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Her sister looked unconcerned at the tone of rebuff. Her eyes were worried. “He’s gone feverish, Molly. Smokey says it’s the chilblains.”
Molly finally looked at their guest’s face. He was awake and making an attempt to smile, but his eyes were red and his cheeks were flushed. Among the tendrils of hair she could see his swollen ears. They were a mottled dark purple.
“We’ll need some glycerine,” she said at once, forgetting about Susannah’s unseemly position on the bed. “And a feather to apply it.” She looked back at Smokey. “And we’ll need more blankets.”
At her commanding tone Susannah dropped Parker’s hand and slid off the side of the bed, Smokey disappeared down the hall and Parker himself sat up, weaving a little as he did so. “I’m sorry to be putting you all to such trouble,” he said.
Molly walked over to him and bent for a closer look. Both ears were monstrous, the right a little worse than the left. She should have checked them last night. Heat radiated from his skin. “It’ll be more trouble if you die on us, mister,” she told him. “So just lie back down there and let us try to get you better.”
He moved down under the covers once again and closed his eyes. “I don’t intend to die on you, Miss Hanks,” he said weakly.
“Now, that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say, Mr. Prescott.” She turned to her sister. “Susannah, go make some hot plasters for his chest. We’ve got to sweat out this fever.”
They worked on him straight through the supper hour. His fever rose as they piled on the coverings and by eight o’clock he was out of his head and ranting. He seemed concerned about his horse’s leg and then asked for his sister. And finally, with anguish, he called for someone named Claire.
Molly had taken over the position next to him on the bed. She supposed she didn’t look any more decorous than Susannah had earlier, but it didn’t seem to make much difference now. She gnawed at her fingernails, trying to decide what to do. She’d known of cases where a finger or a toe had gone bad and had had to be cut off. But an ear? The mere thought made her shudder.
Neither Smokey nor her sisters were of much help. Smokey sat in a chair on the other side of the bed and looked mournful. “Nice-looking young feller,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s a low-down shame.”
“He’s not going to die, is he, Molly?” Mary Beth asked for what must have been the twentieth time in two days.
Molly resisted making an angry comment. Mary Beth was the baby of the family and approached life with a bit more trepidation than her two sisters. “We won’t let him die, Mary Beth,” she answered her sister resignedly, hoping that she was telling the truth. They’d built the fire up to a blaze and shut the hall door, so it was steaming hot in the room. Their patient was drenched in sweat. Molly walked over and wiped his forehead. He snapped his head back and forth underneath the wet cloth.
“I’m not giving you up, Claire,” he said almost lucidly. Then he reached up, grasped Molly’s wrist with a surprisingly strong grip and moaned, “Noooo.”
Was Claire a former sweetheart? she wondered.. Or a current one who was awaiting him in California? He had said that he had no schedule, which didn’t sound like a man on his way to be reunited with a lover. Either way, it was of no concern to her, Molly told herself.
Smokey got up from his chair and walked over to the bed. “I hate to say this, Miss Molly, but I think we better cut the danged things off.”
“Cut what off?” Mary Beth asked, her eyes wide.
“Them ears.”
All three girls looked at the sick man with horror.
“Have you ever seen it done, Smokey?” Molly asked.
The cook shook his head. “Heard of it, though. And I’ve seen ‘em chop off plenty of fingers and toes. If we don’t do it, the pizen could go right to his head.”
“Blood poisoning, you mean.”
“Yup. Right to his brain.”
He waited, looking at Molly. Susannah and Mary Beth were looking at her, too. Why did it always have to be her decision? “Would you know how to do it, Smokey?” she asked.
“Cut ‘em off, stitch ‘em up, I reckon.”
Smokey’s surgical technique obviously left something to be desired. But what if they waited and the pizen, as Smokey had said, did travel into his brain? A man could live without ears, she supposed, but she was curiously reluctant to maim the handsome stranger.
“No. We’ll wait,” she said finally.
Smokey shook his head gravely but didn’t say anything. After a few moments he returned to his seat near the door. Another quarter of an hour passed. No one spoke, but Molly knew they all were thinking about her decision, wondering if it would cost Parker Prescott his life.
She wiped sweat from her forehead and felt it under her arms. “It’s so hot in here he’s like to suffocate,” she said irritably.
“But he’s got the fever. We’ve got to keep him warm,” Mary Beth protested.
Susannah was dozing in the rocking chair by the fire. She opened her eyes and said sleepily, “Just ‘cause he’s got himself frostbit doesn’t mean we should roast him to death, if you ask me.”
Molly straightened from the bed and made another decision. “Open the door, Smokey, and let’s get some of these blankets off him.”
Smokey looked doubtful. “He could take a fatal chill.”
“Well, his skin’s hot as a branding iron right now, and he’s delirious. I have a feeling he’d feel better if we cooled him down a little.”
