Robin (17 page)

              Ty grabbed her wrists and forced her hands back to her lap while he mopped his handkerchief across her face. “Look at me, Robin.” He waited until she locked her gaze on his. He expected to see defiance. Anger. Condemnation. Instead, her dark eyes were wells of such sadness he could barely speak. What had he done to this girl? This . . . this woman?

              “I wouldn’t care if your hands healed right before my eyes, tonight, here in this dirty barn. You are not my maid, Robin Wenghold. Not mine. Not Anna Blair’s. Not even your Uncle John’s. You are a fine, wonderful, beautiful woman.” He wiped her face again, but it seemed in vain as rivulets of tears continued to run down her cheeks. He ached to pull her to him, to tell her all that was in his heart. He wanted to hold her and feel her close but busied himself tearing the towel into strips and wrapping her hands. She winced with the movement but didn’t make a sound. Ty appreciated her silence. He would have to look at her if she spoke—and if he did, he wouldn’t be able to think. Why did this girl he’d known such a short time cause him to question his commitment to the woman he’d loved for most of his life?

              He could have taken Anna in his arms this very day, in the home they were destined to share, and no one would have questioned their embrace. Anna had invited his arms and would have welcomed his lips. He was free to declare his love with all the words of endearment he could imagine. Anna was, after all, his betrothed. And she wore his ring to prove it. The same diamond and ruby circle of promise his mother wore from the day his pa asked her to marry him.

              But what if Ma could know Robin? If she could help him choose, who would it be?

              He finished tying the bandages then took her hands. “You haven’t said you would forgive me.”

              Her gaze met his. “I forgive you.”

              Ty took a deep breath. “Robin . . . if we had more time—if things were different—would you give me another chance?”

              Robin shook her head. “Time is not something either of us can promise. Any chance that might have been ours ended when Anna returned wearing your ring.” Her smile belied the sadness in her eyes.

              Ty touched the dimple at the corner of her mouth.

              One small circle of gold and jewels and a promise that threatened to become a noose.

              One small indentation at the corner of lips he had no right to claim, and a promise he was not free to make.

He groaned
.
You are in so much trouble, Ty Morgan.

SIXTEEN

              “Why in granny’s name didn’t ya come get me?” John barked, while he unwound the strips of toweling from Robin’s hands
.
What was the guy thinkin’ anyway
?
He weren’t thinkin’ as far as he could tell.

              Ty stuck his hands in his pockets. “You were the one who told me not to let her come in until we talked.”

              John discarded the last bandage and examined Robin’s hands. “And I suppose you would’ve talked ‘til the blood quit runnin’ if you’d found her bleedin’. Go in the cupboard by the sink and bring me that squatty little green jar sittin’ on the shelf.”

              “You have medicine?”

              “Shore, I got medicine, but it ain’t gonna do a lick of good sittin’ on the shelf and you a standin’ with your hands in your pockets. And bring me some fresh water when you come and another towel.”

              “I’m sorry, Uncle John. I don’t want to be such a nuisance.” Robin winced as he applied a wet cloth to her hands.

              “Pshaw, child. Ain’t nobody worth their salt what hasn’t had blisters on their hands. I jist wish you’d a come in when they commenced hurtin’.”

              He blotted her hands dry and applied the salve from the jar. “Whooee, but this stuff does stink. Doc calls it goose grease. It’s his own concoction. Supposed to be good for anythin’ what ails a person.” He laughed when Robin screwed up her face. “Told you it stank, didn’t I?”

              Ty’s nose wrinkled, too. “How’d you come by this? I don’t remember having anything like it at our house.”

              John wrapped clean bandages around his niece’s hands. “Abe Mercer and me been friends since he come a ridin’ into Cedar Bluff nigh on thirty years ago, lookin’ for somewhere to hang his brand-new shingle. He’s never been content to deliver babies and take out splinters. Nope. He sees himself as the one man what might someday be famous for findin’ a cure for everything.” He screwed the lid back on the jar. “This here stuff probably comes about as close as he’ll ever get. Course, far as I know, me and Abe are the onliest ones to have any of it.”

              “You’re sure it’ll work? What if she gets infection?”

              “Well, I used it on foot rot on my milk cow—and it got better. Even tried it on a bald spot and doggone if it didn’t grow hair.” He winked at Ty. “I’d say it’ll take care of these blisters right fine.”

              Ty grinned. “I’m almost sorry I asked.”

              John shuffled to the cupboard and retrieved a bottle of brown liquid. “Here, Robin. You take a swig of this. It’ll help take the sting right out of them hands. Help ya sleep, too.”

