by Linda Ford
He sucked in air slowly and managed to take a breath without coughing.
“That’s better. Now you sit here while I go check the kitchen.” Most of the smoke had drifted outdoors. She opened a window by the stove to clear the last of the acrid air. She found a potholder and lifted the lid on the stove. They’d used way too much wood. If it began to burn it would overheat the stove and maybe start a real fire that might get out of control. She grabbed the potholder and pulled the top pieces out, dropping them in the ash pail. Thankfully, they hadn’t even started to smolder.
In a few minutes she had a merry little fire going. Soon the room would warm up. She closed the window and turned to call the others in so she could shut the door.
“I was going to make breakfast,” Billy said.
“Good for you. That was a nice idea. What were you going to make?”
“I can make porridge.”
“Good. You get started while I look at Duke’s head.” If they stayed in the kitchen, she could supervise Billy without being obvious about it.
Duke turned a chair to face her and sat. “My head is just fine.”
Billy giggled. “That’s ’cause he has a hard head.”
Rose laughed at his humor.
Duke groaned. “Don’t you start picking on me.”
Billy’s expression changed so suddenly Rose stared. “I would never pick on you. Never ever ever.” He rushed to Duke’s side. “Please. I’m sorry.”
Duke caught Billy’s fluttering hands. “I was joshing. It was a good joke. Didn’t you think so, Rose?”
Rose nodded. “One of the best. I really enjoyed it. How smart of you to notice that Duke has a hard head.”
Smiling, Billy returned to the cupboard where he meticulously measured water into a pot and just as carefully measured oats. Seems someone had taught him that task well.
Duke touched the back of Rose’s hand, bringing her attention back to him. “It was a good joke but don’t enjoy it too much. I might take it personal.”
Their gazes locked as she recalled how he’d teased her when they were young.
He looked right into her heart as if he saw and understood. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I only wanted to get your attention.”
Her fingers trembled. She jerked her gaze from his. Why would he need or want her attention? He was a Caldwell. He usually had people laughing at his jokes and encouraging his sometimes rash behavior.
Why did his confession leave her so shaken? “Let me look at that wound.” She had to unwrap the bandage. It required that she lean close to Duke. It meant nothing, she told herself. She was only tending a wounded neighbor.
But never before had her fingers trembled. Or her muscles twitched. Nor had she ever before had this delicious yet frightening awareness of touching someone.
She clenched her teeth. Stop being so foolish. You’ve helped with head wounds before. Yes, on old Mr. Angus and four-year-old Sonny and two school boys. Never on a man who had her thoughts as scrambled as a broken egg.
She edged closer to him. Felt the warmth of his body and the smell of smoke so strong she barely managed to stop a cough. With firm fingers, she slowly unwrapped the bandage. The wound had bled in the night and the bandage was stuck. “I’ll have to soak this to get it off.” If she ripped it free she would likely start the wound bleeding again. She filled a dish with warm water and pulled another towel from the cupboard. Perhaps she should take the soiled ones home and wash them.
As she returned to the table, she stumbled against a chair leg and Duke caught her at the waist to steady her.
Something inside her wrenched at his touch. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think. What was wrong with her? This, she reminded herself firmly, was Duke Caldwell. Douglas Caldwell, she corrected herself, hoping to put distance between them. With a sinking sensation she realized she neither thought of him as such nor called him by that name anymore. But never mind if she called him Duke or Douglas. She only wanted to see if his head was okay.
Above all, she had no intention of letting her heart be affected by tending him.
He was a Caldwell. She was a Bell. He was rich. She was not. They came from different spheres. Nothing could change that.
Her heart must understand.
* * *
He slowly released her and dropped his hands to his knees. He’d been aware of her quick intake of air, the stiffening of her muscles. Did she object to his touch or had it seared through her thoughts as it had his?
Even with his hands pressed hard to his knees, he couldn’t shake off the way his insides had lurched.
He tried to bring his thoughts into focus but with Rose so close at his side he felt her in every pore. She filled every thought.
Even past the sharp smell of the recent smoke in the kitchen he caught a familiar scent of wildflowers and fresh hay. Rose’s own delightful perfume. He recalled how it had caught at his senses when he’d passed her in church or in the store or had the pleasure of sitting next to her at a church social.
Her cool fingers brushed his forehead as she pressed a damp cloth to his dressing.
He closed his eyes against the sweet torture of her touch. Even welcomed the sharp pain as she pulled the last of the bandage free.
“It looks not too bad.” She sounded both cautious and hopeful.
He chortled. “Not too bad? Is that good or do you mean it could be worse?”
“Exactly.” No mistaking the teasing in her voice.
“You’re saying I’ll live?”
Her fingers stilled. No answer came.
Even though he dreaded to see that she might regret the fact, he turned to look into her face and his thoughts stalled.
She blinked as if trying to hide her expression, but he’d seen enough to want to shout victory and joy.
He knew without a doubt that he’d caught a flash of some emotion so deep, so foreign, that it startled her.
As it did him.
And why should he exult in such knowledge?
