A Home Of Her Own. Keli Gwyn

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       Chapter Six

      Becky took off running. She had to get the fire out. Now.

      “No, Becky! Stop!”

      She froze. Where was the water bucket? If she could find it—

      James grabbed her and gently lowered her to the ground. “Lie still. I’m going to roll you over.”

      She followed his instructions without question, too cold and numb to do anything else. He turned her over twice, stopped and stomped out the last of the flames.

      “Oh, Becky.” He plopped down beside her, pulled her into his lap and rocked her. She didn’t have the strength to resist. Not that she wanted to. Having his strong arms around her helped calm her fears, although being cradled to his broad chest did nothing to slow her racing heart. “Are you all right? Did you get burned?”

      “Yes. I mean, no. See?” She tugged her ruined dress and scorched petticoats to her knees, revealing stockings that were blackened but not burned. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

      She drew in a series of deep breaths. Smoke filled her lungs, setting her to coughing. Pain shot through her. She covered her mouth with one hand and clutched her aching midsection with the other.

      “What have I done?” His voice came out raspy. “Your ribs haven’t even healed yet. I should never have asked you to help.”

      She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t speak. Thankfully the spasms subsided quickly.

      “Here, boss. This help her.” Quon held out a pail of water.

      “Drink, Becky.” James filled a tin cup and pressed it against her lips, sending the soothing liquid down her parched throat. She drank every drop.

      “More?”

      She nodded.

      He dipped the cup into the pail again and brought it toward her, his hand shaking. She placed hers over his, drawing the cup to her mouth. “Thank you, James.”

      Sated, she left the comfort of his arms and stood.

      “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “Back to work.” As soon as she could get her wobbly legs to cooperate.

      He jumped to his feet, restraining her with a firm grip on her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

      “But the trees. If we don’t keep the fires going, you could lose your crop.” She wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let it. Somehow she must fight her fatigue and— She took a step, swayed and reached for him.

      With no warning, he scooped her into his arms and set off for the house at a brisk pace. “Quon and Chung can see to things until I get back. I’m taking you inside. No arguments.”

      Bone-tired, she surrendered without a fight, resting her head against his shoulder. She closed her stinging eyes and succumbed to sleep’s call.

      A familiar voice filled with concern roused Becky. She blinked several times to bring Mutti’s face into focus. “The poor girl is very dirty. I will get a bath ready for her.”

      “She’s too tired for that.” James held her so close that his breath caused the loose hairs at her temples to flutter. “Just spread an old blanket on her bed, and I’ll clean her up a bit.”

      Her eyelids slid shut. Sounds faded in and out, followed by some jostling. And then softness. The quilt he’d laid her on smelled of cedar. Something brushed her cheek, and she forced her eyes open.

      He hovered over her, his face visible in the lantern light. He was a sorry sight, with ash and soot covering every inch of him. She must look just as bad, but he was right. She needed sleep. Lots and lots of it.

      “Rest a minute. I’ll be right back.”

      He returned shortly and placed a basin on the bureau by the lantern. Her mattress sagged as he sat beside her and removed Kate’s oversize cloak. Mutti entered, carrying an armload of toweling. He inclined his head toward the bureau. “Put it right there, please. And then if you could rustle up a cup of tea, I’m sure she’d like that.”

      “Ja. I will.” Mutti shuffled from the room.

      James turned toward Becky with a smile on his face, his teeth stark white against his soot-covered skin.

      “You look happy. Did we save the crop?”

      “I think so, at least most of it.” He plunged a washcloth into the steaming water, wrung it out and took one of her hands in his, holding it tenderly as he dabbed at the layers of grime. “You finally called me James.”

      Had she, in the midst of her fright, forgotten herself? “I did?”

      “When you thanked me, yes.” He grew serious. “I’m so sorry I put you in danger.”

      “I wanted to help. I just wish I could have done more.”

      “You did more than you realize. I’d accidentally dozed off and would have kept right on sleeping, but a dog woke me.”

      A chill raced over her, and she shivered. “A dog?”

      “Not just any dog. A beautiful red Irish setter. In all my years I’ve only seen one other.”

      Red? Spitz must have returned. “About that. He’s the dog we saw in Placerville. The poor thing followed Mutti and me here. I couldn’t turn him away, so I cleaned him up. I’ve been feeding him. Just table scraps. Nothing else. I plan to find him a home. You don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of him.”

      “Oh, you’ll take care of him, all right. He’ll be your responsibility. You don’t need to feed him behind the empty cabin, though. Just see that he doesn’t bother the chickens.”

      She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly in her fuzzy-headed state. “You knew?”

      He rinsed out the cloth and lifted her other hand. His lips twitched, as though he were holding back laughter. If only he would let loose. He was far too serious for his own good. “I know everything that goes on at my place.”

      She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d proven to be quite observant. “And you’re not sore at me?”

      “Your dog helped save my crop. So tell me. What do you call him?”

      “Spitz.”

      James did laugh then, a rich sound that rumbled in his chest. “You adopted an Irish dog and gave him a German name? Why?”

      “Whenever I send him off, he runs straight for your Esopus Spitzenburg trees. I shortened the name, and it seemed to fit. After all, it means pointedly in German.”