by Lori Wick
“Ross,” Abby came into the hallway and shut her door as she answered, “I really appreciate your offer, but I need to stay here in case Mr. Cameron needs anything.”
If Abby had expected him to pout over her answer, she was to be disappointed. Ross looked down on her with an expression tender beyond his years and smiled.
“Some other time—okay?”
Abby nodded and watched as he moved down the hall. With her fingers pressing against her temples, her heart felt near the bursting point. His tender look had so reminded her of Ian that she had almost changed her mind about going with him.
“Oh, Lord,” Abby prayed, “what am I to do without him?”
19
The days went by and developed into something of a routine. Paul was civil at times, impossible at others. The doctor came over once and told Paul he was progressing well. The man had much praise for Abby and her care of Paul. Paul listened to it all with a bored expression on his face.
Abby worried some about Paul’s assumption that Mr. Beckett had been instrumental in bringing him here and hiring Abby. A comment from Paul one day told Abby this was what he thought and she, rather cowardly, had not corrected him.
Abby was not to know the day of reckoning was upon her. Sitting in the kitchen after lunch with a cup of coffee, Abby waited for the barber to emerge from Paul’s room. He had quite suddenly asked her if she could get someone to cut his hair.
Abby had been very pleased by the request, not because she cared how he looked, but because of the nice way he had asked her. She felt he was feeling a bit better each day, and his mood improved in kind.
However the surprises were not over that day when Abby paid the barber and saw him on his way. She nearly questioned the price, but figured he must charge more for coming out of his shop. She kept silent, and her curiosity about the cost was answered a few minutes later when she walked into Paul’s room.
Paul lay still on the bed, his eyes closed as though the effort of sitting still for the barber had exhausted him. Abby stood by the bed and stared. Not only had the barber cut his hair, but every whisker of Paul’s beard was gone. With a start, Abby realized how good-looking he was. Suddenly the picture of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren in Grandma Em’s parlor popped into her mind. He had been very handsome in that picture, but his long hair, beard, and the bitter scowl he was always wearing had marred the man Abby met in person.
Here now, with his features clean-shaven and relaxed, Abby thought him almost stunning. It was at that second Abby was caught staring. For the first time in their association, Abby felt vulnerable.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she nearly stuttered. “Do you want me to clean things up a bit?”
Paul nodded without answering and closed his eyes as he tried to dispel the lingering image of her standing there so uncertainly for the first time. He did not want to be attracted to this woman. It would be disloyal to Corrine.
He told himself he did not like fat redheads and forced himself to concentrate on Corrine’s image: tall, willowy, silver-blonde hair. It was getting harder and harder to remember her smile. He had seen it so briefly.
As Abby worked around the bed, using a small brush to remove the hair, he tried to ignore her. Usually all he had to do was center his mind on the pain in his legs, but they didn’t hurt so much now and that didn’t work. He felt Abby lean over him, and the fragrance of her bath oil drifted to his nose.
Jasmine. Rage exploded in Paul’s brain. He didn’t want to smell jasmine. Corrine had always smelled of roses, and Paul wanted nothing to destroy that memory.
“What is that stuff you’re wearing? The stink is enough to choke a man.”
The outburst was so unexpected that Abby jumped back in surprise. To her horror, tears flooded her eyes as she realized what he had just said to her. Ian had loved the smell of her bath oil, and now her patient thought she stank.
Never would Abby have dreamt such a small thing could cause the dam to burst, but without finishing her task she ran from the room.
Her bed pillows were the recipients of Abby’s tears which came in a torrent. Her eyes felt twice their regular size when she woke hours later to the sound of knocking on the door.
It was Lenore. “Abby, there’s a man here. He’s nearly frantic with worry. He can’t find the doctor or midwife, and he’s heard you were a nurse. His wife is having their first child, and he’s terrified.”
The nurse in Abby wanted to leave immediately, but she was here to do a job. “What about Mr. Cameron?” Abby asked. “I can’t just leave.”
“I’ll see to him. You go and do what you can.”
Abby quickly pulled herself together and rushed down the stairs. The man waiting for her was young, and he did indeed look sick with worry. He pulled her along explaining as they went, and causing Abby to nearly run to stay up with him.
Paul waited all afternoon for his nurse to return. Her reaction to his comment was certainly puzzling. Red usually gave as good as she got, and he had said much worse things than not liking her perfume. He felt irritated over realizing it wasn’t even true. She had smelled very nice.
As time went on, he wondered if she had quit. He would have guessed she had more mettle than that, but women were unpredictable creatures at best. Paul looked to the door in unconscious anticipation when he heard movement.
A woman walked in; it was not Red. He felt a stab of disappointment and knew it stemmed from being cheated out of picking a fight with his nurse.
“Who are you?” he asked belligerently.
Lenore had prepared herself for the worst, having stood in the kitchen many times listening to him yell at Abby. She answered calmly and hoped he wouldn’t notice her shaking.
“I’m Mrs. Beckett. I brought your supper.”
Paul was spoiling for a fight. “Where’s the redhead? I wouldn’t think your husband would appreciate having the nurse he hired run out on her job like that.” Paul hoped perversely he had just gotten her in trouble.
