Authors: Janet Dailey
Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #General, #Contemporary, #Western Stories, #Suspense Fiction, #Domestic fiction, #Montana, #Ranch life, #Women Ranchers - Montana, #Calder family (Fictitious characters), #Women ranchers
Calder Promise (22 page)
Chapter Fourteen
L
aura took one look at the weed-choked yard, littered with broken toys, junked auto parts, and an old sofa with ripped cushions and a missing leg, and knew this had to be the right house. When she started up the front walk, Sebastian came trotting around the corner of the house.
aura took one look at the weed-choked yard, littered with broken toys, junked auto parts, and an old sofa with ripped cushions and a missing leg, and knew this had to be the right house. When she started up the front walk, Sebastian came trotting around the corner of the house.
“He ducked in the back door and locked it,” he said and went up the front steps two at a time.
Laura reached the porch as Sebastian put a shoulder to the door and forced it open. When he swung the door wide, she caught a glimpse of the boy racing toward the rear of the house, but it was enough.
“That’s the Mitchell boy,” Laura said in surprise.
Sebastian hesitated in the doorway. “Do you know the family?”
“Not really. I had a run-in with his father a week or so ago.” Remembering the man’s hot temper, Laura stepped cautiously into the house and set the girl on the floor. She immediately toddled over to a bedraggled-looking doll on the living room’s floor and picked it up. “Hello!” Laura called. “Anybody home?”
Beyond some rustling movement coming from the rear of the house, there was only silence. Laura ventured a little farther into the room. She muttered to Sebastian, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the swine hasn’t gone off somewhere and left the children to fend for themselves.”
Sensing Laura’s wariness, Sebastian made a thorough visual inspection of the areas within their view. “Is there a mother?”
“She’s probably working,” Laura said and bent down to the little girl. “Where’s your daddy, sweetheart?”
The little girl immediately lost all expression and backed away from Laura, turned and dashed off to sit against the wall next to an old armchair.
“He knocks you around, too, does he?” Laura concluded, her dislike of the man deepening to an anger. She straightened. “This time I am going to report him. Do you see a phone?”
“No.” More sounds came from the rear. Sebastian listened for a moment, then moved toward them. “I think I’ll see what our little thief is doing.”
Laura followed him into a narrow hall that led to the back of the house. The doorway to the bathroom stood open. She glanced in, but saw nothing but a pile of dirty towels and discarded clothes.
The next door was shut. Sebastian pushed it open. Looking past him, Laura saw the unmade bed. She was almost sorry Mitchell wasn’t in it.
Sebastian swore under his breath and charged into the room. “What’s wrong?” The question was barely out of her mouth when Laura saw a pair of slim bare legs, a woman’s legs, on the floor near the foot of the bed.
Alarm shot through her as she pushed into the room. By the time Laura reached the fallen woman, Sebastian was already crouched beside her, his fingers pressed against the inside of her wrist, checking for a pulse.
Her stomach lurched sickeningly when Laura saw the woman’s face. There was little about it that resembled the woman she’d seen slipping food into Mitchell’s truck the day of the auction. Her features were distorted by dark, purpling bruises that marked nearly every inch of them. One eye was swollen completely shut, and there was dried blood on her chin from a severely cut lip, partially covered by an inexpertly applied Band-Aid with stars scattered over it, the kind meant for a child.
When Sebastian gently lowered the woman’s arm to her side, Laura asked, “Is she—”
“No. Her pulse is strong. Her breathing is steady. But she’s been severely beaten, mostly about the face, it appears, although there is some bruising on her arms.”
“And I know exactly who did it,” Laura stated, giving rise to the anger that had been simmering ever since she realized Mitchell lived in this house.
“What did you say their name is?”
“Their last name is Mitchell. That’s all I know.”
Sebastian bent close to the woman. “Mrs. Mitchell, can you hear me?” He gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. “Mrs. Mitchell?” The undamaged eye fluttered open, then closed with the release of a low moan. Sebastian tried again to rouse her. “Mrs. Mitchell!”
