.
He hurried off to do her bidding.
Mary had turned to her side and groaned.
“How long have you been having these pains?” Abby asked.
“Off and on during the night. I thought I just had a backache again, but it got worse and worse until I didn’t think I could bear it.”
“Did you lose any fluid?” Laine asked.
Mary’s eyes widened. “No.”
Laine exchanged another look with Abby. It could be a good long while yet. “May I check to see how far down the baby is?”
Mary looked at Abby and Abby nodded.
“Let’s wash,” Laine said to Abby. They joined Sam in the kitchen to wash their hands, then Laine examined Mary.
“The head is not down very far yet. It is possible Haley might make it before it is time.”
“Have you done this before?” Mary asked.
“A few times,” Laine replied.
“Well, can’t you hurry it up?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“Nothing I can do. You could get up and walk a bit.”
“Walk? It feels like I’m being ripped apart, and you want me to walk?”
“Possible it will bring the baby down,” Laine replied.
By afternoon, Mary’s pains had become regular and hard. Abby sent Sam to check on the store and see how Jonathon was doing. He came back to report everything was under control. Kate Kincaid had held school that afternoon and Jonathon had gone.
“Is it still snowing?” Abby asked.
“Not right now, but the sky looks ready to drop another load at any time.”
“Will you please go back and see if Jonathon can go to the ranch with Zeke when John or Caleb comes into town?” she asked. “Stay until someone comes for them.”
Sam returned again with the news that Brock had come for Zeke and had been pleased to take Jonathon back to the Kincaid ranch.
“Mr. Waverly was gone, so I locked up the store,” Sam told her.
“Thanks.” Abby gave him five minutes to visit with his wife and then asked him to fix them something to eat.
Haley Kincaid showed up at dusk, having left Jesse and the boys prepared to spend the night at the hotel while she delivered a baby. She efficiently took over, relieving Abby and Laine of duties they were glad to relinquish. They remained close by to assist.
Two hours later, Haley took them aside and whispered, “That’s not the baby’s head you see there. I’m afraid he’s breech. I’m going to have to help her a lot to get this child out. She needs you to keep her focused, and hold her down if you have to. And whatever you do, don’t let that man in here again.”
Abby and Laine exchanged frightened looks, but Haley’s calm instructions kept them centered on the tasks at hand.
Forty-five minutes later, four women cried their eyes out at the beautiful tiny boy that nestled at Mary’s breast. Together they bathed infant and mother, bundled soiled sheets and towels, and dressed Mary in a clean cotton gown. When all evidence of the struggle had been whisked away, Abby allowed Sam in to meet his new son.
Sitting at the small table in the kitchen, she and Haley watched Laine brew a mixture of tea to help the new mother produce milk and heal quickly.
Abby’s entire body ached from that morning’s shoveling and the day’s anxiety.
Laine poured a cup of tea and cast them a cryptic glance. “The more times I see that, the less I think I ever wish to experience it.”
“It’s not always so difficult,” Haley told her.
Abby couldn’t seem to disagree at the moment, though she’d always known she wanted more children. Haley had assisted her at Jonathon’s birth, and she’d always been grateful for her care.
“You two have put in a full day,” Haley said. “Go on home. I’ll stay the night. Jesse doesn’t expect me to join him at the hotel until morning.”
“You will rest?” Laine asked.
“I’ll have Sam make me a place on the sofa.”
They said their good-nights and stepped out into the cold darkness. “You okay being by yourself?” Abby asked.
“I like it,” Laine replied. “No one to cook for.”
“Thank you for coming with me.”
“I was pleased to help.”
Abby hugged her and they went their separate directions on the snow-drifted streets. Pulling her coat tight, she made her way toward her store. The sounds of a tinny piano and laughter echoed down the way from the nearest saloon. Abby never traversed the streets alone at night, the only place she usually went being the hotel with Everett, so it seemed surreal to be out here by herself.
As she passed the Double Deuce, she remained on the other side of the street, but surveyed the well-lit building curiously. Two men in coats and hats exited the double doors, momentarily exposing the interior to her view and raising the level of noise. Men and gaily dressed woman sat at round tables, where smoke curled up toward a gray cloud that hung beneath the ceiling.
