by Jillian Hart
How did she thank him? The words clogged in her throat. She could only gape like a fish out of water, struggling for air. He was doing all this for Solomon. It was impossible to adore him any more than she already did, but her poor heart tumbled even farther. No way to stop it.
“I would fix the poultice myself, but I want to help Rupert. I know he’s had a long night.” Lorenzo’s hand settled against her jaw, the warmth of his palm and the slight abrasion of his calloused fingers felt dearer than anything she’d ever known.
All her willpower was not enough to keep her from pressing into his touch just a little, just the tiniest, ittiest bit.
“Go.” She put a shield around her heart, trying to resist, and wished she had the strength to step away from him. “Please help Solomon. I’ll be out with the poultice when it’s done.”
“Bring several dish towels when you do.” He moved away, as if reluctant, too. The impact of his unguarded blue gaze felt as physical as his touch had been and went deep into her soul. He broke away and strode out of the shanty, but the sweetness remained.
You are walking on dangerous ground, Ruby Ann. She plucked up the knife, the wooden handle rough against her fingers. The shield around her heart wasn’t strong enough. He had gotten around it, gotten in. What was she going to do about it? How was she going to stop it? She had no clue.
She set the blade to the head of the onion and sliced through papery skin. Juice spilled over her fingertips and stung her eyes as she pried off the outside layers. She heard the faint rumble of men’s voices through the walls—Pa and Lorenzo talking as they met on the path to the barn.
Lorenzo. She respected him, she adored him, she felt affection for him. But that was all. She could not go any further. She could not fall in love with Lorenzo. Her feelings were on the brink of the rocky edge of a cliff ready to plummet. She had to resist. She had to be a fortress.
Was she strong enough? She did not know.
She wasn’t prepared for the sight of the man seated in the straw with the horse’s head in his lap. Did he have to be so wonderful? It was Lorenzo’s fault she was falling. Any woman would be defenseless again his kindness.
Poncho, tied in the aisle, moved aside for her to pass and nibbled on the edge of her hood as she squeezed by him. Clover stretched across the rails of her stall, curious to see what was in the fry pan. Pa busily forked soiled straw out of the stall, while Rupert replaced it with fresh clean hay.
“It’s ready,” she said simply.
“Excellent.” Lorenzo gently lifted Solomon’s head and slid away. He stopped to draw a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and patted dry the gelding’s copiously running nose.
Touched, she drew herself up straight, gathering her willpower. Don’t fall in love him, Ruby Ann. Be completely unaffected by him.
She uncovered the fry pan. “Is this what you meant?”
“It’s just right.” He smelled of winter wind and hay and horse, a manly combination as he leaned in to take the handle. Steam rolled between them, ripe with onions and the earthy scent of herbs. He took one glove off with his teeth and touched his fingertips into the mixture. “Good, not too hot. Come with me.”
Solomon’s heavy breathing rasped painfully. His sides heaved as if every breath of air was an impossible strain. Her poor friend. She knelt near the gelding’s belly. When she placed her hand on his flesh, his short coarse coat was damp with fever. He moaned once, aware of her presence and her touch.
“You’re such a good boy,” she told him in her softest voice. “You are the very best horse.”
Pa came to stand at Solomon’s haunches. They watched as Lorenzo ladled a big scoop of the strong-smelling mash onto the gelding’s side, right behind his front leg.
“Let me help.” She leaned forward using her good hand to spread the mixture. Steam rose as they worked together in silence. Facing one another, she shook out a dish towel, a bit scorched from her attempt to warm it on the stove. Lorenzo caught two corners and together they lowered it over the poultice to trap in heat.
Did she dare look up? Did she dare meet his gaze? Her throat closed up. Panic popped through her bloodstream and she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fight what was happening to her.
“That’s awful clever, young Mr. Davis.” Pa broke the silence, sounding pleased and sheepish all at once. “I should have thought to do the same. It’s like what my mother, God rest her, used on me when I was young.”
