A Cowboy at Heart (12 page)

“What?” Involuntarily, Jesse sat upright in the bed and immediately regretted it. Sharp pains exploded in his shoulder and vibrated through his lungs. He collapsed against the feather tick, weak and gasping shallow breaths.

She chided him with a stern stare that would have made
Maummi
Switzer proud. “Be still, lest you tear your stitches and undo all the good five days of healing have done.”

“He can’t give up,” Jesse protested when he was able to get a breath. “Why would he let that swaggering rooster rob him out of his land without even putting up a fight?”

Katie tilted her head sideways and spoke patiently, as though to a child. “Did not our Lord say,
Und so jemand mit dir rechten will und deinen Rock nehmen, dem laβ ach den Mantel
?”

Jesse had grown accustomed to Emma and Rebecca’s habit of lapsing into
Deutsch
, as they called it. Many a time he’d come into the house to hear them chattering away in the language they had spoken growing up. So far he hadn’t managed to pick up a single word. “You want to tell me what that means?”

Her eyes went distant for a second. “It means if a man takes your coat, give him your cloak as well.”

True, he wasn’t as familiar with the Good Book as Colin, but personally he’d have trouble with that particular commandment. And speaking of commandments, didn’t it say somewhere that stealing from your neighbor was against the law? He started to mention the contradiction but changed his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a Bible-spouting spat. Only a fool showed up at a fight armed with a single bullet.

Instead, he consoled himself by replying, “Well, soon as Jonas gets up I want to speak to him.”

Katie’s response was to offer another spoonful of broth.

“Hey,
Maummi
Switzer said something about a boy here to help out.”

Her face brightened, and he was struck again by how pretty she was, with those soft cheeks and thick dark lashes surrounding round eyes. Twin candles, reflections from the one on the table, flickered in the dark depths.

“Butch is a hard worker. He has taken over many of
Maummi
Switzer’s chores without a whisper of protest.” She lowered her hands, still holding the bowl, into her lap. “That is a good thing, for she refuses help from most, though she needs it.”

Jesse started to protest that he was still hungry for more soup
but then realized his stomach was feeling full, almost uncomfortably so. Then her words registered.

“What do you mean, she needs help?” Concern for the old woman rose in him. “Is she doing poorly?”

Katie glanced over her shoulder before leaning forward to speak in an even quieter voice than she had been using. “I grow concerned about her heart.”

“Oh, that.” He forced a laugh. “She’s been complaining about her heart for years. It’s a ploy she uses to get her way.”

The troubled lines did not leave her forehead. “It may once have been a ploy, but no longer. She is not a young woman.”

The idea of
Maummi
Switzer reduced to an elderly invalid was so disturbing Jesse refused to consider it. Still, once he was up and around, he’d be sure to lighten her load somehow.

Katie leaned toward the floor to set the bowl down, and then lifted the tray and rose. “You will sleep now. In the morning perhaps you may have bread with your broth.
Schlofa
.” A quick smile. “That means
sleep good
.”

“Hey, wait. Stay and talk some more. I’m not sleepy.”

But he was surprised at how feeble his protest sounded. And when had his eyelids grown so heavy? He could barely keep them open long enough to see her knowing smile before she picked up the candle and left the room.

Katie slipped through the door into the chilly night air. She paused for a moment to breathe in the cool fresh scent of Kansas
at midnight, her lungs filled with the scent of soil, growing plants, and the sweet apple blossoms that had recently begun to decorate the trees. The ever-present breeze blew across the plains with little force tonight, though the faint memory of the long winter just past raised chills along her arms beneath the sleeves of her dress. She hurried across the grass to the water pump to
redd
up the dishes before she went to bed.

She set the tray beneath the spigot and pumped the handle until water gushed forth across the bowl and mug.
Maummi
Switzer had encouraged her to retire earlier, and she had promised not to wait up too late, but something had told her Jesse would awaken tonight and need to eat. A healer’s instinct, old Martha Hostetler had said before she passed. Katie preferred to think of it as God’s nudges, proof she was doing the work He had given her. Fulfilling a purpose, an important place in the Amish community. Because she was denied the responsibility of raising children, at least He could use her to minister to others.

As she wiped the dishes dry, her thoughts turned to her patient. He was a fine man, but again she’d glimpsed a troubled and violent past. Why else would a man long to fight with another?

Her gaze strayed in the direction of the fence, now hidden by darkness. Certainly she understood the unfairness of the
Englisch
cowman’s theft of Jonas’s land. The injustice rankled deep inside her as well. Truth be told, she understood Jesse’s outrage far more than he realized. She too struggled to comply with the Lord’s directives with meekness and humility, especially when the violent ways of the
Englisch
world clashed with the peaceful Amish. What safety was there in the world when the
Englisch
threatened not only the Amish way of life, but the Amish people themselves? If they would
shoot at each other, would they stop at shooting an Amish man? Or an Amish woman?

