Wolf Creek Wife. Penny Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ the circumstances, she thought she would stay at home. She wasn’t ready to face the town gossips or the condemnation she knew she would see in Brother McAdams’s eyes.

      She slipped between the muslin sheets and wished she never had to leave the comfort and anonymity of the bed. She heard the occasional clatter of silver against a plate and the muted sounds of her mother’s and brother’s voices. Rolling to her side, she curled into a ball of misery.

      There was little doubt that they were talking about her and what to do about her latest fiasco. Her brother would push for marriage, believing that it would solve everything, when all it would really do is tie two already-unhappy people together for a lifetime. Her mother would be her advocate, but Blythe wasn’t sure how long Libby could hold out against Win’s incredible ability to sway others to his way of thinking. It was, after all, what made him such a success in the business world.

      Despite the dozens of emotions that raced through her mind one after the other, Blythe finally escaped her newest predicament by drifting off into a sound sleep. Her last coherent thought was that maybe she could be like Rip Van Winkle and sleep for years and years and years and wake up to find this all behind her.

      * * *

      Blythe woke sometime in the afternoon. She pulled on a flannel robe and went down to find something to eat, her footsteps dragging. Her mother had returned from church and was probably in her room taking her Sunday-afternoon nap.

      She took the platter of ham Libby had baked from the pie safe and placed a generous helping on a pretty floral plate, adding some potatoes and green beans. She was starving. Other than the small chunk of cheese and piece of stale bread she’d shared with the dog the evening before, she hadn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours.

      She tucked into her cold meal and let her thoughts wander over the events of the morning. Recalling the shock on everyone’s face when they’d walked into the house and seen her in her petticoats almost robbed her of her appetite. Other than making a mistake in judging Devon’s true character, she’d had no excuse when it came to the fiasco, but this situation was far different. Even now, she didn’t know how else she could have handled things.

      Her thoughts drifted to Will Slade. Will. Somehow, even though some might condemn her for being so familiar, it seemed fitting that she should think of him by his given name. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought in defiance. She wondered how he was doing and if he was as sick as she’d thought he was. Would he be all right? In spite of everything, she prayed he would be.

      She was cleaning up the kitchen when she remembered Will’s dog. Like her, he hadn’t had much to eat, and with Will gone, there was no one to feed him. She didn’t fool herself into thinking Win would ride out there and feed the beast. Gabe or Caleb might if she asked them, but it was Sunday and they always had visitors over.

      She sighed. There was nothing to do but to take care of the animal herself, though the very thought of facing the drooling creature sent a shiver down her spine. She looked at the ham and reached again for the butcher knife. Working carefully, she cut all the fat and meat from the bone. When she was finished, she had a nice bone and lots of scraps that she knew the dog would enjoy. She wrapped it in waxed paper and tied it up in a dish towel.

      After dressing in a much-worn skirt and shirtwaist, she donned a coat and headed for the carriage house, telling Joel, her mother’s stable hand, to hitch up the covered buggy. He complied, though he didn’t seem happy about it. She told him where she was going, so he could report to her mother, and said she would be back before suppertime.

      The ride to Will’s place was a chilly, muddy trek. The afternoon sunshine gave no hint of the torrential rains of the evening before. Blythe found peace in the knowledge that there was no one out here to stare or point accusing fingers at her. No one to whisper speculations about what had happened between her and Will Slade.

      As soon as the house came into view, the dog sensed her approach. Leaping up from his place on the porch, he ran to the bottom of the steps, lifted his head skyward and began to bark and growl. When his racket failed to make her stop or go away, he broke into a loping run toward the buggy. Trembling, but determined not to let him intimidate her, Blythe kept going.

      When she reached the hitching post, she pulled the mare to a stop. Immediately the dog put his massive paws on the floorboard of the buggy and barked once, almost as if he were trying to tell her something, the way he had the previous day.

      Though her hand shook, Blythe held it out toward him and crooned in a trembling voice, “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay. Are you hungry? Hmm? I’ve brought you something to eat.”

      He barked again, as if to say yes.

      She leaned over, untied the dish towel with the ham leavings and turned back toward him. “If you want to eat, you’ll have to move,” she said. As if he understood, he backed up a couple of steps. Thank the Good Lord, he wasn’t barking anymore!

      Taking her courage in hand, she climbed down from the buggy. The brute began to jump up and down in excitement. Fearful that he’d snatch the food from her hands and rip off an arm in the process, she took another few cautious steps.

      Not two yards from the carriage, the dog, impatient for her to deliver the food he smelled, reared up on his hind legs and placed his massive paws on her shoulders. Not expecting such a thing, Blythe staggered backward beneath his weight. Before she knew it, she was on the soggy ground, flat on her back.

      It happened so fast that she didn’t see it coming. Even if she had, there was nothing she could have done about it. The dog outweighed her by several pounds. She was lying there with her eyes closed, trying to catch her breath, when she felt hot, doggy panting on her cheek and a rough tongue make a long swipe from her chin to her ear. She opened her eyes and saw brown eyes gazing down at her. A wet nose was pressed against her ear.

      The hound licked her face again.

      “Aarrgh!” she said, suppressing a shudder. Without a thought as to how he might react, she shoved his head aside with one hand while using the other to push herself into a sitting position. Undeterred, the hound gave her another swipe across the cheek.

      At least he wasn’t attacking her! Determined to do what decency and compassion dictated she should for Will’s mutt, she pushed to her feet and scrubbed at her slobbery cheek with her skirt tail, shuddering at the memory.

      Anxious to be done and be gone, she unwrapped the leftovers, picked up a juicy hunk of fat with her fingertips and tossed it to him. It vanished in a single gulp. She shook her head in amazement. The rest followed in short order. Last, she threw the ham bone in his direction.

      She was wiping her fingers on the clean edges of the messy towel when an image of how she must have looked lying on the ground flashed into her mind. She started to laugh. What would her snobbish friends in Boston think if they knew that the woman who had such high hopes of owning her own boutique and could have had any number of wealthy young men for a husband was instead teaching children in a one-room country schoolhouse, driving around in the country alone...dressed like a cleaning woman and carrying on a conversation—of sorts—with a dog?

      Without warning the laughter turned to a sob. She dropped the dish towel to the ground, leaned against the hitching post and covered her face with her cold hands. She cried for the trouble she’d caused her family and for her ridiculous longing for a husband and her silly naïveté. For loneliness and lost dreams and the loss of her identity. For love and those crazy, pulse-pounding moments she’d experienced with Devon...something she was certain she would never again experience.

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