Ella’s pale face lit up with anticipated pleasure. She stopped rocking and tucked the baby into the crook of her right arm. "Peaches. I love peaches. Who brought them?"
"Mr. Nate Phillips, the archeologist Rex told you about," Amanda replied.
"Seems odd to hire a boy to wash broken pottery bits," Ella said.
"Mr. Phillips assures me Rex is doing a good job at it though."
With a gentle smile, Ella said, "I think Mr. Phillips must be sweet on you, Mandy. That’s why he’s paying Rex to do it at all."
Amanda shrugged and blushed a little. "I’m not sure," she confessed. Was Nate sweet on her? Or was he simply a lady’s man — one who flirted with any creature in a skirt? She’d had so few conversations with unmarried men, handsome or otherwise, she didn’t know what to think of Nate’s merry, playful manner.
She scurried back to the kitchen before Ella could ask any more embarrassing questions. Counting the bills he’d left on the table, Amanda made up her mind to get to the bank as soon as possible to make another payment toward Ella’s debt. She intended to take the letter from the Las Cruces lawyer too and ask the bank manager for advice regarding its contents.
After opening the can, she poured the sliced peaches — syrup and all — into a small bowl and wondered again about Nate’s generosity. He was paying more for the privilege of using the old empty shed than anyone would have found reasonable. The money he was paying Rex was generous too. Again, she couldn’t help wondering why.
Grabbing a spoon from the kitchen drawer, she carried it and the bowl of fruit into the other room. "Here, Ella, give me the baby. You eat this. Every bite."
Minnie began making soft whimpering noises when Amanda tucked her into the cradle next to Ella’s rocker. Bonita peered over the cradle’s rim and stuck her large wet nose directly in Minnie’s face. The baby let out a frightened wail.
Amanda’s heart jolted in her chest. "Bonita, no!" She struck the dog across the nose — hard — with the full force of her open hand.
Bonita yelped and cowered.
"Mandy? My goodness! What are you doing?" Ella demanded, alarmed.
Her pulse racing, Amanda scooped the squalling baby girl out of the cradle. She glanced first at Ella and then down at Bonita, who’d scuttled away to safety near the legs of the marble-topped table. Placing Minnie on her shoulder, Amanda patted the baby gently on the back to stop her from crying.
"What’s the matter, Mandy? Tell me," Ella insisted, her large eyes round with fright.
Amanda, breathing heavily, glanced down at the dog. She’d never hit Bonita before. But when she’d seen the dog’s treacherous mouth so close to Minnie’s little face, she’d felt afraid — deathly afraid. What if Bonita should bite Minnie, mistaking the infant for a chicken?
"Sorry, girl. You were just curious, weren’t you?" she asked. The dog made sad sweeps across the wooden floor with her tail. She didn’t look wild or vicious. At least, not at the moment.
"Mandy?" Ella’s voice was anxious.
"It’s all right, Ella. For a minute I thought the dog might bite the baby. I got scared and overreacted. It’s all right."
"Bonita wouldn’t bite anybody," Ella insisted. "She’s a good dog."
By this time, Minnie had stopped crying, but she wriggled and squirmed against Amanda’s fierce, protective hold. Easing her grip upon the infant’s small body, Amanda glanced down at the fussing baby. She cleared her throat. "She looks a lot like Rex, doesn’t she?"
Ella relaxed. "She does. And a little like Randall too. He wanted a girl this time."
Amanda felt hot tears stinging her eyes. She kissed her niece’s soft cheek and knew she’d never forgive herself if anything happened to her. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she glanced down at Bonita again. Should she tell Ella about the dog preying upon the chickens?
Hesitantly, Ella asked, "Mandy, are you all right?"
Amanda blinked back the tears. "It’s just this headache," she sniffed.
"It’s more than a headache, I think," Ella said. With the back of her hand, she wiped the peach juice from her chin. "You’d better tell me."
Amanda hesitated, uncertain whether or not she should tell the truth and add to her sister’s troubles.
"Something has been preying upon the hens for weeks now," she finally admitted. "Rex thought it was a skunk maybe, or a coyote or raccoon." Lowering her voice, she added, "But it’s Bonita. The dog’s been going after the chickens."
"How do you know?" Ella nearly gasped the question.
