My Heart Knew (Dorado, Texas Book 3)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  “Sure do. To the east are the Reynards, the Ottokars, and the Wallaches.” He waved a hand toward the window that overlooked the porch. “A couple miles south of town are the Altbusser, Pallaton, and Einhardt families. And north are the Bernhard and Saunders places.”

  “The name’s no longer Bernhard, Penn.” Missus Treadwell set a plate of coarse brown bread in the center of the table, along with a small dish of butter. “Vevina remarried, and Shady Oaks is owned by the Hawksens now.” After retrieving plates and knives from the counter, she set them in front of the guest and then sat in a nearby chair.

  There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Dylan sat straighter. “Hawksen? A few years back, I served in the Rangers with a tall taciturn man named Kell.”

  Smiling, Penn nodded. “Sounds like him. He arrived the fall before last and married a widow who owned an established ranch. They run several hundred head on Shady Oaks.”

  The back door burst open with a thud.

  Over his shoulder, Dylan glanced at the slim young woman silhouetted by the morning sky. Petite in size, she was dwarfed by an ill-fitting coat over a brown skirt. Hair the color of honey was pulled away from her heart-shaped face.

  “Well, where have you been, Maisie?” The widow leaned her forearms on top of the scratched wooden table.

  “Collecting eggs, Mother.” The young woman held up a woven basket. “Like every morning.” After hanging the coat on a peg by the door, she walked to the counter and unloaded the eggs into a shallow pan, wiping each with a damp towel.

  Her voice was throaty, like she’d recovered from a cold recently. Dylan couldn’t pull his gaze from the woman named Maisie. He noticed the curl at the end of her single braid that almost reached the waistband of her skirt. And how her shirt nipped in the waist…Why did he get the feeling they’d met before? Impossible, because today marked his first trip to this central Texas town. Frowning, he shook his head and turned back to Penn. “Ready to bandage my ankle?”

  “Sure, Mister MacInnes.” Penn jumped to his feet and set to work.

  The medicinal tea and cold water soaking had obviously worked. Dylan barely felt a twinge of pain as Penn used a towel to dry off his foot then probed both sides of the bone before encasing the ankle and foot with strips of cotton fabric.

  Without being prompted, Maisie came to her brother’s side and handed him the needed items in the proper succession.

  Penn scooted a chair under the injured foot then straightened and scratched his chin, his brows lowered into a frown. “I don’t think you should walk on that foot for a couple of days. Give the muscles a chance to heal. And you’ll need a loose sock to cover the bandage.”

  From where she stood at the sink, Missus Treadwell waved a hand toward the interior of the house. “Maisie, go to my room and grab a pair of your father’s woolen socks from the trunk at the foot of my bed.”

  Maisie’s head jerked upright, and her eyes flared. “Papa’s socks?”

  The anguish in her voice made Dylan clamp his jaw. He recognized the pain of recent loss, remembering the death of his own father five years earlier. “No need, ma’am. I’ve got a clean pair of my own in my saddlebags.”

  The widow caught her daughter’s gaze then jerked her head toward the doorway.

  With lips pressed tight, Maisie ducked her head, nodded, and scurried from the room.

  The quick movement jolted Dylan’s recollection of the stable lad with the slim body and the lithe movements. No, couldn’t be. Wouldn’t he have realized the person who knocked into him wasn’t a boy? He stared at the empty doorway, waiting for Maisie to return. Surely, he’d been mistaken about her familiar moves.

  A few moments later, the young woman reappeared and approached, carrying a bundle tight in her hand.

  The shuffling steps, the tight shoulders, the furtive glances—she was the person in the barn who’d careened into him. Irritation straightened his back, and he pointed a stiffened finger. “You caused my—”

  “Allow me, sir.” Stopping in front of his outstretched leg, Maisie bent over his foot and eased the sock over his toes. She looked up and caught his gaze, and then gave her head the slightest shake. “How does that feel?”

