Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (7 page)

“Ma! What the hell am I doing here?”

As Mara dried her hands on her apron and hurried across to the door, she could hear Brita’s soothing tones. Mara rapped on the door and then opened it. To her dismay the man on the bunk had swung his feet off and pushed himself to a sitting position. The end of the blanket lay across his lap, but otherwise he was completely nude. She quickly averted her eyes.

He looked up when she opened the door. His bruised face was still swollen and his dark hair looked as if he had been in a violent windstorm. He squinted at her, and a string of swear words dropped into the silence.

“Hell and damnation! Sweet Jesus! Good God Almighty, Holy Sainted Mother of God! What the hell are
you
doing here?”

The hostile greeting stunned her into silence and splintered her thoughts. Wildly she sought a reason for his fury. Finally she was able to speak.

“Mr. Gallagher, I must insist that as long as you remain in this house you refrain from taking the Lord’s name in vain. Hell and damnation are permissible; the rest of what you said is not!”

He gaped at her as she lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him and then away. “I’m Mara Shannon McCall. We met once, a long time ago.”

“I know who the hell you are—”

“Oh, dear! I’ve heard that already once this morning. Should you be sitting up?”

“You were the woman who found me . . . helped me in the wagon! Jesus!”

“Mr. Gallagher.” She made a restless movement with her hand. He continued to look at her. “Being hungry must account for your vile mood. Trellis is bringing some meat. I’ll make a strong broth—”

“Broth! Hell and damnation, woman. I need something that will stick to my ribs and give me some strength so I can get the hell out of this vipers’ nest before someone slits my throat. Where are my clothes?”

“I didn’t take them off you,” she snapped, her face going beet red. “Mr. Sparks did. They were nothing but rags anyhow.” Mara deliberately turned her back on him and smiled at Brita. “I’ll bring some water so you can wash. Trellis went down to the cookhouse to get your breakfast. I’ll be able to cook our meals here after today.”

“You’re not staying.”

Mara heard the shocking words and turned back to stare at the man before she remembered that he was naked except for the corner of the blanket. She found herself fascinated by his broad shoulders and wide chest marked by cuts and bruises. A triangle of soft dark hair covered his chest down to where the white bandage was wrapped about his middle. His thighs were rock hard and covered with soft black down. His legs looked to be as sturdy as tree trunks. She had seen a picture of a naked man in a medical book and knew what he covered with the end of the blanket. Her face flamed at the thought.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me the first time. I said you’re not staying here. This is no place for you. I tried to head you off at Sheffield Station.”

“You have no say in the matter, Mr. Gallagher, and I’ll thank you to tend to your own business. I’m of age. I own this place, and I have a perfect right to be here.”

“I said nothing about the
right,
you addle-headed woman. I said this is not the place for you. You belong back in Denver among your own kind.”

“And what kind is that?”

“Society . . . where you can get a rich husband to take care of you properly.”

“I’m not in the market for a husband, rich or otherwise. I’d think you would be pleased that I’m here. Your mother needs care that Trellis can’t give her.”

“I’ve got a Mexican woman lined up to come here and look after Ma. I’d have taken her away from this place long ago, but she wouldn’t go. Something about honoring her marriage vows,” he added sarcastically.

“Now, now,” Brita said soothingly. “Ye be in no shape to be carryin’ on, son. Yer head must be fair bustin’.”

“Aye, ’tis. Damn women don’t know when they’re well off.”

“Damn men don’t, either,” Mara said calmly. “Lie down before you bleed all over the place and I have another mess to clean up. And cover your nakedness!”

“Jesus, my God! Deliver me from a bossy woman.”

“If one more word of blasphemy comes from your mouth, Pack Gallagher, you will lie there and starve to death before I cook for you.”

Mara’s level stare, daring him to defy her, effectively silenced his lips, but his eyes, as dark as midnight, gleamed with resentment. He eased himself down on the bunk and pulled the blanket up to his chest.

“I’ve got to have my clothes . . . ma’am.”

Mara picked up the shirt that lay on the floor and held it up. “This is beyond repair.”

“Jes—” He cut off the word. “That buckskin shirt saved me some skin. Where’s Trell? Where are my britches? Hell, I’m as defenseless as a babe lying here.”

