The Texan Page 14

  As though he recognized her plan, Cleary lifted his lower body, pulling his knees beneath him as she circled his belly with her other arm, bringing the bandage fully around him. Aware of the bare skin she leaned against, she felt a blush warm her cheeks. If ever she’d thought of being this close to a man’s body, with only her own clothing as a barrier to his masculine flesh…

  And yet there was no help for it, and it obviously wasn’t bothering Cleary. Again she wrapped the length of bandage around him, and he cursed beneath his breath, a profanity she excused, given the pain she knew her action was causing him.

  “Just once more,” she said quietly. “It has to be tight enough to hold it.” He lifted again and she completed the third circling, then tied the bandage off in a knot.

  “I’m going to try to get you to your bed,” she told him, and was rewarded with a scathing look from dark eyes as he lifted his head and turned it fully toward her.

  “I hate to spoil your plan, sweetheart,” he growled, “but a pillow and blanket here will do just fine.” He rolled halfway to his side, one arm cradling his head. “My bedroom’s at the head of the stairs. I’ll never make it there, not tonight anyway. You’ll have to bring down what I need.”

  Augusta hesitated, then bowed to his determination and, lighting a candle, she left the kitchen to find the staircase leading to the second floor. Near the front door, as she expected, it rose in a half circle and she climbed it quickly, her eyes on the closest door. It opened with a squeak of hinges that needed oil and she entered Cleary’s room. Unease gripped her, as if she had trespassed on his privacy, and she scanned the area quickly.

  It was neat and tidy. Apparently his sloppy housekeeping did not extend to his bedroom. A dresser stood against one wall, a chair beside it. The bed was neatly made, the quilt folded at the foot. She caught a hint of his scent as she scooped up both pillows and grasped the bulky quilt beneath her arm. And scolded herself that she could think of the male aroma he exuded, now when he lay helpless on the kitchen floor.

  Her feet barely brushed the treads as she sailed down the stairs and hurried to the kitchen. On her knees beside him, she lifted his head carefully and slid one pillow beneath it. The quilt unfolded with a snap of her wrists and she covered him, tucking it against his back and across his shoulder. A wisp of hair fell to cover her right eye and she blew at it futilely, then glanced down to find his gaze trained on her face.

  “Thank you, Gussie.” He slid his arm from beneath the quilt and touched the wayward lock, tucking it behind her ear. “Bend down here and kiss me, sweetheart,” he told her with just a hint of pleading in his tone. “I need some loving.”

  Her heart squeezed within her chest and she gave way to his urging. Rising, she lifted the globe from the overhead lamp and blew out the light. The glass chimney settled with a clink of glass against metal and she stepped back to kneel beside Cleary. The extra pillow fit nicely beside him and she carefully tucked her clothing around her as she placed her head beside his.

  “Gussie? I won’t keep you here if you feel you need to go home,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t do anything to put you to shame, you know that.”

  “You won’t,” she answered, lifting the quilt and tugging it to fit over her shoulder. She faced him, the covering tented over them, and her hand lifted to rest against his chest. “I can’t leave you, Cleary. If you should begin bleeding again or if you start a fever during the night, I need to be here with you.”

  “Can you do something for me?” he asked, his voice rasping, as if he swallowed pain and found it hard to digest. “Will you call me by my name? Not around the others, but when we’re alone.”

  “Jonathan?” she asked, her palm flat against him, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. “Can I call you Jon? Has anyone ever…”

  “No one,” he said, the words spoken on a breath that sighed between his teeth. He was silent a moment, then his arm rose from his side to slide to her waist, then to her back, drawing her closer. “Say it again, Gussie.”

  “Jon.” She tasted it in her mouth, knew a moment’s pleasure as she recognized the intimacy of speaking a name none other had given him. “Jon.” Again she whispered it, tipping her chin to look through the darkness to where his face was barely discernible. He was close, close enough to touch and she stretched the small distance to place her lips against his. It was an intimacy beyond the speaking of his name, perhaps a shameless move on her part, yet she could not resist the temptation he offered.