Abby wrinkled her nose, imagining the horrible smell.
Before the doors swung shut, she glimpsed a man who reminded her of Everett—same clipped hair, same shirt, vest and tie.
Abby blinked into the darkness and continued her journey. A lot of men kept their hair short and wore suits. But probably not a lot of men wore clothes like that to visit a saloon.
Something Brock had said about Everett cheating at cards came to mind. At the time, she had given it no thought, but how would he know that unless he’d been in a card game with him?
Nothing wrong with a friendly game of cards now and then, she assured herself as she arrived at her store.
She used her key to enter, barring the door behind her, and lit the lantern on the wall, as well as another on the counter. The potbellied stove had been left to go cold, so she worked at building a fire. It was easier to keep it banked at night than to start it anew and try to heat a huge area that had been left to the winter cold.
Mr. Waverly had made himself coffee, so she carried the cold pot on her way to the back rooms. She paused by the counter where she kept her ledgers, and discovered notes the old man had scribbled for her on a scrap of brown paper. She could barely make out the items, but she smiled at his thoughtfulness.
Carrying the enamel pot into the back, she tripped over something and caught herself before she fell. The pot clanged to the floor. Abby reached down and, in the darkness, made out a shoe and a pant leg. Scrambling for a match, she lit another lantern and held it above the prone body on her storeroom floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Horror prickled her scalp when she recognized Mr. Waverly. “Oh, my goodness! Mr. Waverly! Mr. Waverly, can you hear me?”
His crinkled eyelids fluttered. “I was…just nappin’.”
“I thought you’d gone home!” She knelt beside him.
“Heaven?” he asked. “I…didn’t make it that far. Unless you’re…an angel.”
“No, I meant…well, can you get up?”
He pursed his lips a couple of times. “Maybe in the mornin’.”
She looked him over. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Don’t think so.”
She would feel terrible if his shoveling that morning had been too much of a strain on his heart. She felt terrible already that he had collapsed in her store and lain here for who knew how long. “Let me help you. There’s a cot over here where Jonathon naps.”
“Can you reach me my cane?” he asked, coming to a sitting position with her help.
She dragged the cane over and handed it to
him. “Oh, I wish there was a doctor in town. I can send for Laine.”
“I don’t want that China girl doctorin’ me.”
“Well, we don’t have a real doctor.” Abby helped him to the cot. “Ruth Kincaid, perhaps? Would you let her look at you?”
“That Cheyenne woman? That’s more like it.”
Abby rolled her eyes. Ruth probably did know more about elderly people than Laine, since she treated so many on the reservation. “Okay, you stay right here.”
Abby grabbed her coat and made her way, slipping and sliding, to the sheriff’s office, only to find it closed for the night. James’s cottage sat behind the jailhouse, so she followed the narrow path to the door. James promised to send for Ruth, and Abby went back to sit with the old man.
It was eleven by the time Ruth arrived, accompanied by Caleb. She thought perhaps Mr. Waverly’d had a weak spell because of his aging heart, and suggested he rest for a few days. They fashioned a travois out of the cot and, with Caleb’s help, carried him to the boardinghouse, rather than to his room at the livery, so that Old Lady Harroun could look out for him.
Caleb, who had waited for Ruth in the foyer, spoke to Abby as the two women came toward him. “Jonathon is just fine with us,” he assured her. “You can ride back to the ranch with us if you’d like.”
“Thank you, both of you, but I don’t have a worry about him while he’s at your place. And I’ll be fine here. I suppose Brock is with the boys now?”
“Brock and John,” Ruth told her. They stepped outside. “The little boys are all fast asleep and the big boys are probably still in a standoff at the checkerboard, waiting for us to get there.”
“We’ll bring Zeke and Jonathon to school in the morning,” Caleb told her.
He untied the reins tethering two horses to the hitching post.
“You didn’t bring a wagon?” Abby asked.
“Not in this snow,” he replied. “And the dark. Letting the horses have their heads is the safest travel.”
“Good night, then,” Abby told them. “Thank you for your help.”
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