couldn’t she have been met by a man eager to end his solitude? If Frank ever managed to discover her whereabouts, a husband would help put an end to his relentless pursuit.
Mr. Burgess’s refusal to even consider marriage complicated things.
Jane sat playing with her doll at the only table in the room. Like the chairs and kitchen furniture, it was constructed of rough timber. Had he crafted everything himself? The cabin walls were made of shaved logs, the spaces between filled with a mixture of clay and other materials. A loft area ran along the right side. She couldn’t see what was up there because of the half wall running its length. The ceiling rafters soared high above her head, giving the living space an airy feeling. Or perhaps that was due to the limited amount of furnishings. There were only four chairs in the home, each seated around the table. The windows on either side of the massive stone fireplace didn’t have curtains. Neither did the one in the kitchen.
This home—brown, boring and bare—was in desperate need of sprucing up. Grace moved to the mantel and ran a finger along the top edge. Dust coated the surface. She examined more closely a carved wooden replica of a plantation-style house. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Painted white with black shutters flanking the windows, there were four miniature columns along the veranda and chimneys flanking the roofline.
The sheriff had spoken with a slow drawl. Perhaps this was a memento to remind him of his family’s home.
Picking up the tintype she’d seen earlier, she studied the sheriff’s younger image. How handsome he’d looked in his uniform. Or was it his carefree expression that made him seem so different? There was a zest for life and adventure in his countenance that the real flesh-and-blood man lacked. The man she’d met carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
What had he meant by what he’d said? Was he truly so traumatized by his changed appearance that he didn’t feel worthy of marriage? The thought saddened her.
“Momma?”
Replacing the frame with care, she looked up and frowned. Abigail was reclining on the sheriff’s bed again. Sweeping past Jane, she entered the bedroom and sat on the mattress edge, crinoline and skirts billowing about her.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“I don’t feel well.”
Grace tested the warmth of her forehead and cheek. Her skin was hot and flushed. Concern swept through her system. Her quieter daughter wasn’t one to complain.
She smoothed her dark curls. “Does your head hurt? Or your tummy?”
“My head.” Her deep brown eyes bore witness to her misery.
Grace smoothed the alarm from her face to avoid upsetting Abigail. “I’ll get you a drink of water and a cold compress for your head. Perhaps Mr. Burgess has some tea on hand.”
She called for Jane.
The chair scraped across the floorboards. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she clutched her porcelain doll to her chest. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Sit with your sister while I go and locate the well.”
Leaving them in the spacious, utilitarian bedroom, she searched the kitchen for a water pail, discovering a dented tin one on a lower shelf of the long counter opposite the stove.
New worries brewed like a summer squall. Illness, especially in children, could turn deadly in a matter of hours. Did Cowboy Creek even have a qualified doctor? Residing on her mother-in-law’s estate, they’d had access to the finest medical care in Chicago. Here, she was among strangers. She didn’t know Noah Burgess well enough to guess whether he’d have compassion for a sick child or whether he’d force them to remove to the hotel as he’d stated, no matter the circumstances.
Father God, I know You’re probably angry with me. Deception is not something You take lightly. I understand that. But I beg of You, please don’t let this sickness be serious. Please let Noah be sympathetic.
She went outside again, and the heat struck her with more force this time. The air had gone still. She explored the yard and discovered the well behind the house, halfway between it and the stream. The procession of towering cottonwoods and the generous swath of shade they cast called to her, a sheltering oasis on the vast prairie. The entire time she was at the well, she expected to encounter the sheriff. But he was nowhere to be seen.
It wasn’t until she was back inside, arranging a damp cloth on Abigail’s forehead, that he finally showed.
His impatient stride carried him through the cabin. He hovered in the bedroom entrance, gloved hands braced on either side. “I’ve got the wagon out front. Do you have a preference for how the trunks are stowed?”
Straightening, Grace smoothed her hands down the front of her bodice, which seemed to have grown tighter with his arrival. He’d washed the grit from his face, and his hair was damp, rendering it a deeper hue, like pan-heated syrup.
“No preference.”
Nodding, his light blue gaze touched on Abigail huddled beneath the blanket and Jane, who stood on the opposite side of the bed, her demeanor subdued. He inclined his head toward Abigail.
“Something wrong?”
Grace forced herself not to cow before his commanding presence. She wasn’t a docile girl who shattered at a single unkind word or dark glare. Not anymore. She could handle his annoyance.
What if he’s the type to act out his anger? a small voice prodded. Ambrose’s impatience with her had mostly manifested itself in fuming tirades. Occasionally he’d taken her by the shoulders and shaken her until her neck ached and vision swam. Only once had he risen his hand to her.
Shutting out the unpleasant memories, she stiffened her spine. Sure, she wasn’t exactly welcome in his home, but this development was out of her control. Besides, his friend had given him a glowing recommendation. One of the original town founders, Will Canfield was also a wealthy and powerful property owner. Surely he wouldn’t have misrepresented the sheriff’s sterling reputation.
“I believe she has a fever.”
Pushing into the room, he came close and studied her daughter. “What are her symptoms?”
“Her head hurts, and her skin’s dry and hot.”
“Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
His penetrating gaze lifted to Grace. “Has she been in contact with any sick folks?”
“I’m not aware of any. The train car was crowded, but no one displayed outward symptoms.”
Noah’s inspection was shrewd. Did he not believe her? This she wasn’t lying about.
“What about you?” he asked abruptly. “And the other girl?”
He wasn’t asking out of concern for their health, of course. They were a burden to him. A disruption in his ordered life, one he’d been on the verge of getting rid of.
“We’re feeling fine.”
A resigned sigh lifted his broad chest. Massaging the curve between