"I saw her come around the corner of the house with a dead one in her mouth." Amanda fixed her eyes upon her sister’s pale face. "I think Bonita’s got bloodlust."
Ella’s eyes filled with tears. Her frail shoulders slumped. "Oh no," she uttered in a mere whisper.
Amanda nodded sadly. "Rex loves that dog. I don’t know what to do."
"Have you told him?" Ella asked.
Amanda shook her head. "Can’t bring myself to do it," she admitted, turning her gaze upon the watchful dog lying quietly on the hearthrug. "I know I ought to shoot her, but I can’t bring myself to do it."
As she watched the tears roll down Ella’s cheeks, Amanda fought back her own. She placed the baby back in her cradle and sat down in the caned-bottom chair across from her sister. "Maybe we could find Bonita’s original owner and give her back. If they don’t have chickens or geese or something, she might be okay there."
Ella made an impatient swipe at the tears on her cheeks and asked, "What original owner? We’ve had the dog for months. No one has reported missing a large, red, shaggy-coated dog. Randall even asked around, but didn’t tell Rex."
"When Beulah Johnson stopped by, she seemed to think she’d recognized the dog from somewhere else," Amanda said.
Ella’s brows arched and she tugged at her shawl. "Beulah Johnson. She’s never come here before. What in the world did she want?"
"She wanted to buy you out," Amanda said frankly. "I guess she figured you would move on after Randall… since you’re a widow now."
Ella’s pale face flamed with indignation. "That woman. I wouldn’t sell to her for any price — no matter how generous of an offer she’d make." She wrapped her arms across her chest.
"That’s what Rex said," Amanda told her with a grin.
"Besides, I’m not selling," Ella replied with a stubborn lift of her chin. "Why should I? This is my home. I’m staying put. Randall would never forgive me if I did otherwise."
When Ella began to shiver, Amanda noticed and silently chastised herself for letting Ella catch a chill. "Let’s get you back to bed. You’ve been up long enough. It’s time to rest."
"There are debts, I know," Ella said allowing Amanda to help her up from the rocking chair. "We used up our savings too."
"Shh, don’t worry about that now. You need to get much better before we have a talk about money."
"Oh, Mandy, this has been awful for you. I know it has," Ella went on with a ragged sigh. "I don’t know what we’d have done without you. If you hadn’t cared for my baby girl…"
"Let’s not talk about it," Amanda interrupted, helping Ella down the hall to the bedroom. Her sister’s steps were slow and uncertain, as though she was learning to walk again. Ella stopped suddenly. Her body became rigid and tense.
"Minnie… the dog. Should we leave them alone in there together?" Ella’s red-rimmed eyes grew wide with horror.
Amanda’s stomach roiled. Would they ever be able to trust Bonita alone again in the same room with the baby? "Stay right there. Lean against the wall, if you have to. I’ll get Minnie and come right back."
Her pulse quickened as she whirled around, making her way back to the sitting room. She found Minnie lying quietly in the cradle, playing with her fingers. Bonita remained right where they’d left her.
"Good girl, that’s a good dog," Amanda crooned. Bonita thumped her tail slowly against the floor. Scooping up the baby, Amanda carried her into Ella’s room and placed her at
the foot of the bed.
"What are we going to do, Mandy?" Ella asked.
"Do?" Amanda slipped an arm around her sister’s waist and gripped her by the elbow.
"About the dog?" Ella pressed. "Do you honestly think she’d hurt the baby?" She sat heavily on the edge of the bed and allowed Amanda to tuck her in. With Minnie nestled snugly beside her, Ella added in a shaky, wan voice, "I couldn’t bear it if anything should happen now to the baby. I couldn’t…"
Amanda squeezed her sister’s cold, trembling hands between her own. "Nothing is going to happen to the baby. I’ll keep a sharp eye out. I promise. Let me worry about it, all right?"
"My poor, poor Rex," Ella said with a shudder.
****
The school day over, Gil put his grade book and pile of texts away, fetched his hat and short, worn leather coat, and headed out the back door of his small residence to the excavation site. He hoped Nate had taken the time to ride out to the Stewart place to tell Amanda about the skeletons, as he’d suggested over breakfast that morning. He had even offered his friend the use of his horse, stabled at Bergschneider’s livery. Gil didn’t consider Amanda to be a squeamish sort of woman, but it would be a courtesy to inform her all the same. He didn’t want her to have a nasty shock if she visited the old chicken shed to check on Rex’s progress with the potsherds, only to discover numerous human relics reposing on planks stretched across wooden sawhorses.
