had to dig deep for gratitude. Her child was sick with who knew what, and all he was worried about were the fine people of Cowboy Creek.
Dipping her head to hide her true feelings, she said, “I appreciate your generosity of spirit, Mr. Burgess. We’ll do our best to stay out of your way.”
The widow’s words pricked Noah’s conscience. Generous? Hah. Anxiety and frustration built inside like a cannon about to blow. Grinding his back teeth together, he studied the wee girl.
Her mussed curls were damp, and errant tendrils clung to her neck. She shivered a bit beneath the thick wool blanket. Not a good sign considering the air was hot and stagnant with the windows closed.
He had no idea how to help her. Children in general made him antsy. Sick children made him downright skittish. To his shock and dismay, numerous soldiers had had their wives and children join them. The women had cooked meals and washed and mended uniforms. The children had assisted in these chores, their eyes haunted by the gory sights and sounds of war. One small boy had gotten caught in the cross fire—killed instantly by a stray minié ball.
Noah had steered clear of the lot of them. They’d had no business being there.
Abigail whimpered. Constance adjusted the compress, murmuring reassuring words. Alarm punched him in his midsection. Whatever was ailing the little girl could be serious. And while he hadn’t asked for their presence, they were under his protection for the time being.
“Want me to fetch the doctor?”
Constance’s head snapped up. “There’s one in Cowboy Creek? I wondered... Can you tell me about his reputation?”
“Doc Fletcher set up his practice several years ago. While I personally haven’t needed his services, folks around here have nothing but good things to say about him.”
Her lips pursed as she considered his words. “If she isn’t improved by morning, then I think that would be best.”
He saw the unease and fear beneath her brave facade. She’s far from home. Her expected groom has blasted her plans to pieces. And her daughter is ill. Of course she’s afraid.
As the urge to take her hand and reassure her fought its way to the surface, he backed up a step. Compassion was an unfamiliar emotion, one he’d thought the army had drilled out of him. “I’ll return the wagon to the barn and rustle us up some supper.”
“I can help. Show me what you want me to do.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Noah hadn’t had a decent meal in days. He wasn’t about to let a pampered socialite loose in his kitchen. Constance Miller probably didn’t know the difference between a spatula and an egg beater.
Not giving her a chance to respond, he left the house and tended his team, all the while mentally forming a rebuke that would singe the hair on Will’s and Daniel’s heads. Constance and her daughters shouldn’t be here. If Will hadn’t butted his nose where it didn’t belong, Noah would’ve been able to give the town’s problems his full attention.
The bank heist wasn’t his only concern. There’d been other unsolved crimes in recent weeks. Poisoned cattle. A sabotaged lumber delivery that had delayed construction of several important buildings. An invader in Will’s private quarters at the Cattleman. The Murdoch brothers were a troublesome bunch, bent on getting rich off others’ hard-earned money. But they weren’t all that smart. Noah suspected someone else was behind the town’s troubles. Someone with an agenda.
In the far-left corner, Wolf rested in the straw-strewn dirt, golden eyes tracking his jerky movements. Noah hung the bridles in the tack room.
“We’ve got a fresh set of problems, old boy. The chief one’s name is Constance.”
Wolf’s pointy ears perked up.
“Can you believe she was scared of you?”
The animal’s eyes closed as if in disbelief.
“Crazy, huh?”
Constance’s reaction wasn’t abnormal. Most folks kept their distance from Wolf, which suited Noah just fine. Since the wolf dog accompanied him most everywhere, it meant they kept their distance from Noah, as well.
He forked fresh hay in the horses’ stalls. The damaged skin on his shoulder and upper chest protested the movements. Since his release from the hospital, he’d made a habit of applying honey mixed with lavender to keep the skin soft and supple. Skipping the past several days hadn’t been a good idea.
“One of the twins is sick.”
Wolf blinked.
“Hope it’s nothing serious.” Leaning his weight on the pitchfork, he stared out the double opening to the cabin framed by gently rolling plains. “I thought my scars would disgust them, but they didn’t seem to notice.”
He’d expected Constance to recoil as so many others had upon first seeing him. The first time it occurred had been days after his doctor proclaimed him on the mend and suspended the lead paint treatments. The coverings had been removed, and he’d been allowed a mirror to see his new appearance. Just as he’d been confronted with the monster he’d become, a wife or sister of one of the patients had passed by, taken one look at him and clapped her hand over her mouth. Her horror had seared itself onto his brain.
He’d thrown the mirror to the floor, smashing it to bits, and sunk into a soul-deep melancholy that had lasted for months. If not for Daniel and Will, he might never have left the sick ward.
Striding to the corner stall, he checked on his dairy cow. “Hey, Winnie.”
Twisting her head, she gazed at him with molten brown eyes.
“I see Timothy was here this morning to give you relief.”
He hadn’t had to hire help until getting pinned sheriff. Daniel had suggested his employee’s adolescent son, and Noah had taken his advice. It appeared the boy had done a decent job, but he’d check the springhouse to see if the milk had been stored properly.
The pangs in his stomach became audible. Pushing off the ledge, he left the barn and headed straight for the henhouse. His plans to dine at the Cowboy Café after settling the Millers at the hotel having been thwarted, he’d have to fix something fast and easy. Scrambled eggs and fried ham wouldn’t take but a few minutes. There wasn’t time to make biscuits, but he was sure the blue-eyed girl—Jean, was it?—would like flapjacks.
The thought of little girls and flapjacks had him thinking about his sisters. The three of them had argued over the best way to eat them. Lilly had preferred them smothered with butter and jam. Cara insisted on molasses. The youngest, Elizabeth, wouldn’t eat them unless there were sausage links rolled up inside.
In the henhouse, he tried to push aside thoughts of his family and failed. Lilly, Cara and Elizabeth were no longer little girls. They were in their early twenties now, likely married with children. His parents would’ve aged considerably. Were they well? Struggling due to
