Not the Marrying Kind, page 4
“As I was saying,” she continued after taking a deep breath, “you could summon Dr. Kellerman, and if you’re lucky, he’ll be sober enough to understand what you’re talking about, but the odds are against it. To the best of my knowledge, Abner Kellerman hasn’t been sober since sometime in 1857. That’s when his wife died, you know.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“No, you’re not. You didn’t know her, you don’t know him. Furthermore, you’ll be a damned sight sorrier if your cousin dies, too, especially if he dies because you were too pig-headed to let me treat him.”
“Is there a third option?”
She nodded. “There’s a doctor in Denver. A real doctor,” she added, sarcasm reeking from every word. “You want to ride to Denver, bring him back here, go ahead. But your cousin will be dead and gone long before you and that real doctor get back.”
Joshua scratched at the thick, black beard. “Guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Sure you do,” she replied, unfastening the clasp on the bag and spreading it open. She looked up at him. “There are always choices in life. Sometimes we just don’t like the choices we’re given. Now, step aside, please.”
He nodded and moved out of her way.
While the woman who called herself a doctor worked on Cody, Joshua tackled the cabin. If his cousin lived, he’d need a clean bed, fresh air, and a healthy environment, free from contamination and clutter. He wasn’t sure which of them faced the bigger challenge.
A search of the shed turned up a few cleaning supplies—a mop, a bucket, a handful of rags, and a couple of scrub brushes. Muttering under his breath, Joshua carried everything inside. For the next hour he swept up sawdust, washed the soot from the walls, scrubbed every plank of the wood floor, and stripped the cot where Cody slept. Rummaging through the bureau, he located a supply of clean bed linens his cousin had apparently purchased but never bothered to use.
He carried a few outside. “Can you use any of these for bandages?”
The woman nodded and smiled. “I think he’ll live. He’s a lucky man. If he’d done this to himself while he was alone, he wouldn’t have survived. He’s lucky too that you’ll be here to take care of him.”
“Yeah, reckon it was a good thing I was here, all right.” Relieved but shaken by the morning’s events, and worn from his efforts at putting the cabin to rights, Joshua walked slowly toward the front door. He’d lost his walking stick somewhere. Must still be out by the corral where he’d slept, he guessed. Later, he’d look for it. Right now, he wanted to sit down, take the weight off his own injured limb, and rest for a spell.
“Mister?”
“Yeah?” He glanced back over his shoulder at the woman.
“You’ve got quite a limp there. You hurt too? I could take a look—”
He shook his head before she even finished. “No need. It’s healed up.”
“Old war wound?”
“Guess you could call it that.” With a shrug about as half-hearted as Cody had given him the night before, Joshua moved on toward the cabin.
He had little chance to rest. The woman couldn’t move Cody without help. Even with both of them working together, getting him lifted up, carried inside, and put into his own bed took a while. Finally, leaving Cody to rest undisturbed, they stepped outside again.
“It’s a little late for introductions, maybe, but I’m Amanda Phillips. From the Rocking P Ranch. You probably passed through our land on your way out here.”
Joshua’s muscles tensed. “I’m real sorry about that, ma’am. I didn’t realize I was trespassing. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“No cause for concern. I doubt you caused any.”
Her pleasant laugh made Joshua smile. Then he remembered when and where he’d seen eyes that shade of blue before.
“I cleaned him up,” she continued, nodding her head toward the cabin, “and I got him all stitched back together. He’ll be mighty weak for a while. Of course, I guess you probably know that.” She glanced toward his leg. “Gunshot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Gunshot, knife, or woodchopper’s axe, recovery’s about the same either way.”
“I think I can take care of him.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” She brushed a wisp of reddish-gray hair away from her cheek. “You know where to find me if you have any problems.”
“Yes, ma’am. The Rocking P Ranch.”
“Right.”
She extended her hand, and although it seemed a bit odd, Joshua grasped it and shook it. Women in the Colorado Territory, he guessed, were a different breed from ones he’d known back home.
