Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance) (7 page)

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Authors: Pamela BAUER

BOOK: Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)
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“All right,” she finally conceded. “He can stay for one—maybe two—more days. But if I don’t see some sign that there’s a dependable farm hand in that body by then, he’s going to have to leave.”
Gabby nodded and hurried back to the kitchen. Hannah followed reluctantly.
Wood saw the triumphant twinkle in Gabby’s eyes when the two women returned and knew that the old lady had won. Hannah didn’t look as if she wanted to show Wood anything but the door, but she didn’t argue with her aunt who suggested she take him upstairs to the bathroom.
“Maybe you should go get your suitcase,” she said to Wood.
It was Gabby who answered for him. “He doesn’t have one. It probably was put on the wrong bus. For all we know it could be in Wisconsin by now.”
Hannah looked at Wood. “Is that what happened?”
“I suspect Gabby’s correct,” he answered, not missing the eye signals the old lady sent him. He could only guess at what a suitcase was, but it was obviously something he didn’t have, since he had survived the hanging with only the clothing on his back.
“It’ll show up sooner or later,” Gabby said optimistically.
He heard Hannah mumble under her breath, “If he ever had one.”
“And what makes you think I didn’t have one?” Wood countered.
Hannah looked as if she were about to tell him exactly why when Gabby waved a wooden spoon in between the two of them. “Didn’t I say he needs to get cleaned up now or breakfast will be ready? It’ll be no good cold! Now go on. Scoot. The both of you.”
Wood followed Hannah’s brisk footsteps out of the kitchen and down a narrow hallway. As they climbed a flight of stairs, he couldn’t help but notice her derriere. The fabric clung as if it were painted on her skin, her cheeks moving from side to side with each step she took. It was enough of a distraction to cause Wood to stumble.
She had no idea the effect her swaying derriere was having on him until they reached the top of the stairs. Then she shot him a hostile glance.
She led him to a room that was in total darkness until she flipped a switch on the wall. Wood stood in the doorway, staring at the ceiling. The source of the light was a round globe that was similar to the one he had seen in the refrigerator. Everything else in the room was strange looking.
Hannah opened a cabinet and pulled out towels and a bar of soap. She set them on the cabinet’s marble top which had a large indentation in the shape of a seashell.
She put her hand on a metal bar protruding over the seashell shaped basin. “This is going to make a grinding sound when you turn it on.” She demonstrated with a flip of her wrist, and a stream of water flowed out of the pipe accompanied by a sound that was not unlike that of a foghorn.
“It’s noisy but it works.” She stopped the water with another flip of the bar. “The shower’s here or you can take a bath.”
Wood stared in awe at the advances in plumbing that had occurred during one hundred and twenty-two years. Hannah didn’t notice his bewilderment, for she was busy pushing a metal knob that protruded from the back of a white porcelain stool.
“You’ll have to excuse my son. He seldom remembers to flush after he goes,” she said with reddened cheeks.
Wood’s mouth dropped open as the water disappeared down a hole in the bottom of the floor.
This
was a 1998 privy?
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, fidgeting as she waited for him to step aside and let her out of the room, “I’ll leave and you can...” she trailed off.
He tried to move to the side so she could step around him, but as he did bumped his shoulder on a hook protruding from the wall. He grimaced as a piercing pain traveled down his arm.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah demanded.
He clutched his shoulder, rubbing it gently. “My muscles are sore. I suspect from being tied to the bed last night,” he added, although he knew it was more likely the fall from his horse that had made his limbs ache or the beating he had suffered at the hands of the lynchmen.
A light pink flushed her cheeks, and he felt a twinge of guilt.
“Forgive me for teasing you, ma’am. I expect the soreness has more to do with falling off my horse than with your shackles,” he finally admitted, causing her lips to purse.
She opened a drawer, pulled out a small white tube and handed it to him. “This should help. Rub it into the sore area. Think you can manage that?”
“I expect I can.”
“Good.” She moved over to the mirror on the wall and pulled at one of the corners. “This is one of those mirrors that allows you to see the back view as well.”
Wood stepped in front of the glass and saw for the first time why Hannah had looked at him with such uneasiness. Dark stubble hid his jaw, dirt smudged his cheeks, and his hair looked as if he had been sleeping in a haystack. No wonder they had told him to wash up.
As he tilted his head to one side he caught sight of the bruise on his neck. Although the noose hadn’t killed him, it had left an angry, red mark on his throat. Jeremy said Hannah had seen it, which would account for the fear in her eyes—and his being tied to the bed.
“I fell off my horse and got tangled up in some rope,” he tried to explain.
“This horse that you can’t find?”
He nodded.
She didn’t believe his story. It was there in her eyes. “I’d better go see if I can find you some clean clothes.” Her voice quavered ever so slightly as she walked toward the door.
It bothered Wood that she was frightened of him. Never in his life—at least his previous one—had he given a woman any reason to suspect he would harm her. He believed it was a man’s role to protect women, which is why he had nearly died for his sister.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Hannah,” he said to her as she stepped through the doorway.
She turned to look back at him. “I’m not.”
“No?”
“I just don’t trust you.”
“You can trust me.”
She chuckled sarcastically. “Yeah, right. You show up on my farm in some sort of a stupor looking as if you’ve been on a three-day drunk and you expect me to trust you?”
“I haven’t been drinking,” he told her, although he could see she didn’t believe him. “Do you smell any liquor on me?” He moved closer to her and this time she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him.
“Look, Mr. Dumler—”
“Wood,” he interrupted.
“All right, Wood,” she said impatiently. “Since Gabby invited you here, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. But if you give me one reason to doubt that you are an honest farm hand, I’ll show you that door so dam fast your head will swim.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he told her, liking the way her eyes flashed with emotion. Wood thought that for such a small thing, she had a lot of guts. He had a feeling that Hannah Davis could be one passionate woman should she choose to be.
“Then we understand each other,” she said coolly and left.
“Oh, I expect we do,” Wood said on a sigh, then took a survey of the room once more, shaking his head. “This is one fancy chamber pot.” Over and over he “flushed” as Hannah called it. It’s what he was doing when she returned.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“No. Everything’s good.”
Doubt creased her brow. “I found you some clothes. They might be a little small, but at least they’re clean.” She set the garments on the cabinet’s marble top, as well as a narrow brush, a tiny tube with the word toothpaste on it and a pink
T
-shaped object. “The razor might not be sharp enough to cut through that beard of yours.”
Wood deduced that the pink object was a razor. His hand moved to his jaw. “It’s all right. I don’t mind this.”
From her expression he could see that she
did
mind. “I’ll go downstairs and help Gabby. We’ll see you when you’ve cleaned up.” She pulled the door shut as she left.
“Cleaned up?” She made it sound as if he were an old pair of boots that needed to be polished and shined.
He looked again at his reflection in the mirror and shuddered. Even
he
didn’t like the image staring him in the face. Where was the respected banker who had spent the last ten years earning the trust and confidence of the citizens of Missouri? He knew he could wash away the dirt and heal his wounds, but the question was, would he ever become that man again?
As he held up dark blue trousers, he knew he would do whatever was necessary to get back to 1876. Just as he had risked everything to find his sister, he would take whatever chance necessary to return to his old life. Even if it meant he returned to the scene of the lynching.
It was a sobering thought—going back to a place where folks wanted to see you dead. It was enough to make him shudder. He had escaped being unjustly hanged, how could he risk going back?
Because he had no choice. His sister Hannah was there. And she needed him. He had spent most of his life protecting her. He wasn’t about to stop now just because he was in another century. He would travel anywhere—even across time—to find Hannah.
However, it wasn’t his sister but the image of another Hannah who occupied his thoughts as he washed away the dirt and the grime. There had been tenderness in her eyes when she had given him a drink of water. And another emotion when she had untied his hands. An awareness of him. Despite her determination to pretend that she was indifferent toward him, he hadn’t missed the way she had trembled when her flesh had accidentally brushed his.
Until he found a way back to 1876, he would do whatever he could to prove one thing to Hannah Davis. That he was not a man to fear.
 
