Promise me tomorrow (11 page)

"I am thirsty."

Mrs. Whitley went right to work, pouring and adding sugar and a dash of warm milk. "We'll have you fixed up in no time," she said before passing a cup of tea to Rusty and making sure she could manage it.

It was warm and sweet, and Rusty's sigh was heartfelt. "Thank you. I'm embarrassed to tell you that I don't remember your name. "

"Of course you don't, dear. I'm Mrs. Whitley, and Mr. McCandles tells me you're Miss Taggart."

"Everyone calls me Rusty."

The housekeeper beamed. "Because of your hair. It's really quite lovely, you know."

Rusty smiled kindly, but she was already growing tired again.

"Now, how about some food, Miss Taggart? Can I tempt you?"

"I don't think I can manage it, Mrs. Whitley, but thank you. "

Mrs. "Whitley took the cup from Rusty's hand as she reached to put it back down. She had only drunk about half of it. One look at Rusty's face told her that she was fading again. Mr. Mc-Candles had asked to be summoned when Rusty was awake, but by the time she gained his office and he came upstairs, their guest would be sleeping again, so she didn't even try. And she was right. Rusty was asleep just minutes later, and this time she slept the remainder of the day and the entire night.

12

Rusty woke slowly, her body a little achy, but within moments she knew the headache was gone. She stretched a little, but even that was an effort. She felt as lethargic as a spoiled cat, but then she spotted him, and some of the sluggishness disappeared. Rusty looked over at her open door to see a little boy. She pushed herself higher against her pillow to see him more clearly.

Small and on the thin side, he regarded her seriously with his dark eyes. His hair was dark and straight. He was wearing knee pants with suspenders and a long-sleeved shirt. Rusty guessed him to be about five years old. She also had the impression that he would run if she spoke to him, but she had to try.

"Good morning," she said softly.

He stared at her. Rusty pushed a little higher onto her pillow, bringing her covers up for warmth.

"Would you like to come in?"

With that he ran. Rusty put a hand over her mouth to cover her laugh. His eyes had gotten so huge, one would have thought she had suggested he write on the wall. Rusty lay thinking about him for a moment. It wasn't long until he returned.

"You're back," Rusty said kindly to the little boy. "Come in." This time her tone was just firm enough. The little boy came forward. Rusty spoke when he stood by the bed.

"My name is Katherine Alexa Taggart. Will you tell me yours?"

He stared at her, his face open, his eyes curious, but no words came from his mouth.

"Do you know," Rusty began again, "that I work with children? I love children—all ages and sizes. How old are you?"

"Four," he said softly.

"You are very grown up for four. Do you like to read books and look at the pictures?"

He nodded very solemnly.

"Do you have a favorite?"

He nodded again, and Rusty smiled at him. It was the smile that always worked its magic. It wasn't anything she tried to do, but even with her hair all over and her face still pale, Rusty's smile went right to her eyes and into the heart of her receiver.

"Well, Quintin, dear, there you are," Mrs. Whitley called as she came into the room. "Mrs. Harding is looking for you, dear."

"Quintin!" Rusty's eyes grew huge with excitement. "Is that your name?"

Again the nod.

"Will you tell me your whole name?"

He didn't respond.

"I'll start it for you, Quintin..."

"Quintin James McCandles."

"How wonderful," Rusty said and meant it. Mr. McCandles had a son! "Now tell me, Quintin James McCandles, what do you like to do best?"

The little boy leaned against the bed now, and Rusty secretly smiled at the way he was relaxing. The almost instant rapport was just what she'd hoped for.

"I like birds," he told her. "Mrs. Harding lets me see birds."

"Where do you see them?" Rusty asked. Mrs. Whitley stood quietly by the bed, but this little boy had melted Rusty's heart and she could not let him get away.

"We have woods. We go there."

"Do you have a favorite type of bird?"

He was on the verge of answering when a brisk female voice called from the hall.

"Quintin, come to me at once."

"Goodbye," the little boy said softly and immediately turned to go.

Rusty waved at him with a few fingers and smiled. The owner of the voice from the hall never made an appearance, but Quintin was gone nonetheless.