“My grandfather said what works for us can work for horses. First we loosen up the mucus in his lungs and see if we can bring it up.” Lorenzo gently patted Solomon’s neck. The gelding nickered with great effort and coughed hard, a terrible hacking sound. He feared he had come too late to make a difference. For Ruby’s sake, he would continue to try. He glanced toward the door, but Rupert hadn’t returned yet with a bucket of boiling water.
He circled around to Solomon’s nose and knelt there, so close to Ruby he could see the slight intake of her breath at his nearness. Her eyes popped wide, and the ice-blue flecks in her irises dazzled. The boom of his pulse rocked through him, and it took all his discipline to hold his hands steady as he globbed the poultice on Solomon’s chest. The animal’s nostrils flared in protest. He lifted his head, rocking his big body. He was too weak to get up.
“Easy, big fella,” Lorenzo crooned, hand on the horse’s sweaty shoulder. “Just trust me. I’ll take care of you, boy.”
Solomon’s big, chocolate, horse eyes met his with desperation. Easy to read the fear and pain there. He knew God gave creatures a feeling heart, so he wanted to offer what care he could. He set the pan in the straw and stroked the gelding’s neck with his clean hand, willing all the comfort he could into his touch. The coarse velvet coat, the feel of life beneath his fingertips, the shuddering sigh as Solomon eased his head onto his pillow of hay and closed his eyes. His sides heaved as he struggled to breathe, the ghostly rasp echoing through the small structure.
“He’s hurting.” Ruby sounded tortured. “What else can I do for him?”
“Comfort him.” There was nothing more to do. The tinny taste of dread filled his mouth, and he wiped his hand, sticky from the poultice, on a dish towel. He couldn’t look away as Ruby spread her arms wide and hugged as much of the horse, belly to back, as she could. Tears spiked her eyelashes.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please.”
Surely heaven had to hear that plea. He cleared emotion from his throat, set aside the fry pan and studied the woman clinging to the old horse. The most vulnerable places inside him opened ever wider, leaving him without a single defense. A powerful ache he’d never known before, one of pure emotion and spirit gripped him so hard, he thought his heart failed. Love so keen it hurt roared through him with the strength of a lion and the gentleness of a lamb.
There was no going back. No changing his feelings. The iron-clad commitment binding him to her was unbreakable. Unable to resist, his hand landed on her shoulder. She was as fine-boned as a bird, as delicate as a winter’s snowflake, as amazing as a miracle. That was Ruby, his Ruby. For the rest of his life, he would remain committed to her, bound to her.
Nothing would change that. Regardless of what happened, whether they were together or forever apart.
Across the top of Ruby’s blue, knit cap, Jon Ballard nodded slowly, once. Apparently the older man understood. Heat stretched tight across Lorenzo’s cheeks, but it felt good that Jon approved.
Rupert clamored in with two heavy buckets in each hand. Poncho nickered, curious as to the contents, and Lorenzo turned his efforts once again on the dying horse.
Pay attention, Ruby. She flipped a slice of bacon in the frying pan, wincing at the over-brown meat. Fat sizzled and popped in the pan as she turned the remaining pieces, fearing the worst. No, they didn’t appear to be too scorched, at least Rupert and Pa would never complain. But Lorenzo would be sitting down to their breakfast table. He was not used to burned food, since she knew firsthand how exacting Cook was.
The pancakes! She whirled around, realizing she’d forgotten the stove. Again. She snatched up the spatula, winced when she used her injured wrist and flipped the first cake on the griddle. She expected a black surface, but it was still golden brown.
Whew. Relief skittered through her as she flipped the rest of the cakes, one after another and watched them carefully.
“I hear you have coffee in here.” Lorenzo blew in with a bracing wind.
“That rumor is true,” she confirmed, every thought fleeing at his presence.
What was it about the man that affected her? Why him? Why when it was so impossible? She did not know.
The pancakes! She tightened her grip on the spatula, feeling every inch of Lorenzo’s gaze as she shoveled the pancakes off the griddle and onto the platter.
