by Linda Ford
A few minutes later, she called up the stairs. “Breakfast is ready.”
He trotted down and joined Grandfather and Isabelle at the table. Grandfather demanded a report on Annie and Mattie. They gave him the details. He added a prayer for their recovery to his grace.
Both Isabelle and Dawson murmured, “Amen.” Their gazes caught and they shared a moment of sweet understanding.
Finished, Grandfather moved to the sitting room to enjoy the sunshine.
Isabelle jumped to her feet. “I’ll take something up for the girls.”
He smiled at how quickly she’d picked up Grandfather’s way of talking about Mattie and Annie.
“I need to run out and take care of the chores. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
She spun about to face him fully. “Are you still questioning my ability to cope?”
He groaned at his stupidity. “That’s not what I meant. But I know it’s hard for you to face the sickroom. I wouldn’t leave you alone again except there’s no one else to do the chores.” He crossed to her side and touched her cheek. “I believe, like Kate said, you can do anything you put your mind to.”
Her gaze came to his, full of soft lights and golden thoughts.
He congratulated himself on making his meaning clear for a change.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”
“I thought I already had in my muddled way.”
She grinned widely. “It can’t hurt to say it more than once.”
He lowered his head, kissed her forehead and hurried to the cloakroom while he could still remember he meant to do the chores.
*
Isabelle fairly danced as she cleaned the kitchen and prepared barley water and fingers of bread and jam for the girls upstairs. Dawson thought her capable. He no longer saw her as incompetent. Moreover, she understood his initial reaction to her. His wife had wounded him deeply.
She hummed as she took the tray upstairs.
Her well-being lasted throughout the morning as she and Dawson cared for the girls. Annie was restless and uncomfortable, and she took much of Isabelle’s time while Dawson tended Mattie.
By noon, Isabelle had run up and down the stairs a dozen times or more, had sponged Annie several times and applied oatmeal paste. She’d made tea for the girls and for Grandfather.
Dawson stopped her on yet another trip, this time carrying fresh water. “Isabelle, I can do that.” He took the jug from her. “You don’t have to do everything. You have nothing to prove.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Is that what I’m doing? Trying to prove something?”
“Sure looks like it to me. The girls aren’t that sick. Now let me give them fresh water to drink. You go sit down somewhere and rest a bit.”
When she hesitated, he pointed toward the stairs.
“Fine.” She returned to the kitchen and found the makings for dinner.
He came into the kitchen and stared at her. “Is this how you rest?”
She laughed, delighted by his concern, and if she’d been the least bit tired, it fled at his words. “I’m hungry. How about you?”
He tried to look uninterested.
She laughed again. “You are. I can tell. So I made dinner.”
Grandfather wandered in and joined them.
After the meal, Dawson insisted on washing the dishes while she dried, surprised at how good and right it felt to be working side by side.
*
By midafternoon Mattie was fussing with the itch of her rash but Annie seemed to be more comfortable.
Isabelle applied paste to Mattie’s rash and tried to soothe her discomfort with gentle words.
“I’m itchy all over,” Mattie complained.
“I know you are and I wish I could do something about it.” Dawson’s voice behind her made Isabelle’s hands grow still. More and more it seemed as if they shared the same dreams and wishes, and she felt—hoped—he saw her as capable.
The evening came and they were kept busy tending to the girls.
“You should go sleep,” Dawson said. “We’ll take turns again.”
She wanted to protest. Partly because she worried about Mattie and partly because she didn’t want to lose a moment of this sweet accord with Dawson, but she was tired enough to have a headache. “I guess I could rest a bit.” She went to his father’s room and lay down, intending only to rest her eyes, but she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The room was dark when she jerked awake and she tiptoed from the room.
“Papa, sing to me like Isabelle does.” Mattie’s voice stopped Isabelle in the hallway. She smiled, wondering how Dawson would handle Mattie’s request.
“I can’t sing like she does,” Dawson protested.
“You sing in church.”
“Where my voice is drowned out by others. Besides, I don’t know any little-girl songs.”
“Please, Papa.” Mattie sounded weepy.
“Okay, I’ll do my best.” He cleared his throat. “O little doggies, settle down. No more roaming until the dawn.”
Isabelle leaned against the wall and listened to the deep rumble of his voice as he sang a song surely intended for a herd of cows. The absurdity of it so tickled her funny bone that she covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.
Dawson stopped singing. “Isabelle, is that you?”
She straightened, sucked in air to stop her amusement and stepped into the room. “I’m awake.”
His eyes narrowed. “How long were you out there?”
She managed to keep her expression flat but knew laughter filled her eyes. “Not long.”
“Long enough, I’m guessing.”
She grinned. “You’d be right.” She pulled her gaze from his to Mattie. Her rash had spread. The child looked quite uncomfortable. Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed across from Dawson and stroked Mattie’s forehead. “How are you?”
“I’m itchy.” She squirmed and scratched her face.
“I’ll be right back with some fresh paste.” Isabelle hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen, where a lamp burned low. She quickly mixed up the concoction and returned upstairs to apply it to Mattie’s rash. “Does that help?”
