The Christmas Journey (7 page)

Sounded like someone she’d get along fine with. “How often do you see them?”

“Two, three times a year.”

It was like wresting a bone from a dog to get any information out of him. Did he hurt too bad to talk? Or did he just not like the questions she was asking? “Tell me about the ranch.”

“Hawk’s Creek? It’s just north of Tyler. Covers about six hundred acres all told. My family raises some of the finest Hereford stock around. Not to mention cutting horses.”

There was an unmistakable touch of pride in his voice. Sounded like he still had a fondness for the place. “So how did you end up going to law school?”

“Long story.”

His voice was getting deeper, his words dragging. She had to keep him alert. “Seems we’ve got nothing but time. Talk to me.”

“My grandfather’s a lawyer and prominent member of Philadelphia society. Mother was his only child.”

He paused and she leaned against him briefly. She could almost see him pull himself back together.

“She was the apple of his eye,” he continued. “He didn’t like it much when she up and married my pa and moved to Texas. Took it even harder when she died without ever moving back.”

“And?” she prodded, placing her hand on top of his at her waist.

“Grandfather always wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. The year I turned sixteen, he asked my father to send one of us boys up to Philadelphia to spend a few months with him. Truth be told, I think Pa felt guilty over having deprived Grandfather of his daughter. Whatever the reason, he agreed.”

“And you volunteered.”

“It was only supposed to be for the summer.”

That sounded almost defensive.

He shifted but his hand never moved from her waist. “When summer was over, Grandfather wanted me to accompany him on a trip to Boston. When we returned he needed help researching a major case. Then he wanted to show me his lodge up in
the Adirondacks. The entire fall stretched out that way, one ‘one more thing’ after another, and it was Christmas before I made it home.”

The offhand, almost resentful way he cataloged his travels, as if he’d just taken a not-too-enjoyable walk around the block, flabbergasted her. She’d give her eyeteeth to have such an experience. “Sounds like he went all out to give you a taste of what your mother’s world had been like.”

“I never thought of it that way.” He seemed to ponder on that a moment before he went on. “Anyway, before I left Philadelphia, he asked me to consider returning to attend the university and perhaps enter law school. It was hard to leave because I knew he was lonely and that in a way I was a tie to his daughter.”

“Is that the only reason you went back?” Surely life in a big city like Philadelphia would have spoiled him for something as simple as life on a ranch.

“Things had changed while I was away. Pa relied more on Griff to help run the ranch. Sadie was growing into the lady of the house. Pa spent more time with his work than with the family. Everything appeared to be running smoothly without me.” He shifted slightly. “I just seemed like more of an outsider there than I had at Grandfather’s.”

Much as Jo wanted to get away from Knotty Pine and see the world, there was something sad about his story. Family was so important. No wonder he hadn’t answered when she asked which place he called home.

“Don’t know why I just told you all that,” he said gruffly. “Must be woozier than I thought.”

“Is your pa still around?”

“No. He died two years ago. Griff runs the ranch now.”

Did he resent his younger brother for stepping in to the oldest son’s role? Or was he relieved not to have that burden?

They rode in silence for a while. Jo figured as long as his grip on her waist was firm enough he wasn’t in any danger of drifting off.

And it definitely was firm, though not uncomfortably so. At least not in the usual sense. His hold wasn’t the least bit inappropriate. He merely used her to steady himself. He’d have held onto a sack of flour the same way. Even so, something about the near-embrace made her feel safe, secure, protected in an almost intimate kind of way. She’d never experienced such feelings before.

She’d always done her best to discourage any thoughts the men in Knotty Pine might have of walking out with her. After all, she had big plans to travel some day, and marriage would only get in the way. She needed wings, not roots.

Not that the menfolk had lined up to come courting. She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman men looked for in a wife. Too outspoken and independent, she supposed.

Funny, though, how that didn’t seem to bother Mr. Lassiter…

She gave her head a shake, not comfortable with where that line of thought might lead. Time for more talk and less thinking. “So nowadays you spend most of your time in Philadelphia? Do you get to travel to other places?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like where?”