  “Do that again, sweetheart,” he said, his words slurring with the effort to speak.

  And she could not resist his plea. She kissed him again, felt his lips soften and open as did hers. It was a gesture of love, without the heat of passion in the blending of their mouths. It was comfort, an assurance that she would be with him throughout the night hours. And he sighed as she drew away to settle her head once more beside his.

  “We just gotta get married,” he murmured, his voice raw as he moved beneath the quilt. A groan signified his pain was not eased, and Augusta bit at her lip, finally gathering the courage to suggest a solution she’d been trying to put aside.

  “Do you have any liquor in the house?” she asked. “Would a drink ease your discomfort?”

  “Yeah, I expect it would,” he said. “In the pantry, behind the sack of flour, there’s a bottle of whiskey.”

  In moments, she’d poured a dollop into a glass and offered it to him. He lifted on one elbow and she held it to his lips, allowing him to sip it slowly. And then he groaned. “All of it,” he said harshly, and she tilted the glass, hearing him swallow as he drank the final mouthful. “Thanks.”

  They lay beside each other, and Augusta lifted her hand to press against his cheek, then upward into his hair. The need to touch him was almost overpowering, and she bit back tears as she considered how close she had come to losing this man.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked quietly. “About marrying me?”

  “Yeah, I meant it,” he told her.

  “All right.”

  “All right? Just like that?” With a lurch, he attempted to lift again to his elbow, but she halted his movement, shushing him and pressing him back against the floor.

  “As soon as you like,” she said. “When you’re better. When your wound is healed.”

  “Hell, I feel better already,” he said. “Damn, I feel downright—”

  “Miserable, is what you feel, Cleary. Now just close your eyes and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She snuggled close, inhaling deeply of clothing holding the scent of his horse, the leather of his saddle and the clean male aroma of his chest and throat, rising from his skin to tempt her.

  She’d left his trousers undone, so that the bandage would not be bound by the denim fabric, and his skin met her palm as she skimmed it the length of his side. She felt the bandage, deemed it dry and rested her fingers above it, where his hipbone was firm beneath her touch.

  If they married, as she’d promised, she would touch him in just this way every day, anytime she wanted to. And that thought sent a shiver along her spine as he murmured her name against her temple.

  “Gussie…” And then his breathing slowed a bit and he relaxed beside her. A whisper from his lips caught her ear and she held her breath, lest she miss his words. “Tomorrow. Promise.”

  “Yes, tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

  “You’ve really done it now,” Pearl said glumly, standing aside as Augusta packed a basket with food.

  “Really? Because I took care of a man who needed help? And now I’m taking him something to eat?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, girl. You spent the whole live-long night with the man. And I’d be willing to lay odds that more than one of our fine, upstanding citizens saw you leave his house this morning.”

  Augusta reached for the side of bacon and began cutting thick slices. “I walked the back way, and I arrived here at dawn.” She looked up at Pearl, noting the woman’s frown and the con
cern written on her face. “We all do what we have to, Pearl. You should know that as well as anyone. Yes, I stayed with him all night, and I’ll probably stay there all day today. Somehow I have to get him into a bed and change his bandage and get him fed.”

  “There’s a perfectly good doctor right smack in the middle of town,” Pearl said stubbornly. “You could stop by his office and give him the job to handle.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Unless there’s a good reason why nobody’s s’posed to know that your fancy friend got shot in his hindquarters.”

  “Don’t say such a thing,” Augusta told her sharply. “The wound is across his hipbone, not his fanny.”

  “And you’re gonna pull down his britches and put on a fresh bandage, are you?”

  “I put on the first one.” Augusta wrapped the sliced bacon in a dish towel and placed it in the basket, then counted out six eggs and enveloped them in another towel.

  “There’s a fresh loaf of bread,” Pearl said grudgingly. “Bertha baked enough for an army. You might’s well take a loaf along with you. And some butter to go with it.”

