The man’s face didn’t change as she spoke. Not even a flicker. When she finished, he turned to stare off into the distance, toward the break in the trees and the mountain beyond.
“I’m sorry.” Cathleen’s heartbeat pulsed in her throat while she waited for him to absorb the full impact of the news.
It was several long moments before he spoke. “Why did Mum say Pa’s out with the cattle if he died?”
And that was the heartbreaking part. “The dementia’s gotten pretty bad, and I think most times, she doesn’t remember Mr. Scott’s not with us any longer.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “How did it happen?”
“Your father? A fever. Your mother nursed him for days but nothing seemed to help. By the time my brother arrived, your father only lived a few more hours.”
Still no wince or any sign that the words penetrated. This man was made of iron.
Finally, he flicked a glance at her. “And who are you?”
Not an irrational question. She straightened and gave him her most professional smile. “My brothers are both doctors in Butte. My father owns an apothecary shop in Boston, and I’ve helped him there for several years. When my brother told me about your mother’s condition, I knew I had to help.”
He nodded, and his gaze trailed down to the dog, still sitting by his feet. But his thoughts seemed far away. “So Mum just can’t keep her facts straight?”
Cathleen swallowed. “Well, yes, but…” How much should she tell him about his mother’s trouble with basic bodily functions? Her wandering at night? The numerous times she’d burned herself at the stove, or the unexplained bruises that appeared daily? He needed to know, especially if he would be assuming her care.
She straightened her backbone, fortifying her resolve. “There’s more.”
Chapter Four
AS REUBEN LISTENED to the words of this strange woman, his mind ached with all the new information. The shock of it. A haze formed around his thoughts, blocking out the deeper meaning of most of her words. He should chip through the barrier like he did a bucket of ice. He needed to absorb everything she was prattling on about and focus on what this meant for Mum. For him.
But just now, that protective haze was the only thing that kept him standing.
Pa was dead. How could that be? Reuben had just been here in the fall. Pa’d been doing his normal work, preparing the animals and the homestead for winter. Shoring up the buildings and working to split enough firewood to last two winters. Mum had just finished putting up food from the garden and was in her usual flurry to preserve everything possible from the hog he and Pa prepared for her. How could so much have changed in a few short months?
A cold snout touched the back of his hand, and he slipped his fingers into North’s fur. The animal always knew when he needed a friend.
Silence finally permeated his awareness, and he glanced at the woman. She wasn’t what he’d expected to find when he walked in the old cabin. Not in the least. A pretty thing with that thick auburn hair and skin like porcelain. Not the type to hang around in the mountain country. More like some fancy parlor back east. Sipping tea from china cups and discussing frivolous nonsense.
She wasn’t talking now though. She looked at him like it was his turn to speak. But what was there to say? He needed time to process this. Needed to see Mum again. Maybe all the gibberish this woman had been spewing was nonsense.
He spun back to the door. “Thanks for the help, Miss—” He paused midsentence. Had she said her name? She was related to the docs in Butte, but he didn’t have an inkling of their surname.
“Miss Donaghue,” she supplied, her voice tight behind him.
He turned to eye her. She didn’t look like she trusted him any more than he did her. At least they could agree on that. Although she had nothing to worry about from him. He had no desire to keep her here any longer than absolutely necessary. If he could get a handle on Mum’s condition—and surely it wasn’t anything they needed a stranger to help with—he’d send this little lady back to the fancy Eastern drawing rooms where she belonged.
Grabbing the door handle, he pushed it open. “Stay, North.”
The dog obeyed, of course, and the woman didn’t follow him in either, except to gather the water cans she’d stashed by the doorway. Then she disappeared back outside, leaving the cabin quiet except for Mum’s snores.
One thing was certain. He’d never seen his mother sleep so much during the day. Usually she burned the candle at both ends, staying up late doing needlework and rising earlier than Pa to make breakfast. Maybe sleep would cure whatever ailed her—whatever had caused the doc’s sister to come all the way up here to act as nurse.