“Jon insisted I come in and thaw out. I didn’t want to be rude and argue with him, so I agreed.” He swept off his hat, scattering tiny flakes that spiraled through the air. “Solomon seems to be improving.”
“He is?” She lost hold of the spatula. It clattered to the stovetop and splashed into the bacon pan. “He’s so ill. How can you be sure?”
“I can’t be. He could still take a bad turn, but he’s breathing easier for now. His fever is still high, but better. We’ve done all we can do. It is in God’s hands.”
“As all things are.” Relief quivered through her, and she rescued the spatula. The wooden handle was slick with grease, and she rubbed it with a dishcloth.
Lorenzo’s socks whispered on the plank floor behind her. “That smells good. You could give Cook competition.”
“Hardly. You have to stop telling fibs.”
His laughter echoed in the room, a merry note. “I’m complimenting you, Ruby. Sincerely.”
“You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.” She flipped the bacon, fighting as hard as she could not to give in to her adoration. “Oh, the biscuits.”
What was wrong with her this morning? Lorenzo, he was also the problem. The man tied up her tongue and her mind, and she grabbed the hot pad and instantly dropped it.
“Let me.” He knelt, so close she could feel the cold radiating off his clothes. A dark swirl of hair formed a cowlick at the back of his head and she wanted to run her fingers through it.
Brilliant, Ruby, just perfectly brilliant. She was supposed to be resisting his charm, not doting on every little thing about the man.
Still, how could she do otherwise? He rose to his six-foot height, towering over her, ten kinds of dashing, as his solemn, midnight gaze found hers. He held her captive with a look, he captured her with his silence. She could feel the honest power of his affection as he opened the oven door and knelt to slide out the baking sheet. The connection between them cinched tighter, more binding than before.
A connection she could not allow.
She plunged a cloth into a serving bowl and spread it out, using a fork to slide the buttermilk biscuits off the baking sheet one by one. They plopped into the bowl, steaming and crumbly good, and she breathed in their sweet, doughy scent.
“Thank you.” She covered the biscuits with the corners of the cloth, trapping the heat. When she looked up, Lorenzo stood before her, his gaze intent on hers.
Don’t notice the light in his eyes. Don’t notice his look of great caring, she told herself. Be strong, Ruby. Don’t give in. You can’t fall in love with him.
“I’m glad to help out. I’ll stay as long as Solomon needs it.” His gaze slid downward to focus on her mouth. More intense this time. Like he was honestly considering leaning in and kissing her. She gulped. Must not let him kiss you, Ruby. Air wheezed in and out. Panic skittered through her. “I’m sure Solomon will appreciate that very much.”
“I’ll do everything I can to save him.”
“Because you love horses?” A girl had to hope Lorenzo really did care about the horse, that Solomon was the reason he was here.
“Because I love horses.” His smile and his eyes said something different.
For one precious moment, the chasm separating them closed. They were no longer divided. Firelight danced over them from the hearth, and sunshine from the window graced them like a blessing.
If only this could be. She saw the same wish in his eyes. The same longing prayer in his soul. Now how was she going to stop falling any harder for him?
Boots stamping off snow echoed in the lean-to, shattering the moment. Lorenzo stepped away as the kitchen door swung open, as Pa stumbled in, shrugging off his coat.
Chapter Fourteen
She’d worried all Sunday long, and this morning turned out to be no different. She wished she could be home, checking on Solomon’s recovery. She knew he was safe in Pa’s caring hands, but did that stop her from imagining the worst? Trying to think positive didn’t help. Ruby balanced the serving tray in both hands, ignoring the twist of pain in her left wrist and hurried out of the kitchen.
She’d never seen such activity. The parlor was a madhouse. Both the upstairs and downstairs maids climbed ladders and handed down the yards upon yards of lace and velvet curtains to be washed, ironed and hung for the approaching ball. Others rolled up the exquisite carpets to be beaten and spot cleaned. The same activities went on in every room throughout the mansion’s main floor.
