Page 47 of A Late-Blooming Rose
“Very well.” With broad strokes, Andre summed up their plan.
As he listened, Hank’s expression darkened, and he planted both hands on his hips. “Mr. Bellaire, with all due respect, I can tell you that Brian Bly won’t like this arrangement. He’s stubborn and a loner. The last thing he’ll want is some female fussing over him.”
“Dr. Cameron says your friend will need constant nursing,” Andre pointed out in a calm tone. “Will you provide that?”
Hank clenched his jaw but lowered his arms. “I’m willing to stay the first night or two, and then look in on him once a day.”
“That won’t be enough, Hank,” Cora said, hotly. In her righteous indignation, she disregarded proper manners and addressed the man informally.
His eyes narrowed. “And you are?”
“Cora Collier. I’m in nursing. If Mr. Bly’s injury is as bad as I’ve heard described, he should not be moving around at all, not if he wants to recover the use of his leg.”
“Look.” Hank sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. “Bly’s not sociable at the best of times. I’ll bet being incapacitated and in pain, having a strange female around him, why, he’ll be down right cantankerous.” He cut Cora a sharp glance. “I tell you true, Miss Cora, nursing Brian Bly will be no picnic, so get any Florence Nightingale notions out of your head.”
Cora bristled. “I’ve volunteered at a hospital in New York. I know what I’m getting into.” She dipped her chin, sliding a sideways guilty look in Rose’s direction before turning back to her opponent. “Not that what I do is anyone’s business.”
Rose hadn’t known about the volunteer work and wondered if Marty had been privy to his granddaughter’s antics.What other secrets has she been keeping?
“I’m Bly’s friend and neighbor,” Hank retorted. “He’s not here to speak for himself, so I need to.”
Andre raised a hand in appeasement. “We all have Mr. Bly’s best interests at heart.”
“Do have some tea, Mr. Canfield,” Delia said, Southern sweet. She gave Hank a teacup and saucer, which looked incongruously dainty in his rough hands. “I hope you like cream and sugar.”
The man nodded.
“Are you prepared for using an outhouse and hauling water from a well?” Hank asked Cora, a gleam of challenge in his eyes. “Because that’s what awaits you.” He flipped a hand toward the ceiling and walls. “Nothing like this place.”
Cora tilted her chin to a stubborn level. “I’ll manage.
“Well, Miss Cora,” Hank rubbed the back of his neck and glared at her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He dropped into the other wing chair, jittering his teacup.
“Can you describe the cabin?” Andre asked, his drawl soothing. “What’s inside?”
“The cabin is snug, made of clapboard,” Hank said, his tone softening. “Bed. Small table. One chair. Rudimentary kitchen. Heated by a two-burner stove.”
Rose put a hand to her throat to stop a silent mew of protest.Oh, dear Lord. Please soften Cora’s stubborn mind.
Delia handed Hank a plate with sandwiches and cookies. “Now, you eat up, you hear, Mr. Canfield,” she said with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re right, Rose.” Andre frowned. “As is, this cabin is a totally inappropriate place for our Cora.”
“Uncle Andre!” Cora wailed, sounding like a six-year-old.
“Delia is also right.” He nodded at his daughter in approval. “We must make changes to the cabin to ensure the comfort of our girl, as well as welcome home our wounded hero so he can recuperate in comfort and have the best of care.” He slanted a wide-eyed glance of innocence at Mr. Canfield. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
With his mouth full of sandwich, the man could only nod, trapped by the genteel persuasions of father and daughter.
“Andre!” Rose ground out. “You can hardly go around building onto and furnishing the homes of everyone who wants to employ Cora.”
“My dear Rose, I hardly think that will be necessary,” he chided, although his eyes twinkled. “For all we know, Cora will change her mind after her first real experience of having the sole responsibility for a tetchy patient.”
“One can only hope,” she said,soto voce.
With a scowl, Cora crossed her arms. “I won’t.”