  Dylan looked into hazel eyes under her delicate arched eyebrows and couldn’t deny the pleading he spotted in her gaze. For whatever reason, she didn’t want her mother to know about how she assisted her brother in the livery. Or that she dressed in ill-fitting trousers. Maybe this knowledge could work in his favor. “That feels real nice, Miss Maisie.” He flashed a conspiratorial wink as she stood and moved to the counter.

  “What’s this? Maisie was involved?” Missus Treadwell frowned as she rounded the end of the table.

  Shaking his head, Penn held up a hand. “No need to worry, Mother. A sudden noise spooked Mister MacInnes’ horse, and Maisie was nearby. She helped groom his horse and settle it in a stall so I could assist him on the walk here.”

  The widow’s blue-eyed gaze flashed between her children, but she didn’t ask for more details. “Because of his limitation, Mister MacInnes will need to be placed in a downstairs room.”

  “Mother, let me offer mine.” With her head tilted downward, Maisie stepped forward, hands clasped at her waist. “I’ll move my things into Lydia’s room during his stay.”

  Stifling a grin, Dylan eased back in his chair and studied the earnest and almost innocent expression Maisie wore. Her hazel eyes widened, and full pink lips pressed into a straight line. Helpfulness at its best imitation. He also caught how she slid sideways peeks in his direction. How exactly might this intriguing situation play out?

  Chapter Three

  Minutes later, Maisie hurried around her bedroom, stuffing a worn carpetbag with needed essentials and tucking away personal belongings and precious mementos into her bottom bureau drawer. For whatever reason, the handsome stranger had not revealed her secret. Volunteering use of her room seemed like a small way she could show her gratitude.

  After stripping the bedcovers, she smoothed on a fresh set of sheets and set an extra pillow at the end for his foot. The thought the poor man would be confined inside these four walls for a couple of days made her wince. A man with his physique was probably used to movement, to being active. She walked to her small book collection on the wall shelf and selected two of her most-loved novels—Robinson Crusoe and The Last of the Mohicans—to place on the bedside table. For just a moment, she let her fingers linger over the leather covers, remembering happy hours spent surrounded by her father’s deep voice relating tales of adventure and daredevilry.

  Her mouth dried, and she swallowed hard against a tight throat. Oh, Papa, I miss you so. Why did you defend the cashbox for the Bain and Company stagecoach? Why did you think you were a hero? Why did you put your job before your family?

  The sound of a throat clearing made her whirl and swipe the back of her hand at the hot tears tracking down her cheeks. “Oh.”

  Mister MacInnes filled the doorway, balancing on his right foot with a rough-cut tree branch under his left arm as a crutch. “Ready for me?”

  Those three words struck her like a match to kindling. Many times Maisie had been inside a boarder’s room with that male present. But never had her palms itched like they did now. Could that be guilt? Or some other feeling? Quickly, she set down the volumes and ran a hand over the quilt, wondering if he’d be bothered by daisies and summer ferns. “A straight-back chair usually sits by the window, and I’ll have to locate it. Or I can carry in a cushioned one from the parlor. And bring in a footstool.” Hoping to move the attention away from her babbling, she swept a hand in that direction. “I’ve placed an extra pillow for resting your foot on the bed.” What was she saying? The fully-grown man knew why the pillow had been put there.

  Mister MacInnes stared at the bed with a narrowed gaze and then shook his head. “Let’s try the bed.”

  “What?” She jerked and stepped back, knocking a boot heel against the wall. Heat flamed in her cheeks, but she
restrained herself from covering them with her hands. The heightened color drew enough attention to her embarrassed state.

  He flicked his gaze to the pillow and back to her before speaking. “I meant, could you help position the pillow under my foot? Maybe even fold it double.”

  “Of course, sir.” Maisie slid the pillow tight against the carved wooden footboard and waited as he limped across the rag rug and eased onto the quilt-covered mattress. This man was so tall he might not fit in her bed.

  The ropes supporting the straw mattress creaked under his weight, and he scooted until he’d centered his large body in the bed. Clasping both hands under his knee, he lifted and then jerked his head. “Okay, slide it under.”

