A loud rap sounded at the door, and Ellie shot up to sitting. “Yes?”
In an instant, Roy McMillan bolted into her room, his glaring eyes focused sharply on her. Then he stared around the room hungrily, as if looking for something. When his gaze came back to her, alone in the bed, where she’d pulled the covers up to her chin, she stared at him in mute bewilderment. He was wearing boots and the same long overcoat he’d worn at the depot, but peeking out from underneath were only red leggings that appeared to be some sort of nightclothes.
“I came for another blanket,” he blurted out.
Ellie blinked at him, uncertain how this could pertain to her. “And?”
“It’s in a box on the shelf.” His gaze was still fixed on her. “I won’t trouble you but for a minute.”
Even a minute alone with Roy McMillan was too much in her book. “Should I call Parker?”
“Why?” His dark brows raised suspiciously.
“To help you, naturally.”
“Oh.” He seemed almost disappointed with her answer. “When did Parker go to bed?”
She shrugged. “A while ago, I believe.”
He grunted, still seeming vaguely unsatisfied. “He usually stays up later.”
“Maybe I’ve upset people’s schedules,” she said. “Though I hope not. Are you comfortable out in the…what do you call it?”
“Barn,” he said flatly.
Oh dear. Parker had called it a bunkhouse or something, but Roy’s description conjured up the image of him and Mr. Gray bedding down in adjoining stalls, right next to the milk cows. It certainly didn’t sound very comfortable. “I’m afraid I’ve put you out.”
His lips flattened into a thin line. “Not at all.”
He turned, looking up at the long carved shelf that ran along the length of the room over seven feet up. On it, neatly stacked, were old books, a few periodicals and boxes of different sizes. At the end, there was a large wooden box. Roy focused on it.
“May I help you?” she asked, jumping out of bed. “I’m sure I could reach it.”
His gaze fastened on her gown, making her cheeks glow with heat. Why had she gotten out of bed? She’d just hopped-to on practiced impulse—still a maid.
Only now she was a maid in her nightclothes, and Roy McMillan’s burning gaze was pinned on her. His eyes roved from the cheap eyelet trim of her simple muslin gown up each cloth button until they reached her breasts, where his attention stalled. She could well imagine why! She flushed with embarrassment, wishing she’d gone ahead and buttoned her gown right up to the top, even though it felt as if she might choke when she did that. He probably thought her immodesty was appalling. She only prayed the gathered folds of her nightgown hid her six months’ swollen belly, as well as the tears in the muslin that she had neatly patched.
She lifted her chin proudly, trying to recover a somewhat regal bearing, even if her gown was torn.
His dark eyes met hers. “How the hell is a puny little thing like you going to help me?”
Puny? She hadn’t been called that since grammar school! “I could stand on a chair.” Responding instinctively to the challenge, she pointed to a cane-back chair in the corner and ran over to it. “This chair.”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I can reach it.”
“It’s no bother,” she said, scooting past him efficiently. The sooner she got that blasted box down, the sooner Roy would be out of her bedroom. His bedroom. She felt a little twinge of uneasiness to think that she would be sleeping in his bed, a fact that hadn’t seemed to register until she saw him staring at her in it. That slightly different scent, fragrantly musky, which she’d noticed when her head was on the pillow—that was his. The sheets and blankets that covered and warmed her were the same ones that also performed the same service for him. The realization made sleeping in his bed seem almost inappropriately intimate now.
He grabbed the top of the chair, sending her spinning toward him. “This isn’t necessary, Eleanor.”
“Actually, I’m usually called Ellie.”
Now why had she blurted that out? A fine lady would never tell a man to call her a silly name like Ellie! Besides, she’d never even invited Parker to use the diminutive, and she’d been writing to him for months. She sputtered to correct herself, lifting her chin proudly. “I mean, I would be so happy if you wouldn’t stand on formality.”