              “Is it liquor?” Robin frowned.

              “Don’t keep liquor around here. This here is laudanum. Good for pain.”

              “I’d like to clean up first, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to crawl into bed like this.” Robin stood. “Being clean will help me sleep.”

              John slapped his forehead. “Jumpin’ bullfrogs, girly. Never gave that a thought. You can’t be gettin’ them hands wet. How you gonna wash yourself? Why, I don’t reckon you can even get out of them duds without help. And there ain’t nobody in this house what can help ya, neither.”

              Robin slumped back into the chair. “I can’t stay like this.”

              Ty stepped forward. “I could ride into Cedar Bluff and get Emma.

              John shook his head. “Makes more sense to put Robin in the buggy and take her to town. Can’t expect Emma to close the mercantile but reckon she’d have room for an extra body for a few days.”

              Robin fidgeted in her chair. “I can’t leave Jacob.”

              “Never gave that a thought.” John scratched his head. “Reckon Emma wouldn’t mind if we was to take him along.”

              Ty sat across from Robin. “Don’t wake him. I’ll take Jacob to the Hawk with me until you’re able to care for him. He prayed tonight I would teach him how to ride a horse.” He grinned.

              Robin’s forehead wrinkled. “But would he be safe, Ty? I thought you had questions about Sam Mason.”

Ty shrugged. “Sam won’t hurt the boy. And if there is a connection then maybe it would be a good thing to find out what it is. We can’t claim Jacob for a son until we know he doesn’t belong to anyone else.”

              John cleared his throat. “Didn’t know ya was plannin’ on claimin’ him for a son. Can’t hardly be a son to the two of you if one of ya is plannin’ to marry up with someone else, now can he?”

              Ty’s face flushed. “I spoke out of turn, John. I’m sorry.” He stood. “I’ll take good care of him, Robin.”

              “Does Jacob have clean clothes to take along?”

              John puffed his chest. He was downright proud to tell this little lady he’d done everything he was supposed to do. And with luck, the boy wouldn’t tell her about the white shirt that changed color when he washed it with the britches.

              “Done took care of it, missy. Exceptin’ for your . . .” He leaned toward her. “Well . . . some of you
r
persona
l
things. Didn’t seem right to let the boy see me handlin’ them so stuck ‘em back to wait for you,” he whispered.

              “And you expect me to take dirty clothes to Emma’s?” Robin’s voice shook.

              “Now, don’t you go a tearin’ up again. I’ll tell Emma to give you anything you be needin’ and I’ll take care of it later. Don’t ya fret no more about such things. Ty can figure out what the boy needs hisself.”

              “I’ll hitch up the buggy for you, John. And, Robin, don’t worry. I’ll stay the night here, and we can go over to my place in the morning. You let those hands of yours heal.”

              John followed Ty onto the porch. “Did the two of ya ever talk, like I said?”

              “We talked.”

              “And . . . ?”

              “We talked, John. That’s all I can say.”

             
“
Humph
.
Well, the way she was a lookin’ at you, when you was a flappin’ about claimin’ Jacob for a son, there was a whole lot you didn’t say.”

###

John’s words echoed through Ty’s mind as he climbed the steps to check on Jacob. He and Robin never talked about making Jacob their son. What caused him to make that kind of statement? What must she think?

              And what about Anna? Her response to Jacob didn’t leave much hope she’d be open to the possibility of becoming a brid
e
an
d
a mother. But then, he could never take Jacob away from Robin anyway.

              He peeked into the boy’s room. Jacob lay on his tummy, with his rump in the air, sound asleep. Ty smiled. The boy resembled one of John’s jumpin’ bullfrogs in that position. Did the tyke ever wake up in the middle of the night? If he did, would he call for Robin? Maybe he should sleep close by.

              The door to the room across from Jacob’s stood open, he had only to take one step inside to know it was Robin’s. He backed out. It just didn’t seem right for him to be in there. There was a closed door at the end of the hallway. It would put him farther away from the boy, but he doubted he’d sleep anyway. He’d hear him if he called. He had to push against the door to get it open, and his heart sank. Enough moonlight shone through the bare windows for him to tell John used this room for storage. Though he could make out a bedframe, there was no way of knowing if it held a mattress. If so, it was piled high. There’d be no placed to stack the stuff if he did try to uncover it. There wasn’t even room on the floor to stretch out. He closed the door and leaned against the wall. Proper or not, what choice did he have? But it was only a bed. She wouldn’t be in it—she wasn’t even in the house or on the ranch. And Jacob would no doubt check there first if he needed someone. He took a deep breath then crossed the threshold into her room.

