Jim pulled Blackie Jones from the floor. With one hand under Jones's arm, the other hand snatched the gun from the floor.
Nichole lowered the paperweight onto the desk.
“Jones walked in lookin' for a fight.” Jim shook Jones for emphasis. “There's no use keepin' him around. He'll just cause trouble.”
Jones ran his free hand over the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody.
Jason walked over and stood before Jones. “What's the problem, Jones? This isn't an issue that should have come to blows.”
“I won't take orders from a woman,” Jones gritted out, his hand still massaging the back of his head.
“Seems you won't have to,” Jason said. “Jim, escort him off The Highlands property, and Jones, I don't want to see you around here again. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah,” Jones sneered. “I'm beginning to understand a lot of things.” He shook his arm free of Leigh's hold and turned to glare at Nichole. “I'll leave, for now, fancy lady, but we might just meet again.”
“You better hope you don't, Jones,” Jim warned as he pushed the man past Amy and through the door.
After the front door closed, Jason turned to Nichole. “Are you all right?” he snapped.
“Of course I am.” Nichole walked around from behind the desk. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“What the hell did you say to him?”
Nichole's jaw dropped “What? I told him to have a seat. I didn't start this.”
“Like hell, you didn't! I could hear you yelling from outside.”
“Well ... yeah.” Nichole settled her hands on her hips.
“Jason,” Amy warned, “there's no need—”
“Amy, please.” Jason held his hand out to Amy, and then turned back to Nichole, “I want to know what went on in here.”
Nichole narrowed her eyes and ground her teeth. Jim's advice about discretion flitted through her mind.
Nice thought. Not happening.
“Jason, I'm sorry, but I don't owe you an explanation.”
Her smile was honey-sweet as she crossed in front of Jason. At the door, she turned and leveled an icy stare at her cousin. “I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. Why don't you discuss your problem with Jim? If you still have questions, we'll talk in the morning.”
She heard Jason slam his fist on the desk as she walked away and started up the stairs. Movement caught her eye when she reached the second floor, and she paused to wait for Amy.
Amy was pale. Her hands trembled when she reached the top of the stairs. She leaned against the stair railing, her eyes pleading with Nichole.
“Amy, are you all right? Jason wouldn't—”
Amy shook her head. “No. This isn't about Jason. It's about Jones.”
Nichole motioned Amy into her room.
Jeanne had been there already. A full-length white nightgown lay at the foot of Nichole's turned-down bed.
When the door closed, Nichole faced Amy. “What about Jones?”
Amy rubbed her arms and paced away, then spun and looked at Nichole with thoughtful consideration. She began to speak, then stopped, pressing her lips.
“What's wrong?” Nichole asked.
“Jones isn't going to let this drop,” Amy whispered. “You need to be careful.”
“Jones is gone. Jim won't let him come back. We're safe.” Nichole saw her words only increased Amy's anxiety.
Amy nodded, tried to smile, and stepped past Nichole to the door. “I know. You're right, of course. Just, please ... please, be careful.”
Amy closed the door behind her. Nichole stared at it for several minutes. What had Amy been trying to tell her?
Chapter 18
Nichole Harris
The house was quiet when Nichole woke. Sunlight filled her room, and dust motes danced in the rays from the east window. She stretched and felt the pull of healing muscles, then relaxed and closed her eyes. She lay still and recalled the last two days, the only two days of her life. Try as she might, her thoughts returned to Merril and the kiss they shared in his room. The touch of his hand set her on fire, and yet, along with her desire, her emotions were tangled and confused.
What happened between us?
She had no answers. Yet.
Unsure about the household routine, she finally crawled from bed and made use of the chamber pot. She replaced the porcelain lid then stood and raised her arms over her head. Her back popped and the muscles along her spine pulled, but it felt good. She rolled her shoulders, stepped to the wardrobe, and peeked inside.