  Augusta peered into the basket, surveying her supply of food. “Have Janine carry a jar of soup over on her way back to work at noontime,” she said. “Pearl…there’s a lot I can’t tell you, but you need to know that Cleary is on the up-and-up. He’s an honest man, and even if he can’t explain his actions to us right now, I believe in him.”

  “You got it real bad, ma’am,” Pearl said sadly. “I’d say he’s got you on a short leash, and you’re not even thinking about getting loose, are you?”

  “Well, that’s an interesting way of putting it, I suppose,” Augusta said. She lifted the basket and turned to the back door. “You might as well be the first to know, Pearl. Cleary and I will be getting married before long.”

  “Am I supposed to be surprised? We’ve been thinking that very thing since the first day he showed up here, sweetie. The man settled in for the long haul, right off. I knew he was dead serious.”

  “Well then, you knew a lot more than I did,” Augusta told her with a short laugh. “In fact, I’m still not dead certain how I’m going to get past a wedding ceremony without being totally honest with the man.”

  “I always said you don’t need to tell everything you know, right off,” Pearl said. “It’s a good thing for a woman to have a little mystery about her. Makes a man stick close.”

  “Well, when Cleary hears what I have to tell him one of these days, he may walk out the door and leave me holding the bag.”

  Pearl snorted, laughing aloud. “Not likely. He’s besotted with you, girl. It’d take a team of horses to drag him away from you, once he gets you in bed and puts his mark on you. You don’t stand a chance.”

  “We’ll see,” Augusta said quietly, stepping over the threshold. “I’ll speak to Bertha before I leave. I see she’s out in the garden already.”

  “She’s after a batch of beans for dinner. Honey got real puny looking this morning and Bertha told her to take a lay-down on the bed.”

  The screen door slammed behind her as Augusta stepped from the stoop. She paused to speak with the housekeeper, then walked the back way to Cleary’s house. If she could bring down a mattress, she’d put him in the parlor and then attack his collection of dust and the rest of the cobwebs.

  The mattress slid down the staircase easily, and Augusta released her hold as soon as it was apparent that she might meet disaster should she attempt to guide its downward plunge. Hauling it into the parlor took her breath, but in moments she had it covered with a sheet and the pillow she’d slept on last night.

  In the kitchen, she found Cleary beneath the quilt, grumpy and grimly determined to climb the stairs. “There’s not a reason on God’s green earth why I can’t go upstairs and sleep in my bed,” he told her, shoving the pillow to one side as he sat upright. His face paled with his effort and Augusta knelt beside him.

  “There’s every reason in the world,” she told him. “In the first place, I’ve already toted your mattress into the parlor, and I’m not about to carry it back upstairs.”

  “That probably wasn’t the brightest thing you’ve ever done.” His mouth was set in a mulish pout.

  “No one ever said I was the smartest woman in the world.”

  He looked subdued, reaching for her hand. “I’m not being very nice. Especially not after you took care of me all night.”

  “Especially since I’m going to feed you the best breakfast you’ve had all week, just as soon as I get you out of my way.”

  “I wondered what you brought in that basket.” His eyes closed for a moment and then he looked up at her, and an embarrassed grin touched his lips. “I may not be up to finding out if the preacher’s available today, sweetheart. Maybe tomorrow. Will that be all right?”

  Augusta nodded. “I’m more concerned with getting you into the parlor right now. Help me, Cleary.” With care, he rose, clutching the back of a kitchen chair with one hand, grasping her shoulder with the other.

  A groan escaped his lips as they began the trek, and by the time the parlor doors were behind them, he was clammy with perspiration, trembling as if he had a case of ague and muttering beneath his breath. With a sigh of relief, he lowered himself to the mattress and edged carefully to lie on his side.

  “You going to change the bandage?” he asked, arching a brow as he looked up at her. “If you’re planning on stripping off my trousers, you’d better have at it while I’m still able to help.”

