A Change of Scenery, page 25
As they neared, she made out a form draped across Cale’s legs. Her heart wrenched anew.
~
She was waiting.
Cale choked up at sight of Ella. Tug whimpered, and he stroked the old dog’s back, just above three long red gashes in its side. “We’re gettin’ you home, fella. Won’t be long now, and we’ll have you wrapped up and lying on a quilt in the kitchen.”
“She ring the bell?”
Cale cut a look at his brother, suddenly rigid and resistive. “I sent her.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed and his jaw muscle flexed. “You were in the meadow.”
Not a question. Cale kicked ahead, in no mood for a war of words on the heels of a life-and-death encounter.
Ella met him just past the barn, her face wet with tears, her eyes red. How could he ever forgive himself for endangering her? He’d been a fool to take her out to the meadow. And a fool to let Thorson and Pete out there without protection—all for a few more dollars. God forgive him. He’d let greed get the upper hand.
“Are you all right?” Her words were tight and fearful, and he ached to reassure her.
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Right as rain.”
Her welling eyes washed over him as Hugh rode up.
“We can drag the bear to the barn and pull him into the wagon bed.”
“Get a couple of heavy ropes and that logging chain pa used for dragging trees. I’ll take Tug inside and send the boys out.”
Hugh huffed. “Yeah, they’ll sure enough want to see this.” He cut Ella a hard look without speaking to her and turned off to the barn.
Watching Tug, she covered a sob with her hand and her shoulders bowed.
Cale wanted to take her in his arms, but that would have to wait. She was a trooper, for sure. Toughest city gal he’d ever met. “Tug’ll be on his feet in no time. We’ll get his wounds cleaned, wrap him up tight, and make a bed for him in the kitchen where Helen can keep an eye on him.”
She bobbed her head several times but kept her hand over her mouth.
“Are you all right?” Her silence worried him.
She nodded again and then shook her head, confusing him even more.
“He’ll be fine, Ella. May have a couple of broken ribs, and I’ve got my doubts about his left shoulder, but we’ll get him put back together. If need be, I’ll get ahold of the vet.”
The boys must have seen their dad ride in, for they were already skirting the horses and running for the barn.
Helen met him and Ella in the yard and held Doc’s headstall while he climbed down with Tug. Ella took the reins and led both horses away.
“You got an old quilt you don’t use any more?”
Helen held the screen door open. “Even if I don’t, I’ll find one that will do. Poor thing. He needs some pampering from what I can see. Let me get the water to boiling, and we’ll take a look at those wounds. Looks like he may need stitches.”
She filled her kettle and fed the fire, then hurried to her room. A thump sounded like her trunk lid hitting the wall, and within half a minute she returned with a quilt he hadn’t seen before. She laid it on the braided rug and scooted them in a corner by the pie safe. Out from under foot but not out of sight.
Tug moaned as Cale knelt on one knee and set him on the quilt. That bear had nearly laid him open. A half inch deeper, and Cale’d be stuffing his innards back inside.
The screen door swung open and Ella walked in. She gripped his shoulder as she lowered herself next to him, and her strong fingers shot desire clear through him.
Hang it all, he didn’t care if Helen was watching. Some things were too important. He turned and wrapped Ella in his arms and just held her. Where she belonged.
She drew a halting breath and twisted his vest front in her hands. “It wasn’t Tug I was frightened for.” Her whisper seeped straight from her lips and into his chest. “It was you.”
Gratitude swelled up in him. He fought his own tears and tightened his hold. She melded against him, soft and yielding, as if she were made special for him.
Yeah. Some things were too important.
Pulling back, he searched her face for more, but she’d tucked her words inside again. All he saw was pain and fear—two things he wanted to banish from her life forever.
Helen brought a basin of hot water and some rags and shooed him out of the way. “Let us take care of this. If there’s a bone needs setting, I’ll call for you.” She pulled up a kitchen chair and sat right next to Tug.
Cale stood.
“You get the bear?” She was already pressing hot cloths against Tug’s wounds.
“Yes, ma’am. We got him.”
“Go on, then. I’m sure Hugh needs you now more than we do.”
~
We?
Ella doubted it on two counts.
She was beginning to believe she needed Cale Hutton more than anyone else possibly could.
And in the one glance she’d stolen on her mad race to the ranch house, she’d seen Cale—alone—standing in his stirrups, his rifle aimed at the charging bear. She shivered at the too-fresh memory.
Helen gave her a worried look. “The sight of blood turns many a head the other way.”
Irritation wiggled to the surface, but Ella tamped it down. She wasn’t given to swooning, and she’d be far better off if people stopped worrying about how she felt. “I’m fine.”
Gently, she pressed Tug’s short fur away from a long gash. “A horse of my father’s once cut himself badly in a broken fence. I watched the vet sew the muscles and flesh back together. Tug needs the same.”
“Well, I’m not the seamstress you are, dear, but if it bothers you to stitch him up, I understand.”
She swallowed. “What will we do for his pain?”
Helen bent near the dog’s head with a hushed voice. “Nothing that I know of, other than getting it over quick as possible. He’s in a good deal of pain already. He may not even notice a few needle pricks.”