“A little.” The child was understandably peevish.
Isabelle turned to Dawson to whisper, “I can manage. You should have a rest.”
He hesitated. “I hate to leave her.”
“I’ll call if she gets worse or if she asks for you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded and left the room.
Isabelle checked on Annie, relieved to see her sleeping.
She returned to Mattie’s room and did her best to keep the child comfortable. It seemed Dawson had hardly left when he returned, but already dawn had grayed the sky. Where had the night gone?
Mattie remained fussy most of the day.
“Would you like to have a kitten visit you?” Dawson asked.
Mattie brightened. “Could I?”
“I’ll fetch one.” He was gone, his words following him down the stairs.
Isabelle was as excited as Mattie.
Dawson returned with a tiny furry bundle in variegated colors. He placed it on Mattie’s chest and she petted and crooned at the animal.
Isabelle put out a tentative finger to touch the cat. “It’s so soft. I’ve never before seen such a little kitten.”
“You can hold her.” Mattie put the kitten in Isabelle’s arms.
Isabelle rubbed her cheek against the fur, laughing at the tiny rumble coming from the kitten. “I’ve never seen anything but wild, mangy cats scrounging through the garbage. Nothing as sweet as this.”
“You’ve never had a pet?” Mattie asked the question but Dawson looked equally shocked.
“No, never.”
“Then you can have one of these when they are big enough to leave their mama, right, Papa?”
Dawson nodded. “Right.”
A little later
, he said he must take the kitten back to the mommy cat.
Mattie’s eyes closed and she rested.
Isabelle went to the kitchen to prepare a meal, surprised that the day was more than half gone.
Dawson returned and leaned against the door frame, watching her.
She paused and faced him. His gaze held hers, on and on. She waited, her heart drumming against her ribs, wondering what he thought.
“I’m glad you’re here with me…” He paused a beat then added, “With us.”
She continued to wait, not knowing how to respond. Did he mean simply that she helped or did he mean more?
“You aren’t what I thought you were.”
“What is that?”
He gave a slight shrug. “I’m not even sure. I suppose Grandfather and the others were right when they accused me of seeing Violet in every woman. I’m cautious about believing they’ll be what they appear to be.” He crossed the floor and took her by her arms, holding her so close she could feel him in every breath. “You’re real.” He caught her lips in a gentle, promising kiss.
It was time to be honest with him about who she was. How would he respond? But before she could find any words, Grandfather hobbled into the room and the opportunity was gone.
*
Dawson felt a sense of peace and rightness he had not known in so long he had forgotten it existed. Isabelle fit his dreams. Honest, capable, loving… She made the anxious hours of Annie’s and Mattie’s illness more bearable.
That night and the next day passed in pleasantly shared tasks of caring for the girls, taking care of meals and taking turns sleeping.
By Saturday morning, the girls seemed over the worst of it. Annie insisted on getting out of bed. As soon as Mattie heard Annie get up, she wanted to be up, too, and they both traipsed down the stairs.
Grandfather took one look at Annie and chuckled. “You’re all blotchy.”
She didn’t answer but swept by him to the kitchen.
“Can I sit on Grandfather’s knee?” Mattie asked.
“Of course you can.” Grandfather lifted her to his lap and smiled at the flushed child. “Sure hope your rash goes away soon.”
Mattie snuggled into his arms and looked pleased with herself.
In the kitchen, Annie began to open cupboard doors as if she meant to make the meal.
Dawson was about to tell her there was no need when Isabelle went to Annie’s side.
“You need to rest yet. I can manage for now but don’t worry—as soon as you’re fit to take over I will bow out.”
Annie sighed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to someone who understands.”
Dawson stared in surprise. How had Isabelle known what Annie needed to hear? She surprised him more every day. Capable, understanding, tender…
Everything required to make his dreams come true.
Isabelle had supper preparations under way when horses thundered into the yard.
He glanced out the window. “Pa and the boys are back.” Now he’d find out if his herd had survived. If it had he could afford to start his own place. If not…
He’d need to start over.
“They’ll be here for supper,” Grandfather said.
At Isabelle’s almost inaudible gasp, Dawson turned. “All you need is more potatoes. I’ll help you with that.” It would occupy his mind while he waited for the news. He didn’t have long to wait until the outer door opened and the three men clattered in. He could picture them removing their hats and coats and pulling off their muddy boots. Then the connecting door opened and Pa stepped into the kitchen followed by Conner and Logan.
Pa stopped and the boys had to sidestep around him. “We got company.”
Dawson suddenly remembered Isabelle had not met the rest of his family and sprang forward to introduce everyone.
Pa greeted her warmly. Dawson knew he’d measured Isabelle and he wondered what his father thought of her.
Logan bowed over her hand. “Pleased to meet you. You might be happy to know not all the Marshall boys are as dour as Dawson.” He gave Dawson a challenging look.
Conner, always more restrained than their youngest brother, greeted Isabelle with proper courtesy but revealed nothing of his opinion.
Annie and Mattie, with Grandfather between them, stood in the far doorway.
Pa looked at the girls. “What’s wrong?”
