Page 47 of Brian and Cora
After they left, the cabin seemed suddenly quiet except for Sassy Girl's panting as she plopped down to curl up at Brian's feet.
Cora brushed some dog hairs off her skirt. "Time for your laudanum."
Brian’s warm, comfortable mood evaporated like morning mist on the lake. "No."
Ignoring him, she walked to the hutch and removed a blue glass bottle hidden behind a mug. "Dr. Cameron wants you to take the laudanum twice a day for a week."
"I don't care what the good doctor wants,” he bit out. “I don’t want to be muddleheaded." Especially around you.
Cora paused, the bottle in her hand. "No one likes that. But being in pain won't help you heal faster."
"It makes me tired," Brian argued. "At the Flanigans’, I spent most of my time asleep."
"Sleep helps you recover. Rest is the best thing you could do for your body."
"I don’t want to become dependent on it." The words came out harsher than he intended, driven by a sudden vision of himself hollow-eyed and shaking, begging for more laudanum like an opium addict.
Cora set the bottle on the table and took a seat in the chair beside him, her gray eyes serious. "I promise won't let that happen."
"How can you promise that?"
"Because I'm going to make you a deal." She held his gaze steadily. "Take the laudanum for two more days—just two—and then you can stop. I won't give you any more after that, no matter how much pain you're in.” A mischievous light glinted in her eyes, although her expression remained solemn. “Even if you beg."
Beg. Never. Brian studied her face, searching for any sign of deception. But all he saw was earnest concern and, underneath, a steely determination that reminded him, oddly, of Sheriff Granger.
"Two days," he repeated.
"Two days. My word on it."
He shouldn't agree. He should maintain his stubborn refusal and deal with the pain on his own terms. But the throbbing in his leg had been steadily building, and the thought of two more days of the laudanum easing the worst of the pain tempted him to set his stubborn refusal aside.
It's just about the pain, he told himself. Nothing to do with starting to trust her.
But even as Cora measured out the dose, and he swallowed the bitter medicine, Brian suspected he was lying to himself. Somewhere between her gentle handling of Jewel and her understanding of his fears, his defenses had begun to crack.
And that terrified him more than any amount of pain.
For two days,Brian slept.
Cora had expected him to fight the effects of the laudanum, to struggle against the drowsiness with his characteristic stubbornness. Instead, something within him seemed to have loosened, allowing his body the rest it desperately needed.
While he napped, she moved quietly around the cabin, keeping herself busy with reading or with doing small tasks—mending a tear in one of the new towels caused by Sassy Girl’s teeth, organizing the medical supplies, preparing simple meals that could be easily reheated when he woke. The domesticity of it all should have felt strange. But instead, Cora found a certain peace in the routine and the beauty of nature surrounding her.
When Brian did wake, he was still grumpy, though the edge of animosity had dulled. With gruff determination, he rejected her offers to help him bathe or manage the bedpan or even comb his hair. But she noticed he no longer glared at her as if she were personally responsible for all his misfortunes.
"Thank you," he said curtly the first time she brought him a bowl of beef stew, the words seeming to surprise him as much as her.
"You're welcome," she replied, hiding her smile as she turned away.
From then on, he exhibited better manners, saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and sometimes, almost, but not quite, managing a smile.
By the second day, Cora found herself growing restless. After the flurry of activity—the trip west, settling into the Bellaire household, the excitement of planning the trip to Three Bend Lake, the work cleaning and organizing Brian's cabin—the quiet time dragged. She was used to the bustle of the hospital, the constant demands of patients, the camaraderie of other volunteers, interacting with her family, even if much of those encounters were unpleasant, and spending time with Ivy, Grandpapa, and Aunt Rose.
Thank goodness for Sassy Girl. The dog rotated between curling up next to Brian’s bedside and following Cora around, keeping her company. When her patient needed privacy for his ablutions, Cora took the dog on short walks, not wanting to be too far away if he needed her.
She tried, really tried, not to become too attached to Sassy Girl. But a puppy being a puppy pretty much made any emotional distance impossible.
Finally, with nothing left to clean or mend, while Brian dozed, Cora pulled out her lap desk and settled in the armchair. She took out the ink bottle, paper, and the pen and began to write an overdue letter to her best friend.
