“I don't mean a bath, I uh ... need to use the toilet.”
“A toilet, ma'am? For your hair?” Katy's brows rose in concern. “I can fix your hair after we wash it out.”
“No.” Nichole shook her head. Frustration and urgency compelled her into motion, and she shoved the cover from her legs. She stopped and stared blankly at her clothes. White stockings disappeared beneath white capri-length pants trimmed with lace. A loose slip bunched around her thighs. Over the slip she wore a blouse, misbuttoned and bloody down the front and right sleeve. “What the hell am I wearing?”
Katy hurried around the bed, arms outstretched, to help Nichole stand. “I'm sorry, Miss Nichole, but your jacket and skirt are ruined. Mama said there was too much blood to soak out. She has your corset and boots downstairs.”
“Katy, I need to pee.” Nichole edged her stocking feet around until she could place them on the floor. Despite questions about her wardrobe, her need was urgent.
“Oh!” Katy's eyes widened. She shut the door then reached under the bed and pulled out a large ceramic pot. She removed the lid and set it aside.
Nichole looked down at the deep white bowl. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She pulled up the slip and fumbled with the waistband of the pants. “How do these come down?”
“They don't come down, Miss Nichole, they are split. Just sit, I have you.” Katy gathered Nichole's slip under one arm and secured her balance with the other.
Nichole confirmed the opening in her drawers as she lowered herself onto the narrow porcelain seat, and then moaned with relief as her bladder released. When she finished, Katy helped her stand and step away then she put the cover on the pot.
“Why is there no crotch in these pants?” Nichole leaned against the bed.
Katy looked at Nichole. Concern clouded her dark eyes. “So you can relieve yourself.”
“Yours are open like this?”
“No, ma'am. Only ladies wear drawers, for modesty. I've never worn a pair.”
Nichole rubbed her forehead.
Am I losing my mind?
It was more than merely unfamiliar, it was straight out bizarre, but she couldn't pin down the reason.
“You should eat your dinner before it gets cold.” Katy positioned the chair near the dresser, and then returned to steady Nichole as she walked around the bed.
Beneath the linen napkin was a bowl of beef stew with carrots and onions. On top, a wedge of freshly baked bread caused a loud rumble in her stomach. Everything looked fresh and smelled delicious. Famished, Nichole began to eat.
Katy scurried from the room returning with toiletries for Nichole's bath and hair. She built up a small fire in the hearth, then glanced at Nichole. With a quick smile, she disappeared out the door again.
Nichole wiped a bit of gravy from the bowl with the last of her bread, savoring every drop. As she chewed the last bite of her meal, a tall and ample woman entered the room.
She wore a full-length gray dress with long sleeves and a pocketed apron tied around her waist. It was easy to assume this woman was Katy's mother. Both had the same almond-shaped, dark eyes. The woman's hair was gray and black, pinned in a bun on the back her head. She crossed the room and came directly to Nichole.
“My name is Henny, Miss Nichole. You know me, though you don't remember just now. I've ordered a bath prepared by your fire. Katy will wash your hair and help you clean up. First, I want to look at your injury. Is that all right with you?” There was no joy in Henny's eyes or a smile on her face, only grief.
Nichole nodded her consent and sat still while Henny unwound the linen strips from her head.
The cloth bandage had dried to the injury and Henny had to use a damp cloth to ease it away from the wound. When it came free, Henny studied the stitches. “Doc would make a fine seamstress. Do you want to see?”
“Yes, please.” Her head felt light without the wrapping. She took the mirror from Henny and looked at her forehead. The gash ran along her hairline and was held closed with tiny, evenly spaced stitches. The swollen, angry line would leave a scar. Exposed to the air, it burned.
Henny withdrew a jar from her apron and set it on the tall dresser with the other toiletries. “This is Miss Amy's special ointment. Katy will put some on the stitches after she washes your hair. We'll leave the bandages off.” Henny took Nichole's hand in her strong long-boned hand and bent to look her in the eye. “We’re going to take real fine care of you, Miss Nichole, don't you worry. Katy will bring you night clothes, and Miss Renata will let you choose something of hers to wear tomorrow.”