It was beyond understanding.
“You’ll live.” Her voice was gravelly. “For good or ill, you’ll live.”
Did he detect a tremor in her words?
She grabbed a fresh bandage and moved behind him to rewrap his wound, but he caught her wrist and forced her to face him.
“Good or ill? What’s that supposed to mean? It sounds like you see me as a bad egg. Is that true? Is that how you see me?”
She lowered her gaze, refusing to look at him. “You overlook the fact I also said for good. Isn’t the choice yours?”
He released her wrist. “I persuaded my father to end the land feud. Does that not prove I’m a good person?” He wished he didn’t sound so needy but, oh, how he ached for her to see him for who he was—a simple man with simple needs. He wanted home, love, and to be valued for himself. Not valued because he was a Caldwell.
Nor devalued for the same reason.
She shifted so she stood behind him and he couldn’t see her expression. “The gates were all opened yesterday and the animals were all out.”
How did that involve him? Then it hit him what she meant. “You suspect someone did it intentionally? You think I’m lying about ending the feud.” He let bitterness drip from every word. After her visit yesterday he’d allowed himself to believe she viewed him differently.
He thought she cared about him. He maybe cared about her just a little, as well.
Hadn’t he vowed to guard his heart?
After a moment’s pause Rose answered. “I guess it will take more than words.”
He threw his hands into the air in defeat. “Am I to be held responsible for everything that goes wrong at your place? That hardly seems fair.”
She wrapped the bandage around his head
, her gentle touch at such odds with her harsh judgment of him.
Done, she came around to face him, her eyes as dark as the winter spruce outdoors. “It’s complicated.” She swallowed hard.
He sensed her struggle to explain herself and hardly dared breathe, afraid to move or to speak lest he cause this fragile moment to crash into splinters at his feet.
“I’d like to believe you. Nothing would make me happier than to see the feud over. But the gates didn’t accidentally fall down.” She challengingly held his gaze.
He struggled to find an explanation. “It has to be someone else. Father told the cowboys the feud was over.”
She grabbed the soiled dressing and hurried across the room. She put away her things, scrubbed her hands and turned to help Billy at the stove.
“Why, that looks perfect,” she said. “Billy, who taught you to make porridge?”
“My aunt Hilda. I lived with her for some time.” He forgot about stirring the pot and stared at the wall behind the stove. “I can’t remember how long.”
Rose patted Billy’s shoulder. “Well, thanks to Aunt Hilda’s lessons and your good memory, you are about to enjoy a hearty breakfast. Why don’t you put out some of those biscuits that were left from last night while I dish up the porridge?”
Billy hurried to do her bidding as Rose pulled out two bowls.
“Two?” Duke said. “I count three people.”
Rose kept her attention on spooning porridge into the bowls. “I ate before I left home.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, she avoided looking at him. “Then have coffee with us.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“Then we’ll have tea. I know you drink tea.” He didn’t want her to leave. “My head might start to bleed again. Then what will I do?”
That brought her attention to him. “No reason it should unless you do something foolish.” Her green eyes flashed with challenge.
“You half think I would, don’t you?” He narrowed his eyes and silently challenged her.
She grew very interested in scraping the sides of the pot. “Well, there is that horse of yours.”
“It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention and with King I have to keep my mind on what I’m doing.”
“What distracted you?”
“I can’t rightly recall.” He knew his gaze was a mite sheepish. She’d never guess the truth that his thoughts had been on visiting her.
“I see.” A slight widening of her eyes caused him to think she knew exactly where his thoughts had been. Did he detect a hint of color staining her cheeks? His chest swelled to think he might have been the cause.
Emboldened, he asked, “Rose, would you please stay and have tea with us?”
Their gazes caught and held. And for that one brief space of a heartbeat there was no one else. No expectations from parents. No feud between the families. Just he and Rose and a world of possibility.
“I’ll make some while you and Billy eat.” But she didn’t move. Dare he hope she was as imprisoned by the moment as he?
Chapter Six
Rose could see her hands at the end of her arms but she couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t make them move. Her feet, too, refused to budge from the spot. Her thoughts were so tangled she couldn’t grab a single one and follow it to an end.
He’d been thinking of her when his horse tossed him? Not that he’d come right out and said so, but she knew she wasn’t mistaken in understanding his meaning. And why did she have the distinct impression that his thoughts had been pleasant?
Billy sat at her elbow. “I’m hungry.”
His words jolted her into action. She spun away and returned to the cupboard. As she put the pot to warm, she fought for control of the confusing storm of her emotions. How could she reconcile his interest in her with the continuing feud? Had it simply been a last final act like cowboys thumbing their nose at the Bells? If only she dared to believe it.
Would she then be able to let her heart have its way?
Duke said grace and the two of them started their meal while she sloshed the hot water around the inside of the china teapot. A spray of painted roses circled the fat belly of the fine china pot. Gold trimmed the lid and handle. She stared at the fancy vessel. This was their everyday teapot? No doubt they had a sterling-silver one for finer occasions.