Five beautiful dresses hung beside several colored blouses. All the dresses had either bunched folds behind the waist or short trains in the back. The drapes across the front of the skirts were rife with intricate needlework or pleats, both along the skirt and down the bodice. They were gorgeous and sported as many embellishments as Renata’s had. The second wardrobe held undergarments. Long slips were sewn taut over narrow hooped cages, often with a pillow attached at the waist in the back.
Crinoline and bustle.
She knew what these were. In one sense, they were important to her, in another, she was appalled. She needed to find something both beautiful and practical to wear.
Discouraged, she sighed and turned to the chest of drawers. She picked out a soft, cream-colored chemise and matching stockings. The third drawer held knee length underdrawers, all without crotch material.
How bizarre.
She took a pair of those as well.
Out of curiosity, she opened the cedar chest at the end of the bed. There, folded neatly, were some simple skirts with matching jackets.
This is more like it.
There were six or seven different outfits with varied styles and colors, but with clean and simple lines.
She went back to the wardrobe and found a lightweight blouse to match the first skirt in the chest. Once dressed in the dark green skirt outfit, she went through the dressing table and found a matching green ribbon. She brushed her long curls to one side, tied them tight with a bow, and then stared at herself for several moments in the mirror. The face had become more familiar, yet she couldn't help but see a stranger in the reflection.
She set the brush aside and stood to view her ensemble. It was nice not to worry about crushing the back of the skirt. Being able to breathe without a corset was a bonus.
Why aren't there any jeans in my room?
Because ladies never wear slacks.
But I've worn them before. Haven't I?
She made a mental note to ask Amy or Jeanne about riding pants, at least. She lived on a ranch, for Christ’s sake.
She eased from her room with a pair of tall boots in hand and padded down the stairs to the dining room. Sunlight filled the open room, and a delicious smell emanated from the kitchen. There was no one in the room or Jason's office. Following the aroma of baking bread, she continued through the open archway and down the short hall to the kitchen.
Cookie was busy at the table beside the oven, her back to Nichole as she kneaded the dough with her knuckles, and then turned it over repeating the process.
“Good morning, Cookie.”
“Oh!” Cookie jumped, and faced Nichole, one hand on the dough, one on her chest. “Miss Nichole, it's you. My lands, you gave me a start. I didn't hear you come in.”
Nichole raised her boots as if in explanation, and took a seat on the wooden chair beside the door. “I didn't mean to scare you.” She smiled an apology as she pulled on her boots. “Where is everyone?”
Cookie wiped her hands on her apron and smiled in delight. “Muffin had her pups this mornin' out in the barn. Eight of 'em. They're the cutest little things. Run out and take a look. I'll put your tea on.”
Nichole chuckled at Cookie's excitement and stepped out the back door. Morning dew coated the empty picnic table and hand pump. There was a chill in the morning air, but the sun on her back warmed her. She looked toward the barn and corral, and her vision was captured by the mountains. Yesterday, they had been distant blu
e hills, but the morning light made them appear much closer.
Horses tossed their heads and played in the corral near at hand. She smiled at their antics and crossed the hard-packed dirt toward the barn. She could hear voices filled with exclamations and laughter ahead of her. A group of people stood just inside the open doors. Fresh hay and the musty scent of animals greeted her as she stepped inside. She stopped to let her eyes readjust to the dim interior.
“Nicki, come and look at the pups.” Delight filled Amy's voice as she took Nichole's arm and guided her around the first stall. “Aren't they adorable?”
Nichole nodded a smile to everyone before she turned her attention to the dogs. The puppies were fat, wiggly, and had a fine coat of fur with marks like their mother. Even though their eyes were closed, they had enough strength to push each other aside for their mother’s milk. Muffin lay on her side, tongue hanging from her mouth with what looked like a doggie smile. With her tall ears and bright eyes, she appeared to take great interest in the people gathered around her babies.
“They're so tiny,” Nichole said in awe. “Can I touch them?” She looked to Tom and Lloyd, who both had an expression of pride on their faces.
“Let Muff smell your hand first. She’ll let you know if she wants you to stay away. She won't bite,” Tom instructed.
