Chapter 6
Cora settled onto the cane-bottom chair a couple of feet from the bunk and opened her leather-covered Bible.
As she read about the prophet Samuel traveling to Bethlehem in search of God’s newly chosen king, the honks of migrating geese carried in through the window.
Last night after supper, she’d moved her reading time with Charlie to the stable loft, figuring company would offer Ben a welcome distraction.
This evening, they’d eaten supper there, as well.
No use sitting in her kitchen worrying about the man when she could be here doing something.
Charlie sat on the stool, elbows on his knees, eager to hear the account of the boy David once again.
Ben stretched out on the bunk, his forearm over his eyes and her mother’s quilt tucked beneath his armpits.
She’d finally convinced him it wasn’t a crime for him to lie down in her presence.
He could play the gentleman after he gained his strength.
Four days of rest, yet his coloring had not returned.
If anything, the dark circles under his eyes had deepened, and his face appeared thinner.
Charlie wiggled. “Cora, you got to keep reading. What happened when Samuel looked at all of the brothers, and God said no to each one? Maybe David was out killing a lion.”
Ben peeked from beneath his arm. His hazel gaze studied her, sending flutters into her belly that had no business being there. “I want to hear about the lion.”
She smiled. “Well, I think he was just out watching the sheep. His father and brothers didn’t think he was important enough to bring in from the fields to see the prophet.”
Charlie perked up. “David killed a lion and a bear. You told me so.”
“Yes, he did to protect his sheep. But that was a different day.”
“Protecting sheep is mighty important work.” Ben pushed the quilt down to his waist.
He was doing it again. Throwing the covers off and then tugging them back on an hour later. His fever came and went. Yet the man kept his suspenders tight on his shoulders and his shirt tucked despite its array of wrinkles. Trying to maintain a proper appearance because of her?
Charlie tilted his head. “How about buffalo? Did any of them try to hurt the baby sheep?”
“No buffalo in the Promised Land.” She turned the page.
“Why not?”
Ben rolled up onto his side and reached for his cup.
“Because it’s way across the ocean, and buffalo can’t swim.
Besides, there probably wouldn’t be enough grass there for them to eat.
” He swallowed a long sip. A drop dribbled onto the stubble covering his jaw and glistened in the lamplight.
A handsome man, and the four days’ worth of beard made him look even finer.
If only the life would come back into his cheeks and eyes.
Charlie rubbed his nose. “Have you ever been across the ocean, Ben?”
“Mr. McKenzie,” Cora corrected.
“But if he’s my brother, can’t I call him Ben?”
“I’ll leave it up to your sister.” Ben eased back down on the bed. “But as for the ocean…I traveled across the Gulf of Mexico in a steamer from New Orleans to Galveston on my way to Texas. And believe me, the way the ship rocked, I felt as though I was in the middle of the ocean.”
“Did you see any whales?” Charlie picked up a crumb of cornbread from his empty plate.
“No, but I saw dolphins.”
“What’s a dolphin?”
“That’s a story for another day. We’ve got to finish listening to your sister read to us about David. I can’t wait until we get to the part about Goliath.” A cough racked through him.
Cora bit her lip.
Ben winced and returned his forearm to his eyes. Was he in pain? He wouldn’t say so if he was. Tomorrow she’d go to town to see the druggist. She couldn’t sit around and do nothing. Ben had said no doctor, but surely, there had to be some remedy that would help.
Charlie frowned. “You need more water?”
“I’m fine for now.” Ben cleared his throat.
“We’ll make sure you have plenty before we go back to the house for the night.
” Cora smoothed her finger over the Bible’s cracked cover.
“But Mr. McKenzie’s right. I’ve got to finish our reading.
We’re at the good part where Samuel asks if there are any more sons, and the Lord reminds him that He looks on the heart of a person. ”
In the stables below, a horse whinnied. She glanced out the small window. The sunset glowed pink on the horizon. Twilight. In the distance, a faint whisper of a coyote howl trailed on the breeze. What if it was something other than a coyote? A shiver ran up her spine.
Ridiculous. Her family’s land hadn’t been attacked by Indians in almost five years, had it? But still, she was half tempted to grab hers and Charlie’s bedding along with the rifle and bunk down in the stables tonight. Regardless of his being sick, Ben was a man who knew how to fight.
She moved her finger along the page to find her place.
How had she ever thought Charlie and she could make it on their own on this ranch without any help?
With Ben, they stood a chance. With Ben?
Where had that thought come from? She hardly knew the man, yet he’d rescued them from Mr. Coffin.
He’d done it for Jeb, and he’d stay here and help them for Jeb’s sake.
The rope-tight tension in her shoulders and back that had almost solidified into bone in the years since her mother’s death loosened in his presence. It was foolish of her to let anyone matter besides Charlie. Her years on the frontier had taught her that.
