Another Chance

by Michelle Beattie

  "He probably won't like that, Jacob, but try to keep it on him. Make another one, just like I showed you, tomorrow morning. Try to keep the poultice on Fred for most of the day, Tomorrow night you can take it off. Just make sure the wound stays clean. It has to stay open to drain."

  Jacob didn't look convinced. "Is that really all there is to it?"

  She sat beside him. "I wouldn't lie to you, Jacob. It's swollen now, so it looks worse than it is. But I cleaned it good and, as I said, that poultice will work if you can keep it on."

  "I will, I promise!" The boy threw himself at Fred's side and buried his face in the fur. The dog leaned into him and tears stung Jillian's eyes when the boy broke into sobs. This was why she'd become a veterinarian. It was amazing how much an animal could enrich a life.

  "Remember to keep that poultice on. If you're worried, you can come see me again." At the doubtful look in his eyes she added, "or get word to Mrs. Daniels at the mercantile. She'll let me know you need help."

  He nodded, and for the first time since he arrived on her porch, he smiled. "Thanks, Miss Matthews."

  "You're welcome, Jacob."

  She let herself outside. A lantern burned on the front porch and a man's shape moved in the shadows. She stilled, wondered if there would be another argument. Darkness engulfed her, and even with her rifle she felt vulnerable standing there. Especially with the resentment that seemed to burn a swath from the porch to her feet. Shoulders back, Jillian held her ground. He didn't have to like her, but by God, he'd better get used to her.

  It was a few charged minutes, but then the front door opened and Garvey disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him.

  Riding home, Jillian kept one hand on her weapon. She didn't really think Garvey would follow and harm her, but since she couldn't seem to rid herself of the lurking power of his hatred, she decided it wouldn't hurt to be careful.

  ***

  Steven stepped onto the porch. The moist air did nothing to calm him. Neither did knowing that woman was finally off his property.

  Hell, he'd known it was just a matter of time until someone called on her. Much as he hated that it was his own son who'd done it, Steven was nonetheless smart enough to realize that it was a good thing it had been Jacob and not someone else. Another farmer may be more easily swayed by her, but he wasn't. He knew snakebites weren't normally lethal; it was why he'd told Jacob not to go fetch her. Still, he had seen a few die on occasion and he'd figured he rather see Fred succumb to venom than have her here.

  He should have just told Jacob Fred would be fine. Steven crossed his arms, looked out in the night. He took small comfort from the fact that she'd gotten nothing for coming. Other than Wade--though why in God's name he paid her after she killed his cow Steven couldn't understand--she hadn't earned a cent since arriving. And he knew she had expenses. He'd seen her loaded wagon that day she'd come into his feed mill, knew she had animals to care for. A person couldn't live without income for long, not with expenses like that.

  Smiling, he went back inside.

  ***

  With dawn yet to color the sky, his ma padded to the stove and raised the lid on the coffee pot. "Mercy!" Clucking about how his insides must be made of steel, she threw the black sludge out the back door, refilled the pot with fresh water James had brought in last night, and put it on the stove to boil.

  "What's got you up before the birds this morning?" she asked, as she smoothed imaginary crumbs aside and folded her arms onto the table.

  "Just thinking."

  "About Jillian or the ranch?" she asked, grinning.

  He'd had a hell of a time avoiding talk of Jillian since she'd left yesterday. Annabelle was like a pesky mosquito, coming at him from all sides no matter how much he sidestepped it. And if it wasn't his daughter, his mother snuck in a question or comment hoping he'd trip and give himself away. And because his mother had told James, who, of course had told Scott, he hadn't gotten any relief over supper last night either.

  They were all on it like a pack of dogs fighting over the same bone.

  "Isn't it a little early in the day for an interrogation?"

  "Nope."

  God help him. "Water's boiling," he said.

  She was back at the table before he'd had a chance to think of something to tell her. He was certain she'd never ground beans faster in her life.

  "When are you going to see her again?"

  "When are you going to ask me a different question?"