“There’s that hunting lodge in the Adirondacks my grandfather owns—we spend several weeks a year there. And I’ve been to most parts of New England at one time or another.”

“Ever been to another country?”

“Once.”

His one word answers were less than informative. “Where to?”

“Greece.” He seemed to be speaking with an effort. “A client hired me to check on some legal aspects of an estate he’d inherited there.”

Greece! She had a world map in her room, one of her dearest treasures. On it were pins marking all the interesting-sounding places various travelers had told her about. This was the first one from Greece. “The good Lord willing, I aim to do my own share of traveling some day.”

“Is that so?”

She hadn’t realized she’d voiced that thought aloud. No shame in it though. “Yep. Just as soon as Danny’s old enough to take care of the livery on his own I plan to set out and see as much of the world as I can.”

“By yourself?”

“Sure. Other women have done it. Look at Ida Pfeiffer and Nellie Bly and Isabella Bird. And my own Aunt Pearl.”

“If any woman can, you…”

The slurred words drifted into something incoherent as his grip on her waist slackened.

“Mister!” She grabbed his hand. She had to keep him on this horse.

If he slid off there’d be no getting him back up.

T
he sharp command jerked Ry back to consciousness. There had been more than a warning in her voice, there’d been worry edged with outright desperation. And it was his fault.

On top of everything else on her plate right now she had to worry about keeping him on the horse as if he were some toddler astride his first pony.

“Sorry. I’m okay now.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

“Lean against me if you need to. Just don’t you dare fall off this animal.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ry found himself amused by her military general attitude. And also touched by her courage.

But he refused to let himself take advantage of her generosity any more than absolutely necessary. He’d keep himself upright under his own steam as long as possible. And he offered up a prayer that his “steam” would last long enough to get them where they were going.

“Tell me about this Aunt Pearl of yours.”

“She was a really colorful woman. Spent most of her life as the personal companion to an opera singer. The two of them traveled all over the world and met lots of exciting people.”

“Sounds like an interesting life.” He tried to focus on her words, anything to keep the blackness at bay.

“Oh, it was. Aunt Pearl was fifty-one when Madame Liddy passed on, and she came to live with us. I was six at the time and used to spend hours listening to her stories.”

She gave a selfconscious laugh, a surprisingly feminine sound that brought a smile to his lips.

“Aunt Pearl used to say she saw herself in me. Made me promise to not let myself get locked away in Knotty Pine, at least not until I’d tasted what the rest of the world had to offer.”

“How old were you when you made the promise?”

“Eight. But I never forgot it. And I’m going to do it someday, too, even if it takes me another fifteen years to work out the hows and wherefores.”

“I believe you.” And he did.

They rode in silence for a while. Or maybe she did some talking. But his efforts were now wholly focused on staying upright and he didn’t have room to pay attention to anything else.

Twice more he caught himself as he slumped forward. The third time she halted the horse and stared at him over her shoulder. The worry in her eyes cut as deep into him as any blade.

“I hope you’re a praying man, Mister, ’cause we need some help from the Almighty to get us the rest of the way home.”

She chewed on her lower lip a moment then seemed to come to a decision. “I have to climb down to take care of something. If you can hold steady for just a bit, you can lean over the horse’s neck as soon as I’m out of the way. Think you can manage?”

He nodded, then wished he hadn’t. The world spun dizzily.

“Okay, we’ll do this nice and easy.” She moved his hand
from her waist and he suddenly felt set adrift. But before he could flounder, her voice came to him from somewhere in the vicinity of his knee.

“Just lean forward. That’s right, all the way. Take hold of the mane with your good hand.”

Her tone was soothing, her words mesmerizing. Before he knew it, his chest rested against the horse’s neck. It was a relief to let the tension ebb away, to not worry about burdening her with his weight or inadvertently taking ungentlemanly liberties. If he could just rest here for a few minutes, he should be able to hold himself together for another go at this when she mounted up again.

Ry tried to pry his eyes open, but they weren’t cooperating. He couldn’t seem to get his bearings, and was having trouble telling up from down.

