by Deeanne Gist
The door hinges squeaked. Heavy footfalls crept to the bed. Joe opened his eyes.
Red placed a finger to his mouth, then pointed. Anna sat slumped in a chair, head tilted at an impossible angle, her mouth hanging open. Her hair looked as if a mother bird had tried to make a nest of it. Tangled and snarled, it housed leaves, twigs, and dried mud. She wore one of her old wool dresses, apron tight around her waist.
Joe smiled at first, then remembered the misplaced guilt she carried for her family. For him. He needed to convince her she wasn’t responsible.
You all right? Red mouthed, capturing Joe’s attention.
He nodded, then immediately regretted the movement. His head felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Still, he should get up and get moving. The boys would expect no less.
Pushing himself to a sitting position, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His vision blurred. The room began to spin.
Red placed a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, there,” he said in a hushed tone. “No need to rush things.”
Joe waited for the pain to subside, but it never did. “What happened?” he asked softly.
“Looks like the chestnut was a sidewinder and some debris caught you from behind.”
Closing his eyes, Joe concentrated. “No. She was falling right where I put her. Caught the top of something else, I think, and I didn’t have my sagged pants.”
“You didn’t have your brains, is what you didn’t have. What were you doing out there like that?”
He gripped the edge of the mattress, willing his head to quiet and his stomach to still. “Long story.”
Glancing at Anna, Red lowered his voice even more. “She has feelings for you.”
Joe was too miserable to bask for long in the pleasure of that statement. He’d already known it, of course. He’d heard her confess it with her own lips. Still, he was surprised Red knew. “She told you that?”
“Didn’t have to. She was as protective as a hound with her first batch of pups. Then started blathering about laying you low herself. Didn’t make a bit of sense.”
Much as he wanted to hear the rest, his stomach had other ideas. “Hand me a bowl.”
His retching woke Anna.
“Out you go, missy.” Red grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the stairs.
“No, he needs—”
“He needs his dignity. Now go on up and get yourself some rest. I’ll stay with him.”
“But I don’t need any rest and the men haven’t had their breakf—”
Red took her by both arms and pulled her up on her toes. “You want me to hoist you over my shoulder and bodily put you in your bed, then that’s what I’ll do. I don’t have the time or the inclination to play nursemaid to some petticoat that makes herself sick ’cause she refuses to get her rest. Now, get.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t scare me for one sec—”
He slung her over his shoulder.
“Put me down this minute!”
Anna’s voice rose over the sound of Red’s feet tromping up the steps. Then came creaking hinges. Doors opening and closing, until Red must have found the right room.
A soft thud and a furious shriek. Had he tossed her onto her bed?
“Sleep tight, Miss Ivey.” Red’s heavy footsteps thumped across the ceiling. “I’ll see to it that the boys get their breakfast and Joe stays put. If you aren’t up when the doc arrives, I’ll come get you myself.”
The door closed. Anna’s feet bounded across the floor, and the hinges creaked one more time. “I will not—”
“Don’t test me, missy. I’ll put a piano in front of that door if that’s what it takes to get you to rest.”
“Joe doesn’t have a piano.”
“Don’t split hairs with me.”
Joe imagined them squaring off, nose to nose. His immense, freckled friend and that little wisp of a girl. After a long moment, she stomped back into her room and slammed the door closed.
Downstairs, Joe smiled and lay back down.
When Red stepped up next to him, Joe opened one eye. “If she serves you any mushrooms, don’t eat them.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Anna opened her eyes, disoriented and trying to discern what she was doing in bed during daylight hours. Red. She lurched to a sitting position, then scrambled to the floor. How long had she slept?
Rushing down the stairs, she girded herself for battle. Red would not find her so easy to manage this time around. But the man was nowhere to be found.
She could not believe he left Joe by himself. Just wait until she got ahold of him. Joe’s bed lay in front of the fireplace. He had one arm tucked beneath the covers, the other across his bare chest. His eyes were closed, his breathing even.
She knew he didn’t wear anything underneath the blanket, but she didn’t know quite what to do about it. Perhaps putting another blanket on top of him would be best.
After smoothing one over him, she hovered for a moment.
He opened his eyes. They were foggy with sleep.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Fouled and fly-blowed.”
“Let me go get some fresh water and we’ll see what we can do about that.” She quickly replenished her bucket, then returned to swab his face. “Does that feel good?”
“Um-hum.” He kept his eyes closed.
Glancing at the clock, she suppressed a groan. Almost noon. The breakfast pots and pans had been washed, dried, and put away. The lunch buckets no longer lined her shelf. Seemed Red had been busy.
“I need to get the bread started or it won’t have time to rise and bake before supper.”
He grasped her hand. “Can you rub my head first?”
She hesitated. It was one thing to do such a thing when she thought he was asleep, quite another to do it when he was awake. Still, if it provided him with relief . . .
“Will you keep your eyes closed?”
“Why?”