Grandfather and Dawson spoke at the same time. Annie held up her hand to silence them.
“We have the measles.”
Pa crossed the room in three strides to grab Annie by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll survive. And so will Mattie.”
Pa squatted down to Mattie. “Can’t go away without something happening, can I?”
Dawson protested, “Nothing has gone wrong and Isabelle has helped with the girls.”
The three men turned again to consider Isabelle.
If Dawson wasn’t mistaken, she edged closer to him. He wondered if any of them noticed how his chest swelled to know she looked to him for safety.
She gave an uncertain smile. “Supper is ready.”
There followed a general shuffling as everyone found a place. He made sure Isabelle sat next to him, where he could take care of her.
Wouldn’t she be annoyed to know he thought she needed it?
He waited until Grandfather had said grace and the food was passed before he asked the question that burned on the tip of his tongue.
“Did you find all the cows?”
Pa and his brothers stopped eating and looked at one another.
He looked only at Pa to relay the news.
Pa put his fork down. “We found them.” The words hung in the air like a wet banner.
Dawson set his fork down, too, and planted both hands beside his plate. “Sounds like you have bad news.”
Pa nodded. “Good news and bad news. First, the good. We found the main herd had wintered well. A few old cows missing but that’s to be expected. However—”
Dawson braced himself for the bad news.
“Son, we found your herd in a box canyon. I don’t know how long they’d been trapped there.” He let that sink in.
Dawson swallowed hard and nodded. “How bad was it?”
Conner spoke. “We spent the better part of two days digging them out.”
“How many?” Dawson persisted.
Conner shook his head. Logan refused to look at him.
He brought his gaze back to Pa. “Pa, give me the bad news.”
“It’s bad all right. There were only a dozen still alive.”
Dawson sat back with a thud. A dozen? He’d lost his entire savings. He’d have to start again. It would take, what? Ten, fifteen years to recoup his losses?
“Son, you will always have a place here,” Pa said. “You’re a part of this.” He waved his hand to indicate he meant the ranch.
“I know.” That had always been the case, but he’d wanted something uniquely his. A herd of cows with his own brand, not the Marshall Five brand. He’d planned this since he’d married Violet. For the first time he admitted to himself the truth of his plans. He’d wanted to prove to a woman that he had something of his own to offer her. He’d hoped he would have that to offer Isabelle. Now he had nothing.
Funny, in all their discussions he’d never thought to ask about her finances. Mostly because he assumed she came from a rich family and because he hoped he could point to his thriving herd as proof she would lack nothing if she should ever consider ranch life. Perhaps she would be content with the life he now lived. A partner in the Marshall Five Ranch but with nothing truly his own. She wasn’t like Violet, who had made him want this independence to prove his worth to her. He would not go on judging her by Violet’s behavior.
He was nothing if not a persistent dreamer.
Chapter Fifteen
Isabelle wished she could reach for Dawson’s hand and let him know she understood how much this loss hurt him, but with
so many people watching, she settled for leaning toward him just a little. Whether or not he noticed she could not say.
They finished the meal. Mr. Marshall and Dawson’s two brothers described the work they had done. Grandfather, Annie and even Mattie listened with keen interest. Dawson appeared distracted. She couldn’t say for sure what he was thinking but suspected it was about the loss of his cows.
She had money. She could replace them without even noticing the amount. Was now the time to tell him of her inheritance?
But if she did and he accepted, how could she ever be certain his interest in her wasn’t dependent on money? No, she’d wait and see if his interest continued without the added benefit of her bank account.
Annie insisted on helping clean up even though Isabelle tried to persuade her it wasn’t necessary. Mattie helped, as well.
The men disappeared into the sitting room, deep in conversation. Except for Dawson. When she glanced into the room, he sat alone, staring into the distance, the skin on his face taut.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she could help him, but again she felt the need for caution and didn’t speak.
A knock came on the door. Annie called out for the caller to enter.
A weathered man of indeterminate age stepped into the kitchen.
“Hi, Jimbo.”
Mr. Marshall introduced Isabelle. “Jimbo is one of the hired hands. He’s been here so long I think he might have come with the land.”
Jimbo chuckled, a dry, crackly sound. “Brought the mail from town like you asked.” He handed Mr. Marshall a bundle of papers.
“Thanks.” Mr. Marshall was looking at the bundle before Jimbo got the door closed. “Lots of newspapers. Good. I feel the need to know what’s going on outside our little corner of the world.” He turned to the other room. “Boys, we have newspapers.”
Logan and Conner hurried in and each took a paper their father handed them. Grandfather followed and received a section. Dawson came last, showing little interest, but he sat down and opened up the section placed before him.
She wished she could go to him and tell him how much it hurt to see his shock and disappointment, but she was far too aware of the others and how they would read such a move.
Not that she knew how to interpret her desire except to admit she felt she and Dawson had entered into a new understanding and appreciation of each other. Her heart rate increased with anticipation of their friendship developing even further. Finally, a man who saw her simply as Isabelle Redfield. A tremor skittered across her shoulders. Sooner or later she would have to tell him the truth about herself. “Girls, do you want to catch up on the news?”