How long had he been out this time? Couldn’t have been too long—he could still feel the heat of the sun beating down on him, scorching him all the way to his core. Where was that cool breeze when he wanted it?

He could feel the movement of the horse, hear the plodding of its hooves. At least he’d managed to stay astride.

It was so hot! This felt like a Texas summer, not fall. “Water.” The word came out as a raspy croak. Right now he’d give every bit of cash in his wallet for a sip of cool liquid.

“Try to hold out a little longer. I promise you can have all the water you want as soon as we reach town.”

Startled, he realized the voice hadn’t come from in front of him. Why hadn’t he realized before now that he was still slumped over the horse’s neck?

He managed to open his eyes enough to see Josie walking beside the horse, one hand on his thigh to steady him.

How long had she been walking? Had she ever intended to remount in the first place? He tried to sit up. “What are you—”

“Settle back down. You’ll get that arm to bleeding again and I’ve run out of bandages.”

Ry fought the returning blackness, tried to protest, but the words came out as garbled nonsense. He shut his eyes, pushing back the molten darkness swirling about him, trying to gather both his strength and his wits, focusing on the feel of her hand on his knee. The heat was sapping what little energy he had left.

He wanted—needed—to convince her to get back on the horse, but his mind couldn’t form the right words.

“That’s it,” she said. “Just concentrate on staying up there. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall. Why, we’ll be back to town before you know it.”

Her words turned into a pleasant buzzing, then nothing. For a time—he couldn’t say if it was minutes or hours—he battled the boiling current, surfacing into a sort of smoke-filled awareness before being ruthlessly tugged back under.

He was so hot! He felt like the rich man of the parable, locked in torment, pleading for Abraham to send Lazarus to slake his thirst. Was that it? Was this punishment for his failings?

No, he wasn’t totally lost. Mercy had been granted. Someone was there, someone with calloused but curiously gentle hands, trickling liquid through his parched lips, wiping his brow with a cool cloth, providing relief until the next wave of searing darkness swallowed him again.

At one point Belle drifted in through the haze. He tried to reach for her, tried to apologize for not getting to her sooner. But no matter how hard he fought to reach her, the current tugged at him, held him back, and she stared at him with pleading eyes until the haze swallowed her again.

Through it all, those calloused hands and the sound of Josie’s
voice became his lifelines. Not that he understood much of what she said, but he knew when she was there and clutched at those moments of sanity. Sometimes her tone was soothing and gentle, other times it was coaxing or scolding. He even thought he heard her exhorting the Almighty on his behalf.

Finally the boiling eased, the current cooled and he floated aimlessly for a while. When the darkness came again, it approached as a friend, ready to wrap him in a blanket of peaceful sleep.

Ry roused reluctantly, trying to burrow back into the blessed painlessness of sleep. But his parched throat protested, urging him to full wakefulness.

He wasn’t on the horse any longer. Instead he was lying on a nice comfortable bed. Where was Josie? Had she made it back okay?

He missed the nearness of her that had been his lifeline on that long nightmarish ride—the warmth of her hand on his at her waist, the earthy scent of her that had invaded his senses, the feel of her hair as strands fluttered back to tickle his face. And finally the comforting hand at his knee, connecting him to her, assuring him he was in good hands.

A rustling sound drew him back from his drowsy state. He couldn’t see anyone, but it had to be his dictatorial rescuer.

“Water.” Had that croak really been his voice?

“Goodness, you gave me quite a start.”

Though definitely female, it wasn’t the voice he’d expected. Ry pried his eyes open to find an apron-clad woman standing over him with a soft smile on her face.

Nope, definitely not Josie.

“It’s so good to see you finally awake. And calm.”

What did that mean? Vague images returned to him, images that he hoped were merely dreams. “Miss Wylie. Is she—”

“Don’t you go getting all stirred up. Jo’s just fine.”

“I must have passed out again. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about how I got here.”

“I’m not at all surprised. Why, by the time the search party found the two of you, you were burning up with fever. You certainly gave us quite a scare.”