“What do I owe you for your services, ma’am?”
“Nothing more than your word that you’ll take care of him. I’m not a real doctor, you know. Wouldn’t be right for me to be sending you a bill.” She laughed again. “I only charge for delivering babies, and I don’t think you’ll be needing those services around here.”
“Lord, I hope not.” More at ease now, Joshua laughed and walked alongside her as she returned to her wagon. “By the way, ma’am, I’m real sorry for my bad attitude when you first got here. Guess I was just a mite surprised. A mite shaken up too, I suppose.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She climbed up, unfastened the reins, and slapped them over the horse’s back. Without another word, she headed off.
Joshua turned back to the cabin, then stopped and swung his body back around. “Wait, ma’am!” he called after her. She’d forgotten her medical bag. Moving as fast as he could, he returned to the porch, grabbed the bag, and spun around again. Much too late. The wagon had already disappeared over the ridge. No way could he catch her now.
He glanced toward the corral. He could saddle up Bronco and ride after Amanda Phillips, but that would mean leaving Cody alone. Better not take any chances. If she needed her medical supplies, she’d surely come back to get them, and if not…well, it’d be right neighborly of him to deliver the bag to the Rocking P Ranch once Cody was out of danger.
Maybe I’ll even ask about that job.
Joshua grinned. He’d heard they just might be looking for a foreman. And that long-legged redhead just might be looking for a husband…even if she didn’t know it yet.
Chapter Three
The steady rhythm of an approaching horse caught Kat’s attention. She looked up, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the handsome stranger she’d met in the foothills astride his powerful dark bay gelding. She smiled, waved, and stepped out from the corral where she’d been brushing Sadie, her favorite mare.
“You here about the job?” she asked when he drew near. Already her mind was scrambling. How could she tell him he’d ridden all the way to the ranch for nothing, that there really wasn’t a job available? She’d mentioned it to Pa, and he’d nearly fallen out of his chair laughing. Running a ranch, even with the help of a good foreman, was no job for a young lady.
“Actually, I came to return this.” He reached around behind him, then held up a black bag.
Kat recognized it as one—of many—belonging to her mother. Mrs. Phillips owned at least a dozen satchels and kept them all well-stocked with everything from smelling salts to Carter’s Little Liver Pills, the newest patent medicine being touted back east. She believed in staying abreast of the latest advances. Kat suspected most of those pills and tablets and creams and ointments her mother carried around probably never cured half the ailments they claimed. At least, the breast creams she’d tried when nobody was looking hadn’t done a thing.
“Yeah, Mama said your cousin tried to take his leg off with an axe. How’s he doing?”
“Wasn’t nearly that bad. He’s doing well. Thanks for asking.”
“Mama’s got a way of exaggerating at times.” Kat stepped forward and took the bag. “Thanks for bringing this back. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.” She turned away, guessing the man must have forgotten about her half-cocked job offer. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested.
“Say, missy, you ever figure out if you were going to be hiring here?”
Nope, he hadn’t forgotten. Yep, he was interested. Damn the luck!
Kat stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Well, yes.” She blinked. “I mean, no.” Flummoxed by the way he looked at her, she bit down on her lip, hoping to hold back a barrage of crazy words. She could feel them building up inside her brain, dozens of different utterances all rushing to the tip of her tongue, ready to spill out in no specific order.
“Excuse me?” The man leaned forward, his hands resting on the pommel of his saddle. “I don’t quite see how it could be both, missy. Either you are or you aren’t.”
She’d looked away again and didn’t want to turn to face him. Judging from the heat flaming in her cheeks, her face was probably about as red as her hair, and she hated it when she got flustered and embarrassed. Her brother used to always tease her for it.
