Constance tilted up her chin. “I’m certain I have no idea what puts these silly notions in your head.”
Abigail bumped her friend with her hip. “No point denying it, I’ve seen the way you and Calvin look at each other when you think no one’s watching.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Just go to the kitchen and tell Della I asked you to take care of the refreshments for Mr. Hendricks and his sons. She’ll know what to give you.”
Constance rolled her eyes but nodded and bustled off.
The rest of Abigail’s day passed with agonizing slowness. At one point Della brought a tray of food that Abigail ate. And Everett came by to check on her and offer some big brotherly advice.
But mostly it was long periods of sitting by Mr. Reynolds’s bedside, singing or talking or reading to him. And often praying aloud.
When Mrs. Peavy arrived about six thirty, Abigail set aside the Jules Verne novel she’d been reading aloud. Seeing the way the woman glanced at the book, Abigail gave her a smile. “I don’t think he understands what I’m reading but it seems to calm him.”
Mrs. Peavy nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Abigail again took a little time to freshen up and eat something, but then she returned to Mr. Reynolds’s suite. When Mrs. Peavy assured her she had things well in hand, Abigail retreated only as far as his sitting room. She removed her shoes and lay down on the sofa with a light blanket she’d retrieved from an unused guest room. Not that she expected to get much sleep, but she knew she should at least rest.
But she wanted to be as close as possible should there be any changes in his condition.
Please, Heavenly Father, let any changes in his condition be for the better and not the worse.
* * *
Seth found himself being pulled reluctantly from his sleep. His head was pounding and there was an irritating raspy noise coming from somewhere nearby that he just wanted to make stop. He pried his eyes open with difficulty, only to find himself in a darkened room. The sole source of light came from a lamp on the bedside table. But it was enough light for him to identify the source of that irritating noise. On the left side of his bed was a large overstuffed chair occupied by an elderly woman who looked vaguely familiar. She sat with her head lolled back, sound asleep and snoring loudly.
What in the world was she doing in his room?
He tried to sit up but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His movement, however, drew a response from his right. A soft hand took hold of his and a sweet face came into view hovering above him. “Hush now,” she said softly. “Lay back and I’ll sing you another song.”
Another song? When—
Then she put action to words and her soft, lilting voice somehow canceled out the grating sound of the other woman’s snoring. He closed his eyes, strangely comforted by the touch of her hands and soothed by the sound of her voice. He tried to hold on tight, afraid if he let her go she would disappear. But it was no use. The pull of the nothingness was too strong for him to resist.
* * *
Seth grimaced in irritation. He’d been somewhere... He couldn’t quite remember where, but it had been pleasant and tranquil. He’d been listening to singing that seemed meant just for him. He liked it there, yet something was trying to draw him away.
It was the light burning against his lids. Yes, that was it. If he could just block out that light, he could return to that tranquil place.
He tried turning his head but it was no use. His peace had been disturbed—he couldn’t hear the singing any longer, couldn’t even remember exactly what it had sounded like.
Wait...tranquil place? That didn’t make sense. He was in a hotel in Texas.
He must have been dreaming, but why was he having so much trouble waking up? Both his mind and body seemed unaccountably sluggish, caught somewhere between waking and sleeping.
A wisp of a memory—two women in his darkened room, one sleeping, one ministering to him. Had they been real?
He finally managed to pry open his eyes and glanced blearily at his surroundings. It was daylight now and he was alone. Had he imagined it then?
But the padded chair was still there beside his bed, so some part of what he remembered must have happened. He attempted to focus, to clear his head and try to make sense of what had happened. Based on the light streaming in from the windows the day appeared to be well underway. What was he doing still abed?
He tried to sit up and the room began to spin. Good grief, he felt as weak as an infant. Additional bits and pieces of memory came tumbling back in a confusing kaleidoscope of images. Him feeling light-headed. Someone singing to him. The sense of being on fire and being drenched at the same time. A blinding headache. Holding tight to a gentle-yet-strong hand as if it was a lifeline.
His door opened and Miss Fulton came bustling in carrying a tray containing a bowl and glass.
She gave him a dazzling smile. “Well now, you look a lot better today.”
Today? How long had he been in this bed?
“I must say, you gave us quite a scare.”
He felt at a distinct disadvantage and he didn’t like it. “What day is it?” Had that gravelly voice come from him?
“It’s almost noon on Tuesday. We found you with a fever yesterday morning. It finally broke in the wee hours this morning and you’ve been sleeping soundly ever since.”
He’d lost a day and a half! Had she been watching over him all that time? Studying her closer, he saw circles under her eyes and a weariness behind her cheery demeanor. “I’m sorry if I put you through any trouble.”
She brushed aside his apology. “It’s Mrs. Peavy you need to be thanking. She spent last night here keeping an eye on you and I’ve been checking in on you off and on since.”
So he hadn’t imagined the snoring woman last night. Which meant he probably hadn’t imagined the other woman, either.
“And the hotel?”