              He lit the small lantern on the bedside table and sat down to pull off his boots. It had been a long day and it would feel good to stretch out. And he’d work hard to put out of his mind who might be lying beside him. The flame flickered as the breeze rustled through the open window and sent shadows dancing on the wall. A small rocker in the corner by the window held a blue and yellow quilt, and a picture on the table revealed images of three young girls—probably the Wenghold sisters. He reached for the picture. Could he recognize Robin? A gust of wind billowed the lace curtains when he lifted the framed photograph from the table and an envelope fluttered to the floor.

              Ty studied the picture and smiled. Robin stood on the left, a rag doll draped over one arm and a large bow balanced on the top of her head. But the dimple at the corner of her mouth made positive identification easy. He leaned to replace the frame and retrieve the envelope.

              Was it against the law to read the address? Or the return? If so, he was in big trouble
.
Mr. William Arthur Benson, III
.
His heart lurched. Robin had received mail from a man? The postmark read Chicago. An old beau? Th
e
friend frien
d
? Perhaps the notice printed on the back of Jacob’s picture was posted long before Robin ever set foot on the Feather. Was this William Benson someone who’d answered the ad? Someone interested in Robin as a wife? Why should this bother him so? He had a fiancée.

              He paced the room, reading and rereading the return address. The guy must be mighty important to have his own printed stationery. His name was even printed larger and darker than the rest. He slapped the paper against his hand. Oh, but he wanted to see what this fella had on his mind.

              He shoved the envelope back under the picture and blew out the lamp, then slipped across the hall to check on Jacob. He couldn’t go back into Robin’s room with that letter screaming to be opened. He had never been so tempted to deliberately go against his upbringing.

              Jacob lay sprawled on his back, one arm slung across his face and one leg tangled in the sheet. What if this Benson guy took Robin and the boy back to Chicago? Could he let them go? Without a fight? He bent to straighten the covers, and the boy’s face split into a grin.

              “I fooled you, didn’t I? Did you think I was sleepin’?” Jacob sat up and crossed his legs. “I play lots of tricks on Robin. Is she gonna tell me good night?”

              “Yes, you did fool me, buddy. And no, Robin isn’t coming up tonight. She hurt her hands cleaning the barn, and John took her in to Mrs. Ledbetter’s. I’m going to stay here with you until morning then take you to my place tomorrow. Would you like that?”

              Jacob’s forehead puckered. “Is she gone forever, like my other mama?”

              “No, no, little man. She’ll be back when her hands are healed. Mrs. Ledbetter will take real good care of her.” Ty smoothed the covers. “Now, you lie down here, and this time shut those eyes for real.”

              “My eyes aren’t sleepy. Why do little kids have to go to bed before big peoples?”

              A growl from beneath the open window sent a shudder down Ty’s spine. In a flash, Jacob jumped from the bed and pulled back the curtains. “Tripper! Here, Tripper! I knew you’d find me.” He ran from the room and Ty followed, taking the steps to the kitchen two-at-a-time.

              “Jacob. Stop.” He caught the boy as he reached the kitchen door. “Get back in here, son. You don’t know who or what is out there.”

              “I know who it is. It’s ole’ Tripper.” Jacob fought against Ty’s arms. “Let me go.”

              “No, you’re not going out there alone. Calm down and I’ll go with you, but not without a lantern.” The bark persisted until they stepped onto the porch. Ty held the light in front of him with one hand and grasped the boy’s wrist in the other. The small flame revealed a medium-sized dog only a few feet from where they stood.

              Boy and dog faced one another without a sound. Jacob trembled and Ty pulled the boy closer. Obviously there was something familiar, yet child and beast seemed hesitant to breach the distance that separated them.

              A whistle from the shadows beyond the porch broke the eerie silence. The dog turned and trotted toward the sound, then gave one last look over its shoulder, whined, and disappeared into the night.

              Ty peered into the darkness and tightened his hold on Jacob. Who was out there? He didn’t dare leave the boy alone to investigate, nor could he take him on what might be a dangerous chase. How stupid. He hadn’t even grabbed a gun before running onto the porch. So much for promising to take care of the little man.

              Jacob wrenched away from Ty and shuffled back into the kitchen and up the stairs.

              Ty followed and watched as the boy crawled into bed and turned his face to the wall. Ty sat on the edge of the bed. “Was that your dog, Jacob?”

              He sniffed.

              “Can you tell me who might have been out there with him?”