He crouched in front of Mum and took a moment to catalogue the changes to her face. She’d lost a lot of weight in these few months. Although mourning Pa could account for that.
A fresh press of grief slammed into his chest, working its way up his throat. Reuben swallowed, trying to force it down. He had to focus on Mum right now.
She’d certainly added more lines to her face, and the skin sagged in layers across her cheeks and below her jaw. Most of the pepper had disappeared from her hair too, leaving behind only coarse white, tied back in her usual knot at the base of her head.
He took her hand, stroking his thumb over the back of her palm. The rough texture near her wrist caught his attention, and he held it up to see better in the dim light from the fire.
A thick crust of scab covered the skin, and red bruises spread from a spot that would obviously scar. Was this the cause for the nurse to come all the way up here and stay with Mum? It was a nasty sore, but nothing his mother hadn’t treated herself for longer than he could remember.
He eyed the rest of her, but she was wrapped up tight in a blanket. No skin showed except her hands and face.
Her eyelids drifted open, and she peered at him with milky confusion. Was that only sleep clouding them?
“Quinn? Is that you?”
Something sharp pierced his heart. “No, Mum. It’s me, Reuben. Pa’s not here now.”
Her brow knit in fierce lines. “Reuben? Why aren’t you out helping your Pa with the hay? Is he hurt?” She gripped his hand tighter.
He gentled his voice as much as he could, forcing his words through the ache in his chest. “I just came back from my winter camp, Mum. Pa’s…not with us anymore. He died a couple months ago from a fever. Do you remember?” It took every ounce of his self-control to get out those last sentences without his voice cracking.
Her confusion turned to pain as her milky eyes washed with moisture. “Died? Not Quinn. My Quinn wouldn’t leave me.” Her voice rose to a higher pitch as she jerked her hand from his and wrapped her arms around herself. She rocked in the chair as her eyes rimmed red and a big tear trailed down her cheek.
Suddenly, Miss Donaghue was there, kneeling beside the chair and wrapping both arms around Mum. When had she come in? She practically pushed him aside as she held his mother, murmuring consoling words and stroking her hair.
Reuben rose to his feet, but couldn’t take his eyes from the pair. Should he have kept the truth to himself? Surely his mother had been told her husband was dead. So why did this grief look as fresh as the first shock? Could she really be losing her mind as much as Miss Donaghue made it seem? He should have forced himself to listen to her words when she was telling him about Mum’s condition. He needed to know. Had to keep from hurting her in the future.
After a couple moments, Mum’s tears settled into a few sniffles, and she sank her head back against the chair, turning red-rimmed eyes to Miss Donaghue. “Thank ye, dear. Don’t know what came over me, but you’re an angel to help.”
Miss Donaghue patted Mum’s hand, then rose to her feet. “I’ll warm some tea, and we’ll all feel better.”
She shot him a look as she turned toward the kitchen, but he struggled to decipher it. Warning? Yes. And maybe a bit of pity.
Well, she could keep her pity. And if she thought
he’d intentionally hurt Mum, she’d better get things straight. Now he just had to figure out where the traps were hidden, so he didn’t trip one again.
~ ~ ~
THE SILENCE OF the barn was a blessed relief, and Rueben stayed there with his thoughts the rest of the afternoon, settling his horses and storing the pelts and meat stock he’d brought.
North trotted at his side as he checked the animals around the place. It looked like they’d been fed and watered regularly. And Maggie, the milk cow, didn’t look too miserable, so she must have been milked that morning. In the chicken shed, no eggs hid in the straw, although the birds probably weren’t laying much with the deep cold. But evidence of food scraps littered the ground, and a bit of corn was left in the feeder. Someone was caring for the stock, whether it be Mum or the stranger who’d taken her place in the house.
“Mr. Scott?” Speaking of the lady, her voice called across the clearing as he stepped out of the chicken shed.