Few? There would be many. Nana’s teaching threaded through her memory . . . it’s the finest of stitches that hold the important pieces together.
She retrieved her sewing kit from her satchel in the boys’ room and washed her hands at the sink with soap and water. Threading her smallest needle, she cringed at thought of stitching the dog without dulling its pain. But this was not the outskirts of Chicago, and there was no vet at hand.
Helen pulled the quilt, dog and all, away from the wall and against the toes of her shoes. “I’ll hold his head in case he tries to snip at you. But I don’t think he’s got much fight in him.”
Ella took a deep breath and slowly released it, then took another and knelt to the task.
Mended tears and tatted edges . . . wounds healed over and beautified . . . O Lord, make it so.
The three long gashes closed easily, and Tug gave little resistance other than a whimper now and then. Helen cooed continually to him, rubbing his head and leaning close while Ella drew the edges together with her grandmother’s needle.
She knotted and snipped the final thread with dainty silver scissors and leaned back on her heels, arching her back and neck. “Do you have any alcohol?”
Helen gaped.
Ella laughed.
“For Tug. To disinfect his wounds, not for me.”
The woman clapped her mouth shut and pushed out of the chair with a grunt. “I knew that.”
Returning from the dining room, she handed over a dusty whiskey bottle, half full. Ella drizzled a small stream along each seam, dabbing with a clean cloth as she went. Then she corked the bottle, set it on the chair, and straightened, sore from kneeling but grateful for her newfound strength. A month ago, she would not have survived the afternoon.
She gathered the bloody rags. “Where do you want these?”
Helen bustled over, took the rags, and dropped them in the basin. “Go lie down, rest yourself. I’ll take care of supper and whatever else the men need, short of dressing out a smelly old bear.”
Ella laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “I can’t lie down. Not until I check on Cale.”
Helen’s gray eyes glimmered, and she blinked rapidly. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to that boy. I hope he knows it.”
At the barn, the little mare’s ears swiveled, acknowledging her approach.
“You up for one more jaunt?” She stroked the paint’s neck and shoulders and checked the cinch, then climbed up. “You will have earned your oats tonight.”
The mare tossed her head smartly and showed no hesitation at another trip to the meadow. Ella set her to an easy walk. No hurry returning to an animal that was no longer a threat.
Again, two riders approached from a distance, but this time, three little boys bounced along before them as if leading a victor’s parade. She reined into a shady spot to wait. Their going was slow, and she soon saw why. Cale and Hugh were dragging the bear behind their horses.
The beast was enormous, and both horses threw their shoulders into the task, heads bobbing with each step. The men stopped at the back of the barn behind the farm wagon and it suddenly made sense.
She’d be riding to town with a bear carcass.
Reality came crashing down, scattering the surreal events of the day, pulling her first one way and then the other. The company was leaving tomorrow. Would they leave without her?
Did she care?
She doubted the men would make the trip today, so late in the afternoon. Perhaps they would wait until tomorrow.
“They got the bear!” Kip bounded up as Ella dismounted. “Pa and Uncle Cale got the devil bear!”
She’d not correct his assumption, that was his father’s duty. But Helen would certainly correct his descriptive language.
“Where’s Tug?” Jay stopped short and looked around, worry creasing his normally smooth brow.
“Come here, boys.”
Ty reluctantly left his father and Cale to their chore, but Jay and Kip were beside her in a instant.
She bent at the waist and braced her hands on her knees. “Tug helped kill the bear.”
Kip’s eyes widened with awe. “He did?”
“What’d he do?”
“Where is he?”
She looked each boy in the eye and chose her words carefully. “He was hurt, but he’s resting now in the kitchen.”
Kip dashed away, but the other two remained.
“The bear clawed Tug pretty badly, but your Uncle Cale carried him home, and Helen and I stitched him up. We’re all going to take the best care of him that we can. And we can pray for him.”
Jay’s eyes welled and he swiped at them impatiently. Then he threw his arms around her. “I’m glad you helped him.”
Ty poked his brother in the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go see.”
Torn between unsaddling the mare or hurrying after the boys, she chose her closest responsibility—the horse she’d ridden. Memory of Mabel leaving her mount saddled, sweaty, and awaiting relief outweighed the image of three little boys and their faithful dog. Helen was with them. They weren’t alone.
She hung the saddle on a low rack in the tack room and hunted a brush. The little horse had saved her life—along with Cale. And Tug played his part as well. But ultimately her thanks lifted heavenward.
Working the brush along the mare’s back, she recalled her father’s resentful send-off at the train station. He’d warned her that unimagined dangers lay ahead, that she was foolish to flee blindly into the unknown. Indeed, danger had found her in Cañon City, but the Lord had remained at her side, providing His promised way of escape from temptation as well as His promised protection.
Again, fate failed.
But what she hadn’t expected in her quest for a change of scenery was a change in perspective regarding her father. And it was Hugh, of all people, who had opened her eyes.
He opened them farther as he came round the end of the barn and stopped short.
“You.”
Her skin prickled. “Hugh.”
“Why are you here?” His voice was heavy with blame, as if the entire situation with the bear was her fault.