"How did you sleep, dear?" Mrs. Whitley asked. If she was at all put-out over having to wait, Rusty saw no sign of it.

"I slept well. I'm still a bit weak, but the headache is gone."

"I'm so glad. Are you up to some breakfast?" Rusty was opening her mouth to reply when someone knocked. Both women turned to see Chase McCandles on the threshold. He entered, wearing black slacks and shoes and a crisp white shirt. Taking in Rusty's pale features at a glance, emotions flooded through Chase, but he pushed them neatly into place. And because they were at Briarly, he proceeded in his usual way, which was to take complete charge.

"Good morning, Katherine. Have you told Mrs. Whitley what you want for breakfast?" "I'm not hungry right now, thank you." "Very well. I want you to take it easy today.
All
day," he added firmly. "You can take your meals here in the room. Mrs. Whitley will see to it.

Upon this statement he turned for the door.

He left without another word, and Mrs. Whitley, her face expressionless, followed in his wake. Rusty bit her lip as she looked at the now empty doorway.

Rusty, girl, you need to get yourself home today. You've worn out your welcome here. It wont be easy, but just get to the train and you can sleep all the way home.
Her decision made, Rusty carefully pushed the covers aside. She was still weak. /
probably just need food,
she thought to herself. At any rate, it was time to go home.

***

Chase's office did not give him a view of the stairs, but he'd just remembered a book he needed from the library. As he was crossing the drawing room to find it, he saw Rusty as she came down the stairs. She was dressed, although her hair wasn't brushed, but there was even less color to her face than there had been earlier. The book forgotten, Chase arrived in the large foyer at the same time she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, Mr. McCandles," she began softly, "there you are. I think I should leave. I know you're upset with me, and I understand with the trouble you've had to go to. I think I should go ahead and eat something and catch the train today. It's still early, and I could be home tonight."

"Katherine," Chase began, his voice very gentle, but she was not through.

"I appreciate all you've done, Mr. McCandles, but if you'll just show me where the kitchen is, I'll eat and pack, and then only bother you one more time for a ride to the train station."

"Did I tell you I sent a telegram to your parents?" Chase said suddenly.

Rusty stared at him.

"I also sent word to Paddy at the orphanage," Chase continued conversationally. "I apologize for not telling you. I wanted to let everyone know that the children were settled at the Davidsons', but that we'd run into a delay." He paused to see how she was taking his words. He had her attention, but she still looked uncertain. "I told your parents I would personally see you home on Friday, but if you want to go now, I'll take you. I'm sorry I made you feel as if you've been a bother. Nothing could be further from the truth."

Rusty opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Maybe she wasn't as strong as she thought. She suddenly felt tired all over again. Even from the several feet that separated them, Chase could see the way she shook. This was all his fault. His heart clenched that his hospitality had been so poor. Moving carefully, he pulled an ornate chair away from the foyer wall so she could reach it. She sank down onto it gratefully.

"I'm so sorry, Katherine. I'm sorry I made you feel unwelcome. "

She looked up at him. "Nobody calls me Katherine."

"I've been called a lot of things in my time, but never a nobody."

It was just the light remark she needed. Laughing just a little, she glanced around the huge foyer.

Chase watched her for a moment. "What would you like to do now?" he asked her.

"Just sit, I think. Is it cold to you?"

"Not really, but the vestibule is always drafty."

Rusty turned to look toward the front door. It was some ways away, beyond an elaborate archway. She had never seen the like.

"Why don't you come into the drawing room?" Chase offered. "The morning sun comes through the bay window. I think you'll find it much more comfortable."

Rusty rose but not without effort. She wondered if once she got home she would have to spend the week in bed. Actually, with this delay she was no longer certain she still had a week.

Chase led Rusty through a doorway right off the wide foyer. The young redhead was not prepared for the room she entered. It was huge and absolutely beautiful. She would have exclaimed over it in her usual exuberant manner, but for the moment she just wanted to stay on her feet.

"Here you go," Chase encouraged. His tone was normal, but he was very worried. "Why don't you get comfortable here?" He directed her to a large, overstuffed chair. Chase noticed she was still trembling.