Again she opened the one eye. This time it stayed open as the woman attempted to focus on Sebastian. “Who . . . ?” The movement of a cut lip must have produced an instant jab of pain as her hand moved shakily to her face.
“I’m a friend of the Calders,” he answered, knowing his own name would be meaningless to her.
The woman’s obvious pain was more than Laura could take. “I’m going to find a phone and call for help.”
As she started to turn away, the woman’s voice lifted to stop her. “No, don’t!”
There was just enough strength in her voice to make Laura pause. “You’ve been badly hurt.”
“No. No, I’m all right,” she mumbled and made a weak attempt to rise.
Sebastian checked her attempt, warning, “Careful. You may have some internal injuries.”
“No.” Her hand trembled over the swollen surfaces of her bruised cheek and eye. “My face . . . that’s all.” She directed a pleading look at Laura. “Don’t call anyone. Please.”
The appeal was so poignant that Laura was torn between doing what she knew was right and giving in to the woman’s wishes. Sebastian delayed the moment of decision.
“Let’s get her off the floor and onto the bed.” He nodded in the direction of the unmade bed and the table lamp that lay atop it, its shade dented and askew. “Straighten the covers, will you?”
“Of course.” Laura moved quickly to retrieve the lamp and set it on the bedside table, leaving the shade atilt for the time being, while Sebastian cradled the slight woman in his arms.
The bedcovers were a tangled mess. Rather than take the time to straighten them out, Laura merely threw them back to expose the bottom sheet and moved out of Sebastian’s way. When he gently lowered the woman onto the mattress, Laura hurriedly plumped a pillow and slipped it under her head, her heart tearing and her anger growing at the little sounds of pain the woman attempted to smother.
Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed next to the woman, his gaze examining her again. “You really should have a professional assess your injuries, Mrs. Mitchell. You could very well be concussed.”
A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “No, please.” The words were a sob. Then a look of panic flashed in her face, and again she attempted to rise. “My babies—”
“Your children are fine.” It required no great amount of pressure for Sebastian to force her to lie flat.
“Your daughter is in the living room playing with her doll,” Laura told her. “And your son”—she turned, not at all sure where the little thief was until she saw him standing in the doorway—“is right here.”
The woman relaxed against the mattress in relief, but it was short-lived as she roused herself again. “I need to see to them.”
Sebastian wouldn’t hear of it. “First we need to get you fixed up. There will be time enough later to tend to the children.”
The woman again settled back, but Laura suspected her easy acquiescence was based more on her lack of strength than an acceptance of Sebastian’s reasoning. Sebastian straightened from the bed, shook the top sheet loose from the tangled covers, and gently drew it across the woman, then stepped over to Laura’s side.
“You aren’t really going to listen to her, are you?” Laura demanded in a hissing whisper.
“What do you suggest?” he countered smoothly. “Her injuries are undoubtedly painful, but they are certainly not life-threatening.”
Laura desperately wanted to shoot down his logic, but the only argument she could summon was a weak one. “We can’t be certain of that.”
The look he gave her spoke volumes, but he chose not to offer a direct response. “I’m going to find the kitchen and get some ice for that eye of hers. Why don’t you get a wet cloth and clean her up a bit?”
The instant Sebastian moved toward the doorway, the boy bolted for the living room. Laura couldn’t help thinking that he was too young to have such a strong instinct for flight.
She followed Sebastian into the hall and turned right, toward the bathroom, while he went in search of the kitchen. She flipped on the bathroom light switch, made a brief survey of the small, cramped space, and located a linen cupboard built into the wall next to the bathtub. Dirty laundry, a mix of clothes and towels, was piled in front of its door. Laura pushed it out of the way with her foot and opened the door. The shelves were bare of all except two towels and three washcloths. She took the top one off the stack and crossed to the sink.
When she turned on the faucet, Laura noticed the medicine cabinet behind the mirror above the sink. She swung the mirrored door open and scanned the contents. There, on the top shelf, was a bottle of disinfectant. She took it down, found some cotton swabs in a basket sitting on the toilet’s tank lid, and removed two from the pack.