  "When you answer me," she answered with a smile.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. He could be as stubborn as she was. Her fingers tapped the table as she waited. In the silence the house creaked, as though stretching for a new day. Sighing, his mother shoved from the table, poured the coffee.

  Inside the stove logs rolled and shifted as they burned. Outside the window, the sky was lightening with dawn.

  He should have known the silence wasn't going to last very long. What he hadn't expected, however, were the words she used to break the silence.

  "I know we haven't talked about it, and I know the wedding is in another few short weeks, but I was hoping, now that the barn is almost done, that we could have a dance.

  "Now I know," she added before he could do more than take a breath, "that it seems silly to have them so close together, but the barn will be full come the wedding, and it's tradition, Wade, to have a barn dance once a new one is built."

  Her eyes glowed with excitement and in them he saw the same exuberance and energy that poured from his daughter every day. Hellfire. How could his ma, at forty-nine, have more energy than he did at twenty-eight?

  He finished his coffee, hobbled up and poured them more.

  "Ma, I don't have time. This will slow me down," he said of the foot he propped on a chair. "Which will put me even further behind in my work. And that's not to mention the cost involved."

  She hesitated only a minute. "Life can't be all about work; losing your father brought that fact home. Besides, everyone always brings something anyway, so it's hardly any expense at all. Please."

  One word. One damn word. A word that, coupled with the longing he saw in her brown eyes, undid him. He wasn't the only one who'd struggled since his father's death; she'd had a hell of a time too. Yes, now she had James, and he was thankful for that, but that had come about recently. For months she'd mourned and he'd been helpless to ease her pain.

  He took a deep breath. The table smelled of oil and soap. She oiled it every week. She cooked on a small stove, smaller than most women owned, he was sure. The checkered drapes she'd sewn herself had been washed so often they were threadbare and faded. He was pretty sure they'd been red at one time; they were mostly pink now.

  Everything she had she tended well, but it didn't hide the fact that the floors were scratched and worn, the pots were blackened from use and the cupboards--the few the small kitchen had--were too small to hold all her dishes. What couldn't fit was stacked cleanly in the corner, taking up counter space she couldn't spare. How could he possibly refuse her this one bit of excitement?

  "Fine, let me know if you need anything and I'll settle up with Letty later."

  She clapped her hands and squealed just as Annabelle came down the stairs. His daughter, much like her grandmother, was an early riser. She rushed over, threw herself in his arms.

  "Why is Grandma excited?"

  He wrapped his arms around Annabelle, kissed her forehead. "It seems we're going to have us a barn dance."

  His daughter's squeal was even louder than his mother's and Wade cringed as it blasted right into his ear.

  "Will my friends come? Can I stay up past my bedtime? When will it be?"

  His day hadn't even begun yet and he felt ready to climb back into bed.

  "I should be ready by Saturday." And with any luck he'd be walking without limping by then.

  "Are you inviting Jillian?" Annabelle asked.

  "Of course he is."

  His ma swung an arm around Annabel
le's shoulders and they sat before him, four eyes piercing him, two smiles all but blinding him.

  Hellfire.

  "I suppose she'll be invited same as most folks," he conceded.

  His mother glowed. "Of course, you'll have to ask her. I'll be too busy to get out there myself," she said.

  "I'll go ask her!"

  "No, Annabelle. Not by yourself, you know I don't like you riding off the ranch by yourself. I'll go."

  He didn't have to see his mother's sly grin to know she'd gotten exactly what she'd hoped for. Was that the reason for the dance? he wondered, to get him and Jillian together?

  Oh, hell, he thought with a shake of his head, of course it was. Who was he fooling?

  ***

  Jillian rode into Cedar Springs as though the hounds of Hell were nipping at Hope's hooves. Her hair flew wildly around her face, her eyes burned with fury. She knew she looked half-crazed, a fact confirmed as she sped down the street and, from the corner of her eye, saw several mouths gape open.

  She yanked on the reins and was out of the saddle the moment Hope's hooves skittered to a stop. With a quick knot she secured her animal to the rail and marched into the feed mill.