Two men carried a tub into the room and placed it near the fireplace.
Henny paused to survey their work. “Bill, the water in the kitchen is hot. Could you bring it up in the large buckets?”
Bill nodded and kept his eyes averted from Nichole as he left the room.
Henny took the coverlet from the bed and draped it around Nichole's shoulders. She tucked the cover over her slip then followed Bill from the room.
Sooner than Nichole would have imagined, the bath was ready, and Katy closed the bedroom door. She stood, with only a tiny bit of dizziness, and removed her blouse as she walked to the tub. The deep-sided metal tub was half-filled with warm water. Katy helped her remove her long slip and unbutton the back of her drawers, then held her steady as she stepped into the tub and sat down.
Katy moved the chair close and took up a long-handled ladle. “If you lean your head back, I'll wash out your hair. Hold this over your forehead to keep it dry.” She handed her a soft cloth.
Nichole tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Liquid warmth flowed through her hair and down her back sending a shiver of delight along her spine.
Katy worked from the tips of her hair toward the scalp, removing the dried blood. She pulled the hardened ends apart, soaped, and then rinsed, working slowly around Nichole’s locks.
The ladle dipped, and water flowed over Nichole’s scalp. “Katy, Doc Johnson told me this is Merril's room. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is, Miss Nichole.” Katy's busy hands continued their gentle work, lathering another section.
“He doesn't keep any personal things in his room.” Eyes closed, Nichole let the warm room and water relaxed her.
“I guess not. I didn't notice before.”
Nichole heard Katy lather another portion of her hair, felt her working her way up the long strands as she separated the dried blood from the hair. Rinse, and then repeat.
When Katy was done, she wrapped the hair in a towel, twisted it gently and tucked the end of the towel near Nichole’s neck, then took the soft cloth from Nichole's hands. “I'm done with your hair. Did you want me to help you wash?” She handed Nichole a rounded bar of soap.
Nichole smiled at her. “Thanks, but I can do it.”
When she was done, Katy helped her stand and step over the edge of the tub.
The girl dried Nichole as she held the chest of drawers for balance, then helped her into a soft cotton nightgown. She helped Nichole to the chair near the fire and then took the salve from the dresser, dabbing it on the stitches. “Miss Amy's salve will make you sleepy, but the cut will feel better tomorrow.”
After Katy toweled Nichole’s hair dry, she combed through the waist-length curls. “I'm going to put your hair in two braids, so it's not wet down your back if that's fine with you.”
“Hmm.” Nichole's voice sounded far away in her own ears.
When Katy finished the braids, she held Nichole’s arm to steady her and tucked her into bed.
The salve took the pain from the injury, and the dull ache behind her eyes eased. She snuggled against the pillow and imagined it was Merril's chest.
Chapter 11
Merril Shilo
Merril rode north along a familiar deer trail toward home. He'd arranged with Reverend Michael to perform his father's services the day after tomorrow. The reverend's first available time. The only thing left to do for his father was to open a plot in the
small family cemetery.
Twilight had long since passed, and the sky held only the amber outline of its memory over the mountaintops. In the east, constellations glistened.
The path wound down a slight incline. His horse, Midnight, picked his way through the sage and underbrush and crossed a small creek kept alive from the daily spring rains. The heady scent of lilac hung heavy in the night air, and Merril filled his lungs with their sweet fragrance.
He looked to the sky and in his mind's eye saw his father. He ran an exhausted hand over his face. He wouldn’t go back to the ranch tonight. He needed a private place to mourn his father, and time alone to reflect on the day's events.
He was younger than Kevin by ten years. They'd never been close. By the time Merril reached the age to do more than milk cows and run errands, Kevin was a man with his own responsibilities. Merril's father was the one who taught him how to rope and ride. He showed him how to hunt deer and pheasant with a rifle.