  Maisie jumped forward to comply to center the pillow. “There, how does that feel?”

  “As good as can be expected for having a sprained ankle.”

  The mention of his injury shot contrition through her. “I want to tell you how truly sorry I am about running into you and causing this.” She swung a hand toward his bandaged foot and accidentally bumped it.

  “Damnation, girl.” He sucked in a lungful of air through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, I’m so clumsy. Again, I apologize, Mister MacInnes.” To keep from causing another accident, she clamped both arms around her middle. Not until she spotted his granite-stiff expression relax did she breath out a sigh of relief. She pitched her voice low. “And I’ll be thanking you for not revealing to my mother the composition of what I was wearing when first we met.”

  Mister MacInnes cocked an eyebrow and looked toward the doorway. “She doesn’t know her daughter dresses like a man and rides alone on the prairie.”

  Her shocked gasp couldn’t be contained. She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway then stepped to the edge of the bed. “You saw me?”

  “I saw the flash of a youth galloping hell-bent to get some distance from the town. Nice handling of that mare, by the way.” He gave a curt nod. “She looked as spirited as a Kelpie.”

  “Kelpie?” She leaned her hip on the mattress, wanting to hear more.

  “A smooth and sleek water sprite from Scottish folklore.” He grinned and gave her a sideways glance. “Without the wish to drown wayfarers, of course.”

  His compliment warmed her heart. This man understood what she felt when she rode. Impulsively, she leaned forward, grasped his tanned hand resting on the quilt, and squeezed. “I love that feeling of the air rushing past your ears, of catching the rhythm of the horse, of the surge of power from the animal under the saddle. If I didn’t have to endure Penn’s disapproval, I’d ride bareback.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “But Mother doesn’t under—”

  A gentle touch on her knuckles made her stop and look at the callused thumb running along their ridges. “Oh.” She grabbed back her hand, wrapping it with her other one. Holding his touch inside? “I shouldn’t have…I don’t know what…”

  “Don’t be sorry. You’ll get no argument from me.” He flashed a grin. “Nothing beats riding full out on a good horse.”

  For a long moment, she met his gaze and held it, sharing a silent appreciation for a beloved activity. Sounds from within the house filtered to her ears, and she knew her place was elsewhere, performing her assigned tasks. But an unknown feeling kept her feet rooted to the spot. Maybe she was reconciling the image of a tall broad man occupying the bed where she normally slept. His masculine presence contrasted wildly with the crocheted doilies covering the bureau top and the tatted lace edgings on the muslin curtains. Or that she’d shared one of her deepest secrets with a man she’d known less than two hours. “I really must get to my duties.” She edged backward a step.

  The man held up a staying hand. “What’s being done about the critter in the barn?”

  Her mouth gaped. This man was perceptive. “You saw that, too?” Frowning, she stepped to the doorway and peeked down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Mister MacInnes scraped a hand over his chin. “Has anyone ever mentioned how bringing a wild animal into a stable of horses is not a good idea?”

  Pressing her pointer against her lips, she returned to the bed and knelt down, leaning close to speak in a whisper, “I couldn’t just leave the poor thing at the creek. The baby wildcat was all alone, hurt, and so scared. I didn’t see any sign of the mother. Penn will tend it until I can ride out to Widow Edda’s. She lives outside of town in a thicket of trees and tends to all sorts of creatures.”

  “This is the second secret you’re asking me to keep?” Lowering his dark eyebrows, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  Maisie couldn’t help but notice how much of the carved headboard his body obscured. “Yessir, I guess I am.” Her breath hitched in her throat. What had she gotten herself into? This morning she had been carefree, enjoying an early morning ride, and now she was in cahoots with a mysterious stranger. A circumstance that didn’t happen every day in Dorado. A circumstance like she might read in a novel…and just about the most exciting thing that had ever happened.

  “People who share secrets should be on a first-name basis. Mine’s Dylan.”

  “All right, Dylan.” She dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “You heard mine’s Maisie. And thank you for being understanding about everything that’s happened today.”

