A Home Of Her Own. Keli Gwyn

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СКАЧАТЬ Becky had been in a hurry to get away from Chicago, the knots in her shoulders had grown tighter with each mile of track the chugging locomotive devoured. That stiffness was the least of her concerns, though. After Dillon had shown her what he thought of her refusal to take the blame for his heinous act by slapping her and shoving her into the sideboard, simply drawing a deep breath had made her want to double over. Her midsection didn’t hurt as much now, as long as she didn’t cough. If all went well, her sore ribs would heal quickly.

      At least her face didn’t look as bad as it had when she’d embarked on her journey. She’d forced herself to peek in the looking glass when she’d visited the women’s lounge at the Shingle Springs rail station before they’d boarded the stagecoach bound for Placerville that morning.

      A shop door opened, and someone stepped into Becky’s path. She came within a hairbreadth of crashing into the broad chest of a tall man wearing a brown tweed frock coat. She winced, moved back and rested a hand on her aching middle.

      Looking up, her gaze passed over his puff tie and landed on a jagged scar. It began below the clean-shaven man’s right ear, curved around the side of his face and stopped just shy of his mouth. His lips were pursed, and his hazel eyes glinted green. She’d seen that heated look before—in Dillon’s dark eyes when he’d yelled at her, as he so often did.

      Despite the warm spring day, a chill swept over her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were coming out.”

      “That’s evident.” He dismissed her with a sneer that puckered his crescent-shaped scar and turned to offer his arm to a small woman with a gray braid peeking from beneath the edge of her bonnet. A rather sloppy braid. He leaned over and spoke to her in a surprisingly gentle tone. “I know you don’t want to go, but we have no choice. No matter what he says, I’ll be there for you.”

      The frail older woman wrapped one hand around his elbow and patted his arm with the other. “Ja. I know. You are a good boy.” She must be German, as Becky’s mother had been. A wave of sadness washed over her. How she missed her Mutter.

      A wagon sped up the street, the harness jangling. A scraggly dog darted into the street—and into the horses’ path.

      Fear surged through Becky, and she took off running. “Look out!”

      She’d made it halfway across the wide rutted road when two strong arms grasped her from behind, bringing her to an abrupt stop.

      Her carpetbag flew from her fingers, landing in front of the briskly moving wagon. She watched in horror as a wheel lifted the bag and spun it around, showering the dusty street with her few possessions. The dog loped off.

      She swatted at the hands clasped in front of her. “Let me go. I need to get my things.”

      “I’ll do it.” The scarred man she’d nearly run into moments before released her, grabbed her carpetbag and scooped up her belongings. He stuffed her unmentionables and nightgown inside so quickly that the gawkers gathered around couldn’t possibly have gotten a good look at them. His thoughtfulness in choosing to go after the intimate items first surprised her. She’d half expected him to hold up her undergarments and let loose with a derisive laugh the way her scoundrel of a brother would have, but the stranger had behaved like a true gentleman.

      The puzzling man set her carpetbag at his feet and folded her spare cotton work dress, treating the worn black bombazine with the care one would give a fine silk.

      Becky realized she was staring, shook herself and immediately regretted it. Due to the man’s firm hold moments before, her injured ribs were screaming in protest. Even so, she had to get her books before another wagon passed by.

      With halting steps, she covered the few feet to where one of them lay. She wrapped an arm around her belly and, as carefully as possible, squatted and picked up her well-worn Bible. She rose and found herself facing her self-appointed helper. Seen from his uninjured left side, he wasn’t frightening at all. Quite the contrary. He wasn’t merely handsome. He was downright striking. With his wavy caramel-colored hair, perfectly formed nose and strong jaw, he could be a model for the drawings in one of those fashion magazines Callie favored.

      What captivated Becky were his expressive eyes, which held a mixture of concern and something else. Pity, no doubt. She was plain on her best days. With the sickly looking bruises, she was downright pathetic.

      He set her bag at her feet, dusted off her dictionary and handed it to her. “Here you go, miss.”

      She took her treasured book—the first thing she’d grabbed before making her escape—and hugged the dilapidated volume to her. If anything had happened to it, Becky would have wept then and there. She could get a new Bible, but she could never replace her mother’s dictionary. “Thank you, sir.”

      “You shouldn’t go chasing after a mongrel like that. You put yourself in danger.”

      Although he’d chided her, the warmth now lighting his captivating eyes eased the sting.

      “Good day.” He tipped his hat and returned to the older woman waiting for him on the walkway.

      The dog. Becky had forgotten about him.

      Callie rushed up to her. “Are you all right?”

      “I’m fine, I think.” She stared at the back of the man who’d come to her aid. “Did you see what happened?”

      “Oh, yes. It was quite romantic, the way he raced across the street to save you. And then he collected your things in an impressive show of chivalry.”

      Romantic wasn’t the word she’d choose. Embarrassing, perhaps. Even a little scary, albeit deliciously so. Her roguish-looking rescuer evidently had a softer side. “Not that. What happened to the dog?”

      Callie shook her head and smiled. “You’re such a caring person, Becky. You would risk your life for a mutt.”

      Mongrel. Mutt. The words rankled. Every creature was special, even the lowliest of them. “I don’t like seeing an animal get hurt.”

      “Well, you can relax. The dog dodged the wagon wheels and ran off unharmed.”

      Callie took Becky’s arm and led her to the wooden walkway where Jessie waited, her forehead creased with concern. “Are you all right? I saw you wince, and you’re moving slowly.”

      “I’ll be fine.” She would be, once she figured out how to overcome any objections Mr. O’Brien might have—and what to do if he proved to be impossible to work for.

      * * *

      Dr. Wright perched on the corner of the large desk in his private office, his left leg swinging like a pendulum. The steady swipe of his heel brushing the oak panel as he stared into space made James O’Brien want to cry out in protest. In his experience, when a doctor took his time searching for the right words, the news wasn’t good. “Just tell me. How bad is it?”

      The compassion in the young doctor’s eyes when he focused on James gave him his answer. “My examination today confirmed the suspicions I had when you were in last week.”

      “So it’s spread. Is there nothing that can be done to stop it?”

      Dr. Wright ceased his motion. “I’m sorry, James. Cancer’s an ugly disease, but we’ll СКАЧАТЬ