Each day their father spent with him triggered unreasonable jealousy in Kevin. Their distant relationship became antagonistic. The tension between them grew so intolerable that after his mother's death in '64, he left the ranch without destination or explanation. At fourteen, it was easy to justify his reasons—easier still to think nothing of the worry and pain he caused his father.
He was twenty when he rode onto his father’s Colorado ranch, unsure of his reception. Both his father and Henny cried when they saw him. The lost son returned home.
Kevin wasn't as pleased. The years apart had not endeared Merril to his brother. Their father's joy at Merril's return reignited old jealousy.
Merril guided Midnight with the pressure of his knee. They weren't far from the small hunting cabin he and his father built to mark his return home.
I'll stop there.
The ground rose, and as he reached the summit of the rise, a brilliant full moon broke above the horizon. He would have paused to appreciate the beauty of the moonlit landscape, but Midnight sensed their destination and picked up the pace. The cabin stood at the bottom of an incline, not far from the bend in the creek. A few squat bushes grew around three sides of the structure, and a thin line of brush and trees followed the seasonal stream toward the road home.
He dismounted and looked over the squat building. The little lodge had been built along a rutted trail, distant from the main road between the ranch and Kiowa Crossing. Although it appeared empty, he'd learned to be cautious.
Gun in hand, he stood silent and listened to the night, then became part of it. He moved into the shadows along the wall and approached the wooden door, nudging it open with the toe of his boot. The rough mattress and stone fireplace shone in the milky moonlight. He replaced his revolver and returned to Midnight, then led him to the lean-to shelter surrounded by brush on the side of the lodge.
Once Merril saw to Midnight’s comfort, he went inside to find his own. He pulled the lantern from the shelf and struck a match to the wick. Soon he had a small fire in the stone hearth, and a meal of the dried beef, cheese and a hard biscuit he carried in his bag.
Kevin was going to be a problem. His obsession with Nichole and their ruined betrothal, his grief, and heavy drinking, all pointed in one direction. His brother would send him packing as soon as their father's will was read. Not that he couldn't make his way on his own. He'd be happy to leave—except for Nicki.
The memory of Nicki's pale and bloody face brought back the burden of guilt that clawed through his chest as he had carried her lifeless body up the stairs. His own grief and anger caused the carriage accident, no matter what Jason said. He should never have allowed his rage to take hold of him.
Sam Kline, a mercenary gunfighter he came to know during those six years, warned him to never shoot in anger, with either his gun or his mouth. His Cheyenne brother, Gray Wolf, recognized his internal rage as well and warned him to guard against it.
I thought I’d learned to control my fury.
He vowed to do better.
Merril rubbed a calloused hand over his face and listened to the solitary bark of a coyote. He cast his memory back to when he first met Nicki. She told him how bitter she was about her mother's death, and how alone she felt. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman or known one so fragile in spirit. He groaned as he recalled her in his arms and the trust she placed in his hands.
He never mentioned marriage to Nichole. He assumed she understood how he felt about her. When they consummated their love in this very cabin, he believed her feelings were as strong as his.
Both fathers would have welcomed their union.
Then Renata had come between them. She had rushed into the barn and thrown herself into his arms that day, knowing Nichole was just outside. She had kissed him. A ruse by his father's whore to hurt Nichole.
But to what end?
Renata's motives remained a mystery, and she never approached him again.
When Nichole refused to speak with him about what she had seen, he took his injured pride and walked away. It took a tragedy for him to understand how devastated she had been.
How could I have been so blind?
He rested the back of his hand across his brow and closed his eyes. Outside, the crickets struck up their evening chorus. One question continued to plague him. How was it possible Nichole continued to feel those emotions even though she didn't remember who he was? His feelings for her hadn't changed. Holding her in his arms tonight brought back every tender sentiment he'd ever felt for Nichole.
How much time did he have before Kevin sent him away?
