A Home Of Her Own

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He hovered over her, his face visible in the lantern light. He was a sorry sight, with ash and soot covering every inch of him. She must look just as bad, but he was right. She needed sleep. Lots and lots of it.

“Rest a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He returned shortly and placed a basin on the bureau by the lantern. Her mattress sagged as he sat beside her and removed Kate’s oversize cloak. Mutti entered, carrying an armload of toweling. He inclined his head toward the bureau. “Put it right there, please. And then if you could rustle up a cup of tea, I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Ja. I will.” Mutti shuffled from the room.

James turned toward Becky with a smile on his face, his teeth stark white against his soot-covered skin.

“You look happy. Did we save the crop?”

“I think so, at least most of it.” He plunged a washcloth into the steaming water, wrung it out and took one of her hands in his, holding it tenderly as he dabbed at the layers of grime. “You finally called me James.”

Had she, in the midst of her fright, forgotten herself? “I did?”

“When you thanked me, yes.” He grew serious. “I’m so sorry I put you in danger.”

“I wanted to help. I just wish I could have done more.”

“You did more than you realize. I’d accidentally dozed off and would have kept right on sleeping, but a dog woke me.”

A chill raced over her, and she shivered. “A dog?”

“Not just any dog. A beautiful red Irish setter. In all my years I’ve only seen one other.”

Red? Spitz must have returned. “About that. He’s the dog we saw in Placerville. The poor thing followed Mutti and me here. I couldn’t turn him away, so I cleaned him up. I’ve been feeding him. Just table scraps. Nothing else. I plan to find him a home. You don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of him.”

“Oh, you’ll take care of him, all right. He’ll be your responsibility. You don’t need to feed him behind the empty cabin, though. Just see that he doesn’t bother the chickens.”

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly in her fuzzy-headed state. “You knew?”

He rinsed out the cloth and lifted her other hand. His lips twitched, as though he were holding back laughter. If only he would let loose. He was far too serious for his own good. “I know everything that goes on at my place.”

She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d proven to be quite observant. “And you’re not sore at me?”

“Your dog helped save my crop. So tell me. What do you call him?”

“Spitz.”

James did laugh then, a rich sound that rumbled in his chest. “You adopted an Irish dog and gave him a German name? Why?”

“Whenever I send him off, he runs straight for your Esopus Spitzenburg trees. I shortened the name, and it seemed to fit. After all, it means pointedly in German.”

“You’ve got pluck, defying me the way you did.” His voice, low and deep, held admiration, not the anger she’d expected.

He draped the soiled cloth over the side of the basin, wet a fresh one and set to work cleaning her face, each slow stroke of her cheek sending tingles from her head to her toes. No man had ever touched her like that. Not that he was actually touching her, but even so, the act seemed intimate and...romantic.

James O’Brien wasn’t a rogue at all. He was a hero—her hero—having raced to her rescue once again.

He brushed the hair from her forehead with his fingertips and swiped her brow. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

“Hmm? Yes, I did defy you, didn’t I? I had my reasons for doing so, and you must admit they were good ones.”

“Huh! I’ll admit no such thing.” His playful tone belied his scowl. “This is my place, and I expect those who work for me to respect my wishes.”

“Oh, but I do.” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “I respect your need to have a loyal watchdog who will see that no harm comes to you, your mother or your orchard.”

He wiped the other side of her face, looking deep into her eyes as he worked, his own a warm brown with a hint of mischief. “For a tired woman, you have an impressive amount of spunk.”

It had taken impending danger followed by relief to bring out a more lighthearted side of James. Now that she’d seen it, she was no longer afraid of him. Quite the contrary. She would do whatever it took to be there for him in his hour of need, as he’d been there for her.

Maybe they could become friends. Anything more was out of the question since she’d have to leave town as soon as she’d earned enough to pay him back.

For some reason, the idea of never seeing him again didn’t sit well.

* * *

James shifted the brown paper packages in his arms, crossed the porch and stood in the open doorway. His shoulders were sore after the half-mile trek home, balancing his unwieldy load. If he’d known when he’d left how much he was going to buy, he would have driven the wagon, but his plan hadn’t taken shape until he’d spied the shelf full of fabrics in Mr. Harris’s shop.

Mutti saw James first and chuckled. “Ach, Sohn. Did you leave anything for others?”

Becky wiped her flour-coated hands on her apron and rushed over. “Here. Let me help.” She grabbed the parcel teetering on top of the stack, set the bulky package on the dining table and watched wide-eyed as he plopped the ones containing the foodstuffs she’d requested beside it. “I know my list was rather long, but this is more than I expected.”

“I added a few things.”

Her eyebrows and her voice rose. “You did?”

“You don’t have to sound so skeptical. I’ve seen to the shopping for some time now. Why don’t you take a look? Start with this one.” He shoved the large parcel she’d rescued toward her.

She reached for the kitchen shears, snipped the twine and peeled back the brown paper. Tilting her head, she stared at the contents, saying nothing.

His chest tightened. He’d been sure she would like his choices. After all, he’d taken his time selecting the items, going so far as to seek the opinions of the female customers in the shop. Providing Becky with a new wardrobe was the least he could do after putting her in danger during the frost scare the week before.

Mutti shuffled over to the table and took her seat to the right of Becky.

At long last Becky nodded appreciatively and shifted her attention to Mutti. “How nice. James has gotten you some lovely new things.”

Becky pulled out the straw bonnet one of the women had said was quite fashionable, followed by a pair of kid gloves, six pairs of stockings, brightly colored material for dresses and plain muslin for nightwear and undergarments—everything the customers had said a young woman would need.

Mutti patted Becky’s arm. “My dear girl. He did not get them for me. They are for you.”

“No. That can’t be. He wouldn’t...” She held the bonnet in one hand and fingered the dove-gray ribbon ties, a color the women had said would go well with the fabrics he’d chosen.

“Mutti’s right. They’re yours.”

Becky gave her head an emphatic shake, set the bonnet on the table and pushed the pile of items toward him. “No. You must take them back.”

“Come with me, please.” He took her by the elbow and led her onto the porch. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”

“I can’t accept a gift like that. It would be improper.”

He had to make her understand because he wasn’t about to have her wearing that dingy dress of hers any longer. She deserved better. “It’s not a gift. Think of it as...your uniform. You’ve only got one dress since the other’s burned, and it’s unacceptable.”