“Ruby, dear.” Mrs. Davis granted her a beaming smile, circling furniture and weaving among the busy workers. “You have perfect timing. Please, leave that on the coffee table. I think we could all use a mid-morning break.”
“Cook thought you all might like some scones.” She slid the tray onto the table, kneeling carefully, just as Cook had taught her. Not a droplet splashed over the teacup rims, and not a single scone slipped off the platter. She was making progress.
“That was very thoughtful of her. My, but you set a very nice tray.” Mrs. Davis’s compliment meant a lot.
“Thank you.” She had worked hard at it, using the fine linen and a pretty lace runner to pretty up the silver tray. She’d folded cloth napkins like swans, and little bowls of cubed sugar, lemon slices and mint sprigs were as artful as she could make them. She took a shaky breath, preparing for what she had to do. “May I have a word with you?”
“Absolutely.” The older woman clapped her hands. “You have all worked hard this morning. Take an extra-long break.”
Curtains were left piled and carpets unrolled as the half dozen maids broke into conversation and crowded around the tea tray.
“We can speak in the hallway.” Mrs. Davis swept toward the arched doorway, her fine skirts rustling. “How is your wrist feeling?”
“Much better, thank you.” Self-conscious, she shoved her left hand as far as she could manage into her skirt pocket.
“Lucia tells me you are not exactly following doctor’s orders.” Selma’s rebuke was kindly offered. “You must not work so hard.”
“I’m stubborn.”
“I’ve noticed. So what is the trouble, my dear?”
She gulped, unable to say the words. This was even harder than she’d imagined. Shame filled her, and she had to fight hard to keep her chin up when her head wanted to bob down. “I have to give my notice. I don’t want to. I like working here.”
“Then what is the problem, child?” Concern softened Selma’s face, and she swept to an abrupt stop in the corridor.
Ruby squared her shoulders. She’d rehearsed what to say half of last night, when she’d been too upset to sleep. “My family has to move away. We are about to lose our farm.”
“Oh, that’s so sad. I’m sorry. I didn’t know things at home were so serious.” Compassion, not
blame, shone in caring, dark eyes. “Do you have someplace to go?”
“My uncle has agreed to let us move onto his land. He lives up near the Canadian border.”
“That far?” Selma’s distress etched into her face. Her grip tightened as she tugged Ruby into the dining room. “Come sit and tell me about this.”
“Oh, there isn’t much to tell.” She couldn’t imagine Selma Davis would want to truly hear about her family’s troubles. “My brother left on this morning’s train hoping to find work, but it will probably not be in time.”
“I see.” She drew out a chair for Ruby and motioned for her to sit. “I am sorry to lose you. You are a good employee.”
“This is a terrible way to repay your kindness.”
“Is there no chance you could stay behind?” The older woman settled in the neighboring chair. “You could lodge in the maids’ quarters and send your wages home. I have several other employees who do the same.”
That beautiful option shimmered in front of her. She wanted to reach out and grasp it. Just think. She could stay here and see her friends, be here when Fiona’s baby was born and for Meredith’s wedding, see which house Lila and her new husband settled on buying. Most of all, she would be near Lorenzo. Remembering all he had done for Solomon, affection strengthened into an emotion she could not label.
Then she thought of her father alone in that tiny, little place, how devastated he would be. Both she and Rupert feared for him. He’d had too many hopes shattered in his life, endured tough hardships and losses. No one had worked harder than Jon Ballard to rebuild his life.
How would he take this hard blow? She didn’t know, but he did not deserve to be left alone, broken of spirit and void of dreams, struggling to survive.
“I wish,” she said simply. “But it cannot be.”
“I will be so sorry to see you go. In fact, I am heart-broken. Does Lo—” Mrs. Davis fell silent, her question left unspoken. Genuine sympathy twisted her lovely features, and she sat up straighter, as if coming to a decision. “I will not fill your position until after the new year. That will give you time to reconsider and return if you wish.”