The breeze seemed to grow colder, as though it gathered a sinister chill from evil men and carried it toward her and those she loved. She gathered up the clean dishes and headed for the house, her fearful gaze circling the area around her. When she had closed the door behind her, she breathed easier. Here, hidden from prying eyes in
Maummi
Switzer’s peaceful kitchen, she felt safe. The Amish way was, indeed, best. Only by separating themselves from the violence of the wider world could they realize even a small measure of peace and safety. Let the
Englisch
stay on their side of the fence, and she would stay on hers.

Once she had returned the cleaned dishes to their rightful places, she picked up the candle and headed toward the sickroom for one final check on her patient. She tiptoed across the room to stand by his bedside and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. Good. Jesse had slipped into a deep, restorative sleep that would do as much to speed his recovery as the rich broth she’d fed him.

She lifted the candle higher and studied him. In repose his face shed its care and he looked almost childlike. Well, except for the thick growth of stubble that covered his chin and crept up toward high, prominent cheekbones. Another week and his beard would be nearly as full as Samuel’s when they had first married. Samuel had always bemoaned the fact that his beard grew soft and thin, like a youth’s. Not so for Jesse. She tilted her head and examined the well-formed mouth, slack and tender in sleep. Hair covered the space between his upper lip and nose in typical
Englisch
style. With a tentative finger, she hid the mustache from her view
without touching him, her finger so close that warm breath from his nose tickled her skin. If he shaved that small patch of hair, he would make a handsome Amish man.

With a start, she realized the path her thoughts had taken. Jerking her hand away, she hurried out of the room. Lack of sleep had affected her and made her thoughts fanciful tonight. Best to take her own advice and get some restorative sleep herself.

SEVEN

O
w, woman!” Jesse writhed in the bed away from Katie’s ministrations. He ignored the pain in his shoulder, which seemed like a dull ache compared to the fire she’d just let loose on his head. “What in blazes are you trying to do, finish the job those thugs started?”

“I am keeping your wound clean.” She returned his glare with a calm stare.

“It’s clean enough. Leave me alone.”

She was a passel of contradictions standing there beside the bed in her black dress and white bonnet thing—
kapp
, she’d told him it was called—with a folded white cloth in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Like an Amish barmaid, if such a thing existed, which he doubted.

A chuckle came from the doorway where
Maummi
Switzer stood watching the procedure.

Jesse glared at her. “You find this funny, do you? You always did like torturing me.”

Unfazed by the accusation, she returned his glare with a grin while speaking to Katie. “Ever was he a cranky patient. That, at least, has not changed.”

Katie spoke in a firm voice. “Now you must turn over and let me clean the wound on your back.”

He switched his glare to her. “You’re not pouring that stuff on my back.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Where did you get whiskey, anyway?”

She looked at the bottle in her hand. The amber liquid shone richly in the sunlight, about two-thirds full. “Dr. Sorensen left it to clean your wounds.”

“Well, you can forget it. I gave up whiskey a year ago, and that includes pouring it on my body as well as down my throat.”

No answer, nor was there the slightest hesitation on her calm but resolute face. It appeared she intended to stand there until he gave in, even if it took all day.

“Like a small boy, you are.”
Maummi
Switzer clucked her tongue. “Nothing but whining and complaining. Where is the strong cowboy now, I ask?”

He would have shot back a snappy reply if he could have thought of one. Instead, he ignored the jibe and continued to scowl at the liquor-saturated cloth in Katie’s hand. Even if he stuck to his guns, she would simply wait until he fell asleep and then set about doctoring him. Could there be a more unpleasant way to wake up than having your back feel as though somebody had held a live coal to it? With a sullen glance at her calm face, he eased himself over on his left side. Even that minor movement robbed him of breath and set his head to whirling. He was careful not to
move his right arm as she unwrapped the bandage wound around his shoulder and neck, but he grabbed a handful of bed sheet in his right fist and squeezed until he thought the fabric would shred in his grip.

He heard a soft release of breath. “The wound looks much better.”

Was that relief he heard in her voice?

Maummi
Switzer left her post by the door to join Katie. “
Ja
. No red streaks, and the swelling is reduced.”

“There, see?” Jesse groused. “No need to bother with it. Just wrap it back up and let it heal.”

He might as well be speaking to a tree stump. A cool hand touched his shoulder, soft and oddly comforting. “Lean farther, please,” Katie directed. “I would not like to wet the bed with whiskey while I pour.”

“I’ve woken many a morning lying in whiskey.” Not that he was proud of the fact. He sighed and set his teeth together as he obeyed her, awaiting the inevitable pain. When it came, he prided himself on the fact that only a single groan escaped through his clenched jaw. Actually, the stinging on his back wasn’t nearly as severe as on his scalp a moment before.