Page 61 of Calder Country

“Hush. There’s nothing to say. Just be safe.”

Agent Jensen bought her ticket at the window. By then the train’s headlamp was visible through the snow. The whistle quivered on the air. As the Northern Pacific engine, trailing its passenger cars, pulled up to the platform, Mason swept her into his arms for a last urgent kiss. Breaking away, he thrust her toward the open car where a conductor waited to take her ticket and help her aboard.

Clutching her purse and duffel, Ruby stumbled to her second-class seat. Her tear-blurred eyes strained to see the platform through the snow-covered window, but the train was already moving. The whistle shrieked as the engine picked up speed and raced into the snowy night.

* * *

Britta stomped the snow off her boots before stepping inside the doctor’s reception area. She found Jake in the spare wheelchair the doctor had given him. He was practicing maneuvers in the middle of the room, turning, backing, moving around and behind the furniture. The doctor’s office was closed today, but Jake was still here. His wounds were healing, but he was unable to leave for his second-floor quarters above the sheriff’s office.

He’d insisted that Kristin go home to her family and leave him to manage on his own for the weekend. Britta had offered to check on him and bring his meals. The arrangement was a worry, but Jake was a proud, stubborn man, determined to deal with his disability on his own.

“Hello, Britta.” His face was drawn, his unshaven beard shadowing his jaw. Pain had deepened the creases around his eyes. He greeted her with a smile, but as she set the covered basket on the kitchen table, she could sense the frustration raging inside him. The simplest tasks, like getting out of bed, dressing, and relieving himself, had become almost insurmountable challenges. He wanted his strong body back. He wanted his useful life.

“I know you like my chicken and dumplings,” she said, trying to be cheerful but not too cheerful. “There’s apple pie for dessert. And I thought you might like some coffee. I brought you a thermos. It should still be hot.” She chatted as she set the table for dinner, removing the chair on the nearest side so he could wheel into place. “After you’ve eaten, I’ll check your wounds. I promised the doctor I’d do that.”

“You’re too good to me, Britta.” He took his place at the table and spread the napkin on his lap. Britta filled his plate and poured him some coffee. What would he say if she brought up the idea that had come to her? Would he be outraged, even angry?

“How’s Marissa?” he asked. “Did you see her today?”

“Yes, I saw her this morning.” Britta took her place across from him, knowing he would want her to share the meal. “She’s fine, but she misses you. She wants to see you.”

“Does she understand what’s happened?”

“I explained as best I could,” Britta said. “I even drew her a picture. I can imagine how difficult this is for you. But you’re her father. She needs you.”

He took a bite of chicken as if forcing himself to eat, then put down his fork. “All right. Bring her the next time you come, then,” he said. “But how can I answer her when she says she wants to go home? We can’t go back to our old place—I could never make it up the stairs. Cora’s mother has been good to take Marissa, but she’s getting old. She isn’t strong, and her little house has only one bedroom. I could never live there, and I can’t stay here much longer.” Desperation broke his voice. “What kind of father can’t even provide a home for his child?”

His words had left Britta with an opening. She summoned her courage.

“You could move in with me, Jake,” she said. “My place has no stairs, and it has an extra bedroom. You could have Marissa with you. When I’m not teaching, I could be there to cook and look after things. It wouldn’t have to be forever, just until you’re better able to manage and make other arrangements.”

She had run out of words. In the dead silence that followed, she forced herself to meet his startled gaze. Seconds crawled by as she waited for him to respond.

At last he spoke. “What are you thinking, Britta? You’ve always been concerned about gossip. What would people say if I were to move in with you, even with my daughter?”

“Hang what people say! My place would serve your needs.”

“But what about your job? Your house belongs to the school board. You could be fired and have to move.”

“They’d have to find a new teacher first. And how many teachers would be desperate enough to come to Blue Moon?” As she spoke, Britta felt an exhilarating sense of freedom, not so different from the way she’d felt stepping into the airplane. Let people talk. Let them judge her. The only thing that really mattered was Jake.

“I’m sorry, but you must be out of your mind,” he said.

“Think about it. For the foreseeable future, you’re going to need a place to stay, with room for your daughter and someone to help you. And if—no, when—you’re well enough to go back to work, you’ll be close to your office and the jail.”

Pain flickered across his face. Had she said too much? Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned his job. But it was too late to take back the words.

“Be still and listen to me, Britta,” he said. “This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to say. I would never move in with you unless we could marry. But that can’t happen now.

“Before the shooting, I was planning to ask you. I dreamed of the future we could have together. But now, that’s become impossible. I would never burden you with the person I’ve become—the constant work, the dressing and bathing, all the ugly, intimate details involved in caring for someone like me. I don’t know if I’d be able to provide for you. I don’t know if I’d be able to satisfy you as a husband or give you children.”

His gaze held hers across the table. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “You’re a wonderful woman, Britta. You deserve so much better than anything I could offer you. That’s why my answer—my final answer—is no.”

Britta held back tears. “That’s your pride talking,” she said. “Pride won’t give you a place to heal or provide a home for your little girl.”

“It’s not pride,” he said. “It’s love.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “But if you don’t understand, I can’t force you.” She pushed out her chair and stood. “Finish your dinner. I need some air, but I’ll be back to clean up the kitchen and check your wounds. I won’t bring this up again.”

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