Nate had been amused by Gil’s consideration. He had even accused him of being an ‘old nursemaid.’ Over a plate of ham and fried eggs, Nate had regarded him with gloating eyes. "I think you’re far more interested in the charming Miss Dale than you let on, Gilly boy," he said suggestively.
Gil had stopped eating. Yellow egg yolk dripped from his fork, poised in mid-air between his mouth and his plate. Well aware how his heartbeat had quickened at the mere mention of her name, he found Nate’s perceptiveness mildly disconcerting. Did he want Amanda informed about the skeletons as a common courtesy? Or because of something deeper? Perhaps an unspoken desire to care for her, to protect her?
"You know what I think?" Nate had asked, giving him a furtive glance through those thick eyelashes that women found so appealing. For a brief moment, Gil felt a spasm of misgiving about sending his handsome friend on an errand to see Amanda again. "I think you’re wearing your heart upon your sleeve."
"Nonsense!" Gil had exclaimed, hoping he didn’t appear shamefaced.
Now, as he sauntered toward the site, he wondered if Nate had been right. Was he indeed wearing his heart upon his sleeve? And if so, would Amanda Dale guess his obvious feelings for her were more than neighborly ones? Of course, what he truly wondered was if her friendly interest in him was more than neighborly too.
Refocusing on the task at hand, Gil counted three, no four wagons and several teams of horses from a distance on the edges of the site. He could hear the sounds of men hammering as the workers shored up beams and doorframes in the old abandoned dwellings. Several men shoveled or hauled buckets of dirt to clear the site. Doctor Morgan stood on a slight rise watching the activity. The older man’s arms were crossed against his barrel chest.
As Gil drew nearer, he realized the doctor was watching two boys scuffling underneath a cottonwood tree on the edge of the site near the river. Rex Stewart and Ozzie Lancaster. Again. He might have known. Apparently the Golden Rule exercise hadn’t taught young Lancaster a single lesson. Gil picked up his pace, intent on breaking up the brawl. He was near enough to hear Rex gasp out a whoof when Ozzie thrust his knee into the younger boy’s midsection. Rex doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"Hey, that’s enough! Break it up!" Gil called out.
"Leave them be, Gil. They’re not on school property this time," Doc Morgan insisted.
Gil checked his stride. "The Lancaster boy is a lot bigger," he pointed out peevishly.
Doc Morgan shrugged a shoulder. "That’s life. Someone is always bigger and older, richer or smarter. Not all lessons are learned in the classroom, you know."
With uneasy concern, Gil watched the two boys, on the ground now, their arms and legs flailing. "I don’t think Miss Dale would appreciate her nephew getting pummeled — again," he huffed.
Doc Morgan fixed him with a serious, steady gaze. "At the moment, I’m not concerned about Miss Dale. The young Stewart boy hasn’t got a father any longer. Life isn’t easy. Rex has got to be tough if he’s going to make it through, and you know it."
Reluctantly, Gil agreed. Sometimes a man — and even a boy — had to stand on his own two feet. Would he be so eager to break up a fight between any two other boys? Maybe he was being overly concerned because of his high regard for Amanda? All boys got into scrapes. It was part of growing up. When Rex gained an upper hand in the fight, Gil felt a surge of guilty delight. The younger boy straddled Ozzie, pounding his face with his fists. Rex’s angry face was as a red as a radish, his breath coming in spurts.
Enough was enough, Gil decided. He wasn’t going to have either boy showing up to Sunday’s spelling bee with bruises and black eyes, not if he could help it.
"Break it up! Ozzie, Rex," he called out, moving quickly forward before Doc Morgan could stop him again. Reaching down, he grabbed Rex by the collar of his flannel shirt. "C’mon, Rex. Stop it, I say."