Smokey opened the door, and a chilly whoosh of air blew into the room. They pulled the stack of covers off him, leaving only the quilt and one blanket. Almost immediately his tossing and moaning subsided. As the room cooled, Molly felt calmer. She put another coat of glycerine over the swollen ears and wiped his face again with the cool cloth. His breathing grew deeper, more even.
After several minutes Molly said in a soft voice, “I think he’s fallen asleep.” She looked around the room. “Why don’t you all go to your rooms and get some rest? I’ll sit with him.”
“You were up with him last night, Miss Molly,” Smokey protested. “I’ll stay by him tonight.”
Molly shook her head. “I’m not tired. If I need you during the night, I’ll knock on your door.”
“You can knock on mine, too, Molly,” Susannah said in a subdued voice.
Molly looked up at her sharply. Even when their father had been so sick, Susannah had not been willing to allow her beauty sleep to be disturbed.
“I’d not mind sitting up with him,” Susannah added. Her eyes regarded the sick man with concern and something more.
“He’s breathing easier now,” Molly said, motioning toward the bed. “I think I’ll be all right with him.”
With final glances at the sleeping man, her sisters and Smokey left the room. Molly pulled the rocker close to the bed and sat down. She hoped she’d done the right thing by cooling down the room, she thought groggily as she pushed the chair back and forth. She hoped the fever would break overnight. The old rocker creaked rhythmically…. She hoped she wouldn’t have to cut off her patient’s ears…. Her head lolled against the chair cushion…. She hoped she had misread the look in Susannah’s eyes….
Parker’s mouth tasted as if he’d eaten a dead squirrel. His head pounded, and his ears felt as if someone had stuffed them full of cotton. He was still in the bedroom of the Hanks’s deceased father, even though the sunshine through the slats of the window meant that the storm had long since ended. He must have been so plumb tired that the fierce Miss Hanks had decided to extend her charity a few more hours. For some reason, he could remember little of the previous day, other than the fact that Molly Hanks had threatened to turn him into buzzard meat if he touched her sisters. He smiled. She had a right tender way about her, that one.
After a moment of debate he decided he would have to move his head. The prospect did not please him, but he had to move some part of his body, and he might as well just start right in where it hurt. Nausea hit him as he turned to one side, but he controlled it as he focused on the woman in the chair beside him. Not the termagant older sister, but Susannah, looking pretty as spring in a bright yellow dress with flounces of lace from the high neck to just above where the tightly fitted bodice showed off her full… Parker blinked twice. He was in a strange place, coming out of some kind of delirium, weak and disoriented, yet he could feel his body reacting to Susannah’s female perfection. Perhaps her sister had been right. Perhaps he should be left for buzzard meat.
“You’re awake,” Susannah exclaimed.
“Have I…” Parker stopped to swallow down the fuzz in his mouth. “Have I slept long?”
“You were out of your head yesterday afternoon and into the night. We didn’t know if you were going to make it. Smokey wanted to cut off your ears, but Molly wouldn’t let him.”
She had jumped up and come to the side of the bed, speaking excitedly. Parker’s head throbbed. “Cut off my ears?” he asked, not certain he had heard correctly.
“They’re frozen,” Susannah said with a frown, her excitement decreasing.
He raised a hand to the side of his head and encountered a large, sticky mass that seemed to have no relation to the rest of his body. He looked up at Susannah in dismay.
“Don’t touch them or they might fall off,” she said quickly, and he pulled his hand away as if he had been burned.
He tried to bring the rest of the room into focus at the same time as he tamped down another wave of sickness. “Have you been beside me all night?” he asked her.
She hesitated a moment. “Molly was helping, too,” she said finally.
He smiled. “I owe you a big debt.”
She stood and leaned across the bed, putting a cool hand against his forehead. “Last night you were burning up with fever. You seem cool enough now.”
He wasn’t feeling cool. Her chest pressed gently against his arm as she bent over him. She smelled faintly of lemon. Even still weak from a night of fever he felt a surge of desire. He bit his lip until she pulled back. It might be harder than he had thought to keep his promise to Molly Hanks through the long winter.
She was looking at his ears. It was odd, but he couldn’t feel them. He carefully touched first one side, then the other. “You were serious about cutting them off?” he asked.
Susannah nodded. “They’ve got the chilblains, Smokey says, and the pizens are what made you go out of your head.”
“Do you have a mirror?”
“I… I don’t think you want to see them, Mr. Prescott. They’re just about every shade of the rainbow this morning.”
Parker grinned. “Sounds pretty. But didn’t we agree that you’re to call me Parker?”
Susannah nodded. “Molly might have something to say about it, though. She gets nervous when we start getting too familiar with anyone wearing pants—except for her, of course,” she added with a giggle.
“Well, at least you can call me Parker when we’re by ourselves, Susannah.”
“Which isn’t going to be often,” a blunt voice said from the doorway.
