Cora Scott was beautiful when she blushed. Forget that. She was just plain beautiful. Not what he should be thinking about, considering he had a girl back in Philadelphia anxiously awaiting his permission to announce their betrothal
“It’s a fine idea.” An invitation with boundaries, opening some doors while closing off others. As sick as he was, maybe his brain would actually listen. “And in light of that, you can call me Ben, and I’ll call you Cora.”
Cora moved aside and frowned as Ben made his way down the loft steps, leaning heavily on the rail. If he got any worse, he might not be able to handle the stairs on his own. She gnawed her lip. He’d get better, wouldn’t he? Now that he had a chance to rest? If he had any thought of working today, she’d send him right back upstairs to his room. As if he would listen.
Had she really told him she wanted him to be her brother? Her neck heated. The man probably thought she was tossed about as a wave. Jumping down his throat and practically tarring and feathering him over his generosity one afternoon, and then the next morning, asking to be his sister… But she was only trying to make right what she’d bungled yesterday. If Jeb trusted this man, she could too.
She stepped inside the open door and set Ben’s breakfast tray on the wobbly table. The room wasn’t anything fancy. Before the war, Jackson and Burke, her father’s two hired ranch hands, had lived up here. Now there wasn’t much, except for a bunk, a rough-hewn table and chairs, a washstand, and a few hooks for clothes. Ben’s bulging saddlebags lay against the wall. Anundershirt poked out of the top of one. His watch, made of shiny silver, lay next to the washbasin.
A breath shuddered through her as she pulled back the blanket that covered the bare straw tick. The upper part was damp, and so was the pillow, almost soaked. Sweat. Fever. Plus his coloring, and the smell.
His ailment went far beyond being tired. What if he had cholera? No telling what he could have picked up in his weeks of travel. She hugged herself, pressing her arms against her apron. He’d come all of this way out of friendship with her beloved Jeb, who had thought of her even when his own life was at an end. Ben was as close as she’d ever get to her brother again, this side of heaven.
Swiping her nose, she turned his pillow over. She’d fetch the linens and make his bed up properly. Fix the room up a bit. After what he’d done yesterday, maybe he didn’t have money to pay room and board in town. Maybe he didn’t have enough money to travel back to Philadelphia. What if his future as well as theirs depended upon making a go of this ranch?
The possibility gripped her as she climbed down the worn stairs. A splinter from the railing poked her index finger. A board creaked beneath her step.
Sandy nickered from her stall, and either Comet or Ben McKenzie’s rented mare responded.
Charlie scraped a shovel across the hard-packed dirt in the back of the stables, mucking out Comet’s stall. The boy loved Pa’s old gelding.
Sandy swung her head, turning her long-lashed dark eyes toward Cora.
“Good morning, girl.” Cora meandered over and rubbed her hand over the sorrel’s nose.
The shovel ceased, and Charlie’s head bobbed over the side of the stall. “I saw Mr. McKenzie. Only, he didn’t say much. Just hurried off to the privy.”
Cora picked up the sheets from where she’d laid them across the railing. “Mr. McKenzie’s not feeling the best. I’m going to tell him we don’t need any help today.”
“But he’s staying?” Charlie skipped over.
“Yes.” A smile flittered across her lips. She’d stayed up more than half the night wrestling with the decision, but for the first time since her mama became ill, she awoke with a heart eager for the sunrise. “For a while, I reckon.” Just as long as Ben could keep it straight about who was in charge here. She needed help, not a boss. She’d had enough of listening to men like her father and waiting, waiting, waiting.
“Oh boy.” Charlie hopped up and down. “Maybe he can take me hunting. I could show him the best spots.”
She ruffled the boy’s hair. “One step at a time, little man. We need to get him well first, and then we’ve got some work to do.”
“Hunting is work. It puts meat on the table. Maybe we’d bring back an antelope or a buffalo.”
The boy needed a man in his life. A man who’d teach him things. Not someone who’d vacillated between ignoring him and treating him like a servant, as Pa had. “A deer would suit me just fine, or even a rabbit. But no asking today. Not until he’s better. You hear me?”
He scuffed his shoe. “I hear you. But tonight I’m going to clean my gun.”
A mouse scurried out of the way as Charlie hurried back to his shoveling. At the stall door, he turned. “Mr. McKenzie’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” A frown clouded his features. “I mean, not like ma and pa.”
Her chest tightened. “Of course.” But what if he wasn’t? “But we should pray for him. And after you finish your chores here,bring me the small hen. We’ll have chicken tonight, and I’ll make Mr. McKenzie some broth.”
The Lord had sent Ben McKenzie here, hadn’t He? Six days before Coffin would have kicked her and Charlie off the place with nothing more than their two horses and buckboard wagon could carry. God had come to her rescue. Surely, He wouldn’t allow Ben to die.
Ben trudged through the mud. Skeleton-like hands grabbed at him. Filthy men dressed in rags crawled toward him. He dodged their grip and ran for the palisade walls.
Andersonville. How did he get back here? He had to get out. The dead line lay ahead. He couldn’t breathe. He was choking. They’d shoot him if he crossed it. A barrel-chested Reb jumped in front of him, bayonet aimed at Ben’s midsection. Ben shoved him out of the way and lunged.
A piercing pain ripped through his gut, the steel tearing his insides. Still, Ben dove, landing on his side, his hand outstretched toward his prize. His fingers closed around the grime-covered laudanum bottle.
No!His cry echoed through his soul.
Thump. Thump. Thump.Ben jerked awake. His heart pounded in his ears. He rolled to his back. A dream. It’d only been a dream. But he could taste the brown liquid. His mouth watered. An ache akin to homesickness washed over him. No. He clenched his hand. He hadn’t survived three-and-a-half weeks of torture to give in now.