He latched the door, then turned to face her.
“Supper’s ready. I wasn’t sure if you planned to join us?”
Yes, he supposed he had to. And the pain gnawing at his insides needed to be satisfied. He headed that direction, North bounding ahead as if he smelled the food already.
A warm, spicy aroma greeted him as he stepped into the cabin this time. Nothing like the rank odor from before. He let North follow him in out of the cold, and as he unbuttoned his coat, his eyes drifted to the table. Three plates sat out, filled with what looked like ham steak, potatoes, and carrots. The savory scent wafting from the plates nearly made his eyes drift closed from sheer pleasure. It’d been an awful long time since he’d had any garden vegetables. Not since the Crow camp left for better hunting.
“Come to the table, Mrs. Scott. Do you smell the ham sizzling?”
He glanced across the room to Miss Donaghue, who was helping Mum out of her chair. She had one arm around Mum’s waist and the other holding her hand. Could his mother really not walk to the table by herself?
North padded over to them, but Reuben let out a short whistle to call him back. The last thing he needed was Mum tripping over the animal. Best keep things simple until he figured out the truth of her condition. The dog eyed him with obvious disapproval but sat at Reuben’s feet like he’d been trained.
Miss Donaghue glanced up to meet Reuben’s gaze. “I don’t mind, as long as he doesn’t bother your mother.”
He eyed Mum, who seemed oblivious to the animal’s presence as she shuffled toward the table. Mum had always liked North, but that was before. Who could say now?
Her progress across the small cabin was slow, and his eyes roamed down to her feet. An old pair of worn moccasins peeked out from beneath her dress. Nothing that should slow her down or make her unsteady
“She’s still recovering from the frostbite.”
He jerked his focus up to Miss Donaghue. “Frostbite?”
She offered a sad smile, then turned toward Mum and spoke a little louder. “Your feet are feeling better today, aren’t they?”
Mum turned a delighted smile on the younger woman. “Oh, yes, dear. My feet feel just fine. What shall we make for dinner, do you think?”
Miss Donaghue leaned in closer. “I made you a surprise this time. Irish ham and cabbage. Except I didn’t have cabbage, so it’s just potatoes. But I toasted sourdough bread, and we have fresh butter.”
His feet seemed rooted to the floor as he watched the woman guide his mother into a chair, chattering as they progressed. And the smiles Mum bestowed on her? A flicker of envy lit in his gut, but he squashed it down. The last time she’d looked at him with so much pride was when he’d given her the bobcat fur over the mantle. Was it really a daughter she’d wanted all these years? Maybe that was why he never quite seemed to measure up. If only Nora had survived to be what Mum needed.
Once his mother was settled in her chair, fork in hand, Miss Donaghue glanced at him. A flush of pink stained the otherwise flawless skin on her cheeks. “It’s not much of a meal. But it should be warm and nourishing. I’m still learning how to make do with the few provisions I’ve found here.”
Few provisions? Mum and Pa normally had enough stored for winter to last till fall of the next year. What was this woman used to? Five different fully stocked larders and servants to cook it all?
And then the picture formed in his mind. She probably was accustomed to that. She dressed and spoke and looked like she’d come straight from an eastern mansion. So why was she all the way up here, trying to do something she had no business attempting? Montana winters were harsh under the best conditions, with no mercy shown to the weak or ignorant.
“I’m afraid I don’t know which is your chair, Mr. Scott.”
She stood behind an empty seat, the one closest to the stove. The one they’d always kept as an extra in case a guest stopped by.
He stepped around to the opposite side of the table to take his own place. North followed him, of course, and took up his usual spot at Reuben’s feet. As Reuben settled himself and pulled a steaming plate close, the empty end of the table where Pa always sat loomed at the edge of his vision.
A burn took hold in his throat, but he tried not to look that direction. Taking up his fork, he plunged it into the ham steak.
“Do you mind if we say a blessing over the food?”