“Don’t you worry—I have it covered.”
“Have it covered how?”
“I asked Mr. Scruggs to come in a couple hours earlier and stay an hour later every day until you’re up and about again. Then I hired some temporary help and between him and Ruby, they’re keeping an eye on the front desk when I can’t be there.”
“You what?” How could she leave the front desk in the hands of such untrained staff?
“Now don’t go getting all worked up, you need to take it easy.” Her tone was that of an adult speaking to a wayward child. “Both of them have strict instructions to come get me if they run in to anything they can’t handle. They are basically just babysitting the desk. Everything is fine.”
She set the tray on the bedside table and he was suddenly aware of just how hungry he was. He attempted to sit up and she immediately began fussing over him, rearranging the pillows to support his back and neck.
Her sudden closeness rattled him.
He was unused to such ministrations and wasn’t certain how to react. It did feel rather nice, though.
When Miss Fulton finally stepped back, he actually missed her closeness. Which was highly inappropriate. It must be his illness.
She reached into her apron pocket. “By the way, a letter arrived for you this morning. If you’re not up to reading it yet, I can set it on the bedside table for you to look at later.”
He accepted the missive, relieved to have something else to focus on. Then he noted it was from Jamie and changed his mind. This was something he’d prefer to read in private. He set it on the table. “I think I’ll save it for later.”
She nodded. “Of course. But if it’s just that you’re not up to reading it, I’d be happy to read it to you.”
“It can wait. Right now whatever you have in that bowl is making me anxious to get a taste.”
“It’s chicken-and-vegetable broth a
long with a slice of some fresh baked bread.” She said that as if it was a grand meal. “Would you like me to feed you?”
He frowned. “I’m quite capable of feeding myself, thank you.”
Not appearing to take offense, she picked up the tray and handed it to him. “Very well. Unless there’s something else you need from me, I’ll leave you to your meal. I’ll check back in on you a little later to retrieve the tray and dishes.”
Seth gingerly balanced the tray on his lap then lifted his spoon. “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it when I’m done.”
Her hands fisted at her hips. “Most definitely not. Dr. Pratt said the best thing for you was to get lots of rest. You are not to get out of bed until he says it’s okay. Understand?”
“Then you’d better send for him so he can do just that. I don’t intend to stay in bed a moment longer than I have to.”
She rolled her eyes, then nodded. “I’ll send someone right now to ask him to stop by.”
Seth jabbed his spoon in the bowl of soup as he watched her walk away. He had a feeling there were some things about the past day and a half she hadn’t told him. Had he done something inappropriate or foolish?
And why couldn’t he get the soft strains of a sweetly sung hymn out of his head?
Whatever had happened, perhaps it was better he not push to find out.
After he set aside his bowl, Seth leaned over to retrieve his letter, then paused when he saw an unfamiliar book laying there. He picked it up and checked out the title. Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne. How had this gotten in here? Had one of his nurses read this as she kept vigil over him?
Something about this book teased at his memory but he couldn’t recall ever reading it before. The effort to remember made his head throb so he finally gave up and set it down.
Retrieving Jamie’s letter, he leaned back against his pillow and opened it. As usual, his eight-year-old nephew had scrawled a page of information about his classes and activities since they’d last met. Then the boy asked about what Seth was doing and about the place he was currently located. He’d been excited when he learned Seth was going to Texas—apparently the boy had some highly romanticized notions that everything in this part of the world was similar to what he’d once seen in a Wild West show. And once again his letter closed with broad hints about how much he disliked living at a boarding school and how he wished he could live with Seth instead.
As usual, Jamie’s obvious yearning to have some semblance of a family life elicited a twinge of guilt. But Seth fought it off with memories of how much easier the boy had it than Seth himself had at that age. Jamie was in a fancy, comfortable boarding school, not a stark orphanage like the one Seth had grown up in. He had a nice room, hearty meals and was attending a school that not only challenged him to learn the basics, but also gave him opportunities in the arts, music and sports.
Yes sir, Jamie had a good life. And just as soon as Seth could finalize the Michelson deal, he would have a place to settle down in, a permanent home that he could bring Jamie to live in as well. Seth was determined that the boy would have all the security and advantages he himself had never had.
Which meant this time apart was necessary, even beneficial, with regard to their future.
So why did he still feel this niggling twinge of guilt?
Chapter Eight
Once Abigail had sent for Dr. Pratt, she took a seat behind the front desk, suddenly exhausted.
Even though Mrs. Peavy had spent the night, Abigail hadn’t slept well, getting up to check on the patient often. Around one in the morning she’d found Mrs. Peavy had fallen asleep and Abigail hadn’t been able to bring herself to wake the elderly woman. So she’d pulled up a chair to the other side of his bed and kept vigil. A few hours later she discovered his fever had broken and she’d managed to get a couple of hours sleep. Mrs. Peavy had awakened her when it was time for her to leave.