"I think you need a quilt," he said as she sank into the cushions. Mrs. Whitley, who had been hovering in the background since she had seen Rusty in the foyer, came forward, a thick comforter in her hand. She had grabbed it from a closet under the stairs when she heard Rusty asking Chase if it was cold.

"Here we go." Chase tucked the throw around his houseguest.

"Did you say you'd written to my parents?" Rusty asked, her face anxious. "You told them I was all right?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you, Mr. McCandles."

"You're very welcome. Now, would you like something hot to drink?"

Relief covered her face. "That sounds good."

"Coffee? Tea?"

Rusty looked uncertain.

"Hot cocoa?"

Again the look of relief. "Yes, please, but I don't need anyone to wait on me, Mr. McCandles. I can go to the kitchen and prepare it.

Chase sat on the ottoman at her feet, effectively blocking her into the chair. He bent his long legs and casually put his forearms on his knees. Rusty would have to crawl over him to leave, and he knew she wouldn't do that.

"Mrs. Whitley will get it for you," Chase said simply. Mrs. Whitley had left the room the minute Rusty had said "yes, please," and if Chase knew his staff like he thought he did, the housekeeper would be back in less than ten minutes with not just a steaming cup of cocoa, but some toast and muffins as well.

"Are you feeling warmer?"

"Yes. Your home is lovely."

"Thank you." He watched as she looked around the room. She was still so pale, her eyes looking larger than ever in her now-thin face. Before either of them could speak again, Mrs. Whitley returned.

"Now then," she began as she usually did, coming in with a tray to place next to Rusty's chair. Seeing her intention, Chase rose to move a small table over. Mrs. Whitley put the tray on top of it, her smile in place.

"I took the liberty of fixing you a little something to eat, Miss Taggart. Under this napkin is buttered toast, and this plate has some muffins. This dish is a ham souffle, just baked this morning. If you can't eat any of it, don't worry. Cook is planning a splendid lunch."

"Mrs. Whitley, this is so nice." Rusty's voice was soft with surprise. "I really didn't expect you to wait on me."

"You're a guest at Briarly, Miss Taggart," she said simply. "It's our pleasure."

"Thank you," Rusty said graciously.

Mrs. Whitley beamed at her and went on her way. Rusty picked up the cup of hot chocolate, noting that the housekeeper had also left a teapot, presumably with more cocoa. She took a sip and looked at Chase, who had once again taken his seat on the ottoman.

"I didn't know I was going to be treated as a princess."

Her words had the oddest effect on Chase's chest. He felt something squeeze around his heart as he looked at her, knowing how ill she'd been on the train and then thinking of her surrounded by those men.
I
have to get this girl
home safely, Lord,
Chase prayed, thinking the cause of his emotion was fear.
Until I see her home safe with her family, I wont be able to rest.

"What day did you say we'll be leaving?"

"Friday morning. Does that work for you?"

"Yes, but I'm thinking about your schedule. Didn't you tell me you have to go to Pueblo?"

"I do, but it's not urgent."

"I don't want to hold you up," Rusty said as she reached for a muffin. She offered the plate to Chase.

"I've eaten, thank you."

"What I'm trying to say," she continued, feeling much warmer and consequendy better, "is that I can get myself home. I'll just leave tomorrow or Friday, and you can—"

He was already shaking his head. "Please don't ask me to do that," he cut in, his voice soft with suppressed emotion. They were going to have a knock-down-drag-out fight if she insisted on seeing herself home. Chase simply wouldn't have it—not after seeing those men around her and having her so sick.

"I'm sorry I sounded ungrateful, Mr. McCandles. I was just thinking of your business engagements."

"As a matter of fact, Pueblo
can
wait. When I see you to Boulder, I'll stay in town until Monday. I've wanted to look into some property there for some time. So you see, I'll still be conducting business."

He saw instantly that he'd said the right thing. She looked very relieved and even picked up the small dish with the souffle in it. He watched her try a bite.

"Umm, this is good. Did you have some of it, Mr. McCandles?"

"I can't remember," he said honestly.