by Karen Kirst
Sterling raked his hands through his hair and stifled a yawn. “Thank you.”
“You rest, as well. I don’t want to have to come back here for you. You Blackwell men are stubborn.”
“I will.” Sterling rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Did you ever come out here when my pa was sick?”
The doc lowered his chin on his chest before looking up. “I did once or twice, but there wasn’t anything to be done.”
“I heard he sent for someone from back East.”
“Desperate men will cling to any chance at a cure.”
“The undertaker said he died of pneumonia.”
“Now, Sterling, you know I can’t go talking about my patients. Not good for business.”
“My pa isn’t around to mind.”
“I didn’t tend him during his final months, so I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”
“Did the illness affect his mind? He did a lot of things near the end that were out of character.”
“Your pa had a stroke. He was a proud man, and he didn’t want anyone, least of all anyone from town, seeing him in a weakened condition. Otto was about the only one he’d let near.”
A profound sense of relief brushed over Sterling. At least there was a reason for some of the confusion. His pa had been sick, so he’d let the ranch suffer. There’d been nothing spiteful in his actions. Leaving the ranch to Sterling and Dillon had been his last conciliatory act.
A knock sounded, and Sterling left the doctor to his coffee. Irene stood in the doorway, a covered dish in her hands. “I thought you might be tired of your own cooking.”
“You thought right,” Sterling replied eagerly, grateful for the offering.
He’d grown accustomed to the superior quality of Heather’s cooking. Woodley’s didn’t hold a candle to her breakfasts. His meals were hot and filling, but without a lot of flavor.
Sterling ushered her inside. “Have some coffee. The doc is in the kitchen.”
“It was the least I could do. I feel responsible. My boys were sick the week you three came to church. I figured since I wasn’t ill, I didn’t have to worry about passing it on.”
“The doc says a whole mess of people have come down with the influenza. It’s not your fault.” He grasped the casserole as she unfastened her coat. “I’ll take the supper, if not the apology.”
Irene grinned. “I thought you might. How is the little one?”
“Ornery.”
“I’ve heard that about her before. I don’t know how such a little sweetie could be such trouble. I’ll trade you a couple of my boys for comparison.”
“I’d rather stick with the trouble I know, if you don’t mind.”
“Coward,” Irene admonished with a laugh.
“Absolutely.”
She joined the doctor in the kitchen, and soon Price returned with Gracie. Irene offered to care for her for a few hours while Sterling sat with Heather. He ladled up a cup of broth, and Irene steeped a cup of tea, as well.
He carried the tray upstairs and quietly set it on the side table.
Heather was feverish again. He dipped a rag in water and wrung out the excess, then placed the cool cloth against her forehead.
She sighed and covered his hand with her own, her eyes drifting open. “You look awful.”
He barked out a laugh. “You should talk.”
She grinned, and his heart jerked. Despite the fever, she appeared more lucid than she had in the past two days.
“Irene came to call,” Sterling said. “I think she expected to find us all starving and living in squalor. She brought a casserole.”
“There’s nothing like a good casserole to stave off squalor. I don’t know what Woodley puts in his stew, but it isn’t much.”
The tabby had curled up at her feet. The animal rose up and blinked sleepy eyes before tucking his head near his tail once more.
“The mouser has been good company,” Heather said.
“He’s cleaned out the pantry for you. He leaves his conquests outside the back door as gifts.”
“As long as they’re on the other side of the door, I’m fine with whatever he does.”
His heart lurched in his chest. Something had shifted between the two of them over the past few days, and there was suddenly an intimacy that hadn’t been there before.
“You should rest,” she said, her voice a light caress. “You look exhausted.”
“Irene is watching Gracie. I promised I’d sit with you. You don’t want me to disappoint Irene.”
“How are the sheep?”
The white ruffle of her wrapper brushed against her neck, highlighting her pale complexion.
Sterling chuckled. “The sheep are doing well. Otto is still skeptical, but I think they’re growing on him.”
“I don’t think Otto likes your sheep.”
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her touch whisper light.
“He’s been a cattleman for thirty years. He doesn’t know how to do anything else.”
“But you think differently.”
“I don’t need to drive cattle to prove I’m a man. I’d rather support my family.”
She rolled to her side and pressed her palms together, then tucked her fingers beneath her chin. “I trust you.”
Her faith in him was humbling, and for a moment he was invincible beneath her sleepy smile. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know. You’re a man of your word.” She yawned and blinked slowly. “I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
He’d failed plenty of times throughout his life. He’d worked a season on a steamship and discovered that the constant sway of the boat left him nauseous. He’d panned gold in the mountains and come away with nothing but a pile of rocks. He’d left home determined he’d never return.
He’d broken plenty of promises to himself. He’d never break a promise to Heather.