As Rex loosed his grip on his opponent, his fists stopped flailing. Gil positioned himself between the two boys, expecting a burst of violence from the outraged Ozzie. Both boys, their eyes blazing, panted heavily. Ozzie lumbered to his feet. With a snort, he wiped his bloody lip against the sleeve of his shirt. He caught his breath and let both hands fall to his sides. But not Rex. He wriggled against Gil’s grip and kept his fists balled up in front of his face. Stumbling to his feet, he braced himself for another punch.
"We’re done, Mr. Gladney. It’s okay," Ozzie gasped. "You bested me fair and square, Chicken Boy. I ain’t gonna hit you again."
Rex scowled. But Gil, noting surrender and a new respect in the older boy’s demeanor toward his opponent, intervened. "Calm down, Rex. Shake hands. It’s over. You’ve made your point."
"He called me ‘Chicken Boy’ again," Rex gasped, gulping for air.
"Iffen I did, I don’t mean nothing by it… not now anyway." Ozzie thrust out his dirty hand. "I’m done. You gave as good as you got." He said it with a resigned pout.
"Shake hands, Rex," Gil said, placing a firm grip on the boy’s slim shoulder.
Rex stuck out a hand, as grimy as Ozzie’s. The boys shook. Ozzie gave him a slow, lopsided grin. Rex only shrugged.
"Don’t you have work to do?" Gil asked, addressing Rex.
The boy nodded and swept the hair out of his eyes. "Yes, sir. I was on my way to work when Ozzie came looking for a fight."
"And you gave him one," Gil observed.
Rex nodded. "I did." He grinned sheepishly, first at Gil and then at Ozzie.
Ozzie snorted and shrugged. But Gil could tell from both his posture and his expression, his animosity was spent.
"Well, you’d better get to work," Gil said. "And spend some time with your spelling book — both of you. Come Sunday afternoon, I want Doc Morgan over there," and he pointed, "to see you are capable of something other than brawling."
Both boys glanced over at the doctor. Rex raised a hand in greeting before trotting away toward the excavation site. He cast a suspicious glimpse at Ozzie as he went. Ozzie scooped up his cap and pounded it against his thigh.
Doc Morgan approached. "Good man," he said, thumping the boy on the back once or twice. Ozzie, startled, shrank from the unexpected praise. "Want me to take a look at that split lip?"
"I’ll be okay. It ain’t nothing." Ozzie plunked his cap on his head and hurried away toward the village.
"I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes," Gil admitted. "He just gave it up."
Doc Morgan shook his head. "No, he didn’t. He conceded. There’s a difference. I told you all lessons aren’t learned in a c
lassroom."
Gil nodded. It was true. He guessed one never got too old to learn a lesson or two either — even a schoolteacher.
Chapter Ten
Amanda placed the basket filled with fresh-baked sugar cookies on the table at the back of the classroom. Some of the girl students had decorated the table in a festive manner with leaves, pinecones, and several jolly looking pumpkins. A platter of gingerbread rested at one end of the table, along with a bowl of apple cider punch and the popcorn balls Rex had been so eagerly anticipating. She and Rex had arrived at the schoolhouse in Nate Phillips’ runabout a full thirty minutes before the spelling bee was to start. But Amanda didn’t mind. It allowed Rex plenty of time to point out his desk and show her around the classroom. He was particularly eager to show her the table with the Indian relic display in the far corner. Benches had been brought in from somewhere and set up along the walls and at the back of the classroom to provide extra seating for spectators.
"Does Mr. Phillips have a sister?" Amanda asked.
Gil nodded. "Two, in fact. Why do you ask about Nate’s sisters?" Gil responded. His blue-eyed gaze rested pleasantly upon her face.
"He told me that I reminded him of his favorite sister." She noted how Gil’s eyebrows arched with surprise. "I’m sorry to say it, but I’m not quite sure I should believe everything Mr. Phillips tells me," Amanda added. "He likes to tease."
"You’re not anything like Muriel or Josephine Phillips, I can tell you!" Gil exclaimed. He cut his eyes in Nate’s direction. Amanda followed his glance. The handsome archeologist stood near the blackboard, discussing the rules of the upcoming contest with the pastor and Doctor Morgan. He still wore his long driving coat, but had removed his heavy gloves and goggles. A few other early birds had arrived also, two of them women with babies on their hips, Amanda noted.
"I can’t imagine why he would say such a thing. Why, Muriel is—" Gil stopped abruptly, his eyes now sober and mildly troubled.
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