When she finally twisted about to look at the horse and rider again, Kat had to suck in a deep breath to steady herself. For some reason, her knees had gone weak. “You asked if we’d figured out whether or not we were hiring, and the answer to that question is, ‘yes, we have’, but no, we’re not going to be hiring right now, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression, mister, and think that I meant we were, because we’re not, so that’s why—”
“Katherine? What’s going on out here? Who’s that?”
Surprised by her father’s voice, she whirled around again, nearly tripping over her own two feet. “Pa, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”
He stood on the porch stoop, and she wondered how much he’d heard. Her father insisted on controlling every aspect of the ranch. Being sick had slowed him down, but nothing had stopped him—yet. As always, he needed to know what was happening at all times.
Her gaze darted toward the dark-haired rider with the shaggy, black beard. She didn’t even know his name. Maybe Mama had mentioned it, but if so, Kat must not have been paying attention.
The man spoke up. “Joshua Barron, sir.”
“He brought Mama’s bag back. She left it. At his cousin’s place.” Kat held up the satchel. “Cody Bradford. You know, Pa, that fellow who lives out in the woods. The one that whittles all those mallards and mergansers out of pine. You know, that crazy guy.” For pity’s sake, couldn’t she just shut up for once? She clamped her free hand over her mouth and forced herself to keep quiet.
“I also came to inquire about a job,” the man said, directing his words toward Pa. “But Katherine here says you’re not looking for any help.” He smiled down at her. “Nice name,” he told her in a quiet aside. “Very pretty.”
Her blush deepened. She stared down at the toes of her dusty boots.
Pa took a step forward and made one of his harrumphing noises. A brief silence followed, and then came another noisy harrumph. “That’s what she told you, is it? Well, I don’t see that it’s my daughter’s place to make the decisions around here. Last I knew, the Rocking P Ranch belonged to me.”
Kat’s head jerked up. What in hell was her pa doing? What was he saying? Her heart raced with some wild and crazy hope that maybe he’d changed his mind, but that would never happen in a million years, so why was she getting all worked up about it? She couldn’t remember her father ever changing his mind about anything. Not once. Not ever.
“Reckon you need to climb down from that saddle, Mr. Barron. If I’m going to talk business with a man, I’m going to do it face to face.” He leveled a steady gaze at Kat. “Take his horse, Katherine. Mr. Barron and I will be in my study. Don’t disturb us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Barron tossed her the reins and swung his leg over the horse’s back. His slow, awkward movements caught Kat’s attention. As she led the gelding toward the corral, she kept her eyes on the man. When he walked, she noticed, he favored his left leg. She stood silently, watching him limp across the grassy yard toward her father, and the last of her fleeting hopes flitted away.
Even if Pa were looking for a foreman—which he wasn’t—he’d never hire Joshua Barron. Ranching required strength and stamina, quickness and coordination. Despite his powerful muscles and broad shoulders, this man would be a liability, not an asset, on the range.
Kat ran a hand over the bay’s black mane and let out a long sigh.
* * * *
Joshua followed as Mr. Phillips led him into the house then ushered him into a small, dark-paneled room with heavy furnishings and a desk strewn with papers. Instinctively Joshua drew back. He didn’t like cramped, confined spaces. Already the walls seemed to be closing in on him.
“Have a seat,” Phillips directed. “You come to see about buying this place?”
Joshua settled himself into a comfortable chair, grateful for the opportunity to stretch his leg out. He leaned back. “It’s for sale?”
The older man grunted. “Time for me to move on, Mr. Barron. By the way, you’ll have to forgive my daughter. She’s a bit blunt at times.”
Joshua gave a slight nod. To his way of thinking, forgiveness should be reserved for those who’d done wrong. He didn’t see where Katherine Phillips had committed any grievous sins. She’d spoken the truth about Cody. He was a crazy coot.
Dirk Phillips opened a humidor and pulled out a cigar. He glanced toward Joshua. “Care for a smoke?” He handed one to him, then took out another and smiled. “Wife of mine doesn’t care much for these, doesn’t want me enjoying them. Thinks they’re bad for me.” He chuckled. “You know how women can be once they get an idea in their heads.” He struck a match, lit both his cigar and Joshua’s, then puffed out huge wreaths of thick, gray smoke. “Like my daughter,” he went on, “thinking she needs to run this place for me.”
