Chapter 8 #2
Red didn’t give her another second to talk.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the house, his leg only a distant, nagging ache.
He got through the stubborn, heavy door with her still in his arms and settled her in a kitchen chair.
He knelt down in front of her. “You’re all right, Cassie. ”
All he could think of was calming her down before something awful happened. He jumped up and got a dish towel and plunged it into the bucket of water he’d hauled from the cooler this morning. He wrung out the cold water, then dropped back to his knees and bathed her chalky skin.
“You’re fine, Cass. No harm done. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Harriet. She’s fierce about her babies. No one would ever know a mama pig could be such a dangerous animal.”
The worst of the tension seemed to drain out of her. Her eyes, fixed wide with horror, dropped closed, and she sagged against him until her head rested on his shoulder.
They stayed like that for long minutes. Her trembling gradually eased, and her muscles firmed. She slowly raised her head.
Red sighed with relief. Her color was better. He pressed the cool cloth on her cheeks and forehead again. “Are you all right? Do you need to lie down?”
“No, I’m better now.” Cassie shook her head and straightened her spine.
He had to admire that. A mama pig could take the starch out of a mighty steely spine. “You just rest here. Let me go finish the chores. Then I’ll come back and get us some breakfast.”
“No, you shouldn’t have to do that.”
Red shuddered. Then he thought of last night’s supper. Yes, she could cook. If only she’d just agree to do nothing else. He said, with a calm that took a Herculean effort, “So what’s for breakfast?”
“I’ll fry some eggs if that suits you.”
Red nodded. “Eggs sounds fine. Let me add some wood to the fireplace for you.”
“Thank you,” she said so breathlessly he might have offered to slay a dragon.
“I won’t be gone long.” He patted her knee, rose from the floor, stoked the fire, and made it out the door without limping.
He didn’t bother to hide his limp once he was alone. He hobbled around finishing his chores, double-checking the gate as he always did.
He checked the hay pile a dozen times for any smoldering embers.
Then he got to thinking about how close she’d snuggled up to him last night.
They’d started with a solid two feet of space between them, but in the morning, he woke with her arms wrapped around his waist as if she craved his warmth.
Her soft hair had fallen out of its braid and spread over his arm and across his chest.
He was far gone thinking about Cassie when he tripped over the basket of eggs she had left sitting by the front door. He fell down and hurt his ankle a little worse.
She rushed to the door to see what the racket was. “Oh, Red, I should never have left that basket sitting there. I was almost in the house when I noticed the pigs and went to look at them.”
Red could blame her for everything else that happened this morning, but this one was all his fault. He reassured her he was daydreaming. Not for one second did he consider telling her what he was daydreaming about.
She lost that look she got, as though she was afraid of him. She seemed to believe him when he took responsibility for this latest mess, a trifling matter compared to what had gone on earlier. He picked up what was left of the eggs and limped inside with them.
The sun was just fully up, and already she’d about ruined him. He’d never survive the week. If he did, it wouldn’t matter. All his animals would be dead, his buildings burned to the ground, and she’d probably find a way to lose all his ranch land and dry up his creek while she was at it.
He tossed split wood on the embers of the fire, determined to take charge of all fire-related chores from this moment forward.
“How did your shirt get torn, Red?”
He looked down. He was more of a wreck than even he’d realized.
“I reckon they’re just old and have been torn for a while.
” Red was an honest man, but a while could be weeks or it could be minutes, and the fact that one of the two outfits of clothing he owned was now halfway to rags, even though it’d been fine when he’d put it on this morning, didn’t mean it hadn’t been “a while.”
“I’ll mend your clothes if you take them off and leave them with me.”
“How about I just wear ’em for the rest of the day, and you can do them tomorrow?” If she had anymore hijinks in mind, he’d better stick to the clothes that were already ruined.n“My clothes from yesterday are still dirty. I’ll wash them up today and wear them tomorrow. You can mend these then.”
She smiled timidly, as if she was out of practice. “I’ll wash your clothes, Red.”
“Thanks, Cass. If you have time.” Red tried to think of the possible disasters involved in swishing pants around in water.
She’d smiled bigger, and he couldn’t think of a thing that could go wrong.
She turned to the fireplace, her charred skirt swaying. Cracking eggs into a pan, she hummed as she worked.
She was his wife. She was the most beautiful woman Red had ever seen. She was feeding him and sewing for him and doing his laundry, and she’d just asked him to take his clothes off. If she wanted to kill him, he’d just sit back and thank God for every second of his life until he died.
And just in case there was a chance he wasn’t going to die, he’d make sure she forgot all about his asking her to help outside and stayed strictly in the house.