Page 31 of Calder Country

She nodded.

“Promise?”

“Uh-huh.” Her gaze shifted to Britta. “Her, too.”

“You want me to sing with your father, Marissa?”

The girl nodded.

“All right, as long as you keep your promise.”

Jake began to sing the lullaby again.

“Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry. Go to sleep, my little baby.”

Britta joined him in the old song. She didn’t have a great voice, but she could carry a tune.

“When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses . . .”

As she sang, Britta gently spooned the warm tea into Marissa’s reluctant mouth. The child resisted some at first, letting the tea dribble down her chin onto the clean towel that had been laid over her. But then she began taking each spoonful as it was given. Her small face wrinkled in distaste, but she did as promised and emptied the cup.

“Good girl.” Her father gave her a gentle squeeze. She was still feverish; the home-brewed medicine would take time to work—if it worked at all. “Do you think she’s had enough?” Jake asked Britta.

“For now. We can give her more later if we need to. If the fever breaks, she’ll start sweating—that’s a sure sign. But it might take time—it could be hours.”

“I feel so damned helpless—she’s never been this sick before. I always assumed I’d know what to do. Thank you, Britta. Maybe you can give me some of that tea in ajar. Then I’ll take her home and watch her so you can rest.”

“She’ll be better off here, where we can both watch her. The doctor is scheduled to be in town tomorrow. You can take her in then. Meanwhile, we can at least try to keep her stable. There’s a rocking chair on the back porch. I’ll bring it in so you can sit with her.”

“I’ll get it.” He laid his daughter back on the pillow, stepped outside, and was back in a moment with the chair, which he placed close to the bed. When he leaned over her, Marissa opened her eyes. Her arms reached up to him. He gathered her close and settled into the rocker with the little girl across his lap.

“You might as well lie down and get some sleep,” he said to Britta. “I can wake you if anything changes.”

“I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to. Would you like some coffee? You have one free hand.”

He yawned, supporting his daughter against the curve of his left arm. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble. Maybe it’ll help keep me awake.”

In the kitchen, Britta measured the coffee and put the pot on the stove to boil. When it was almost ready, she prepared a tray with two cups and a small plate of oatmeal cookies she’d baked earlier. The memory lingered that Jake drank his coffee black. Leaving both cups the same, she carried the tray back to the bedroom.

Stopping in the doorway, she sighed. How long had she been gone? Fifteen minutes? That was all the time it had taken for Jake to drift off. Marissa lay curled in the curve of his arm, her small, golden head resting against his chest. Her eyes were closed.

Setting the tray atop the bureau, Britta stole around the bed and brushed a fingertip down the little girl’s cheek. Still hot. Still dry. There was still a rumble of congestion in her breathing. But at least she’d drunk the tea, and now she was getting some rest.

As she stood looking down at the pair, a hopeless love welled in her. Jake Calhoun was the only man she’d ever wanted. But he hadn’t cared enough to wait for the end of her mourning. True, he’d made her no promises. Their romance had barely begun before it ended. But she’d already begun to dream of a future when he stopped coming to her door.

The fact that he’d chosen a girl who was Britta’s complete opposite only deepened the sting. Petite, feminine, and fragile, Cora had been made for adoration. What man could have resisted her?

Now Jake was back—but only because he needed her. When he found another woman to marry, it would be someone like Cora. Britta’s doorway to forever was closed and tightly locked.

Turning away, she picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen.

CHAPTER NINE

MASON STOOD AT THE FOOT OF THE NEWLY CLEARED LANDING strip. His eyes scanned the eastern horizon, where the dark sky showed the first thread of light above the peaks. Unless something had gone wrong, his next shipment of Canadian liquor should be arriving any minute. This time he would be better prepared.

Kerosene-doused bonfires had been laid every twenty-five paces along the landing strip, to be lit when he heard the plane coming. But with daylight approaching and no sign of the craft, the fires might not be needed. It would be a waste to light them too soon.

Would Ruby be making the delivery? Mason had told himself that nothing mattered except getting the shipment. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Concern for Ruby’s safety had been the reason he’d brought the team of draft horses out here with harnesses and a heavy chain to clear the landing strip of brush, holes, and rocks and smooth the surface as best as could be done with primitive equipment.

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