Love on the Range

by Jessica Nelson

  “My knee,” she managed to croak, and then grimaced when gentle hands began probing her leg.

  “It’s sprained.” James’s gravelly voice came from the foot of the bed. Gracie didn’t bother to look anymore. Her head had started pounding the moment her eyes opened, so she closed them and kept as still as possible.

  She cleared her throat. “How long have I been lying here?”

  “’Bout half an hour,” James grunted. “Trevor carried you in, then left to get the doctor.”

  “Where’s Uncle Lou?”

  “He’s coming.”

  “Quit your wiggling, missy,” James barked.

  Fire ripped across her leg. “That hurts! Can’t we wait for the doctor?”

  “You let old James wrap it for you. Trevor won’t make it to the doc’s. Fixin’ to blizzard out.”

  Gracie groaned.

  “Have a drink, Gracie, because fixing your knee is going to hurt like the dickens.”

  She cocked an eye open, then recoiled when James thrust an evil-smelling brew under her nose. “Is that whiskey?” Horror made her words come out in a squeak.

  “You’re going to need it,” Mary said.

  The door to the bedroom slammed open and Trevor staggered in, shaking snow from his shoulders. “It’s freezing out there. Too cold to get the doctor.” His eyes met Gracie’s and she managed a faint smile.

  “I guess it’s up to you, James. But I’m not drinking whiskey. I’m a teetotaler.”

  “Have it your way, missy.”

  Mary pulled Gracie’s arms above her head and Trevor pressed her ankles against the mattress.

  “What are you doing?” She began to squirm, alarmed by their forceful pressure. Were they insane?

  “Gotta hold you down so you don’t mess me up while I wrap it. Need to get the swelling down. Trevor, Mary, hold tight.”

  Before Gracie could react, James pulled out a length of cloth and reached for her leg. A shrill scream splintered through the room. Her scream, she realized, just before her vision turned black.

  * * *

  Trevor heard the moan first. He looked to where Gracie lay limp on the bed. Her lashes fluttered as she struggled to escape the faint that had overcome her when James bound her knee. She resembled a fragile porcelain doll, her hair dark against pale skin. Fingers clenching, he looked away. If she drank the whiskey she could’ve numbed the pain, but not Gracie. Obstinate about her beliefs, as usual.

  “Do you think we should tell her?” Lou asked beside him.

  “No.” Mary’s voice quivered. “James said she has a small concussion, and I think we should wait until she’s stronger before we break this to her.”

  Trevor was about to warn them to be quiet, but the rustle of the bedsheets caught his attention, followed by another moan. They turned toward Gracie, conversation halting. She stared at them, face white, a weak smile trembling on her lips. He strode to her and took her hand. It felt like ice.

  “How are you feeling?” His voice came out more tender than he would’ve liked, and he quickly swallowed his embarrassment. He didn’t know how he could have compared her to the other women he’d known. Lying there so small and vulnerable, she seemed sweet and mellow, far from the vibrant socialite she usually appeared to be.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Honey slipped.”

  “No, what were you whispering about? Just now.”

  Trevor glanced at Lou. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay while Lou broke the news. Who knew how Gracie would react? He had a hunch her life had been fairly easy up until now and could be she’d easily break.

  Or she might stand strong as an oak. It would largely depend on how deep her roots were. Still, if she cried, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it. He’d come to care for her as a person. She was witty, sweet and kind. And he found her incredibly attractive. He’d almost kissed her again today.

  As he held her fragile hand, he forgot why that would be so wrong.

  Lou and Mary moved from the doorway and walked to Gracie. Trevor’s warmth seeped into the skin of Gracie’s right hand. Mary rounded the bed and took her left. Gracie’s lungs constricted. Uncle Lou looked worried, and he never looked that way, at least not in the month she’d known him. The characteristically carefree smile he usually sported didn’t grace his even features as he knelt beside her.

  “I picked up the mail in town earlier today, and I got a telegram from your father. Influenza is all over Boston. He thought it would be better if I told you in person than him through a letter.”

  “Mother?” She felt the blood draining from her face and thought she might throw up.

  “No.” Uncle Lou shook his head and Gracie closed her eyes too soon in relief. “Constance died yesterday.”

  The words hit her, a sledgehammer that knocked the breath from her chest. It wasn’t true. Connie was strong. She’d had the grippe before. There had to have been a mistake, but one look at the somber faces around her confirmed Uncle Lou’s words.

  “Leave me alone,” she said quietly. The bruises on her body, the aches in her bones, couldn’t compare to the pain ripping through her chest. Her eyes burned. She waited. Slowly they filed out of the room, Mary weeping softly for someone she didn’t know. The door whispered shut and Gracie closed her eyes.

  Alone.

  * * *

  Trevor stood on the porch outside the kitchen two days later when Gracie came down. He heard the shuffle of her crutches first, then the scrape of a chair as she sat.

  “Hey there.” Lou’s voice floated past the door. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Lousy.”

  Trevor paused in cleaning snowy sludge off his boots. He’d barely heard Gracie’s answer, her pitch was so low.