Miss Donaghue’s voice brought him up short, and he eyed her, then lowered his gaze to where her hand clasped Mum’s.
His fork made a little clatter as he dropped it back on the plate. “That’s fine.” Of course she’d want to say grace. Mum always did, too. But it was an easy habit to lose when he was on his own for months at a time. Not that the Almighty had ever paid attention to his requests. At mealtime or otherwise.
Cathleen prayed a few simple sentences, her voice rolling with intensity. She seemed to really mean the words she spoke.
He fell into the lilting cadence of it. Her voice was almost as smooth as the porcelain of her face, easing over him like clear water on a warm summer day. He could listen to that voice for hours.
When she said, “Amen,” he had to force himself not to look up and watch her. He may have been raised in the mountains, but even he knew staring wasn’t polite. It didn’t stop him from wanting to look his fill, though.
~ ~ ~
CATHLEEN COULDN’T HELP staring at the man across the table from her. He truly was a mountain man, with overgrown hair and beard. The skin on his face and hands looked like it’d seen plenty of long days in the harsh wind and cold. But those eyes. Every time he turned them on her, she sank into the blue of them.
He didn’t eat like a barbarian, exactly. Used a fork and a serviette like most people. And he didn’t hunch over his food, although he did seem to relish it. He wasn’t much of a talker, though. Hadn’t said more than three words since she’d called him in for supper. But his silence made sense, because he spent most of his time alone in the wilds.
There was something about him that stirred her soul. Invigorated her senses—and not just her curiosity. Something in the aura that surrounded him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was hard to take her eyes off him.
Now that he was here, she should make plans to return to town. That had been the plan, after all. She slipped a glance toward Mrs. Scott. The woman was still so fragile and confused. Could this oversized mountain man give her the care she needed? It didn’t seem possible.
The least she could do was stay on a few more days until she could feel more comfortable with leaving her patient in the man’s care.
Her gaze slid back to Mr. Scott, just as he looked up and caught her watching. Heat surged to her face, but she didn’t look away. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Food’s good.” He raised a fork full of ham and potatoes. “Tastes like when Mum makes it.”
A warmth filled her chest that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Thank you. I thought with the name Scott, you might like recipes from the Old Countr
y.” She let a bit of her parents’ brogue slip into those last two words.
He stopped chewing and raised a brow. “You’re from Ireland?”
“My parents were. Mum was proud of the recipes she brought over, but I have to say we settled into the American ways pretty quickly.”
He cocked his head and studied her for a moment, then ducked back to his food. What was he thinking under that head of thick brown hair? Did he think her a chatterling? A nuisance? Maybe she didn’t want to know.
But really she did. His silence was driving her batty. If only she could peel back the layers of his mask and see what kind of man Reuben Scott really was.
Chapter Five
REUBEN WRAPPED THE bear skin tighter around him as he sank into the soft bedding. It was awfully cold this morning. With North’s body heat adding to his own, his toes shouldn’t be so frigid.
He reached down to stroke the dog, but his fingers met only the coarse hair from the bear skin. His eyelids slid open, and he glanced around. Every muscle jumped to alert as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Not his tiny winter cabin. Not even the little room he used at his parents’ house. This was a massive structure with a high pitched-ceiling and cold air flowing through the space.
A barn. Memories flooded back as his racing heart began to slow. There was a new woman in the house with Mum—sleeping in his room, no less—so he’d stayed in the barn.
A rustle sounded in one of the stalls, grabbing his attention. Was North bothering the milk cow? Indeed, the dog padded from the stall opening, with another figure close on its heels.
Miss Donaghue.
Reuben bolted upright, tossing the bearskin aside and lurching to his feet. If he’d not been awake before, the sight of her had the blood flowing strong through his veins.
She glanced his way with a soft smile. Kind of like an angel, with the light from the lantern hanging on the stall post. “Good morning. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
The Lady and the Mountain Call (Mountain Dreams Series Book 5) Page 4