Wanting to keep busy, Abigail opened the accounting ledgers. She carefully recorded the extra hours each staff member was putting in during this emergency, so that when payday came they would be prepared. She also made note of Darby’s hours in the ledger as well.
Then she pulled out her personal notebook and added another question to the list she had for Mr. Reynolds—how was the staff to be paid? She assumed Judge Madison had set up an account for that purpose, but she figured she should learn the particulars. After all, she needed to understand all aspects of running the establishment if she was to become hotel manager.
Her thoughts drifted to that letter he’d received. It had appeared the handwriting was that of a child. Mr. Reynolds had said he didn’t have any family, so who was writing to him?
Dr. Pratt arrived and paused a minute to speak to her. “I understand our patient is doing better this morning.”
She nodded. “His fever’s gone and he’s sitting up and eating. But the patient is impatient to resume his normal activities.”
The physician smiled. “It’s a common side effect of recovery. I’ll have a look at him.”
She waved toward the owner’s suite. “You know the way.”
She didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on what the doctor might be discovering in his examination. Mr. and Mrs. Jamison, the couple in room three, had decided to check out a day early. Then Walter Hendricks came to her with a problem they were having with the quality of the last hardware order he’d placed.
By the time she’d taken care of both those issues, Dr. Pratt had returned to the lobby.
“How’s he doing?”
“Mr. Reynolds is much improved but not completely back to full strength. He is determined to get out of bed and resume his normal activity, but hopefully I convinced him he should take it easy for the next day or two. It’s important he take it slow until he’s had a chance to fully recover.”
“Thank you, Dr. Pratt, I’ll do what I can to encourage him to follow your orders.” But she had her doubts about whether Mr. Reynolds intended to pay attention to the physician, much less her. That man seemed to have an overabundance of stubbornness and outright male pride.
Probably a side effect of having to work harder at everything due to his leg injury. She still mentally cringed when she remembered the sight of those awful scars.
How had he come by them? It must have taken such courage and determination to survive whatever had caused them.
She supposed she could forgive him a little pigheadedness after all.
* * *
Seth finished dressing and grabbed his cane. His conversation with Dr. Pratt had been illuminating. Apparently Miss Fulton had been the one to check on him and she’d found him in the throes of a fever. And even though Mrs. Peavy had been here last night, he was certain Miss Fulton had as well.
It seemed he was in her debt. Whether he wanted to be or not.
He entered the lobby, irritated to find himself leaning on his cane more than he liked. Apparently he wasn’t quite as recovered as he’d thought. When he saw Miss Fulton behind the front desk dealing with a guest, he remained in the shadows for a moment, watching her at work.
He recognized the guest as Craig McPherson, a rather hard-to-please gentleman who’d checked in Sunday afternoon. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but when he saw the man make a sweeping gesture and raise his voice, Seth started forward. Then he stopped.
Far from looking alarmed, Miss Fulton was responding with composure and a disarming smile. He couldn’t hear her words, but McPherson blinked, quieted, then nodded.
Once the man walked away, Seth moved forward again.
She finally glanced up and saw him. A radiant smile lit her face for a split second and he blinked. When was the last time he’d seen someone so genuinely pleased to see him?
Then she gave him a stern look. “I hope you don’t plan to do any work tod
ay. Dr. Pratt explicitly said that you were to take it easy for a few days.”
He waved aside her objections. “I’m fine. And I don’t want to do anything to delay the work schedule.”
“The work will go on whether you’re available to supervise it for the next few days or not.”
Did she really think the work required no supervision whatsoever?
But he had something else to deal with first. He cleared his throat. “It seems I owe you a thank-you. Dr. Pratt informed me that it was you who discovered me in a fevered state and sent for him.”
She blushed and waved a hand dismissively. “You’re welcome, but there’s no need to feel indebted. We’re business partners and as such should look out for each other. I’m just glad I was able to help.”
“Still, I do apologize for leaving you to tend to matters here by yourself.” He nodded toward the stairs. “What was Mr. McPherson complaining about?”
“Apparently he’d planned to sleep late today and he found the noise from the construction to be intrusive.”
Seth frowned. “I explained in great detail that there would be construction going on during his stay and that that was why he would be receiving a discount from our normal rate.”
She smiled. “And I did the same yesterday. I think the poor man is just lonely and unhappy and wants someone to listen to him.”
That particular explanation was not one he would have come up with. “You seem to have settled him down.”
“I merely apologized once more for the noise, expressed our appreciation that he had agreed to stay with us during this time and told him we would be happy to provide him with a free slice of pie to go with his meal this evening.”
“Pie? That’s all it took?”
“I told you, I think he just wants to have someone listen to his complaints and take him seriously.”
Could she be right? Whether she was or not, she’d certainly taken care of the problem with minimal effort and the guest had gone away satisfied.
His hands grew shaky as his strength ebbed and it took effort for him to remain steady on his feet. Perhaps he should have rested a bit longer before trying to get up after all.
Once Upon a Texas Christmas Page 7