  The place was empty, but rather than taking some of the billow from her sails, it simply filled them with more anger.

  "Mr. Garvey!" she yelled, her voice ricocheting off the wood walls. "You can't hide, I won't leave until I've spoken to you."

  Surrounded by bags of feed and the smell of dust that danced on the air, Jillian jammed her hands on her hips and prepared to wait him out. She didn't have to wait long.

  Smacking the dust from his trousers, Steven came round the corner.

  "What's all the commotion?"

  "Commotion? You haven't seen a commotion yet," she warned as those imaginary sails threatened to rip under pressure. "How dare you! How dare you come onto my property and destroy what's mine."

  Rolling his eyes, he strolled to the counter, leaned back against it, and crossed his arms and legs. "I've been here all morning, Miss Matthews. I have no idea what you're blathering about."

  Smug. He looked so smug standing there, that small half-smile on his lips, those blue eyes mocking. Her hands curled into fists. How she'd love to smack that smile right off his face!

  She moved until they were toe to toe. "Then you did it last night, but I know it was you. Who else but you would have to gain by ripping all my feedbags open? By having most of it wasted?"

  It had stolen her breath, seeing the feedbags ripped open, their contents spread wide like dirty bathwater. Zeke hadn't minded. He'd folded to his knees, twisted and craned his neck until his tongue could scoop whatever it could reach between the slats of his stall. Hope's gaze as she'd looked upon all that spilled food had been much like Jillian's: hopeless.

  Jillian had salvaged what she could, but it had been smeared deliberately thin, so much so that she'd had to leave much of it as there was no way to keep the dirt from mixing in with the feed. Those bags should have lasted her at least a few months. She'd be lucky to stretch what was left two weeks. And on top of everything else, the hay Mr. Fletcher had left her, which should have lasted her at least another week, was missing.

  After leaving the meeting she knew she'd made some progress, had managed to convince a few families to consider seeking her help when the need arose. But, like people, an animal could go weeks, months, without needing help. She'd thought if she was frugal with her money, if she was careful, she could hold out until such a time that those folks needed her.

  That had all changed when she'd seen the wasted feed, the missing hay. More than ever, time was becoming her enemy.

  "Well, now, that's a might sorry tale, Miss Matthews, but I don't see how it has anything to do with me."

  "Oh, it has everything to do with you, and if you think I'll come back here now, buy from you again, you're dead wrong. I'd rather walk to the closest feed mill than ever give you another cent."

  His eyebrow rose. "Not having you in my store will hardly be a hardship."

  "You did this because I helped Jacob."

  That, finally, knocked the smugness from his face. "I don't want you near my son ever again."

  It was Jillian's turn to be smug. "I don't see how you can stop me. I may just have to time my trips into town to coincide with the end of the school day. You know," she said, tapping her finger onto her chin, "I should stop by the school today, see if I can't talk to Jacob and ask him how Fred's doing."

  Steven's face went hard. "Stay away from my son."

  "Then stay away from me," Jillian countered. "I'm not going anywhere, so you'd best get used to it."

  Spinning on her heel, her skirt arcing wide around her ankles, Jillian strode for the door.

  "Sure is a shame about all that feed wasted, though," Steven called after her. "I don't imagine you can spare the expense, what with nobody calling on you."

  Jillian's hand hovered on the doorknob. His chuckle was meant to irritate, meant to scrape at her pride. She wouldn't give Steven the satisfaction of responding. He hadn't won. She was still in Cedar Springs; he still had to deal with her.

  Flinging the door open, she called back over her shoulder, "School's out about three, isn't it?"

  THIRTEEN

  "I hope you don't mind me stopping in like this."

  "Of course not. Why would I mind having a friend pay me a visit? Come in, I'll get us some tea."

  As they had the last time, they took their seats at the long bar in the saloon. The doors were locked but a few passers-by stopped and looked twice to see who Silver was entertaining.

  "I'd meant to come earlier, but unfortunately I had some unpleasantness to deal with at home and by the time I got it sorted out and cleaned up, I was later coming in than I'd planned."