Parker jumped, sending a spiral of pain from the base of his neck up to the top of his head. Molly Hanks stalked across the room and looked down at him. “You look as if you plan on sticking around for the winter after all, Mr. Prescott,” she said. Her blunt comment from the door had made him expect to see her upset, but she actually sounded pleased to see that he was recovering.
“Thanks to you and your sister,” he said. “I’m beholden to you both.”
“Just get yourself healthy enough to help out around here and remember what we talked about yesterday. That’s all the thanks I ask.”
He started to nod but thought better of it. He wouldn’t move his head again unless he had to. “I probably owe you my life,” he said. “And I understand that I definitely owe you my ears.” Smiling didn’t hurt, so he turned the full force of one of his best on Molly. He saw immediately that it had some effect. She might dress tough and talk tough, but he had the feeling that underneath, Molly Hanks was not so very different from her two sisters.
“We’ll keep putting on the glycerine,” she said, ducking her head to hide the flush that had crept over her face. “But the swelling’s gone down some from last night. I think they’ll be all right.”
Smokey appeared in the doorway. “He’s doing better?” he asked in his gravelly voice.
Molly turned around with a smile.. “Yes. I think we’ve got those pizens on the run.”
The cook gave a satisfied nod. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“A visitor? Through this snow?”
“Mr. Dickerson. The son.”
“Jeremy or Ned?”
Smokey grimaced. “Mr. High-and-Mighty. Jeremy.”
Without appearing aware of her actions, Molly smoothed her hair with both hands. “Tell him I’ll be down directly,” she said.
“I told him to wait in the parlor, but he says he wants to come—”
From behind him an authoritative voice interrupted. “What’s going on here, Molly? They told me you’re caring for a stranger in your father’s room.”
The man who pushed past Smokey to enter the room was about Parker’s size. He was dressed well in a black pin-striped suit and string tie. His boots were polished and the hat he held in his hand would have set most cowboys back three months’ pay.
Molly straightened at his approach. “I don’t mean to be rude, Jeremy, but if Smokey asked you to wait downstairs, you should have done so.”
Parker felt oddly proud to hear her stand up to him. The man was obviously not used to following orders. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, he sat upright in the bed. He didn’t want to be flat on his back when he made Jeremy Dickerson’s acquaintance.
Dickerson smiled at Molly. Both his straight black hair and black mustache were neatly trimmed. In spite of riding from somewhere through fields of new snow, he had not a hair out of place. “Forgive my eagerness to see you, my dear,” he said to her. She did not flush as she had when Parker had smiled at her earlier.
“It’s no matter,” she muttered.
Dickerson strode over to the bed and stared at Parker, then addressed Molly as if he were some sort of dumb animal. “ Where’d he come from? And why have you got him here in Charlie’s room?”
Parker couldn’t tell if Molly was irritated by the tone of authority. She was not bristling as she had upon occasion with Parker himself. She answered evenly, “He’s our new hand, and he’s recovering from frostbite.”
Jeremy looked down his nose. “He looks healthy enough to me.”
Hoping he wouldn’t be sick, Parker leaned forward and extended his hand. “Parker Prescott,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Dickerson looked taken aback by Parker’s move, but he recovered and halfheartedly shook his hand. Then he turned back to Molly. “I don’t like the idea of a stranger staying here in the house with you girls. It’s not the same as when your father was under the same roof to protect you.”
Now there was a definite bristle in the set of Molly’s shoulders. She ignored his comment, but stayed calm as she said, “Why don’t we go on downstairs and have some hot coffee, Jeremy?” She started moving toward the door. “I can’t believe you came here through all this snow.”
“I just wanted to be sure everything was all right….”
Dickerson followed Molly out the door, and Parker said to his back, “Nice to meet you, too.”
Susannah giggled and stuck her tongue out at the retreating pair.
“Who was that charming fellow?” Parker asked.
Susannah’s expression grew sober. “That charming fellow,” she said, “is my future brother-in-law.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_b5ae591a-8a68-5f29-b49a-c9391d385d1b)
Parker’s dark eyebrows shot up. “He’s engaged to your sister?”
“Well, not exactly. But he expects to marry her. The Dickerson ranch adjoins ours, and it’s something our pa always talked about with Jeremy’s pa, Hiram.”
Parker sank back into his pillow. He’d been holding himself up with his arms and they were starting to quiver. It was amazing how weak a man could grow in just a couple of days. He couldn’t say why the news that Molly Hanks had a serious suitor seemed so astounding, but it did. “We are talking about Molly?” he asked Susannah.
“Molly’s the one he wants, all right. You see, even though Papa left the Lucky Stars to the three of us, Molly is—how do they say it legally?—executor of the property, even if Mary Beth and I get husbands of our own, which isn’t likely the way she greets every man coming within a mile of the place with that rifle of hers.”
