forced herself not to cow before his commanding presence. She wasn’t a docile girl who shattered at a single unkind word or dark glare. Not anymore. She could handle his annoyance.
What if he’s the type to act out his anger? a small voice prodded. Ambrose’s impatience with her had mostly manifested itself in fuming tirades. Occasionally he’d taken her by the shoulders and shaken her until her neck ached and vision swam. Only once had he risen his hand to her.
Shutting out the unpleasant memories, she stiffened her spine. Sure, she wasn’t exactly welcome in his home, but this development was out of her control. Besides, his friend had given him a glowing recommendation. One of the original town founders, Will Canfield was also a wealthy and powerful property owner. Surely he wouldn’t have misrepresented the sheriff’s sterling reputation.
“I believe she has a fever.”
Pushing into the room, he came close and studied her daughter. “What are her symptoms?”
“Her head hurts, and her skin’s dry and hot.”
“Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
His penetrating gaze lifted to Grace. “Has she been in contact with any sick folks?”
“I’m not aware of any. The train car was crowded, but no one displayed outward symptoms.”
Noah’s inspection was shrewd. Did he not believe her? This she wasn’t lying about.
“What about you?” he asked abruptly. “And the other girl?”
He wasn’t asking out of concern for their health, of course. They were a burden to him. A disruption in his ordered life, one he’d been on the verge of getting rid of.
“We’re feeling fine.”
A resigned sigh lifted his broad chest. Massaging the curve between his neck and shoulder, he said, “I can’t take her to the hotel and risk exposing the other guests to whatever this is. You’ll stay here until she improves.”
Grace had to dig deep for gratitude. Her child was sick with who knew what, and all he was worried about were the fine people of Cowboy Creek.
Dipping her head to hide her true feelings, she said, “I appreciate your generosity of spirit, Mr. Burgess. We’ll do our best to stay out of your way.”
The widow’s words pricked Noah’s conscience. Generous? Hah. Anxiety and frustration built inside like a cannon about to blow. Grinding his back teeth together, he studied the wee girl.
Her mussed curls were damp, and errant tendrils clung to her neck. She shivered a bit beneath the thick wool blanket. Not a good sign considering the air was hot and stagnant with the windows closed.
He had no idea how to help her. Children in general made him antsy. Sick children made him downright skittish. To his shock and dismay, numerous soldiers had had their wives and children join them. The women had cooked meals and washed and mended uniforms. The children had assisted in these chores, their eyes haunted by the gory sights and sounds of war. One small boy had gotten caught in the cross fire—killed instantly by a stray minié ball.
Noah had steered clear of the lot of them. They’d had no business being there.
Abigail whimpered. Constance adjusted the compress, murmuring reassuring words. Alarm punched him in his midsection. Whatever was ailing the little girl could be serious. And while he hadn’t asked for their presence, they were under his protection for the time being.
“Want me to fetch the doctor?”
Constance’s head snapped up. “There’s one in Cowboy Creek? I wondered... Can you tell me about his reputation?”
“Doc Fletcher set up his practice several years ago. While I personally haven’t needed his services, folks around here have nothing but good things to say about him.”
Her lips pursed as she considered his words. “If she isn’t improved by morning, then I think that would be best.”
He saw the unease and fear beneath her brave facade. She’s far from home. Her expected groom has blasted her plans to pieces. And her daughter is ill. Of course she’s afraid.
As the urge to take her hand and reassure her fought its way to the surface, he backed up a step. Compassion was an unfamiliar emotion, one he’d thought the army had drilled out of him. “I’ll return the wagon to the barn and rustle us up some supper.”
“I can help. Show me what you want me to do.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Noah hadn’t had a decent meal in days. He wasn’t about to let a pampered socialite loose in his kitchen. Constance Miller probably didn’t know the difference between a spatula and an egg beater.
Not giving her a chance to respond, he left the house and tended his team, all the while mentally forming a rebuke that would singe the hair on Will’s and Daniel’s heads. Constance and her daughters shouldn’t be here. If Will hadn’t butted his nose where it didn’t belong, Noah would’ve been able to give the town’s problems his full attention.
The bank heist wasn’t his only concern. There’d been other unsolved crimes in recent weeks. Poisoned cattle. A sabotaged lumber delivery that had delayed construction of several important buildings. An invader in Will’s private quarters at the Cattleman. The Murdoch brothers were a troublesome bunch, bent on getting rich off others’ hard-earned money. But they weren’t all that smart. Noah suspected someone else was behind the town’s troubles. Someone with an agenda.
In the far-left corner, Wolf rested in the straw-strewn dirt, golden eyes tracking his jerky movements. Noah hung the bridles in the tack room.
“We’ve got a fresh set of problems, old boy. The chief one’s name is Constance.”
Wolf’s pointy ears perked up.
“Can you believe she was scared of you?”
The animal’s eyes closed as if in disbelief.
“Crazy, huh?”
Constance’s reaction wasn’t abnormal. Most folks kept their distance from Wolf, which suited Noah just fine. Since the wolf dog accompanied him most everywhere, it meant they kept their distance from Noah, as well.
He forked fresh hay in the horses’ stalls. The damaged skin on his shoulder and upper chest protested the movements. Since his release from the hospital, he’d made a habit of applying honey mixed with lavender to keep the skin soft and supple. Skipping the past several days hadn’t been a good idea.
“One of the twins is sick.”
Wolf blinked.
“Hope it’s nothing serious.” Leaning his weight on the pitchfork, he stared out the double opening to the cabin framed by gently rolling plains. “I thought my scars would disgust them, but they didn’t seem to notice.”
He’d expected Constance to recoil as so many others had upon first seeing him. The first time it occurred had been days after his doctor proclaimed him on the mend and suspended the lead paint treatments. The coverings had been removed, and he’d been allowed a mirror to see his new appearance. Just as he’d been confronted with the monster he’d become, a wife or sister of one of the patients had passed by, taken one look at him and clapped her hand over her mouth. Her horror had seared itself onto his brain.
He’d thrown the mirror to the floor, smashing it to bits, and sunk into a soul-deep melancholy that had lasted for months. If not for Daniel and Will, he might never have left the sick ward.
Striding to the corner stall, he checked on his dairy cow. “Hey, Winnie.”
Twisting