  "It's no problem, Jillian. I don't open the doors until four o'clock. That allows me to clean the saloon from the night before and do any errands I may have. Or, on rare days like today, it allows me to enjoy the company of a friend." Silver took a dainty sip of her tea. "Did you want to talk about this 'unpleasantness'?"

  Jillian expelled a deep breath. It was tempting, so much so that the words crawled up the back of her throat. But she hadn't come to lay her problems at Silver's feet.

  Instead she smiled. "It's nothing important."

  "Is that why your cheeks are pink? Why, when I opened the door, you were blowing more vapors than a steam train?"

  Too late, Jillian realized she hadn't taken the time to straighten her appearance. She'd been so angry; she'd raced to the feed mill, feeling her hair yanking from its braids the whole way. But she'd been too furious to worry about her appearance. Her fingers caught in the tangles and she dropped her hands, knowing it was pointless.

  "I'm surprised you let me in." And no doubt it had given Steven extreme pleasure to see her so agitated.

  Silver laughed. "And miss the reason for your dishevelment? Not a chance!"

  Jillian's cheeks warmed further, and it had nothing to do with the tea she drank.

  "I'll respect your privacy if you don't want to tell me, but I'd really hoped we were becoming the kind of friends that would confide in each other."

  "I'd hoped that as well." Jillian set the cup onto the saucer. "I haven't had close women friends. Even my sister and I weren't very close. As to the other women back home," Jillian scoffed. "None of them understood my desire to be a veterinarian. While they were sleeping or attending parties, I was with my father, learning about animals and getting unfashionably dirty."

  "Which doesn't make for polite conversations over afternoon tea?"

  Her gaze met Silver's and a burden slipped off her shoulders as she realized Silver would understand. She didn't imagine most women would want to know about the goings on in a saloon either.

  If they were to confide in each other, there was no time like the present. "Steven was in my barn," she said. "Either late last night or early this morning." Jillian shook her head. "Doesn't matter which. Any
how, he ripped open all my feedbags and wasted over half of my oats. And my hay's missing."

  "Are you sure it was Steven?"

  "I didn't see him do it, if that's what you're asking. But he owns a feed mill. If he destroys what feed I have, then who but him stands to gain? Besides, you saw him at the meeting. And it's no secret he hates me." She told Silver about Fred and how Steven had reacted to Jacob's fetching her to help.

  Silver slapped her palms on the bar. "Why I have a mind to refuse him when he comes in on Friday. If that pompous-"

  Jillian grabbed Silver's hand. "No, don't. Don't get involved. Besides," she added when Silver tried to protest, "knowing that his money is going to you when he comes in here," she shrugged. "It makes me glad."

  Smiling, Silver shook her head. "All right. But if I hear one word out of his mouth about you…"

  "Then you do whatever you want," Jillian answered.

  "Agreed." Silver poured more tea, took her seat next to Jillian. "Now, you'd said you were coming anyway, but that Steven's prank delayed you. Was there another reason for your visit other than my great company?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  "Oh, well." It seemed like days not hours ago that she'd been excited to visit Silver. "If you're sure you have time."

  "Other than having to open the saloon in-" she took out a pocket watch, checked the time and dropped it back into her pocket-"ten minutes or so, I am at your disposal."

  Jillian dropped her gaze to her lap, twisted her fingers together. When she'd envisioned coming earlier, she'd hoped to discreetly learn more about Wade. She hadn't been able to stop thinking of his kiss and wondering what it had meant to him. Surely he wasn't courting anyone else to kiss her that way, but she had no way of knowing. She'd thought that perhaps she could weave him into a conversation. She'd never imagined that Silver would outright ask her the reason for her call.

  "It's about Wade, isn't it?"

  Jillian's head came up so fast the room spun. "What makes you ask that?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's the look you get in your eyes when you talk about him. Or the way your cheeks flushed when he came into the town meeting. Or," she added, tongue in cheek, "the fact that he was so grateful to you for fixing up his head when he fell that he kissed you."