His full lips quirked up for just a moment. “Why thank you, Ellie, but even without the formalities, I believe I’m capable of getting a box off a shelf. You’re a guest here, not a servant.”
She flushed. “I know that!”
Clutching the chair back to her chest, she stepped to the side, watching him as he reached up to get the box off the shelf. Unfortunately, it was pushed far back enough, and the shelf was just high enough, that it was a little beyond Roy’s reach. Also, he seemed to be self-conscious about keeping his coat closed.
“Maybe if you took the chair…?” Ellie suggested.
He flicked a red-faced glance back to her. “I can manage.”
“Or if you stood on tiptoe, that would help.”
He replied with a noise that was more a grunt than an answer. “I think I…oooph!…can just about—”
With just the tips of his longest fingers he managed to pull the box forward till he could get a grip on it—but by that time the box was tipping precariously on the edge of the high shelf. Ellie let out a cry of alarm and ran forward with her chair. It was only male pride keeping him from accepting help from her, and that was silly!
She sprang onto the chair and held one end of the box. “I’ve got it,” she told him. “If you’ll just let me hand it down to you—”
Just then, the door in front of Ellie banged open, hitting the chair and frightening her out of her wits. “Oh!” She cried in surprise and sprang straight up in the air like a startled cat, but when she came back down it was definitely not with feline grace. One foot lost the chair altogether and the other barely glanced down on the edge, so that the chair tipped away from where Roy was standing.
“Ooooh!” she cried again, realizing she was in trouble. Her right arm still was trying to keep hold of the silly box, while the other whirled in loopy circles in a doomed battle for balance. Roy’s eyes rounded in surprise when they registered that she was about to tip over. Now he had a dilemma. He could keep hold of the box overhead, or he could rescue her from a nasty fall.
Chivalry was by no means dead in Paradise, Nebraska. With self-sacrifice Ellie thought worthy of the best of Walter Scott, he let go of the box and with both hands grabbed at her. Ellie, however, was already in midfall, so that all he was able to grab was a hank of hair and some nightgown, causing Ellie to yelp both in pain and at the sharp rip! of her gown tearing. Fortunately, Parker—who had been the cause of the door banging open—stepped inside in time to catch Ellie before she fell.
But poor Roy! His letting go of the box had dire consequences, since it placed him directly under the heavy wood container as it came crashing down, first hitting his head and sending him reeling backward to the floor, then finishing its path of destruction by banging even more forcefully on the toe of his boot.
Sprawled on the bare floor next to the fallen chair, he released a howl of pain.
“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” Ellie sprang to kneel next to him. She didn’t even need to see his annoyed glare to realize how foolish a question she’d asked. His poor head—a bump the size of a goose egg was already lumping on his temple beneath the line of his hair. And yet it didn’t seem to be his head that was bothering him. Or even his male pride, this time.
“My toe,” he gritted out, wincing.
Ellie looked down at his boot, wondering if anything could have penetrated the thick leather.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Parker asked, looking down at the scene with concern and just a touch of amusement. “Roy!” he scolded gently. “I thought I could trust you!”
Roy scowled de
fensively. “I was just getting a blanket!”
Parker’s brows rose in interest. “What’s the matter with the one in the cedar chest in the parlor?”
Roy grimaced as he attempted to stand. “I forgot—ouch!”
Ellie threw a worried glance at Parker. “We’ll have to get a doctor.”
“No doctors!”
Parker laughed. “Roy can’t stand Dr. Webster coming out.”
“The man’s an alarmist,” Roy said. “He’ll look at my bruised toe and order me to stay in bed for three months.”
“Well maybe you should.” Ellie’s conscience pricked her. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed in his own bed to begin with. “And I insist you stay here.”
He looked up at her with a frown. “And have you sleep out in that igloo with Ike?”
Parker chuckled. “I’ll stay with Ike. Ellie can stay in my room.”
Roy frowned. “Don’t mind me,” he said, stumping past them. “I’ll be just fine.”
