Rocky Mountain Match

by Pamela Nissen

  He couldn’t miss the creaking of the sofa or the boots scuffing on the floor.

  “So…who’s going to talk?” he queried.

  Ben cleared his throat from the winged-back chair opposite Joseph. “I guess what we’re wanting to know is…how important is it that the furniture order be done on time?”

  Foreboding crawled down his spine. “What do you mean, how important is it? It’s important.”

  “How important?” Ben’s reply was unnervingly measured.

  “If the job doesn’t get done, what’ll that mean?” Zach’s no-nonsense tone of voice grated on Joseph’s nerves.

  Joseph braced his elbows on his legs, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Aaron, I thought you said things were coming along. I believe those were the words you used. So are they?”

  Aaron sucked in a deep breath. “Well, when we first st—”

  “Just answer my question,” Joseph ground out.

  Zach huffed. “He will if you’ll snap your jaw shut and let him.”

  “Quiet, Zach!” Joseph fired off, then shoved himself out of the chair and stood firm. “Is the job coming along or not?”

  “Well, no,” Aaron answered hesitantly.

  He balled his fists, an unbelievably helpless feeling taunting him. “I thought you had everything under control.”

  “Take it easy,” Ben urged. “He’s been at it from early morning to late at night for almost five weeks straight.”

  Guilt for his quick temper pricked. He struggled to tamp down his irritation. “I know you’ve been working day and night, Aaron, but we’ve got to get this done.”

  “Remember, it’s a very large order.” Ben cleared his throat. “An entire restaurant worth of furniture.”

  Jamming his fists on his hips, Joseph felt every muscle in his body jerk taut. “So, what’s the problem? Tell me.”

  “Ease up, Joe,” Zach spoke from the sofa. “Aaron’s been doing the best he can.”

  “The best he can?” he repeated. Raking his fingers through his hair, he grasped at what little calm he had left. If it wasn’t for his injury, he wouldn’t be in this mess. “Aaron, tell me, what is the status with Mr. Cranston’s order? Because so far every time I’ve asked you how things are going, you’ve said that things were fine. Have you been giving me the straight story or not?”

  “Both.” Drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa, Aaron made a loud hissing exhale, then continued. “I don’t see how the job’s going to get done at the rate things are going. There’s no way, Joseph, even with Ben and Zach helping out.”

  “What about when I’m able to work again after I get home from Denver?” He crossed his arms at his chest.

  “You’re forgetting one small thing,” came Ben’s voice, low and sobering. “What if you don’t get your sight back?”

  “That’s not an option, Ben,” Joseph shot over his shoulder.

  The wingback chair scraped against the wood floor as Ben shifted. “We all want you to see again. But the fact remains that you might not distinguish more than the dark gray shadows you saw the first time I took off the patches. And the doctor in Denver may not have any alternatives for treatment.”

  His skin prickled. “I hate this!”

  Balling his fists in front of his face, he wished he could just pound his eyes and bring back his vision.

  Frustrated, he hastily stalked toward the entryway, coming to a sudden, humiliating stop when he collided with the wall. Gritting his teeth, he braced trembling hands up along the wall. Leaned his forehead against the cool plaster.

  “Right now I can’t make it down the street without help and I may not have a business left, all because of this.” Pressing hard against the wall, he added, “I have to see again.”

  “I hope you do, Joe-boy. Believe me, I do,” came Aaron’s voice just behind him. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner, but I didn’t want to make things worse for you than they already are. Even if you do get your vision back, though, I’m afraid we still might be too far behind.”

  “Too far behind?” He pushed his fists against the wall, wanting to just shove them all the way through.

  “I’ll talk to Mr. Cranston.” Aaron’s voice was swathed with forced optimism. “I’m sure he’ll understand if I have a chance to explain everything.”

  Joseph spun around and pulled his shoulders back. He wanted to lash out, take his anger and deep-seated desperation out on something or someone. Instead, he slowly headed back to the chair, inwardly gauging his steps as Katie had taught him.

  “You’re not going to go making excuses for me. Even if you did, I already know the answer.” Turning, he sank down into the tall, padded chair. “Mr. Cranston is a shrewd businessman. We made a deal. Signed a contract. His hands are probably tied just like mine.”

  Joseph braced his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned into his hand, attempting to massage away the pain in his head that suddenly bore down upon him without mercy. “You know as well as I do that I fronted all the money for materials and labor. I stand to lose the shop if we don’t deliver on time.”

  “So, what do we do?” Aaron moved to stand next to Joseph.

  “Right now I can’t do much,” he said, trying for a more contrite tone. “I know I’ve heaped a lot on you, Aaron—especially with Ellie not feeling well. And I know that you, Ben and Zach have been over there helping when you can. If you can just hang on a little longer till these bandages come off, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  “What about the finish work?” Aaron asked, dropping down to squat beside the chair.

  Joseph pressed his fingers to his bandaged eyes. “When I return from Denver next week, I’ll work night and day if I have to, to catch us up so we won’t be late.”

  “But what if—” Aaron began.

  “My vision doesn’t return? It will. God will give me back my sight. He has to.”