“Trell’s gone to get your mother’s breakfast. You don’t need your britches because you’re not going anywhere, and you needn’t worry about lying there defenseless. I’ll guard you until you can take care of yourself.”

“My God, Ma! Did you hear that? She’ll guard me!”

“Yes, I’ll guard you with this.” Mara took the pistol from her pocket. “I know how to load it and how to shoot it.”

“Put that damn thing away before you blow my head off!”

“That’s not a bad idea. Blowing your head off, I mean. I’m tempted to do it, but I almost broke my back getting you into that wagon. I’ll not waste that effort by shooting you now.”

“You are most kind and generous, ma’am.”

“What did you mean when you said you tried to head me off at Sheffield Station? Did you intercept the letter I sent to Cousin Aubrey?”

“No, I did.”

“You . . . Cousin Brita?” Mara was almost too stunned to speak.

“Trell went to town ’n brought the mail. Don’t be blamin’ Pack, darlin’,” Brita pleaded.

Mara felt a wave of bitter disappointment and turned eyes dark with hurt on Brita. For the first time since she came home she felt like crying.

“Why? Why don’t you want me here?”

“Child, it not be a matter of wantin’ ye here.” Brita rolled her head on the pillow, her eyes filled with tears. “There be no nice thin’s here yer used to havin’. ’Tis rough ’n wild country, with rough ’n wild men. There be no one to stand ’tween ye ’n them.”

“Do you mean to say Cousin Aubrey and Cullen wouldn’t protect me if . . . if I needed protection?”

Mara heard a snort of disgust come from Pack.

“I don’t be knowin’ if they . . . could.”

“Or would,” Pack added.

Mara turned on him in a temper, feeling hot, uncomfortable, a little lost and unsure. He stared back at her, his eyes telling her that he knew of her uncertainty. When she spoke, there was nothing but cold determination in her voice.

“You keep out of this. I’m talking to your mother,” she said frigidly. She was surprised and pleased that her voice came calmly from her tight throat because she was burning with uncertainty. She braced herself for a mocking jibe, but none came, and she turned back to Brita. “If you were worried that I would ask you and Aubrey to leave, you can rest assured that I will not. I owe you, as my mother’s friend, and I owe Aubrey for working this place and keeping me in school.”

“But, darlin’—”

Brita was interrupted by Pack. “ ’Tis good of you not to throw my mother out.”

His voice plucked at Mara’s already taut nerves, and only a momentary burst of common sense prevented her from yelling at him. She turned a cool, superior gaze on him.

“Your mother will always be welcome in my home. However, that does not necessarily apply to her son, Mr. Gallagher. I have no such obligation to you,” she said calmly, then turned quickly and left the room.

“Ye shouldn’t rile her, son,” Brita murmured. “She be a fine lass, ’n the spittin’ image of Colleen McCall, but with more spirit. Ye should have seen her pull that little gun on Cullen.”

“On Cullen? What did he do?”

“He be mouthin’ off, like he does. She says be civil or be leavin’. Cullen come to yer bed, ’n cool as ye please the lass moved in ’n pulled the gun from her pocket. Cullen backed off. She ain’t a lass to be pushed, son.”

“What’ll I do, Ma?” Pack said wearily.

“There be one thing—”

“No! That I’ll not do unless all else fails.”

“Ye got to be gettin’ on yer feet. Do ye be feelin’ a fever comin’ on? Yer side ain’t bad, just a cut as the shot went by ye.”

“My damn leg burns like hellfire, I ache in a hundred places and I’m about to starve to death. Aside from all that I’m in pretty good shape.”

“Ye be lucky to be alive,” Brita murmured. “I be thinkin’ ye’d not make it when ye was brung in.”

“I wasn’t sure myself, Ma.”

“The Holy Mother was watchin’ o’er ye, son. She sent Mara Shannon to see to ye.”

“Holy Mother had nothing to do with it. More than likely it was old Jim at the station. He didn’t want to be the one to help me. He sent Mara Shannon to do it.”

“Was Cullen in on it?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“Who done it, son?”

“It’s best you don’t know, Ma. It’ll not happen again.”

“Ye can’t be havin’ more laudanum.”

“I don’t want any. I’ve got to keep my head clear.”