  “Those crutches working okay for you?” Lou asked.

  “If I had trousers I could walk easier.” Gracie sounded mighty grumpy.

  “My brother specifically told me no pants for you, young lady. Do you want some eggs? Oatmeal? Mary put raisins and sugar in it.”

  Trevor stepped into the kitchen, and caught Gracie staring out the kitchen window, shaking her head no. Crushed by the grief on her face, he almost stumbled. Turning away, he plucked a plate from the cupboard and moved to the oven. The warmth emanating from the stove immediately crept into his bones and relaxed his muscles. He scooped up some of Mary’s spiced oatmeal.

  Lou sent Trevor a helpless look before turning back to Gracie. “Mary tells me you haven’t been eating normal. I know Constance was your best friend, but starving yourself sure won’t help matters. Now, you eat this bowl of oatmeal.” He slid it to her and she looked at it with distaste. She ate slowly, paying no attention to the food. When she finished she continued looking out the window, unaware of Lou’s sympathetic gaze.

  She looked like death. Her skin stretched haggard and dry, purple shadows hung beneath her eyes, and her usually mobile mouth was listless.

  Had she broken, then?

  Trevor couldn’t blame her. He’d lost friends, too many to count. The pain that came could destroy a man, jade an idealistic young woman.

  She’d survive the numbness, whether she realized it or not. The question was how the pain would change her. Would she let life slap the spirit out of her? She claimed her God was kind and good. Now she knew what it felt like to be struck down.

  Trevor didn’t find the thought comforting. If anything, he’d wish for her to never experience this. Even if it meant staying locked up in her little world of optimism. He liked her spirit, had thought it strong. He studied her while eating. Maybe he ought to talk to her, but he couldn’t help but recall the comment he’d made about Connie before Gracie raced off.

  He hoped she didn’t remember.

  S
he must’ve noticed his perusal because she turned to him, dragging her weary eyes to his face.

  “You don’t need to look so concerned. I’ll be okay. I need time.”

  Gracie wasn’t sure if it was true, but it sounded like the right thing to say. It had only been two days, after all, since learning her most precious friend was gone from this world. She cast a last glance at the window. The world outside was cold and desolate.

  She reached for her crutches. Grasping the rough wood, she hopped out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

  She sensed Trevor before she heard him, felt his strong arms around her waist before he spoke.

  “I’m going to help you,” he said, in the tone she usually chafed at. Now it comforted. She gave her crutches to Mary, who’d followed Trevor. Turning into his soft flannel shirt she let him pick her up and cradle her like a baby as he mounted the steps. Her head rested against his warm shoulder. His scent surrounded her.

  “I’m sorry I tried to race,” she murmured. His arms tightened around her as they moved into her bedroom. She didn’t want to let go of him, felt so needy, so unlike her normal self.

  “I should’ve mentioned ice beneath the snow.”

  They entered the room. Mary waited by the bed, covers pulled back. Trevor set Gracie down gently and she was stunned by the comfort she felt at his touch, when her best friend in the world was dead.

  But not dead really, she reminded herself fiercely. Connie was with God, and she would do well to remember it. “Trevor, could you bring me my Bible? And when Uncle Lou has time I’d like to speak with him.”

  “Lou has to travel on business for a few days.” He handed her the large King James she kept on her dresser. Her name, embossed in gold, scrawled across the bottom of the leather cover.

  She didn’t really want to read the Bible. Right now God seemed neither loving nor kind. But she would have it near, just in case. Sleepiness stole through her, and she yawned.

  “I want to go to Connie’s funeral.” She covered her mouth when she yawned again. Trevor stared down at her, his handsome mouth twisting into a frown. He looked like he wanted to say something but then he stopped and, leaning forward, let his fingers graze her hair. His touch was sweetness and warmth.

  “Sleep now,” he advised gently. In that moment, with his hand on her, Gracie felt treasured. Her eyes drifted shut and she never heard Trevor and Mary leave.

  She woke hours later when Mary whipped the covers off her.

  “Up you go, girlie,” Mary said, brogue thicker than usual.

  Gracie ignored her. She turned away, favoring her knee. But when Mary began pulling her clothes off, she was forced to react.

  “What are you doing?” She yanked the sheets up to her chin, but Mary snatched them away.

  “You need a bath. Now.”

  “But my knee…”

  “Hibernating in here willna bring Constance back, so get up.”

  “It’s only been two days.” Gracie wrested the sheets from Mary.

  “Four.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been lying in here going on four days. It’s time to get up and get moving. Into the washroom you go.”

  Gracie dropped the sheets. She’d been lying here for days? Feeling defeated, Gracie let Mary help her to the washroom.

  “Thank you, Mary,” she said, ashamed. She removed her clothes and, with Mary’s help, stepped into the tub. For the first time she found herself focusing on the bindings around her leg. Her knee still hurt, but by no means with the same excruciating pain that first accompanied the twist. If only her heart would heal so quickly.

  Hot water and scented bubbles should have felt like bliss. Instead, they only reminded her of the time Connie had given an entire basketful of Parisian soap to her female servants. The gesture caused quite the stir amongst the older ladies of their mothers’ circle.