  Joseph bit back a curse. He slapped the knife down on the counter, resisting the urge to shake off the throbbing pain assailing his finger. He’d been cutting vegetables—Katie’s latest lesson—and had cut more than just the carrot.

  “What’s wrong?” Katie approached his side, her arm lightly brushing against his.

  He covered one hand with the other, trying to snuff out the anger that had sparked so quickly. “Nothing.”

  He was learning the hard way that he couldn’t afford to let his focus drift or he was vulnerable to mishaps. Every task he did seemed to require double the effort, double the energy, double the focus. And double the patience.

  He’d been agitated all day. Couldn’t seem to keep his mind on any task—not after his brothers had paid him a visit last evening. He’d lain awake through the night wracking his brain, searching for a way to complete the job on time.

  Katie lifted his hand, her touch light, sure and warm. “It’s not nothing. You’re bleeding, Joseph.” Cradling his hand in hers, she drew him over to the washbasin and began pumping the squeaky handle. “We’ll get this cleaned up.”

  “I can do it.” He pulled his hand from her grasp.

  “If you insist,” she stated, stepping away from him and leaving him instantly wishing for her closeness again. “Can you tell me where to find something to put on that?”

  “On my cut?”

  “No, your wounded pride,” she shot back.

  He winced. “So I’m irritated. You would be too if you cut yourself like a youngster.”

  He directed her to where he kept medicinal supplies while he ran his forefinger under the stream of water, feeling it trickle into the wound. If he could see, he’d be able to handle the situation easily. Knowing he couldn’t see past the bandages covering his eyes firmly established his irritation like a stubborn weed with tentaclelike roots that crept into his dignity.

  After she’d returned, she gently wrapped his hand in a cloth and led him over to the table. “You seem to forget that other people cut themselves, too. It doesn’t matter whether you can see or not,
it’s bound to happen.”

  “Other people can see whether they’re bleeding all over the floor,” he retorted, feeling justified in his response.

  She pulled out two chairs. “Here, sit down while I bandage your finger.”

  He sat down directly in front of her and fought the urge to ask her to leave. Fought even harder the sensations provoked by the way she cradled his hand in hers.

  “The cut’s pretty deep,” she breathed, gently turning his hand as though to get a better look. “Maybe we should have Ben take a peek at it. You might need a few stitches.”

  “No.” Every muscle in his body pulled taut. “I don’t need Ben to take a look at it.”

  “Are you sure?” She gently dabbed at his finger with a cloth. “I could go and find—”

  “No! I said I’m fine. I don’t need him.”

  “Joseph Drake, you are as grumpy as a wounded bear.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. Why was it so hard to submit to the soothing ministrations of this one who cared, who didn’t see his weakness as something to exploit? For several moments he sat there, torn between wanting to distance himself from her and wanting to trust her in his vulnerability.

  Refusing to center on the upheaval he felt, he decided to focus on her hands, so smooth and tender on his skin. With the faintest of strokes from the pads of her thumbs, she began to calm the tension that commanded his body.

  “Here,” she said, handing him a cloth. “Apply pressure to stop the bleeding while I get a wrap prepared.”

  He did as she’d directed, acutely aware of the slightest brush of her legs against his.

  “What’s wrong, Joseph?” Her words were guarded.

  “It’s just a cut. Like I said, I’m fine.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” She cradled his hand in hers again and carefully lifted the cloth from his finger. “Good. It looks like the bleeding’s stopped. We’ll get this fixed in no time.” She began applying an ointment to his cut, her touch so gentle. “You seem on edge. You have been since I showed up this morning. Did something happen?”

  On a long exhale, he felt his tight neck muscles relax a little. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  “No.” With a wry grin he added, “Not unless you’re as good at building furniture as you are teaching.”

  When she stopped her ministrations, he could feel her gaze on him. “Is there a problem out at the shop?”

  “Yes. You could say that,” he admitted, then related the circumstances he faced.

  “What are you going to do? I mean is there any way Mr. Cranston could postpone the date a few weeks?”

  As she began to wind a bandage around his finger, he was sure she was unaware of the way her warm, comforting touch sent sensations through him.

  Straight to his heart.

  It seemed there was no way to keep from being affected by Katie. He’d have to send her away to accomplish that, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to go to that extent. In just two short weeks she’d become a part of his life. A bright, promising part of his present and hopefully his future.

  “There’s no way he’ll postpone,” he answered, distracted by the tightening in the pit of his stomach. “Either we deliver on the date, or lose it all.”

  “Could Zach or Ben help Aaron out?”

  “They’re already pitching in where they can. But there’s only so much they can do. Ben’s a great doctor and Zach’s a natural with horses, but of their own admission, they’re not cut of the same cloth as Aaron and me.”

  “Oh, I see.” She secured the bandage with a knot.

  When she finished, he set his elbow on the table, holding his hand up to ward off the throbbing. Her touch had been so comforting that he wished she hadn’t been so efficient.

  “What about you, Joseph?” Katie rose and crossed to the sink where she pumped water. “I’m sure you could do things in the shop.”

  Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Joseph figured she might as well have kicked him in the shin. “I never thought I’d say this but you’re starting to sound like Julia.”

  “I’m sorry.” She set a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean for the suggestion to sound unfeeling.” Katie grasped his good hand. “Here’s some water.”

  He felt the cold stoneware and gripped the cup as she sat down in front of him again. “Thanks.”

  “What I’m trying to say is…why couldn’t you try some of the work out there? From what I hear and the proof I’ve seen, you’re a master at the craft. Couldn’t you—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Gulping down the water, he swiped the moisture from his lips with his shirtsleeve and set the cup on the table. “If you’ve forgotten already, I sliced my finger cutting vegetables.” He held the bandaged finger in front of him. “With a saw or chisel in my hand, I’d be a bloody mess.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she shot back.

  Joseph shook his head. “You’re not being realistic.”

  “No, Joseph. I’m being completely realistic. You’re just being stubborn. I told you on our first day together that I wouldn’t coddle you, but help you to find independence.” She rose and pushed in her chair. “And that’s what I’m here to do.”

  He drew his lips into a grim line, not sure whether to be angry or relieved. She could be so compassionate and then turn right around and goad him without shame.

  “Why couldn’t Aaron spend his time putting the furniture together, while you focus on the finish work and sanding? Don’t you depend a lot on touch to do that kind of thing?”

  With a grunt, he slouched in the chair, sliding his long legs out in front of him. “Nice thought,” he said, draping one boot over the other. “But it’d never work.”

  “Why wouldn’t it work?” He could hear her gathering the medical supplies on the table. “I see you often, smoothing your hands over things as though searching for imperfections. It’s in you, Joseph. You can’t get away from it.”

  “Well, I’ll be a dad-burned donkey if it ain’t Sam Garnett!” Mr. Heath, the mercantile owner proclaimed. “How have you been?”

  The shopkeeper’s jubilant greeting perked Katie’s curiosity. She cocked an ear toward the door without turning away from the elegant hair combs she’d been inspecting. She was trying to decide which one to buy with some of the pay she’d received yesterday, at the end of her second week of work.

  Honestly, she hadn’t wanted to take one dime from Joseph, feeling more than ever that her time with him was not a job at all, rather a privilege, a pleasure. He’d gotten visibly irritated when she’d balked at taking the envelope. Said he wasn’t interested in charity. Insisted she take the money.

  “Mr. Heath, you’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s good to see you,” the stranger called, his deep voice echoing in the room.

  “You, too, Sam. You, too. It’s not often we get a city-slick lawyer in these parts.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the two men shaking hands across the long glass-front counter. Even from her vantage point she noticed that the man wore a crisp three-piece suit, professionally tailored.

  “What brings you to these parts?” Mr. Heath inquired.

  “I need to tie up some loose ends on my folks’ land since they passed away.”

  “We sure are sorry about their passing. They were good people.” Mr. Heath’s voice went unusually quiet.

  “Thank you.” After a short pause, Sam added, “That wave of influenza hit hard last winter, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, sirree. But thank goodness it didn’t last long. Since Ben Drake came back from his schoolin’ and started practicin’ his medicine here it seems like we’ve been fairin’ better through things like this.”

  “Ben’s a good doctor. I’ve no doubt about that.” Sam took his rounded top hat from his head, tapping it into perfect form.

  “So, will you be headin’ back to the big city right away? Or can you stay a spell?”


  Katie held up a comb as though examining it, but her attention kept getting pulled to the man named Sam. She didn’t feel the same unnerving wariness she normally had around strange men, and that surprised her. Maybe it was because he was a native to the area. Or maybe it was the way he’d been received by Mr. Heath like a richly decorated hero come home from war.

  “I thought it’d do me good to take in some fresh mountain air to clear my head.” His voice swelled with satisfaction. “I decided to take a month’s leave from the law firm and mix a little business with pleasure.”

  “If that ain’t a fine how-do-you-do!” Mr. Heath slapped Sam on the shoulder. “Me and the missus—why we’ll be lookin’ forward to havin’ you over to our place for supper. Bet you don’ get cookin’ like the wife’s back in the big city.”

  “Probably not. I’m looking forward to that already. Thank you for the invitation.” Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here I came in to say hello and get these few things, and I end up with a dinner invitation. I believe I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

  “Ya say ya need a few things, do you? Well, what can I do you for?”

  Katie briefly glanced toward the exchange and listened to the conversation, all the while peering at the same comb she’d held for the past several moments. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop but couldn’t help it. The wood floors and high ceilings only aided in carrying the sound of their voices.

  The tall stranger, whose dark hair accentuated his almost Romanesque features, handed the list to Mr. Heath. “I’ll be staying at Mrs. Royer’s boarding house, so I won’t need much.”

  “Don’t think there’s a selfish bone in that woman’s body. She’ll take good care of you. Mother you till you wish you were eight again.” Mr. Heath quickly perused the list. “I’ll get these things. You just make yourself at home.” He turned to start filling the order and called over his shoulder, “You might notice some changes we’ve made since you were last here.”