“Oh, we didn’t hire Abby. She’s seeing to a delivery in town. She’ll be back later,” Lenore answered innocently, eyes on the tray she was straightening. She had made such an effort to have everything nice, even cutting a flower from the garden to put on his tray.
By the time she looked up, the surprise was off Paul’s face. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No,” Paul answered, his expression completely covering his feelings. Lenore, thinking things had gone much better than she had hoped, told him she would be back for the tray and left Paul to his supper.
The tray sat untouched for a long time. Several possibilities ran through Paul’s mind as to what was going on. He finally decided it was not worth his effort to try and figure it out. He smiled cynically. He was confident of getting his answers. “Oh yes,” he thought, “I’ll have my answers—just as soon as I see Red.”
Abby placed a screaming, red newborn girl in the arms of her waiting mother and wiped some of the perspiration from her upper lip. She took a moment to bask in the sound. It never grew old. “Thank You, Lord. Thank You, Lord,” Abby’s heart kept repeating as she started the cleaning up in an attempt to get herself home before she collapsed.
She was both surprised and pleased to exit the small bedroom and find Ross waiting for her.
“Mother was getting worried. I’ve got the team out front,” he said by way of explanation.
Ross could see Abby was ready to drop, so he didn’t attempt any conversation even though many questions were piling up in his mind. His mother had said “Please go get Mrs. Finlayson.” She hadn’t said that when they had been introduced; it had just been Abigail Finlayson. Well, now was not the time to pursue the subject, but tomorrow he would pin her down.
Ross dropped Abby at the door, and she thanked him with a tired smile. Lenore was waiting up and gave her a great report on how well things had gone. Abby thanked her and briefly told of her evening as a midwife. They parted company in the k
itchen where Abby, with a lamp in her hand, went in for a last check on her patient.
Abby had just set the lamp down and turned to the bed when a hand shot out and grasped her forearm with enough force to leave bruises. She gasped as she was dragged half across the bed to where Paul was leaning against the headboard. Snarling, he ordered, “Turn up the lantern.”
Abby reached with her free hand to obey, her huge silver eyes nearly swallowing her face. She would never have guessed that a man bedridden for so long would be this strong. Paul waited until the light was better before he spoke again.
“Now start talking. Who are you? Who’s paying you? Everything!”
Hesitating in her surprise, Abby’s arm was pulled painfully until she was almost in his lap. Paul reached around the back of her head to grasp her hair. His turquoise eyes were ablaze with anger. “I said talk. Now!” His voice was deadly cold, and Abby started with a voice breathless and stuttering with pain.
“Your family...sent me. Maggie, she’s my aunt—your brother’s nurse. I’m her niece. They heard from Mr. Beckett. I mean, Amy did—well, her father. They heard you were hurt. Your grandmother is so upset, nearly sick with worry.”
Abby couldn’t go on. With tears clogging her throat, she whispered pitifully, “Please, Paul, you’re hurting me.”
The hand holding the hair at the back of her head released slowly. He held Abby against his chest for a long moment, the anger gone from his eyes, his thoughts unreadable as he looked into the pain-filled eyes so close to his own.
Abby pushed herself from her sprawled position when his hold loosened and stood by the bed. Paul’s eyes followed her movement when she unconsciously rubbed the arm he had been gripping. He was not so upset about what she had revealed as he was about the way he had treated her. Never in his life had he manhandled a woman, and he felt sick with revulsion.
How deceiving her size was! She was full-figured, but her frame was tiny. He was sure he could have snapped the bones in that arm had he twisted it. Maybe it was the confident way she stood by the bed or the fact that he was always lying down and her head was above him, but he had no idea how petite she was. Not that that was the point. His actions were reprehensible, no matter who the woman.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron. It was wrong of me to let you believe Mr. Beckett was behind all of this. No one from your family came because they didn’t feel they’d be welcome, and I was afraid of how you would feel when you found out, so I kept it from you.”
Abby felt as though she were babbling and stopped abruptly. Paul looked at her and said nothing. He had too many questions to try and sort through tonight. Thinking she looked ready to collapse, he remembered the lateness of the hour. She had probably delivered that baby tonight, if the smears on her apron were any indication.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Abby nodded and moved slowly toward the door.
“Red.”
She turned back.
“You’ll be here?” Paul suddenly thought to ask, afraid she would flee after the way he had treated her.
“I’ll be here,” she said softly. But as she turned away, she wished desperately she had someplace else to go.
20
Abby awoke and sat straight up in bed. She was drenched in sweat. The light told her the hour was early, and she let her body fall back on the bed. She had dreamed of Ian’s dad.
He had come for her. They had camped in the woods, and he was furious. In the dream he said she had to pay, and he had tried to push her into the campfire.
Abby was afraid she would fall back asleep and dream again, so she got dressed and went down to start the coffee. As she neared the kitchen, she could smell the coffee brewing. She stopped when she noticed Paul’s door was open. Voices drifted to her ears.
“I’ve got it on, but I haven’t made it enough to know if it’ll be any good.”