“Because those are the terms.”
A brief smile touched his lips, but he complied. She bent over to begin, then jerked herself straight when her chest brushed against him. Had that happened before?
Pulling the blanket up to his chin, she tucked it in, then decided to give him a one-handed rub, one side at a time.
He frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t reach you.”
“Yes you can. You did several times throughout the night.”
“Well, I can’t anymore.”
He opened his eyes and she flinched at the pain she saw in them.
“Please?” he asked.
Biting her lip, she scrambled for a solution. She couldn’t stand behind him. The headboard was in the way. “Would you mind if I sit on the bed?”
“Not at all.” He pulled his hand free, disrupting the covers, then patted the spot beside him.
She propped her hip on the mattress. He dragged her clear up next to him and left his hand on her hip, his elbow resting on her leg.
She swallowed, deciding this was the lesser of two evils and the sooner she finished the better. Burrowing her fingers into his hair, she watched his facial features relax, his lips part. She pulled her attention back to what she was doing.
After a bit, his grip on her loosened until his hand dangled. His breathing grew deep.
But every nerve she possessed stood at attention. The feel of his luxurious curls encasing her fingers was nothing short of delicious. The weight of his arm on her legs caused a now-familiar tugging within her stomach.
The sight of his bare chest drew her gaze time and again no matter how much she tried to ignore it. The man was solid as a redwood, but even those giants fell prey to axes and saws. Nothing was indestructible—especially where she was concerned.
When she could sit still no longer, she began to scoot off the bed. His hand found her waist. She froze.
“That felt nice,” he whispered. “Thank you.” He gave her a weak squeeze
.
She gently removed his hand and placed it beside him, then rose and stepped away from the bed. It was a long time before her nerves settled into some semblance of order.
Joe didn’t open his eyes right away, but instead took stock of his body. His head wasn’t pounding, only throbbing. His leg muscles felt like springs coiled too tight. The side of him closest to the fire was burning up, the other side a bit too cool.
Much as he wanted to stretch and roll over, he had no desire to jar his head. Instead, he kept his eyes closed.
A plethora of smells gave evidence that supper was well on its way. He waited to see if his stomach would rebel against the aromas, but it gurgled in hunger. A good sign.
He listened for an indication of Anna’s whereabouts. No clanging pots. No shuffling of feet. But if he concentrated, he could hear a very soft scraping.
Opening his eyes, he let them adjust to the light, then turned his head slowly toward the stove. Anna sat in a chair with a huge bowl of potatoes in her lap and peelings littering the floor at her feet.
She’d tidied her hair and changed into her maroon dress. It was his least favorite of the three she’d made, yet probably the most serviceable. No fancy trim. No contrasting collar or cuffs. No buttons running from neck to toe. Just unrelieved maroon. Still, she took his breath away.
He watched in growing admiration as she quickly worked her knife around a potato, a long coil of its brown skin trailing in the blade’s wake. Not wishing to startle her while she wielded the instrument, he remained quiet.
Finishing her task, she flicked the long spiral off the knife and glanced up. “Well, there. How you feeling, Mr. Denton?”
“I’m thirsty, I’m hungry, and I want to sit up.”
She raised her brows. “Sounds like somebody’s doing better.”
“We’ll see. Last time I sat up, I lost everything in my stomach.”
Standing, she set her bowl on the chair and shook peelings from her apron. “That’s what you get for letting Red tend to you.” Anna dipped her chin and gave him a stern look. “There will be no more of that. I’ll be the one seeing to your needs from now on.”
Joe dropped his gaze to her lips but banked his thoughts. He needed to build up his strength first.
“Why don’t we sit you up, then see about something to eat and drink?”
“Sounds good.” He began to lift himself up.
Rushing over, she gently pushed him back down. “Let’s do it nice and slow this time.” She circled the bed, coming around the side closest to the fire. “First, I want a look at that lump behind your ear.”
He turned his head away from her. The movement intensified the throbbing, but not too severely. Her fingers explored and pressed. He kept his features neutral, careful not to display any pain.
“I can’t tell if the swelling has gone down or not. If it has, it isn’t by much. Is it tender when I touch it?”
He shrugged.
“Well, the doctor will be here soon. We’ll see what he says.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. “Doctor? What doctor?”
But she’d left the room and gone upstairs. A few minutes later, she came back with an armful of pillows.
“What doctor?” he asked again.
“The one Ronny went to town for. He rode in the dead of night to reach him.” Anna glanced at the window. “I hope he made it all right.”
“You never said anything about a doctor before.”
She slipped a hand under his neck and head. “Lift up a little and let me put some pillows behind you.”
They spent the next several minutes propping him up against the headboard, cushioned by most every pillow in the house. The task exhausted him.
When she finally quit fussing, he closed his eyes and took several fortifying breaths. “What doctor?”
“The one from town. He should be here sometime today.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Perhaps. It won’t hurt to let him have a look, though.”
