Keeping Christmas. Marisa Carroll

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СКАЧАТЬ “There’s a cot and a table.” He slid one hand from his pocket to wave at the shelves against one wall. “You can put your gear there. I’ll get you a lamp.”

      She nodded. “I’ll need one if I expect to see anything.”

      Almost, he caught a glimmer of humor in her eyes as he met her gaze. She stepped back and he walked past her, careful to maintain his distance. She was like a flighty young colt, all arms and legs, poised to shift and turn should he step too closely. Her forehead glistened with sweat, and she smelled of the barn, a mixture of fresh manure and animal scent. Yet, beneath that pungent aroma was a hint of woman, snagging his attention, drawing him unwillingly.

      “I’ll find you something else to wear. I doubt you brought much with you,” Beau surmised. He allowed his eyes to measure her briefly. “You’re smaller than my housekeeper, but I think something of hers might do.”

      “I wear pants, mostly.” Her chin rose defiantly. “I’ve only got a dress on now, ’cause that’s what I was sleepin’ in when I left home.”

      She slept in a dress? “You always sleep in your clothes?”

      “Whatever’s handy,” she retorted. “My pa don’t hold with buyin’ any more stuff than he has to.” One sleeve had fallen to cover her hand and she bent her head as she rolled the cuff, hiding the ragged edge from his view.

      “Then I’ll ask Pony if he has anything he’d like to give you. He’s not much taller than you are.”

      “I don’t need any handouts, mister. I’m doin’ fine, just like I am.”

      He shifted, thinking of the boiler full of water he’d put to heat on the kitchen range. “I thought you might like to have a bath and some clean clothes, what with hiding out and not…”

      “I’ll wash up in a bucket.” Her words left no room for argument, and yet he plunged ahead, unwilling for any female to be so bereft of simple comforts.

      “How about after supper? I’ll fill the tub right here in your room. There’s a lock on the inside of the door.” He waved his hand for emphasis, pointing to where a brass hasp hung from the wooden door.

      She stepped closer, peering at the shiny apparatus, then at the doorjamb, where he’d installed the rest of the lock. “You can jam a spike through there,” he pointed out. “It’ll hold firm.” His jaw clenched at her wary look. “You’ll be safe. I promise.”

      “You got a towel I can borrow?”

      He caught a fleeting look of yearning in her eyes as she looked past him toward the range, where steam rose from the wash boiler. “Clean towels and a bar of soap.” Her eyes narrowed as she shifted her gaze back to his face.

      “I’ll do extra, maybe clean up the garden for you, to pay my way. I swept up the barn and cleaned your tack room this afternoon.” She inhaled deeply and then her shoulders rose and fell in a gesture of nonchalance. “Guess I wouldn’t mind havin’ a bath. You needn’t bother about the clothes, though. I got a shift in my bundle. I’ll wear it while I wash out my things in the bath water. You can toss them over the porch rail for me overnight, and they’ll be near dry in the morning.”

      He’d won. And won fairly, appealing only to her need for cleanliness. Beau nodded agreeably. “I fried some ham from the smokehouse, and there’s vegetables from the pantry. We’ll eat in a few minutes, then I’ll drag in the tub for you.”

      A bent spike passed from his hand to hers and she nodded, agreeing. “This’ll work.” Beau crossed the kitchen to the back door and Maggie watched as the galvanized tub appeared a moment later, Shay carrying one end, Beau the other.

      Shay, the quiet one, withheld his glance, intent on fitting the tub through the doorway, and then with a quiet word to Beau, he left. Maggie stepped aside, allowing him room. He nodded in her direction and she watched him pass through the kitchen door to the porch. The screen slammed behind him.

      “He’s a strange one,” she murmured, almost to herself.

      “Shay won’t bother you,” Beau said from the doorway, where one hand leaned against the jamb. “None of my men will give you cause to complain.”

      She believed him, and wondered at her acceptance of his word. He’d offered her the use of his home, at least this small portion of it. Even now, water boiled on his cookstove for her benefit. Maggie snatched up a bucket by the sink and turned sharply as Beau approached, taking the handle from her fingers.

      “I’ll dip the water. You’re too short to lift a full bucket,” he told her.

      She watched as he deftly tilted the pail and filled it, then carried it across the floor. Water dripped in his wake and she noticed the small, spreading pools as they turned dark against the wooden floor.

      “Sophie’s going to scalp me for making a mess on her floor,” Beau said, returning quickly, empty pail in hand. He filled it a second time and traced his path across the room. “I’ll wipe it up when you’re done.”

      Maggie watched him, taken by the thought of someone waiting on her in such a fashion. She’d done the toting ever since she could remember, from lugging washtubs to the yard for Ma, to carrying heavy feed sacks from the wagon to the barn. Now she stood here, perfectly healthy and able to do for herself, and a strange man was fixing her bathwater. Hot water, at that. And wasn’t that a switch from scrubbing up in the creek in summer or sitting in a lukewarm second- or third-hand tub of bathwater in the cold weather.

      “Maggie?” He stood before her, and she jolted, lost in the vision of lounging in a tub all for herself, without two sisters having left their scum floating atop the cooling water. “I left the soap and a couple of towels and a washrag on the table in your room. The soap is a bar I already used from, but there’s plenty left. Oh,” he added, his tone casual, “Pony sent an old pair of pants and a shirt for you. They’re on the cot.”

      He took a small kerosene lamp from the kitchen cabinet. “You want me to light this for you?”

      It was almost too much, that a man would be so kind—and without hope of recompense. And yet, the lure he offered was almost beyond her ability to resist. She seized upon his final suggestion as a place to draw the line. “I can use a candle.”

      “There’s some on the shelf,” he told her, and she nodded. She’d seen them there earlier when she’d unloaded her meager assortment on the bottom shelf, next to her bed.

      The room was small, but with the candle lit and the door closed, it felt cozy. Maggie looked around at the shadowed corners, where Beau had swept and cleaned for her benefit. The man was a strange one, taking her in the way he had, not asking questions. Her fingers slowed as she unbuttoned her dress. He smelled good, like somebody she’d seen once in town. A fellow who’d stood next to the wagon and talked to Pa, and even nodded in her direction.

      Maybe it was the soap he used, she thought, reaching for the yellow bar he’d left for her. Her head bent as she sniffed at the stuff, and she grinned. That was a part of it, at least. That, and maybe his clothes, all clean and smelling of fresh air.

      Her dress dropped to the floor and she slipped from her old shift, shivering as cool air touched her skin. One foot dipped in the water and she felt gooseflesh form on her arms. It was hot, probably too hot for comfort, even with the well water he’d added, but he’d left an extra СКАЧАТЬ