She put the pot on the cupboard and dropped her hands to her sides. What if she dropped this fine piece of china and broke it? What if she chipped a cup? She’d never considered herself clumsy but then again, she’d never handled anything but plain dishes. Don’t be so foolish, she chided herself. It was just a teapot and likely nothing special to the Caldwells or it wouldn’t be in the kitchen cupboard. She only had to make tea as she did so often she could do it with her eyes closed.
But she kept them wide open and took extra care.
She reasoned that all these fine things and this unfamiliar kitchen had overstimulated her senses, causing her to think, even believe, things that had no basis in fact.
For instance Duke had not said thoughts of her had distracted him.
She’d only imagined a warm look in his eyes that suggested he enjoyed thinking about her.
Pshaw. She was Rose Bell, redheaded woman of uncertain heritage. Of course, he wasn’t thinking of her in a pleasant way. If his thoughts had been on her at all.
She only spent time here because she was genuinely concerned that Duke’s head wound not get infected. She’d never be accepted by someone like Duke and certainly never by his family. Not that she wanted to be. She would stay at home with Ma and Pa and look after them knowing her heart would be safe.
With her thoughts and emotions reined in, she carried the teapot to the table, along with the matching cups and saucers.
“I’ll get the sugar,” Billy said and sprang from the table. He returned with a matching sugar bowl, again trimmed with gold and filled with—
She stared.
Neat little squares of sugar. She’d heard of this Vienna sugar but to serve it at the kitchen table! This, even more than the teapot, signified the difference between her and Duke. She would do well to remember it before someone saw fit to point it out to her. Her insides shriveled—a coil pulling back from external pressure.
Duke must have sensed her withdrawal. “Is there something wrong with the tea?”
She realized she stared into the contents of her cup. Forcing a smile to her lips, she looked up. “No, nothing.”
His gaze caught and held hers, and she read the truth in his eyes. He knew she didn’t speak honestly. She couldn’t say how she could be so certain but she knew she was correct.
“There is something wrong.” His soft words dropped into her heart like sweet nectar.
He was a Caldwell, she was a Bell, she reminded herself. Forcing her gaze from his powerful look, she shifted her attention to the cupboard door—behind which stood so many fine dishes. “Nothing you’d understand.” The words no sooner escaped her mouth than she wanted to yank them back. Why hadn’t she said instead that it was nothing that concerned him? Or something equally dismissive.
“Try me. You might be surprised.” Again, his soft words called to her heart.
Would he understand? How could he? He lived in the lap of luxury. “What was it like back east?” No doubt it was even more lavish than this ranch home.
He spent a moment stirring his porridge.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m keeping you from your food.”
“Let me finish here, then I’ll tell you about it.”
“It’s not important.” Why had she even asked? Now she felt obligated to delay her departure so he could answer.
“I don’t mind.” He concentrated on his food for a moment and she drank her tea.
Billy finished his porrid
ge and downed four biscuits with a berry jam that Rose guessed the housekeeper had made. Where was the housekeeper? She voiced the question.
Duke grinned widely. “What makes you think we need one?”
Rose slowly and deliberately looked around the room, letting her attention rest on the polished stove top, the orderly cupboards.
He laughed. “I suppose it is obvious. Mrs. Humphrey is visiting her son. I assured her we could manage quite fine without her services for a few days.”
Billy looked up. “Good thing Rose came by to cook a meal for us. Say, could you make us dinner again? I really liked your soup. But it’s all gone.” He sounded so mournful, Rose answered without thinking.
“I’d love to make dinner for you if no one objects.”
“I’d appreciate it very much,” Duke said. If she wasn’t mistaken he looked as happy as Billy.
Why had she promised such a thing? Yet she didn’t regret it. Not yet anyway.
As soon as he finished, Billy insisted he would do the dishes. “My aunt Hilda said I was the best dishwasher ever.”
Rose and Duke looked at each other and then their glances slid toward Billy.
“Where is your aunt Hilda now?” Rose asked.
Billy examined a spoon as if it held the answer. “I forget. Maybe...maybe she wasn’t really my aunt and I only pretended it.”
Rose glanced at Duke, her eyebrows raised, wondering if he understood what Billy meant.
Duke gave a tiny shake of his head.
She slowly brought her gaze back to Billy. “But there was an Aunt Hilda, wasn’t there?” Surely he hadn’t made it up, though she’d heard of children having pretend playmates and Billy wasn’t much more than a child in his mind.
“She had lots of children. But I couldn’t stay.” He lifted his dark eyes to Rose and considered her.
“Why?” She didn’t blink away from his intensity, understanding that he searched his mind and perhaps needed her silent encouragement to do so.
Finally he released a pent-up breath. “I was too big. I had to go to work for a man.”
Perhaps Aunt Hilda cared for orphaned children. That would explain why he’d had to leave as he got bigger. Rose sadly acknowledged the fact that children in their own home with their own parents were also often forced to leave as they got older. Some were even abandoned at a young age. Why? The question wailed through her thoughts. She pushed it back to the depths of the dark cave within her.