* * *
Nichole Harris
The window in her room slid open and woke Nichole. Eyes wide in the darkness, she saw the moonlight play across the wall when the curtains moved. She sat up and stared as a man pulled himself onto the desk beneath the window. He rolled onto his back and pulled his long legs through one at a time then sat up. In a day filled with inexplicable events, a man sneaking into her bedroom did not faze her. Somehow, she knew who it was.
“Hey, Nic.” His voice was soft and low. He spun around and dangled his legs from the desk.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “What time is it?” She glanced at the nightstand, but whatever she sought fled her mind. She looked back at Merril, his face shadowed, his back bathed in moonlight.
“Early morning, maybe three hours 'till sunrise.” When she didn't reply, he continued, “I had to see you. The more I thought about everything, the more urgent it became. Before I knew it, I had the ladder at the window.” He paused as though to measure the silence between them. “I have something I need to tell you.”
Her entire body tingled at the sound of his voice, and her heart pounded in her ears. Every comment in her mind sounded asinine, so she remained quiet.
“I'll go if you want. I should go.” He faced the window and grabbed the sill.
“No, wait.” Nichole pushed the covers away and slid her bare feet to the floor. She stood and took two steps toward Merril before the wave of dizziness struck her. She staggered to the desk and reached for the corner just as strong hands gripped her arms.
“What are you doing?” He echoed her earlier words and pulled her between his legs to keep her upright.
Her head spun. “I stood up too fast,” she murmured. Her hands fell on his thighs and her lowered head bumped against his chest.
“You shouldn't be out of bed. Where's your bandage?”
She raised her face and moonlight filled her eyes. “Henny took it off so Katy could wash the blood out of my hair.”
The shadow across his face hid his eyes. “You've got pigtails,” he chuckled softly. He held her steady with his legs and tugged one of her braids. “Did Katy do this?”
She nodded, unable to find her voice. The ache in her chest had returned, but more immediate was the tingling where his legs touched her.
His knuckle brushed her breast as he tugged her other braid. “I've never seen you wear pigtails.”
Her
breath caught, and her nipple tightened sending a pulse of sensation between her thighs.
“You're not dressed.” He brushed her nipple again, slow and deliberate, with his fingertips.
“I was asleep.” She moaned at his touch. Her hands ran up his thighs to his hips, and she pulled herself closer, snuggling against his tightening groin.
Merril groaned and cupped her breast with his hand and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her with a gentle softness—lips barely touching hers—his thumb continued to stroke her nipple.
Her hands moved up his arms to his shoulders. Pressing closer, she deepened their kiss and twined her fingers into his hair.
He pulled back after a moment, breaking the kiss, his breath heavy. “Nic, we can't. I didn't come here for this.”
She dropped her forehead to his chest. The broken ache inside her heart returned. “Don't say you're sorry you kissed me. I couldn’t take that.”
“Hell no, I'm not sorry. But we'll get caught if I stay.” Merril's voice dropped to a murmur. “Dear Lord, I want to stay.” He gathered her close and hugged her to his chest.
They were silent for a moment.
When he spoke, all levity had gone from his voice. “Kevin went to speak with the attorney yesterday. I expect Cecil Cobb will be at the house today to read Pa's will. I think—no, I know—Kevin will send me away as soon as the ranch passes to him.”
Nichole leaned back to see his eyes, but they remained in shadow. “But why? Why would your father leave the ranch to Kevin? Why would Kevin make you leave your home?” She paused for a moment and reached up to touch his face. “When did your father die?”
Merril covered her hand with his own and turned his face to kiss the palm. “Yesterday morning, just before your accident.”
“Oh, Merril. I'm sorry.” She pushed the hair back from his face with her other hand. “Now I understand why Katy and Henny are so sad.”
“His death was unexpected, and a shock to everyone.” Merril sighed and captured both her hands in his, holding them between their bodies. “Kevin has several reasons to want me gone. When you hear I've left the ranch, trust you will see me again.”
Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1) Page 9