  Her eyes were intent on him as he began the task of sliding his denim trousers down his thighs. “That’s far enough. Just turn a bit more to your side and I’ll cut through the bandages.” She’d gotten to the heavy padding over his wound when a sharp rap on the front door caught her attention. Her sigh was deep, and for a moment she considered ignoring the visitor. Yet it might be important, perhaps Nicholas Garvey come to check on Cleary.

  “Don’t move,” she admonished him. “I’ll see who it is.”

  Outside the beveled glass insert gracing Cleary’s front door stood the figures of a man and woman, starched and prim, meeting her gaze solemnly. She was tempted to turn tail and run, scoot out the back door and make tracks for her house on the other side of Collins Creek. But it was too late.

  A look of disapproval, mixed with disappointment, formed a mask, turning Penelope Young’s face into stone. Beside her, the Reverend Young took a deep breath, his chest seeming to rise to his throat, where a tie was tied firmly in place.

  Augusta opened the door.

  Chapter Nine

  “We’ve come to set a rumor at rest.”

  Well, Augusta thought despairingly, that was clear enough. She forced a smile and opened the screened door, inviting the visitors inside.

  “Gussie, get in here and do your stuff.” From the parlor, Cleary’s voice was impatient, and Augusta closed her eyes, a rare feeling of helplessness enfolding her.

  “Your stuff?” Penelope repeated, her voice rising on the final word, imbuing it with a whole new meaning. “What on earth—”

  “Mr. Cleary really isn’t up to having visitors right now,” Augusta said quickly, moving to shield the open parlor doors from the minister’s sharp gaze.

  “What’s wrong with him? Can I help?” His forehead wrinkling with concern, the man brushed past Augusta’s firm stance and came to a halt beneath the lintel of the parlor door. “Well,” he said uneasily, “I’d say you have a situation here.”

  “I’d be glad to lend a hand,” Penelope said, striding from the open screened door to where her husband stood.

  “Get back, Pen,” he said abruptly, turning to grasp her arms, turning her aside before she could catch sight of Cleary’s bare skin exposed below his waistband.

  Augusta closed her eyes, weaving where she stood. “This isn’t what it appears to be,” she said faintly. “Mr. Cleary has a problem—”

  “I can see that,” Mr. Young said sternly. His steely gaze met Augusta’s eyes just a
s Cleary turned his head toward the door.

  “What the—” Cut off in mid-thought, he glared at Augusta, then in turn at the minister and beyond him to where Penelope stared wide-eyed at the man whose pale skin held a large, rectangular bandage. “Why don’t we just charge admission while we’re at it, Augusta?”

  It was too much. Considering the long night with little sleep, and a mountain of worry keeping her company, then the rush home in the darkness before dawn to find food for Cleary, and change her own clothes, she decided she was worn-out. Now to be faced with the most dignified couple in town, with Cleary’s bottom almost exposed in the middle of the parlor…

  It was indeed too much. Augusta felt the first tears begin their slow slide down her cheeks, and heard Cleary’s choice curse words as he struggled to get to his feet. One hand clutched at the waistband of his trousers, the other leaning heavily on the back of a leather chair, as he stood with dark hair hanging over his forehead, his eyes like black marbles.

  “Don’t you dare cry, Augusta McBride. Tears never solve anything.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, young man.” Penelope’s judgment was stern, her mouth drawn in a firm moue as she faced Cleary. “A bad reputation doesn’t mean much to a man like you, but to Miss McBride it could be the end of her world as she knows it.”

  Cleary stood as upright as he was going to get, at least for now, and his jaw jutted forward as he buttoned the fly of his pants. “Well, I’d say the world as she knows it could be improved upon mightily. Trying to make a home for women who need a champion is a thankless task, as far as I can see, and Augusta is about worn-out, working herself to death for their benefit.”

  “You don’t care about her reputation?” The Reverend Young ran his gaze over the cluttered parlor, where dust and furniture had formed a firm relationship.

  “Of course, I do,” Cleary said. “If I weren’t laid up with this sore hip, I’d have been on my way to the church this morning to arrange for a wedding. As it is, it was handy of you to show up at my door.”