Nichole nodded at Tom and knelt near the mound of hay Muffin had chosen to birth her litter. She held out her hand to the foxlike face of the little mama. Muffin sniffed her knuckles then gave her a lick of approval.
She ran her fingertips across the little bodies lying side by side, noses pressed to Muffin's belly. “Wow. They’re so soft.”
When the memory came, it was sharp and clear. Around her, the happy chatter and exclamations faded. Their words became unclear, and a tingling sensation tickled her scalp. For a moment, she no longer saw the barn.
It was Christmas. Red and green lights blinked merrily on a tinsel-covered tree. The smell of pine and cinnamon rolls filled the room. Presents were scattered around the floor. Colorful paper and ribbons were discarded everywhere. She was young—maybe seven or eight years old. A dark-haired man with a beard placed a large, unopened present on the floor in front of her and a younger child. The whole package moved, and excitement spread through her chest.
“Go ahead,” the man urged. “Open it. I've saved the best for last.”
She stared at the box, wide-eyed, before tearing into the paper. When the last of the wrapping was gone, and the lid was open, she heard the boy beside her shriek with delight.
“It's a puppy, Courty! A puppy! Oh, wow, look Courty, for us!”
The tiny ball of fur, happy to be released from its confinement, licked and wiggled, soaking the giggling children with puppy kisses.
As suddenly as it had appeared, the recollection vanished.
Amy's hands were tight on her shoulders. “Nicki, are you all right?”
She let her held breath escape her lungs. White lights darted across her vision, then disappeared. She looked up at Amy's concerned face. “My memories are coming back.”
“You fell back against my legs, and I thought you'd fainted.” Amy touched Nichole's face and neck and then smiled. “Let me help you up.”
“I've got her.” Jim pulled her to her feet. “You sure you're well? I don't want you to fall.”
Nichole smiled and laughed. “I feel great. Doc Johnson was right. They're coming back.” She turned from Jim and sought Jason. “It was the Christmas we got a puppy. I remember it, clear as a bell. You were there, and a man with a dark beard gave us a puppy. Muffin's beautiful pups helped me remember.”
Jason nodded, a half-smile frozen on his face.
“That's wonderful.” Amy stepped forward and took both her hands. “You'll remember more and more every day.”
“I know, right?” Nichole happy gaze took in everyone. “It wasn't much, but anything is better than what I've had. I was worried I'd never get any memories back.”
“Ah, now,” Jim scolded. “We knew better than that, didn't we, Jason?”
Jason didn’t say a word. He looked conflicted as he gave a wary smile to Nichole.
“Let's go inside,” Amy suggested, turning her back to Jason with a look of exasperation. “We can celebrate your memory's return over breakfast.”
“I don't think I could eat. I know I couldn't sit still.” Nichole laughed again and gave Jim a quick hug.
“Let's go for a ride, then,” Jim suggested. “It'll work up your appetite and give me a chance to show you the ranch. What do you say?”
“That would be perfect.” Nichole looked up at Jim's face and thought she saw him smile.
“Jason?” Jim looked from Nichole to Jason. “Do you have any concerns with me showin' our young lady her ranch?”
“Hmm? Oh, no. No concerns. Don't go too far or be out too long. Nicki is still recovering.”
Jim tipped his head at Jason, then turned to Nichole. “Well, come on then, gal. We've got two geldings just waitin' for us.” He indicated the large corral across the yard, occupied by several horses.
* * *
Amy Harris
Amy watched them cross the open space to the pen and waited for Tom to wander back to his pups before she turned to Jason.
“What's the matter?” She stepped closer and took his arm as they left the barn. “Aren't you happy for Nichole?”
Jason's smile was strained. “Her memory hasn't returned. At least, not yet.”
“What? Are you sure? I know it was a small memory, just Christmas, and puppies. It could be a sign the rest will return, and soon.”