FOUR

Pack ate several soft biscuits for breakfast but was unable to chew the fried meat because of his sore jaws. Mara thought he hadn’t missed anything. The meat was so salty that she could hardly eat it herself. She longed for a bowl of cold mush, honey, and cream and coffee that didn’t taste as if it were made from boiled acorns.

After the meal Brita asked Mara if she would help Trellis change the bandage on Pack’s side. She could feel his eyes on her face as she bent over the bunk and carefully pulled away the bandage. Sam had done a good job closing the wound. The bullet had apparently passed through the fleshy part of his side. Although Mara kept her eyes averted from Pack’s face, she knew he was breathing faster than normal by the way his stomach moved beneath her touch.

When she finished, she found a reason to be out of the room and left Trellis to change the bandage on Pack’s thigh which was the more serious of the two bullet wounds. The boy bathed it with vinegar water and placed a cloth sprinkled with burned alum against it when Mara brought it from the kitchen.

After they had finished, Brita motioned for her to come close and whispered in her ear. Trellis stood awkwardly at the end of the bunk with his face averted. Her own face flamed. She felt the complete fool for not realizing the man would have to, at times, relieve himself. Mara left the room and closed the door, vowing to have as little as possible to do with the tending of Pack Gallagher.

She worked in the kitchen, using what meager supplies she could find to make it clean. She tied a rag around the straw broom and wiped down the walls before she swept the floor. Making suds in the warm water with strong lye soap as she had seen the kitchen help do at the school, she washed all the utensils and scrubbed the workbench, trestle table, and wash bench before using the water to scrub the floor.

It wasn’t work she was used to doing, but she welcomed it because she did her best thinking while her hands were busy. First things first, she told herself. Make the house at least livable, then make Aubrey give an accounting of the money so she would know how much they had to live on. Thank goodness she had saved a major portion of the allowance he had put in the bank in Denver. She was not entirely without funds.

Trellis brought a hunk of deer meat from the smokehouse. Mara cut it in cubes, browned it in the iron kettle, then covered it with water and set it on the cookstove to simmer. When the meat was tender enough for Pack to chew, she would make dumplings in the broth if she could get Trellis to bring her flour and lard from the cookshack.

Mara mopped the floor, poured several buckets of clear water over it, and swept it out the door with her broom. She smiled at the thought of what Miss Fillamore would say if she could see her now. No doubt it would have something to do with common labor being a disgraceful waste of an education!

Exhausted when she was finished, Mara viewed the room with satisfaction. It was clean and smelled of soap and damp wood. She arranged the few dishes in the cupboard and brought a cloth from her trunk to put on the table. The room was a poor imitation of what it once had been, but it was a start.

While carrying out a pail of dirty water to throw in the yard, she saw a group of horsemen coming up the road toward the house. She paused on the porch, wiped her hair back from her face with the back of her hand, and watched Aubrey and Cullen hurry from the bunkhouse to meet the riders. They stopped in the road, but one man came on up to the house.

“Howdy.” The man tipped his hat to Mara and she nodded.

“Howdy, Marshal,” Cullen said. “Looks like you’ve been ridin’ for awhile. Bring your men on down to the bunkhouse, eat a bite ’n have a cup of coffee.”

“This isn’t a social visit, McCall. We’re trailin’ four men. The tracks led right here.”

“Four men came in early this morning ’n wanted to do some horse tradin’. Said they were part of a posse trailin’ a gang that killed a nester ’n his woman. They had badges—”

“You gave them fresh horses?”

“Why, ’course, Ace. They were part of your posse.”

“You know goddamn well they were not part of my posse!” The marshal beckoned to his men. “Go on down to the corral and take a look at those horses. Who ya got here now, McCall?”

“Same as always. Me and Pa, the twins, Steamboat ’n old Riley.”

“And that’s all?” he asked. His disbelief was obvious.

“That’s all.” Cullen looked the man in the eyes and lied.

The marshal walked his horse toward the porch. “How do, ma’am?”

Mara came down the steps.

“I must apologize for my cousin’s rudeness in not introducing us. I’m Mara Shannon McCall.” She held out her hand when the man dismounted. He removed his hat before his calloused hand clasped hers. He was thin as a whiplash, had a strong, weathered face and sandy hair that contrasted with the dark mustache that swooped down on each side of his mouth.

“Ace January, marshal out of Laramie.”

“I’m pleased to know you. Perhaps you knew my father, Shannon McCall, who built this place?”