He surveyed her flushed face and adjusted the counterpane over her shoulders. “Don’t worry about anything.”
The wind gusted against the window, bringing a smattering of sleet clattering across the surface. There was a storm on the horizon, and the clouds were building. Heather sensed it too. She woke each night in a sweat, her nightmares filled with fevered searches for Gracie. Both of them knew that until they discovered the truth about where Gracie had come from, nothing was certain. No matter the personal cost, he’d do everything in his power to ensure that she and Gracie stayed together.
That was one promise he meant to keep.
* * *
The next few days passed in a blur for Heather. She drifted in and out of awareness. Most of the time she was blazing hot. Now she was freezing. She yanked the quilts beneath her chin and curled into a tight ball.
Someone touched her forehead, and she turned into the warmth. “I’m cold.”
The bed dipped, and the next instant she was cocooned in a blanket of warmth. “Better?”
“Yes.”
She turned in the night and came right up next to Sterling. He was fully dressed, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. She eased away, but even that slight movement woke him. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then turned toward her.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
“Where is Gracie?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“She’s all right? She’s not sick?”
“Nope. You’re still the only one in the house who’s sick. The doctor said if we were going to catch it, we would have by now. I’m as healthy as a newborn calf and so is Gracie. I have nothing to complain about.”
&nbs
p; Heather sighed. Not that he’d voice a complaint even if he had one. He was far too polite, far too honorable. Secure in the knowledge that he was watching out for them both, she slept through the night.
The next morning she awoke refreshed. Her fever had broken, and her appetite was back with a vengeance.
Irene popped her head in the door. “Are you awake?”
“Awake and fretting at this forced confinement.”
“I brought you something.” Irene extended a plate topped with a generous slice of chocolate cake. “You’ve lost weight in the past week.”
“That looks delicious.” Heather forked a bite and groaned. “And tastes delicious. You’re spoiling Sterling, you know. He’s going to be insufferable from now on. He’ll be terribly disappointed in my baking.”
“I have a new respect for that man.” Irene perched on the edge of the bed. “He’s been quite the father this week. He even washed out the nappies.”
“He never!”
“He did. Now lean forward.” Irene plumped the pillow behind her head. “That’s better.”
“I’d like to go downstairs. I need a change of scenery.”
“All right. But you must be quiet.”
“How come?”
“You’ll see.”
Heather shrugged into her wrapper and tightened the belt around her waist. She could tell she’d lost a bit of weight. Unaccustomed to standing, she felt her head spin and she steadied herself. She followed Irene, both of them tiptoeing across the landing.
Irene caught her arm. “This way,” she said.
Irene took the main staircase, and Heather gripped the banister. She’d been ridiculous, sequestering herself in half the house. This stairway was far more spacious and decorative. There was no reason to cling to her half of the home as though she and Sterling were strangers.
Irene paused in the doorway of the parlor. She held one finger over her lips to signal quiet and waved Heather closer.
Sterling rested on his back on the settee, one foot braced on the floor and one hand dangling over the side. Gracie was sprawled over his stomach, her head tucked beneath his chin. The two of them snored softly.
Irene smothered a giggle. “Have you ever seen anything so precious?”
“Never.”
Together they tiptoed past the pair and shared a coffee in the kitchen.
Irene glanced over her shoulder. “He’s even gotten Gracie to sleep through the night. Thank the stars. I thought he was going to fall asleep standing up. Those two are adorable. Gracie is blessed to have the both of you.”
“I’m glad he’s resting,” Heather said. “I wasn’t certain they’d get along well.”
“Gracious, I’ve never seen a cuter pair.” Irene sat back in her chair. “He’s going to be ecstatic to wake and find you feeling better. He’s been beside himself this week.”
Heather stared into the parlor over the rim of her cup. She owed Sterling more than she’d ever be able to repay, but there was no reason she couldn’t at least try.
CHAPTER TEN
The days following her sickness were a revelation to Heather. Sterling and Gracie had developed a routine during her illness. The two of them were like siblings, fussing with each and then making up again. Sterling had taken over her care with an effortless proficiency that sparked Heather’s envy. Her own transition into parenthood had been far rockier.
She set a cup of milk before the child, and Gracie pushed the cup away. “No. Pa.”
Heather frowned. “Don’t fuss. Drink your milk.”
Gracie had mastered the rudiments of using a cup. She wasn’t particularly neat and tidy, but she managed.
Crossing her chubby arms over her chest, Gracie stubbornly shook her head. “No.”
“Suit yourself.” Heather shrugged and tended to the flapjacks cooking on the flat griddle she’d placed over the two front burners. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you this morning.”
Sterling appeared in the doorway, his hair damp from his morning ablutions. “Good morning, ladies.”