Crossing her ankles beneath her skirt, she read through the verses, all the way to where David declared he could defeat the giant who’d defied the armies of the Living God.
She paused. The same God who’d enabled David to slay the bear and the lion was with her.
If only she could move that knowledge from her head to her heart.
She gnawed her lip as she closed the book.
“Thank you.” Ben tugged the covers back up to his chest. The murmur of his voice resonated within her.
Her gaze flittered to the shadowed eyes of the man drinking in her every move. Forget what the frontier had taught her. Her heart wasn’t listening.
Ben’s eyes fluttered open. A sweet, sickly smell filled his nostrils. So familiar… His senses heightened in alert. He rolled away from the wall, blinking in the brilliance of the midafternoon sun that streamed in through the half-open window. He startled.
Cora was back. Dressed in a dark-blue linen dress, she sat on the chair by the bed, her hair loosely drawn back in a black snood. Pretty as an angel.
He pushed up on his elbow. “Charlie said you went to town.”
“I did. I just returned a little while ago. I wanted to come see how you’re feeling.”
The aromatic smell tickled his nose again. His mouth watered. Could one hallucinate odors? He swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Best not do it too fast, or he’d be seeing black spots. “I wish you would have told me you were going. I have some money I wanted to give you for supplies.”
“You’ve done more than enough.” Her voice softened. “I wanted to do something for you.”
“I’m not here to take charity. I’ve been staying here and eating your food. I plan on doing my share.”
Her hand shifted within the fold of her skirt. A spoon. The fingers of her other hand curled around something—a small bottle.
He stiffened. The hairs on his arms jumped to attention. “What…” He pointed. Words failed him.
“I’ve been worried about you. Today’s the fourth of you being in bed, and you’re not looking any better. I know you said no doctor. So I went to the druggist.” She held up the container of brown liquid.
Laudanum.
He gripped the edge of the mattress as if it was a cliff edge. His fingers itched to snatch the bottle from her hand and pour the elixir down his throat.
She tipped the bottle toward the waiting spoon. “He said this helps all manner of stomach ailments. I don’t have to see every time you head toward the privy or empty a bedpan to know you’re ill.”
His hand shook as the liquid slithered onto the silver surface.
There was no condemnation. It was medicine.
She’d brought it to him. He didn’t have to ask.
All he had to do was open his mouth, and relief would be delivered to his tongue.
He’d be able to keep his commitment. Just a few spoonfuls—surely, not more than one bottle.
It wouldn’t take much to get him on his feet again.
He could be a real help to her, instead of being an invalid.
He could repair the corral, work on figuring out what happened to her cattle, and turn this place into a successful ranch.
She lifted the spoon toward him. “Here you go.”
His lips parted. The clank of shackles rattled through his mind… Dear Lord, help me.
No!
The word reverberated through every cell of his being.
Without thought, he slammed the spoon from her hand, sending the silver utensil and its poison across the room.
Brown liquid splattered on the rough oak floorboards, and the spoon struck the table leg before rattling to a halt.
The bottle tumbled from her lap, spilling its contents onto her skirt and the rag rug at the bedside.
She jumped to her feet, upsetting the chair in the process. “What…? Why…?” A deep furrow knotted her brow.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to strike your hand.
” Laudanum on the floor, on her skirt, the bottle.
The odor filled his nostrils and made his skin crawl, calling to him a song as sweet as Odysseus’s sirens.
“Get it out of sight. Now. Please.” He doubled over, elbows on his knees, and drove his fingers through his hair.
He had to get it out of his head, out of his nose, before he gave in.
“All of it. Every last drop. Even the smell of it.”
She stumbled toward the washstand, but she didn’t move fast enough.
Head reeling, he snatched the rug and the bottle from the floor and pushed past her to the open window. Shoving the sash up, he threw them out with all of the force he could muster. A sticky residue clung to his fingers. He could lick them. Just a taste… No.
Washcloth in one hand and the pitcher in the other, she gaped at him as if he were a madman.
At the moment, it didn’t matter. He grabbed the pitcher from her, held his hand above where the liquid from the spoon had splattered and doused hand and floor with the water as though putting out a fire. “All of it. Every trace of it. Now.”
A strand of hair falling against her cheek, Cora lowered herself to her knees and scrubbed. The dark-blue linen folds of her garment mingled with the dirty surface.
Nausea clenched his stomach. He would not, could not be sick right now.
He hadn’t meant to yell at her or order her about.
He snatched the towel from the washstand and roughed the material over his fingers.
The smell invaded his head and leached at his self-control as he poured water from the basin onto the spot on the floor by the bed and scoured the oak boards.
Finished, he dropped to his elbows and knees, exhausted. Cora’s steps sounded on the stairs, departing. Would she ever be back? Would she ever forgive him or respect him again?