him to get out of these bloomers and dressed for the day.
Bass threw back the covers and sat up. Someone had redressed his wound last night and he had been too sedated to remember who. He’d have to be sure and thank Myrtle or even if it was the man named Teague.
The thought of the stranger and Petula spending time out in the barn yesterday urged Bass’s feet to shift over the side of the bed.
Too quick a movement. He steadied himself a moment before looking for the baggage that Maddox had dropped near the armoire. His own was still there. Petula must have taken hers sometime after the Trumbo men left.
He wanted to get dressed so he could discuss matters with her, and he’d feel much better doing that downstairs in the parlor. No matter how shaky he seemed, staying abed would never give him back his strength. He might not be able to travel far, but he’d heal quicker upright.
Bass stood, testing the strength in his legs. Though wobbly, he garnered his will to manage a slow walk across the room. An attempt to lift his baggage proved more than a little troublesome. The weight bit into his injured shoulder and forced him to simply take out the garments he needed and leave the rest alone to unpack when he felt more stable.
The walk back to the bed and exchanging the bloomers for trousers tired him. Bass gratefully sat on the edge of the bed again to catch his breath a moment before fastening the buttons on his shirt. His fingers trembled as he began the effort. Too much, too soon, he guessed. The doctor was right. He wouldn’t get far down the road like this.
A knock on the bedroom door surprised him. Someone else was awake. His fingers fumbled with the remaining buttons as he acknowledged, “Yes?”
“Mr. Parker, I heard you milling around. Please don’t overdo it today. We’ll be in town much of the morning, and I’m going to have to count on you to pretty much take care of yourself while we’re gone. Myrtle and I will have your breakfast ready in a few minutes. I hope you like buttered flapjacks.”
Daisy’s voice sounded excited, not at all tired from yesterday’s events. He did enjoy flapjacks and hadn’t eaten homemade ones in a long time. “Sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
“I’ll see to it that your sister’s awake and ready if she wants to go to church with the rest of us. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the gathering for the races. She’ll have an opportunity to meet some of the other young women in town.”
The races were today, he recalled. Something obviously important to the widow. Though he didn’t much care that Pet would be able to meet the young men as well, he knew he must start trusting his sister at some point. If he held her at too tight a rein, she would rebel. He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d done the same with their parents’ expectations of him, hadn’t he?
His mother and father had reminded him constantly that he was the reason they didn’t reach their goals or failed. He didn’t want Pet to end up feeling unworthy of being happy, as their criticism had often made him feel. Bass refused to become that hard-hearted or let Pet become the same.
Perhaps it was time to be a little lenient with Pet.
Time to dust off his own prayers and hope for the best.
Everyone would be gone for quite a while this morning, probably even the afternoon. That would give him plenty of time to properly groom himself without anyone trying to help. Maybe he could even manage to get his own breakfast and save them effort.
“Don’t trouble yourself for my sake,” Bass replied, looking forward to being alone. “I’ll see to my own care, Widow Trumbo. Go on with what you need to do to be on your way.”
“Hey, Bass,” a childlike voice added followed by a second knock. “Can I come in?”
He hurriedly finished the last button on his shirt. What did the little minx want now? “I’m dressed now. You may come in.”
A whispered argument echoed from the other side of the door before they finally opened it and entered.
Ollie stood there all decked out in a calico dress and Mary Jane shoes spit polished to a glossy black shine. Her blond hair had been brushed and tied back with a ribbon the color of bluebonnets in fresh bloom.
Daisy looked equally as becoming, outfitted in a lovely gray dress with lavender piping and buttons. A social acceptance of color to bring into play after at least two years of grieving, Bass remembered from his own experience after they’d lost their parents. Petula had hated wearing black and wanted to get to the lavender stage as quickly as possible.
This was probably Daisy’s Sunday best.
Her long braid had been pinned into a coil, making him assume she’d probably done that to keep her hair out of her face as she raced. In a dress?
He’d never really thought about how women raced. He knew it was all the rage back East for them to show their ability for sport as equally as men did, but apparently the trend had reached farther West. It didn’t quite seem fair that they were forced to participate with disadvantages men didn’t suffer.
Embarrassed that he’d just sat there staring at each of his hostesses, he needed to say something. “My, don’t you both look nice.”
Ollie took a seat in the chair beside him and frowned at her mother. “I look scrubbed, ya mean.”
“Olivia Jane, what do you do when someone gives you a compliment?”
“Oh yeah.” She stood abruptly, grabbed a hunk of calico at her hip and curtsied. “Thanks, Bass. I guess I...what do you big fellas call it? Cut mustard?”
“Muster. And you certainly do.” He imagined the lovely lady she would make someday if she ever allowed any boy to court her. Probably as lovely as her mother.
The child’s gaze swept from him to Daisy.
“Well, what about you, Mama?” she challenged. “He said ya look nice, too. What’choo gonna do about it?”
Daisy’s cheeks reddened as she bobbed quickly. “Thank you, Mr. Parker. That was kind of you to say so.”
It gave Bass an opening to finally express some of what he’d been thinking. “My pleasure, indeed, Mrs. Trumbo.”
Ollie sighed and wrinkled her nose. “Y’all just call each other Bass and Daisy, okay? Them long ol’ names make me tired. Why don’t y’all shake hands like me and Bass did, then y’all can be friends?”
Bass offered his first and Daisy slowly shared hers in return.
“Bass.” She squeezed gently in acknowledgment.
“Daisy.” He did the same with a sense of gladness. Another step in breaking the ice that might allow them to warm into friendship. He truly wanted to become her friend, someone she trusted. The urge to help her pulsed even stronger in his blood like a log heading into a fast current. “I hope you do well with your races.”
“Thank you.” Her hand lingered for a moment before slipping slowly from his.
When she turned and headed for the door, he fought the compulsion to tell her he would join her and the others at the breakfast table. To lengthen this truce between them. To spend more time talking with her about something of interest only to her. To learn anything she’d allow him to know that would give him a clue how he might best proceed with his plans concerning her and Ollie.
Daisy had set up strongly in his thoughts since he’d met her, allowing an old dream to resurface. Could such a woman like the widow actually turn his heart from stone? Could any woman for that matter?
Bass had prayed that such a woman might enter his life and teach him how to love, but the prayers went unanswered. Now so long denied, he scoffed at the idea. He’d known Daisy hours, not days. She despised him and wanted him gone. She’d made that clear. He willed the dream away, presuming he’d simply found some of her qualities fitting for the kind of woman that might have appealed to him had he made a list similar to