Gracie held out her arms and opened and closed her pudgy fingers. “Papa.”
“How’s my best girl?” He approached the table and lifted her glass. “What’s in here? Let me see.” He held the cup to his ear. “Moo!”
Gracie threw back her head and laughed, then smacked the table with both hands. “Moo.” She reached for the cup and took a long drink. A white mustache decorated her upper lip when she pulled it away.
Heather watched the proceedings in amazement. “Is that how you get her to drink her milk in the morning?”
He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Seems to work.”
He took his place at the table across from Gracie. Heather dried her hands on her apron and reached for the bundle Otto had brought over earlier.
“The Valentine Gazette arrived.”
Sterling snapped open the paper. “Let’s read the news of the day. What have we got here? ‘Washington, November 17—for the upper Mississippi and lower Missouri Valleys, rising weather conditions followed by stationary or lowering barometer, northerly winds, stationary or higher temperature and clear or partly cloudy weather.’ Isn’t that something? A fellow can get paid a living wage for predicting that the weather will be clear or cloudy, and the temperature will change or stay the same. I should have gotten a job writing the weather for the newspaper instead of raising sheep.”
Gracie giggled. “Ma.”
“You’d like me to read more?” he asked.
“Ma!” Gracie demanded.
Heather held her spatula aloft, watching the pair as Sterling read snippets of the newspaper as though he were reading a childhood story. His voice wove a tapestry around the two of them, and she might as well have been a picture on the wall for all the attention they paid her.
As she watched the pair, jealousy sparked in her chest. She’d never once thrilled Gracie with her reading of the stock prices. The two of them didn’t have a ritual before the morning breakfast. Sterling was annoyingly adept at effortlessly entertaining the child. Her eyes burned, and she fought back the unbecoming emotion. She was being perfectly ridiculous. There was no reason to deny them their fun simply because she wasn’t included.
Sterling rested the paper on the table and pointed at an advertisement. “There’s a new German remedy for rheumatism being marketed. Heather, have you ever been afflicted with rheumatism?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How about neuralgia, sciatica, lumbago, backache, soreness of the chest, gout, sore throat, quinsy, swelling or sprains, burns and scalds, general bodily pains, tooth, ear-and headache, frosted feet and ears, or any other assorted aches?”
“What is quinsy?”
“Something to do with your tonsils, I believe. I’d have to ask the druggist and dealer of medicine to be certain.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “No. I cannot claim any of those afflictions at the current moment.”
“We can ascertain two things from her answer.” Sterling directed his attention toward Gracie. “Your mother is remarkably healthy. And we are going to save a bucket of money on German remedies.”
Her brief spark of jealousy faded. Sterling had instinctively drawn her in, including her in their game. He’d also called her Gracie’s mother. She’d avoided giving herself the moniker. Everything had happened quite rapidly, and she hadn’t caught up. Having Sterling say the word somehow made this more real, more permanent.
She lifted several slices of bacon from the pan and rested them on a plate. “What else does the newspaper say? What’s happening in the world?”
“It says here that Kalish, the merchant tailor, is prepared to make suits and overcoats to order. Prices, fit and workmanship are guaranteed to suit. Located one
door west of Cruikshanks.”
“Imagine that. A tailor who makes suits to suit.”
“What do you know? Do you see this?”
“See what?”
“Says right here in black-and-white that Hostetter’s fortifies the body against disease.” He raised his voice as though barking for customers. “Hostetter’s Celebrated Stomach Bitters for Fever and Ague.”
Gracie giggled in delight at his deep-timbral tone of voice.
“I blame myself,” he continued in a normal voice. “We could have saved you a week’s worth of illness. I’m going to buy a whole case the next time I’m in town. We’ll be the healthiest couple in Valentine. They may even send a reporter to interview us.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re mad?”
“‘I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.’”
“Has anyone ever accused you of being the teacher’s pet?”
“Only the teacher.” He folded the newspaper. “The flea circus is coming through town. When is your birthday?”
“In July.”
“Too bad. The show is scheduled for December. The flea circus should be saved for special occasions.”
“Perhaps there will be a circus in July.”
“You can always dream, but don’t get your hopes up. I’d hate to see them dashed.”
She leaned over his shoulder and studied the advertisements. “If not the flea circus, how about a lecture on temperance?”
“Hmm, I believe Gracie has a birthday in December. Perhaps we can attend the flea circus for her birthday, and save the temperance speech for your special day.”
“She’s probably not interested in temperance just yet.”
“Then it’s settled. You’re never too young for fleas.”
Heather snatched the newspaper out of his hands. “You’re far too distracted. Eat. Those sheep won’t shear themselves.”
“You don’t mind being the wife of a sheep farmer?”
“Why would I mind?”
