Page 33 of Brian and Cora
His reaction’s just what I expected.
But what Cora hadn’t expected was her reaction—for Brian Bly to be so ruggedly handsome—in a smoldering, broody way. Nor how the zing of attraction thrummed through her body and the solid ground under her feet seemed to ripple, unbalancing her.
CHAPTER 11
On the way up the mountain, with Hank riding behind the wagon that Seth drove and with no one else to observe, Brian sank into the straw, scooting down inch by inch in an attempt to become prone. The new dose of laudanum he’d taken at the doctor’s office moderated the stabs of pain to a dull ache—until he endured another jolt or unexpectedly tried to shift positions. Still, he moved gingerly, lest he jar his leg. Finally, he rested on his back, using his coat as a pillow, and panting at the effort.
I’m as weak as a babe. Having a robust constitution, he rarely suffered any illness, and, God be thanked, had avoided all but minor injuries. So, he didn’t have any practice being an invalid.
Sassy Girl lay curled into the straw near his shoulder, quiet after her ecstatic greeting to him and then loping alongside the wagon until she tired. She opened her eyes to check on him getting into position. Apparently satisfied, she returned to snoozing.
Brian gazed up at the stark azure sky, clear of any clouds. Indian summer had descended on Sweetwater Springs, the sun casting benevolent warmth and coating the surroundingsin golden beauty. The deciduous trees lurking among the evergreens waved leaves of burgundy, yellow, purple, and orange.
He’d never before lain and gazed at his habitat from this direction—up, instead of outward—and he enjoyed the oddity. Unless a wagon wheel hit a rut or stone, which it did all too often, he could lull his mind into a kaleidoscope daze.
Too bad I’m not a poet. Surely, I could compose an ode to Montana’s natural beauty. The thought soured his mood. He’d returned from the adventure of a lifetime with plenty of material, almost overwhelmingly so. But no actual story. Hopefully, finally having solitude and time alone to gather his thoughts in peace, he could come up with a plot as exciting as his experiences.
The wheels hit a bump, jolting his leg. He had to clench his jaw not to groan at the pain. How will I manage by myself? Up until this point, he’d refused to think of anything but home and solitude. But now that home was almost a reality, other problems loomed and doubts started creeping into his hardheaded determination to shut the door on the world—or at least all of the world except two other bachelors and one little girl.
Since he had nothing better to do than look at the sky fading toward evening, Brian started thinking through what he needed to do to survive the next few weeks. While at the doctor’s office, O’Reilly, the carpenter, had measured him for crutches. But they wouldn’t be finished and delivered for a few days. Somehow, he’d have to find a way to hobble around.
Brian hadn’t really provisioned his larder for the winter, intending to do so before he left the Harvest Festival. Even if he had, he couldn’t stand at the stove and cook.
I could go without meals for a few days. Won’t starve. I’ll just tighten my belt. From time to time, Hank and Torin will probably toss some food to me.
What about getting dressed and undressed? I suppose I could wear my nightshirt all day like a lazy slugabed. Hank can help me tonight.
What about getting in and out of bed and out of chairs? Going outside to use the privy was out of the question. But he did keep a chamber pot under the bed for use in the worst of the winter or during storms. Maybe if I don’t eat or drink much, I won’t need the pot too often.
Life would definitely be difficult for the next few weeks. Somehow, he’d have to fight the pain and do what he must to get through the days until he healed.
Brian felt the horses make the turn from the mountain road onto the path branching to Three Bend Lake. The tightness in his chest eased a bit.
He struggled into a sitting position, the movements hurting far more than when lying down. Guess Doc was right about the need for medication.
Sassy Girl inched forward and put her head on his good leg.
Absentmindedly, he scratched her head and stroked her back.
Eagerly, he absorbed the sight of the lake, the surface looking more purple than green, reflecting the shading sky. “Your swans are still here,” he called to Hank.
Hank urged Chipper to the side of the wagon. “Aside from that drenching rainstorm the posse had on the ride to Morgan’s Crossing, we’ve had almost balmy weather. Maybe they’re telling us to expect this Indian summer to last a while longer than usual.”
They passed Hank’s log cabin. Some fallen leaves sprinkled the yard and the porch.
“Almost there.” Although his friend didn’t repeat the warning uttered hours ago, his tense expression said, Brace yourself, Brother.
Earlier, Brian tried to pry information from Hank about what he needed to brace himself for. But the man stayed more mum than a rock. Now he thought to try again. “Gonna tell me what the secret is?”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
“By whom?”
“Not saying.”
Brian scowled at Hank. “You better not have let Elsie and Constance deck out my house with flowers or some such folderol.”
Hank nodded toward the flowers and leaves scattered about the wagon bed. “Seems you already have plenty.”