“SEE, HE’S NOT so BAD after all, is he?” Gabby told Hannah as she set a placemat on the kitchen table.
“He’s not babbling today, if that’s what you mean,” Hannah answered, not wanting to admit that she was thinking along the same lines. Maybe it was because she always had been a softie when it came to wounded animals. And this man definitely needed some TLC. Only she wasn’t going to be the one to give it to him.
“He only looks strange because of his clothes.”
“It’s not just his clothes, Gabby. Do you know I caught him playing with the toilet? He just stood there flushing it, over and over.”
“Maybe it wasn’t working properly,” Gabby suggested. “We’ve never had a plumber out to fix anything. Nearly every faucet in the house drips.” When Hannah opened her mouth to rebut, Gabby clicked her tongue. “You’re not being very fair to him. He might be a very good worker.”
“Gabby, how many times do I have to tell you we don’t need a man on this farm?” Hannah’s voice rose with emotion.
“I hope that doesn’t mean I should go home?” a deep voice called out through the screen door.
Barry Wold, the implement mechanic who helped out with planting in the spring and the harvest in the fall, stood on the porch looking in.
“No, you we need. Come on in, Barry,” Hannah instructed with a wave of her hand.
“What’s up? I thought you two would have eaten breakfast by now,” the young man commented as he hung his hat on a rack near the door.
“We have a guest,” Gabby answered.
“Gabby has a guest,” Hannah corrected. “That’s why she’s cooking. What about you, Barry? Did Caroline feed you enough this morning or would you like a couple of eggs?”
“No more food for me, but I will take some coffee before I go grease those augers.” He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He tossed the county’s weekly newspaper onto the table. “So I take it you two have been arguing about hiring permanent help again.”
“Gabby’s taken the matter into her own hands,” Hannah told him. “We have someone here who wants the job.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it,” he observed.
“I’m not. I think it’s a bad idea.” Her sentiments were echoed in the way she slammed the plate and silverware on the table.
“We need help,” Gabby repeated with a hint of frustration in her voice. “Barry can’t be expected to do all the work, especially not with the new baby coming and all.”
Hannah looked at the younger man. “Is it going to be too much for you?”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about my work here,” Barry said, tugging on an ear nervously.
Hannah could only stare at him in nervous anticipation of what he was about to say.
“Caroline and I are thinking of buying our own place.”
Hannah felt as if the bottom had fallen out of her stomach. Barry was the extra hand she needed to get through harvest each year. Without his help, she wasn’t sure she’d get the job done.
“I’ll be here for harvest, but come next spring, I want to be planting my own acreage,” he told her. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I know how much you count on me to help you.”
Hannah tried to smile, but didn’t succeed. “I understand.”

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