Where exactly was “here?” Had he been dropped off at a farmhouse along the road back to town? “I’m sorry, Miss…”

“Collins. Cora Beth Collins. And it’s Mrs.” She reached for the pitcher on the bedside table and poured a glass of water. “I’m Jo’s sister.”

This was Josie’s
sister?
He’d gotten the impression the livery owner was the provider for her household, that her sister would be younger, like Danny. But this woman appeared to be the older of the two by several years.

Mrs. Collins propped some pillows behind his head and then put the glass to his lips, cutting off any further questions. She, on the other hand, seemed quite happy to chatter on.

“I can’t tell you how thankful we all are for the way you saved our Jo. You’re a true hero.”

Ry choked, sputtering precious drops of water.
Hero.
Didn’t the woman know he was the one who’d actually put her sister in harm’s way? And what all she’d endured to get him back to town?

Mrs. Collins dabbed his chin with a napkin. “I apologize if I was giving it to you too fast. Let’s try that again, but slower this time.” She held the glass to his lips again.

“After all that thrashing about,” she continued, “I imagine you’re hungry as a bear in springtime. But don’t you worry none. I’ve got a nice pot of broth simmering on the stove and I’ll fetch you a bowl just as soon as I leave here.” She lowered the now empty glass, finally giving him a chance to speak.

“Your sister—” A fit of coughing sent a bolt of fire through his arm, making it impossible to finish his question.

His nurse-hostess made soothing noises and patted his hand until the coughing subsided. “There now,” she said when he finally got his breath under control, “don’t push yourself too much just yet.” She set the glass down and straightened. “As for Jo, she’s all right—thanks to you. Bruised up a bit, but she’s not letting that slow her down.”

Mrs. Collins smoothed the coverlet. “Speaking of Jo, I’d best send word you’re awake. She’s been worrying over you no end.”

Disjointed memories surfaced again. Vague impressions of someone demanding he not be such a “pigheaded fool” and quit trying to get up because he’d fall flat on his face and how it would just serve him right if he did. He could venture a guess as to who’d delivered that acerbic advice.

His hostess stepped back. “You rest up for a bit while I fetch that broth.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Collins. I certainly appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

“Glad to do it. After all, you were there for Jo when she needed you.”

Her words brought back another memory. How could he have forgotten? “I need to send a telegram.”

“Of course. After I fetch your broth—”

“No, this is important.” Her expression told him his words had come out too harsh, too abrupt. He fought to moderate his tone. “I’m sorry, but I must send word right away so the person I was traveling to see will know what happened.”

Her expression changed into one of concern. “Of course. Your friend must be very worried. I’ll fetch a pencil and paper right away.”

“Thank you.” Ry settled against the pillows and closed his
eyes, but not to sleep. His racing thoughts wouldn’t allow it. Had Belle given up on him, decided he’d let her down?

“Well, now, don’t you look all comfy.”

He opened his eyes to see Josie standing in his doorway, shoulder propped against the jamb. How long had she been there?

Wondering how much of his vague memories were real and how much a mere dream, he shifted uncomfortably. “Your sister’s a good nurse. Hope I haven’t been too much trouble.”

A flash of emotion flickered in her eyes then disappeared. “Don’t worry about Cora Beth. She’s happiest when she has someone to fuss over. And I’m afraid I don’t play the part of patient near well enough to satisfy her.” She pushed away from the jamb. “Won’t find a better mother hen anywhere in the county.”

She crossed the room, holding up the paper and pencil she’d brought with her. “I just came in from the livery to check on things and Cora Beth said you were in an all-fired hurry to get a telegram sent off.”

“Yes, I—” He frowned as he noticed the way she favored her right leg. “Should you be up and about?”

Her glare was fierce enough to stop a charging bull. “Don’t you start in on that. I have enough with Cora Beth nagging at me until I’m about ready to move out and set up camp in the livery.”

He sympathized with her sister if this was an indication of the kind of patient Miss Wylie made. “At least it appears your temper hasn’t suffered any ill effects.”

She grinned. “Sounds like yours is recovering too.”

Another allusion to the fact that he might have been less than docile while he was out. “What time is it?”