Armed with a wet washcloth, cotton swabs, and a bottle of disinfectant, Laura returned to the bedroom, placed the bottle and cotton swabs on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. The woman lay there, not stirring.
Rather than startle her, Laura said, “Mrs. Mitchell, I’m going to clean you up a bit.”
As gently as she could, she went to work on the dried blood crusted on the woman’s chin. At some point in the process, she sensed she wasn’t alone. She glanced at the doorway and saw the little boy peering around the doorjamb. He quickly ducked out of sight.
Seconds after she returned to her task, Laura sensed his eyes watching her again. This time she didn’t turn but concentrated instead on the blood trail until she had cleaned up all of it except for that under the star-studded bandage. Carefully, Laura peeled it off.
As she went to lay the used bandage on the nightstand, she glanced at the boy. “Did you put this bandage on your mother’s cut?” The boy didn’t say a word, just stared back at her. “That was a very good thing to do.”
Once all the dried blood was removed, Laura poured disinfectant into the bottle’s lid, saturated the cotton swab with it, and warned her patient. “This is going to hurt, Mrs. Mitchell.”
The woman winced noticeably but made no sound. A sharply indrawn breath came from the boy by the doorway. After she had treated the deep split in the woman’s lip, Laura used a clean corner of the wet washcloth to wipe the rest of the woman’s face.
Almost with the first touch of the cloth on her bruised skin, the woman murmured in a sigh, “That feels so good.”
Once again, Laura felt the warring between anger and compassion. “Your husband did this to you, didn’t he?” she accused.
The woman looked at her, insisting, “He didn’t mean to.”
“I’ll just bet he didn’t,” Laura muttered with heat.
“You don’t understand,” the woman protested.
“No, and I never will.” She couldn’t bring herself to pretend otherwise.
Approaching footsteps sent the boy scurrying to the living room again. Laura stood up when Sebastian entered the room, carrying a sealable plastic bag filled with ice cubes and water. During the brief moment when their eyes met, Laura picked up something, but she couldn’t tell if it was frustration or exasperation.
“This should help the swelling, Mrs. Mitchell.” He eased the ice bag onto her black eye and used the extra pillow to prop it in place.
“Thank you,” the woman murmured and searched out Laura with her other eye. “Thank you both.”
“You lie there and rest a bit,” Sebastian said and took Laura by the arm, turning her toward the door.
The woman reacted with a flash of panic. “You aren’t going to call anybody, are you? Please, I—”
“We won’t. I promise,” Sebastian assured her. “Lie still. And keep that ice bag on your eye.”
The woman subsided against the pillow, but her worried glance followed them when Sebastian escorted Laura from the room. Laura studied the grim set of Sebastian’s mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
“I suspect I know what the boy stole from Mrs. Fedderson,” he stated. “A sack of marshmallows. Would you care to guess why?”
Laura had a bitter feeling that she knew the answer. “He was hungry.”
“Precisely,” he said, his speech cold and clipped. “The shelves in that kitchen are regrettably bare. No milk, no bread, no tins—in fact, there is little beyond flour, salt, cooking oil, a few spices, and a package of dried beans.”
“I think Mitchell’s been out of work for some time.”
“The cause is irrelevant. Those children need food.” Sebastian made it a flat statement of fact. “You stay here while I go to Fedderson’s and pick up some groceries for them.”
“Here.” Laura dug into her purse and pulled out the truck keys. “You might as well drive the truck back. It’ll save carrying the groceries all this way.” She hesitated. “How are you fixed for cash?”
There was a touch of drollness in his crooked smile. “I’m not in the poorhouse yet.”
The left-handed reference to his current financial straits prompted Laura to extract a pair of twenty-dollar bills from her wallet. “I’ll contribute to the cause just the same.” She pushed the money and the keys into his hand as the little girl waddled past them into the bedroom, leaving the stench of a soiled diaper in her wake. Laura wrinkled her nose at the odor. “Better pick up some disposable diapers, too. There’s one on top of the dresser but it’s probably the last.”
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