  Mary gently propped Gracie’s leg on the edge of the tub.

  She eyed the bandages, banishing her memories to a dark place inside. “I hope James knew what he was doing.”

  “Oh, he does.” Mary nodded at her from where she sat on the shiny white toilet. “He used to be a doctor, studied in one of the greatest schools in Britain, Cambridge.”

  “That’s difficult to imagine. He doesn’t even speak proper English.”

  “Don’t let him fool you.”

  Gracie trailed her fingers through the bubbles. So James had been a doctor. It did not fit with the man she knew. “Why is he no longer in the profession?”

  Mary stood and reached for a washcloth. “You should probably ask him. It’s not my place to say.”

  “I suppose that’s why he had crutches available.”

  “No, we keep crutches and other first-aid items stored in a closet. Accidents happen easily on a ranch and we like to be prepared.”

  Gracie smiled faintly. At least the ranch was well stocked. She soaped herself and let Mary wash her hair, glad to be clean again. Scrubbing off the grime went far in lifting her mood. Mary reached for her arm with firm fingers and Gracie gingerly stepped out of the tub, careful not to wet the bindings.

  “Trevor seems besotted with you.” Mary rubbed a towel through her hair without pausing, as if her strange comment fit right in with their conversation.

  “Besotted is a strong word,” Gracie muttered, letting Mary help her finish dressing. She limped to her bed and sat down. Weariness spread through her, sucked the energy from her marrow until even the thought of waiting for tomorrow filled her with dread.

  “You make him smile.” Mary said it as though it were a miracle. “Just be careful. Don’t hurt him.”

  An image of Trevor’s chiseled features and hard eyes flashed into Gracie’s mind. “I think you’re mistaken.” She shifted on the bed, uncomfortable beneath Mary’s scrutiny. If only Mary would let her sleep. “We get along well. How could I possibly hurt him?”

  “You’re awfully interested in Striker.”

  “He’s my ticket to a profession. Independence.”

  “He seemed like more to me, when you first spoke of him.”

  “He’s more than just a special agent to me,” Gracie answered truthfully. “But what does that have to do with Trevor?”

  Her mouth pursed. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

  After Mary left the room, Gracie used her crutches to hoist herself to the window. She watched as the heavens wept and her own eyes remained dry.

  Chapter Ten

  Winter brought harsh flurries of snow and dusky clouds. By the end of October, the sky wore a permanent pallor.

  Trevor’s boots crunched ahead of Gracie. “Hurry up.”

  “I am. My crutches only go so fast.”

  “I should pick you up and carry you.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Gracie warned. For two weeks she’d managed to stay away from Trevor and the feelings he roused within her, but today he’d dragged her out of bed and announced she was going to his house. She’d tried to say no but Mary had sided against her, claiming she needed to air out the house.

  Who was Mary fooling? The weather hovered above zero. Just walking from the house to Trevor’s Ford created icicles out of Gracie’s eyelashes. Trevor opened the side door for her and she slid in, adjusting the crutches with cold-stiffened fingers.

  Once they headed out, the ride was slow going. She felt his glances but didn’t dare look at him. Not with the fire that burned inside, a nice healthy dose of rage that had kept her sleepless for the past two weeks. It had also given her a break from her depression.

  “I’m still angry with you,” she said, unable to contain the fury.

  “For what?”

  “For what?” she repeated incredulously. “You kep
t me from Connie’s funeral.”

  “I told you it wasn’t my call. Lou said no, your parents said no. I just agreed.”

  Her fingers curled into fists. “If you would have taken me, they’d have said yes. I know they asked your opinion.”

  Trevor glanced at her, and then focused on the road. His profile formed a sharp, unyielding line. “I don’t think it’s safe for you. The influenza is still raging and your knee has a while longer before you can put weight on it.”

  “You know, this is why I am a suffragist. You’re not my father.”

  He braked slowly in front of his house, and then turned to her, his eyes so dark she could barely see the pupils. “Like I said before, that’s a blessing. Now, are you coming in or are you going to sit here and pout?”

  Gracie ground her teeth and swung the door open. Trevor came to help her but she jerked from his grasp. He grunted and grabbed her arm.

  “Whether you like it or not, I’m helping you in.”

  “You overbearing—” Her angry words halted when her foot slipped forward on the icy edge of his truck.

  “You need me,” Trevor said in a low voice as his imposing form stopped her descent.

  The knowledge he was right curdled her stomach. How she hated being needy and dependent. Concentrating, she pushed her crutches into the snow and shifted to the edge of the seat until she could safely slide out. Once she stood firm, Trevor slammed the door shut.

  As they picked their way to his door, her anger calmed beneath cool reason.

  Trevor had a point. Traveling during this pandemic would be tantamount to suicide. Her rage was unreasonable. Knowing this didn’t make her feel better.

  Only alive.

  He opened the door for her, a bit of chivalry that knocked a hole through her resolve to stay upset. She clumped into his house. A squeak made her pause at the entry. A calico kitten the size of a ball of yarn ran in front of her, followed shortly by a black-and-white kitten.