“Where in hell would she get a damned fool idea like that?” Joshua hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until his host gave him a sharp look.
“I don’t condone cursing, Mr. Barron.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect by it, sir. It’s just that where I come from, well, folks weren’t always the most civilized.” He shut his mouth and wished he’d never made any mention of his past. No need to invite unwanted questions.
The other man’s face suddenly turned red. He coughed violently, slumping forward in his chair.
Joshua reacted at once. Despite the pain shooting through his leg, he rushed toward his host, grabbed the cigar away from the man, and stubbed it out in a well-used ashtray on the desk.
“I think maybe your wife’s got a point, sir.” For good measure, he extinguished his cigar as well.
Thankfully, the man’s face quickly returned to its normal color. The coughing fit eased, and he sat upright again. “Maybe so. Hard to admit sometimes when she’s right.” He laughed. “Now as for Katherine, to answer your question, she’s a good girl. She’s got a bit of a stubborn streak though. Gets it from me, I suppose.” He glanced toward the ashtray with a longing look, then turned to Joshua again. “She was real close to her older brother. Followed him around, wanted to be just like him. I thought it was a bit cute when she was little.” As he spoke, he reached for a thick book. The family Bible, Joshua reckoned, as the man opened it and turned to an ornately illustrated family tree. He ran his fingers down the page and stopped at the name of Robert James Phillips. “Born 1850. Died 1868.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Phillips.” Should he say more? Sensing the man needed to talk about his son’s death, Joshua pressed on. “How did it happen?”
“Drowned. Down in the old creek north of here.”
“I know the creek.” He crossed it coming and going to and from the Rocking P Ranch.
“Kids went to that creek every day in the summer. One day Robb dived in, never came up again. Kat was with him. Guess she panicked a bit, wasn’t sure what to do. She jumped in, tried to find him, finally climbed out and came running back to the ranch for help.”
“He hit his head on something? Lose consciousness?”
The man’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I don’t reckon we’ll ever fully understand what happened that afternoon. He was a strong boy, a good swimmer. For some reason, he just stopped breathing. Doctor Kellerman said Robb must have blacked out, but, well, Abner wasn’t exactly sober. Never know what to make of anything Doc Kellerman tells you.” He closed the Bible. “Can’t question the Lord’s will, either. For whatever reason, He saw fit to take my son.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
“But life goes on.” Phillips paused for a moment before saying, “After Robb died, Katherine took it on herself to work even harder around the ranch. I suspect it was a way of easing her grief, maybe assuaging her conscience. To this day, I think she feels it was her fault, that she should have been able to save her brother.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Joshua said, imaging the pain and anguish Katherine Phillips must have gone through. He hated to see anyone go through that sort of suffering. Bad enough to lose a loved one. Blaming yourself in any way only made it worse.
“No, of course it wasn’t, but it seems she was determined to make up for the loss somehow. She worked longer and harder than any of the ranch hands. Katherine’s a fine girl, Mr. Barron. She’s just a mite hard-headed, especially when it comes to the Rocking P.”
“I understand.”
“Well, let’s get down to business,” the man suggested.
“Just how much are you asking for this ranch?” Intrigued, Joshua scooted forward.
For the next hour, the two men talked. Phillips had a lot to say, and Joshua listened with keen attention, now and then asking pointed questions, trying to get all the information he needed.
When, at last, they’d signed and shaken on their deal, Joshua got to his feet. After spending that much time in the dark, cramped little study, he couldn’t wait to get outside and into the light of day again. He’d had enough of closed-in, confined spaces to last a lifetime and then some.
From the porch, he saw Katherine sitting on the corral fence, and for a moment—before she noticed him—he took the opportunity to study her more carefully.