Jason shook his head and kicked his toe in the dirt. He stopped outside the back door to watch Jim and Nichole move through the horses in the corral “We never had puppies at home. My mother didn't care for them. She claimed they made her sneeze and wouldn't have them in the house. And that man with the beard she spoke of? I don’t know who that could be.”
Amy stared at Jason in surprise. She turned to watch Nichole and Jim. They followed Lloyd as he led two horses toward the barn. She glanced at Jason as he leaned against the backyard table and bit one side of his lip. “I'll be inside. Come in and have some breakfast.” She touched his arm, and he nodded, still watching his cousin.
Amy crossed the yard to the door. Her thoughts troubled. She smiled at Cookie as she made her way through the kitchen. In the dining room, June was setting the table for breakfast.
“Good morning, Amy,” June said as she aligned the chairs and straightened the silver.
“Good morning, June. The table is lovely.”
“Thank you. Oh, before I forget, Jeanne mentioned that she and Tom plan to head to Kiowa Crossing before lunch. Cookie and Lloyd have a few items they need for the barbeque. If you need supplies from town, be sure to let Jeanne know.”
“Thank you,” Amy replied. “I will.”
June hesitated beside the table, a sour look on her face.
Amy paused. “Is there something else on your mind, June?”
“It's that Lawna Caine.” June walked around the table to Amy. “Poor Cookie has her hands full trying to keep her out of mischief.”
“Mischief? What kind of mischief could she possibly find?”
“Well, not so much mischief as underfoot and out of her place. That woman and her baby came downstairs this morning, looking for things to get into.”
“She wants to be helpful, June,” Amy chided. “It will be nice to have another pair of hands around the place. What with the barbeque this week and fall canning in mind, there's no such thing as too many hands.”
“Not that pair of hands,” June muttered in agitation. She stepped forward and confronted Amy squarely. “It's not fair. Nichole has allowed that woman and her family to live in this house like guests.” Her voice lowered perceptibly, “Amy, you must understand how we all feel about this.”
“I know the situation is unusual,” Amy stated, “but I met Timothy and Lawna last night. They seem to be
very determined and quite in love. Their baby, Hope-Anne, is a beautiful child.”
“It isn't proper, and you know it. Those rooms aren't meant for their type. Cookie, Jeanne, and I live in the attic. But these ... strangers get a guest room.”
Amy narrowed her eyes. “Let me understand you with clarity. You’re unhappy with your current living quarters?”
“I'm not unhappy with mine,” June hissed, “but with theirs.”
“I see,” Amy said, her voice both soft-spoken and hard-edged, as only she could manage. “It appears that I'm in the unfortunate position of reminding you who decides the accommodations in this household. Miss Harris employs Mr. and Mrs. Caine, and their living arrangements are only temporary. If you wish to make your complaint formal, you should bring it up with Miss Harris.”
“But Amy,” the older woman protested, “Nichole isn't in her right mind. Heavens, just last night she didn't know our names. Two days ago, she didn't know her own.”
“I think that's quite enough,” Amy's tone was harsher than she intended. “Miss Harris is capable of making decisions without your approval. Any further discussion about her well-being or her choices will be considered idle gossip.”
Amy left June in the dining room and stalked into the kitchen, past Cookie. She didn’t necessarily agree with Nichole's decision, but she was family, and June—regardless of their friendship —was hired help. She would not allow June to criticize Nichole. Besides, Lawna was a sweet girl. Timothy was earnest and eager to please.
Her anger carried her through the kitchen and out the back step in a fury. She almost knocked over the dark-skinned girl laden with the laundry.
“Oh! Lawna, I’m sorry.” Amy held her shoulders to steady her.
“I was in the way, Mrs. Harris.” Lawna bent to retrieve a dropped piece of linen from the ground and smiled at Amy.
“I needed to do some laundry, what with the baby and all—living rough. Miss Cookie showed me where the washtub and the well are and let me use some of her soap. I asked her if she had any laundry she needed scrubbed.” An excited grin split the young girl's face. “Miss Cookie has all types of things that need laundered and mended.”
Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1) Page 15