“Nobody’s looking at anything. He can just go back where he came from.”
She lifted a brow, retrieved a broom, and began to sweep up potato peelings.
“Are you going to give me something to eat?”
“Are you going to cooperate with the doctor?”
He narrowed his eyes. “May I remind you, you work for me, Miss Ivey. I am hungry. You are my cook. Get me something to eat. Now.”
She ignored him.
“Do not make me get out of this bed.”
She glanced at the sheet covering his lower half, and he gave her a lazy grin. Red had helped him put on some trousers, but she had no way of knowing that.
Flouncing over to the stove, she dipped a cup into a pot, then presented it to him.
The tin cup warmed his hands. Joe tilted it this way and that. “This is nothing but broth.”
“If your stomach keeps it down, then you can try some potatoes once I mash them.”
He looked at the stove and pastry table. “What about all that?”
“That’s for the men.”
“I’ll have what they’re having.”
“You’ll have the broth and, later, perhaps some potatoes.”
“I’ll have what they’re having.”
“You’ll have what I give you.”
He took a sip of the broth. When he was done, if she didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d get out of bed and get it himself—he didn’t care how much it hurt his head. He needed to get out of bed anyway.
He was just finishing the soup when he heard the men approaching the yard.
Anna hurried to the door. “What on earth? Supper’s not for two more hours.”
She barely had time to open the door before they poured into the house, all talking at once.
“Ronny!” she exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
The boy’s exuberant eyes connected with Joe’s. “I made it to town in the rain and pitch black!”
Joe lifted his brows. “You did?”
“I did!”
Anna touched Ronny’s sleeve. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine. And Shakespeare is, too.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck.”
Joe quickly found the owner of the amused voice. Doc Maynard. He topped most of the crew by an inch or so, though he didn’t have the breadth the other men did. Joe figured it was his accomplishments that made him seem bigger than he was.
Maynard had named Seattle. He’d brought the first residents to town, established the first store, the first restaurant, first hotel, first saloon, and first whorehouse. And that last bit had endeared him to most every man in the territory.
“Hear you jumped in front of a falling tree,” Doc said.
“Something like that. I’m all right now, though.”
Doc nodded, then moved his gaze to Anna.
“This is our cook, Miss Anna Ivey,” Joe said. “One of Mercer’s girls.”
“So I heard. How do you do, miss? I’m Doc Maynard.”
She bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you for coming. Can I offer you some lemonade?”
“With pleasure.” He shooed the other men toward the door. “You can tell Joe about your ride to town later, Ronny. For now, you and the boys leave me with my patient.”
Anna slipped into the milk room.
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Of course you don’t. But after coming all this way, I’d at least like to sit awhile and visit.” He opened the door and stood beside it, looking at the men expectantly. They filed out. Thirsty pilfered a pastry off the table before making his exit.
Joe threw off his covers and swung his legs over the bed. The room whirled. The soup threatened to come back up. He kept it where it belonged by force of will.
The doc wasn’t fooled. “No need to put up a front,” he said, closing the door. “Miss Ivey’s out chipping ice for my drink.”
Joe scowled. “You shouldn’t have com
e.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Nowhere.”
Anna came around the corner, then handed Doc a glass of lemonade. “He has a huge lump behind his left ear. The light hurts his eyes. He’s tossed up the contents of his stomach and he’s weak as a babe.”
Joe gritted his teeth. “Would you excuse us, Miss Ivey?”
“Not just yet,” the doc said. “I’d appreciate the assistance.”
He smiled at Anna. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
He raised his glass to her, drank deeply, then set it down. “How long’s he been like this?”
The two discussed his accident and ailments as if he were a child.
“I can answer my own questions,” Joe growled.
The doc didn’t so much as acknowledge him. Scowling, Joe stood up. The sheet twisted around his legs. Whipping it away, he tossed it on the bed and moved toward the door.
The room went from normal to dark, then back to normal. Almost. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he lengthened his stride. He would not black out. If he could make it to a chair on the porch, no one would be the wiser.
He made it as far as the door before the room spun like a whirling dervish. Doc caught him around the waist and wedged his shoulder under Joe’s. Without saying a word, he guided Joe back toward the bed, but Joe wasn’t sure he’d make it that far. And once he blacked out, no telling what the blasted man would do to him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
The war had changed many things in Anna’s life, not the least of which was that social conventions about ladies—particularly unmarried ladies—being present during the examination of a man had loosened. She hadn’t realized the practice had reached clear out here, though.
Yet the doctor didn’t hesitate to recruit her help, seemingly unaware of Joe’s state of undress. She’d seen him shirtless many times, of course, and it never failed to disconcert her. But his unconsciousness and the doctor’s presence made it worse somehow. Much worse.
Tan lines duplicating the exact placement of Joe’s suspenders testified to how often he worked without his shirt. The pale stripes of skin contrasted sharply with the deep golden hue of the rest of him.