She refused to defend her right to accept Cale’s invitation. She owed Hugh no explanation. But neither would she cower.
She walked around the mare and continued her grooming. “Just giving her a good brushing before turning her out.”
Hugh swore and cut through the barn toward the back. Within minutes, his voice shot out of the alleyway as if from a megaphone.
“She’s turned your head, and you’re not thinking about what you should.” A brief pause, long enough for a man to spit. “I thought they were leaving.”
Cale’s response was quieter, beyond Ella’s hearing, which made her feel like an eavesdropper. She should turn the mare out and go back to the house. Not linger there waiting for Hugh’s inevitable darts.
“She’s a city gal. She doesn’t belong here.”
The crack of breaking wood stilled Ella’s hand and heart. She waited a beat but heard nothing more. After opening the pasture gate, she slapped the mare through, and rather than go back to the tack room, she set the brush atop a fence post.
The last thing she wanted to do was come between Cale and his brother.
Maybe Hugh was right. She didn’t belong here. And the sooner she left, the better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The cast-iron pulley busted through a board in the outside wall. Shoulder throbbing from his wrenching throw, Cale whirled to face his brother, hands fisted.
They’d come to blows in their childhood, as boys did. But not since they’d grown into men had Hugh driven him to such anger. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to not tear into him and break his teeth for the things he said about Ella.
Both hands flexed and closed in rhythm with his pounding heart.
Hugh stood unflinching, quickly recovered from the shock of Cale heaving the pulley through the wall.
Cale debated praying for self-control or praying to win a long-overdue fist fight.
“You’re gonna drive everyone away from you. You’re not the only man in the world who’s lost a good woman, but you’re about to lose everyone else who cares about you. If you don’t get a rein on your hateful tongue, Helen will leave. I’ll move out, and your boys will hightail it well before they should.”
He took a step forward, chin and voice lowered to rock-solid promise. “Ella’s got more gumption than any woman in this county, and I intend to marry her whether you like it or not.”
Hugh glared at him, his jaw so tight Cale expected it to crack. But his shoulders slacked a notch. Then his hands. His eyes dulled. He turned and left.
At least Ella was in the house and hadn’t heard the bitter words.
Cale retrieved the pulley. They were finished with it. Maneuvering the carcass into the wagon had been easier than he’d expected.
The hole in the wall could wait.
He unsaddled Doc but couldn’t find the brush he always used. The back of his neck crawled, and he walked out front. The paint mare was turned out, the brush on top of a corral post.
Ella.
Thudding horse hooves circled the barn and Hugh loped past on Shorty, headed who knew where. A distant rumble warned of a coming storm. Surely he wasn’t fool enough to ride right into it.
Cale turned out Doc and made for the house, clawing through his head for what he’d say to Ella. The whole day had been nothing but interruptions on his intentions, and his gut ached nearly as much as his back and shoulders after helping pull the bear into the wagon.
His promise to Thorson echoed through him with the next roll of thunder. He’d promised to have Ella back today. But today had turned into early evening, and he wouldn’t take her out in a storm.
And if the company left without her?
Temptation proved to be a sorry snake, inching up on him when he wasn’t looking. If she missed the train, maybe she’d stay on. He’d made enough off Thorson that he could spare to pay for her extra week at the Denton. Maybe by then he’d convince her to stay for good.
Truth was, he needed Ella Canaday.
So did the boys.
He stood outside the screen door, watching them on their knees next to Tug, Ella in the middle with her arms wrapped around their slumped shoulders, her head bowed.
“Lord, please save Tug.” She prayed so softly he had to strain to hear. “Please heal his wounds and help him rest and get strong enough to run and play again. And thank you for how brave he was today. How he alerted Uncle Cale to the bear.”
A hornet-like sting hit his gut. She paused, and he took hold of the door handle.
“And thank you for helping Cale shoot the bear and keep us all safe.”
His knees threatened to cut out from under him, and he tightened his hold. The hinges squeaked. Four faces turned his way.
“Uncle Cale!” Kip scrambled to his feet and pushed the screen open, his six-year-old arms doing what Cale couldn’t seem to manage.
“You boys go wash. We’re having an early supper after all today’s excitement.” Helen shot him a worried look. “Where’s Hugh? Or should I ring the bell for him?”
Cale hung his hat on a peg, rolled his sleeves up, and then looked at his shirt and thought better of it. He needed a bath. His shirt and grimy trousers were smeared with dirt and blood and bear hair. And he probably smelled to high heaven. He just couldn’t smell himself over the stew Helen had simmering on the stove.
“You can ring for him, but I doubt he’ll hear it. He’s on some errand.” A near lie, but he wasn’t about to make her and the boys worry.
Ella pulled herself up on a chair and smoothed her skirt, not looking at him.
He’d have to make do with the washstand in his room. “Helen, I need a kettle—”
“—of hot water. Got one right here for you.” She gripped the handle with a folded rag and headed through the dining room door.
The boys banged outside, and that left him alone with Ella. Hugh’s words had cut a swath across her face that she was trying to hide, and he regretted not beating his brother into the ground.