“I don’t care what it tastes like, just as long as it’s hot.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll be laid up?”
Paul must have shrugged because Abby heard no reply. Ross went on cheerfully. “Well, I almost envy you being laid up with a beautiful nurse like Abby to wait on you.”
“Listen kid,” came Paul’s surly reply, “it’s not a bit of fun to lie here and be bossed around by that fat redhead.”
Abby’s hand flew to her throat in horror. It was what she deserved, standing there and listening to a private conversation. She had always been extremely sensitive about her hair and size. Phrases like, “Here comes the Fat Carrot” from the kids at school had stayed with her for years.
Her father had always told her she was pretty, and Ian had treated her as a rare jewel. But the image she had of herself was not a positive one, and hearing what Paul must have been thinking every time she was in the room was totally humiliating. Abby left the room silently, wishing she had tried to go back to sleep.
She may have felt better if she could have seen the look on Ross’ face as he sat by Paul’s bed. He wasn’t sure why he stayed in the room, but the man fascinated him. He hadn’t been the least bit polite, but he hadn’t kicked him out either.
“I’d sure like to see the women where you come from if all Abby is to you is a bossy, fat redhead.” Ross couldn’t help but wonder if the man’s eyes had been affected along with his legs.
Ross had stood across the street yesterday when Abby had gone to hire the barber. The place had nearly fallen apart. The old men on the bench out front had turned in their seats and gawked through the window like schoolboys.
But Paul only grunted in answer to Ross’ remark, and then asked about the coffee.
Later in the morning Abby entered the room with Paul’s breakfast. He could see she was back in control, and for some reason it made him angry. Her attitude was on the cool side and, even though Paul was sure of the reason, he was irritated. She settled the tray in silence and then turned to leave.
“I said we would talk today, Red.” It was an order.
Abby turned slowly and answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “I realize I am little more to you than a bossy, fat redhead, but I can assure you I am a person with needs of my own, and right now I’m going to eat my breakfast.”
Abby had never intended to bring those words up to him, but the look of surprise on his face, brief as it was, was worth it.
Over an hour later Abby walked to the door of Paul’s room feeling deceitful. She had barely touched her food. Outside the door she stopped, realizing she was acting as if faced with an inquisition. She squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.
It was obvious Paul was waiting for her. His tray was back on the table and he was still sitting up in the bed. Wordlessly he motioned her to the rocking chair.
Abby shook her head. “I plan to change the bedding while we talk.”
“The bed can wait. Have a seat.”
Abby nearly balked at the command, but after a moment’s hesitation she sat down, albeit reluctantly.
“How did my family know I was hurt?” Paul wasted no time in beginning his questions.
“Amy’s father worked with Mr. Beckett years ago, and he remembered Amy married a Cameron. He wasn’t sure you were related, but he wrote just in case.”
“Who’s paying you?”
“Your brother Luke gave me money for everything.”
Paul’s eyes were locked with Abby’s, and she wished she knew his thoughts. “I want,” he said slowly, “a complete accounting of every dime you’ve spent: your wages, clothing, train fare—everything.”
Of all the things Abby had tried to prepare herself for, this wasn’t one of them. In bewilderment she asked why.
“Because you’re going to close my account at the bank and pay Luke every penny.”
Abby’s mouth nearly swung on its hinges. What in the world had made this man so bitter against a family who obviously loved him?
Abby couldn’t know what being a younger brother to Luke, Mark, and Silas was all about. They
never seemed to have any doubts. Luke and Silas had wanted to run the ranch from the time they were able to walk. And as a kid, Mark had been constantly on the lookout for some hurt animal to doctor. It wasn’t that Paul didn’t find horse breeding interesting or that he wasn’t compassionate, but neither of those occupations appealed to him.
His family hadn’t meant to, but they had made him feel like a failure. The only thing that had kept him going was the remembrance of a Sunday afternoon on the back porch with his brother-in-law Mac.
“I will not send money back to Luke. I don’t have any idea what caused the bitterness that drives you, but your family sent me here in love, sick with worry about your plight. I will not be so cruel as to throw money back in their faces. If you want that money returned, you’ll have to drag your backside out of that bed and do it yourself.” Abby was on her feet by the bed, eyes brilliant with anger.
“Watch it, Red,” Paul said in a deadly voice.
“My name is Mrs. Finlayson,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.
“Well, I pity Mr. Finlayson. He must be crazy to be married to you.”
Abby’s hand cracked against his cheek. “Ian Finlayson was more man than you could ever hope to be. I’ll not listen to a single word against him.”
Abby swept up the tray and nearly stormed from the room, but stopped short at the door. “Let me make something clear. I’m up here as a favor to your grandmother. I suspect she doesn’t realize what a coward you are, Mr. Cameron. Did you think you were the only person to ever feel pain and loss? Well, wake up and look around! Everyone hurts in some way. I’ll be back at lunchtime. If you need anything before then, get it yourself.” The door slammed on her last words.
21
Fingering his stinging cheek, Paul sat in stunned silence after the slamming of the door. No one had ever talked to him like that before. He was not furious, as could have been expected.