But when she was back in Roy’s bed, breathing in the whisper of his scent, she began to worry again. Was he all right?
Then there was the problem of the blanket sitting in the cedar chest in the parlor…. Why had Roy really come in here in the first place—to check on her?
More troublesome still, when would he begin to wonder why a fine New York lady had called him sir precisely as a servant would?
Chapter Four
“Broken.”
Dr. Webster’s declaration was met by a moan from Roy—not just because the broken toe in question throbbed like the devil, but because he could just guess what the old sawbones was going to say next.
“What you need is bed rest,” the doctor advised. “Plenty of it. Stay off that foot for a month.”
“A month!” Roy bellowed. Even by Webster’s dire standards, that was outrageous. There was work to be done. And though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he didn’t want to spend the next two months hobbling around like a fool in front of Ellie.
He glanced up at her hovering in the doorway, looking as guilty as if she’d purposely caused the trunk to land on his foot, and felt his face redden. He should never have come into her bedroom last night, and not just because he regretted being in the accident. On the contrary, what he most regretted was the memory of Ellie that floated in his memory—her in her soft nightgown, unbuttoned enough that he could see the pale skin of her full breasts. Of her long red hair, loose and flowing, its curly tendrils all but inviting the touch of a man’s hand. Most of all, he couldn’t forget the way her pink lips parted in surprise when he appeared suddenly in her doorway. His toe didn’t ache nearly so much as he ached to kiss those lips of hers.
Dr. Webster stood and patted Roy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Roy. You’ll be better by the time of the school dance.”
Parker smirked. “As if Roy cares about that!”
Roy bristled and took pains not to glance over at Ellie again for her reaction. What was Parker trying to do, make him out to be some kind of barbarian? “I’ll be back at work next week, Doc.” He glared at Parker. “I’ll be dancing next week, too, if I’ve a mind to.”
This time he couldn’t help tossing a look over at Ellie, just to make sure she realized that he wasn’t as uncivilized as his brother had intimated. She smiled her encouragement at him, which made her appear girlishly sweet, even if her clothes would be more appropriate for an old schoolmarm. Her bulky black dress had a high neck that seemed austere for such a young beautiful woman, to say the least, and to make her look just a little more uncomfortable, she wore a loose black pinafore over the outfit. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy chignon, denying him the vision of it in its full blazing glory. But her lips—she couldn’t tuck those away. They were pink and full, lips that seemed to beg a man’s attention.
Ellie had been apologizing nonstop since the accident, despite his assurances that he didn’t blame her one bit for the incident. And he didn’t. But he couldn’t say he minded all the attention that she’d lavished on him since then.
Today he’d been awakened by her bringing him hot coffee and a freshly warmed foot warmer. And all morning until the doctor arrived, she’d hovered nearby like a protective shadow, watching over him, but then skittering away before he could engage her in conversation. She was ever-present and yet maddeningly elusive.
Parker smiled at the doctor and took his arm. “Don’t worry, Doc, Ike and I will see to it that my brother doesn’t take up the ballet any time soon.”
Roy scowled as the doctor, chuckling, was escorted from the room.
When they were gone, Ellie came up to the side of the bed where he was sitting. “We forgot to ask the doctor if he had something to ease your pain.”
Roy barked out a laugh. “All Doc Webster would have done was hand me some little white pills and said to take two with a slug of whiskey. It’s the whiskey that does the work, but Doc got snookered by a patent medicine man about a decade back, and he’s been trying to get rid of those white pills ever since.”
“Oh.” She smoothed back a few of the loose tendrils of hair framing her face. “Would you like some whiskey, then?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Tea?”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to play nurse, you know. I’m sure a lady of your station doesn’t do things like that.”
She blushed. “Well…I did take care of my father in his last days.”
“Your father is dead?”
She nodded. “He was the only family I had.”
Roy frowned. “Besides your husband.”
“Oh yes!” She bit her lip and clasped her hands till her knuckles were white. “Dear Percy! I’ll never forget his departure.”
Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and Roy felt low as a worm for reminding her of her late husband. Percy. He felt an unwarranted dislike for the man. How could a fellow up and die when he had such a beautiful woman in love with him, depending on him?
“What happened to him?” he couldn’t help asking.
“To whom?”
“Your husband. He must have been very young.”
She looked stricken, and he immediately wished he could take back his words. “He…he…drowned.”
Poor thing. She could barely get the sentence out.
“In New York City?”
Her fingers twiddled nervously. “No—it was during a vacation. In South Carolina. It was so sudden, and shocking, of course. Poor Percy—he prided himself on his swimming prowess, but I suppose no man is a match for the Atlantic’s tide. Now the ocean is his grave.”
“They never found him? He just disappeared?”
She shook her head. “No. I waited weeks and weeks. Months. It was hopeless.”
Ellie lifted a hand to her eye. Even if she was wasting an outpouring of emotion on a man who, in Roy’s admittedly biased opinion, probably didn’t deserve it, he could only admire the depth and honesty of her grief. It showed a steadfast nature he didn’t usually associate with members of the weaker sex.
Instinctively, he reached out to touch her other hand, to give comfort.
At his touch, Ellie jumped back as if she’d been burned by a cattle prod. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to become so mired in self-pity.”
“That’s all right. Your feelings are perfectly understandable.” Then, gritting his teeth, he added, “I’d like to hear more about Percy Fitzsimmons, if you want to talk about him.”
Her eyes rounded. “Oh no. I won’t bore you with that—not that he wasn’t a fascinating man…”
“What was his line?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Line of work.”
“Well…he was in business. He had a factory.”
Roy laughed. “You don’t sound too sure of what your husband was doing with his days.”
She licked her lips nervously. “Well, you see, I’m a little confused as to…well, some financial things. It seems Percy made some u
nwise investments….”
“What in?”
Her face had that frantic confused aspect of a person not used to discussing money. “Um, silver, I believe.”
“Silver!” Roy laughed. “And he lost money?”
She swallowed. “Well, there was something about a mine….”
That explained it. The idiot had probably thrown his life savings into a mine scam. He frowned. This revelation coupled with Percy Fitzsimmons’s death sounded rather suspicious. “Have you ever wondered about the veracity of this drowning story?”
She practically jumped, and he reached out a hand to hold her. “What do you mean?” she asked indignantly. “That I would lie?”
He shook his head frantically. “No, I only meant…” He softened his voice. “Well, have you ever considered that your husband might have been a…suicide?”
Her eyes widened. “You’ll have to excuse me. This is a more painful subject than I anticipated.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you.”
“No, of course not. I’ll get you some tea.”
She backed out of the room so quickly he didn’t have time to apologize again. What a thoughtless oaf he was—tossing out a shocking idea like suicide when she was already in low spirits. He wanted to call her back, to explain that he could very well be wrong….
“Eleanor? Ellie!”
But when the door opened again a few moments later, Parker walked through it. “Well, you were right,” he announced.
Roy shifted, trying to adjust to the change in tone. “’Course I was. Why the minute old Doc Webster hears a sniffle he’s ready to call it pneumonia. I’ll be up and running again by tomorrow, I’ll bet.”
Parker tilted his head. “I wasn’t referring to Doc Webster, I was talking about Eleanor.”
“Ellie?” Roy frowned. At first he hadn’t thought the diminutive suited her, but now he found he liked the sound of it.
Parker nodded. “I’ll have to admit that I didn’t believe you. I thought you were just bitter toward all women. But the minute I saw her last night I knew. She is a scheming widow.”
Roy was so astounded by the bald statement that it took a moment for him to be certain he’d heard his brother correctly. Indignation made his backbone ramrod straight. “A scheming widow!” he repeated, incredulous. Parker—sweet, trusting Parker—was saying this about their guest? The woman who, for all intents and purposes, he himself had invited into their home?
Liz Ireland Page 5