  “Understanding?” His brows bunched, and he shook his head. “Never said that. I expect a favor in return.”

  Alarm ran through her body as she pressed her hands on the mattress and pushed to a stand. Mother would not like this. She tugged her braid over her shoulder, flicking a finger over the bristly end. “What type of favor?”

  “Being cooped up will pass easier if I have company.”

  What is he suggesting? Maisie shook her head. “That wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Nothing improper about having someone read aloud…” He widened his eyes, glanced toward the foot of the bed, and pinched his lips tight before continuing, “While my ankle heals.”

  That again! Might as well admit she’d been bested. She didn’t dare complain, because then she’d have to admit what she’d really been doing that caused his injury. Trapped. For a moment, she leaned back against the bureau, and her shoulders slumped. “First, I have to complete my housekeeping chores.” Maisie grabbed the handles of her carpet bag and headed for the doorway.

  Dylan shifted his shoulders against the headboard. “When you get a moment, could I have my pitcher filled with warm water and a fresh towel brought in? And would you collect my saddle bags? Must still be in the barn.”

  Although the tone she heard was pleasant enough, she couldn’t help the building irritation at the idea that Dylan MacInnes figured he had the right to issue orders. She fought her instant response to tell him these tasks would happen when she was good and ready. An urge she had to fight due to their agreement. “Of course, Mister MacInnes. As soon as I possibly can.” At the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder and flashed him the widest smile she could manage over clenched jaws.

  ****

  Dylan chuckled at the rustle of fabric and flash of a yellow petticoat hem as Maisie spun out of sight. He always liked a female who exhibited a bit of spunk. And her pique had been strong enough for her to use his formal name again. An afternoon or two of being stuck inside to match his predicament seemed like the logical consequence to her being the cause of his injury. He leaned over and moved the pillow so more of his calf and foot was supported. For now, the pain in his ankle was only a dull ache that he’d almost forgotten until he’d had need of a bargaining chip.

  The woman who professed a love of fast horses intrigued him. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he scanned the room, looking for clues about the woman who normally lived here. A colorful quilt covered the bed where he rested. An alphabet sampler with the saying “A full cupboard bespeaks a generous heart” stitched in red hung on the far wall. The bureau top was bare of belongings, covered only by a lacy doily. He wondered if she’d made it. In the next moment, he changed his mind—she wasn’
t the type for idle needlework. Now he wished he seen the bedroom before she’d removed her belongings. Even devoid of accessories, this space was homier than his corner of the bunkhouse on his uncle’s Alba Ranch in south Texas.

  The only personal items remaining appeared to be a dozen or so books on a wooden shelf under the window. So the lady liked to read. Another activity they had in common. Curiosity about the ones he’d seen her placing on the nightstand made him lean sideways and read the titles. Ah, she liked adventure stories, too. Miss Maisie Treadwell had truly captured his interest.

  He slid the top leather-bound book into his hand and opened to the first page. Might as well get started. The worn binding displayed years of use, meaning the story by Daniel Defoe was probably one of her favorites.

  Brisk footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  That was quick. Dylan turned toward the door and smiled in anticipation of Maisie’s arrival.

  A plump woman with blondish-brown hair piled into a bun on the top of her head stopped and gaped. “Who are you? And what are you doing in Maisie’s room, sir?” Leaning back, she looked both ways down the hallway.

  “A boarder who arrived this morning. Name’s Dylan MacInnes.”

  Touching a hand to the side of her full skirt, she bobbed a short curtsey. “Beg your pardon for my intrusion, Mister MacInnes.” After glancing at his form on the bed, she gave him a coy smile. A hand lifted to brush a stray curl from her forehead. “Mother didn’t inform me we had an additional boarder. Especially not one assigned to a room on the ground floor.”

  Dylan caught the speculative gleam in the woman’s gaze. “You’re Maisie’s sister?”

  “Yes…I’m Ivey Treadwell.” Her eyebrows wrinkled as she tugged at the waistband of her dress and clasped her hands together. “How do you know my younger sister?”