Page 27 of Fairest of Heart

The dog offered no insight, so Penelope carried her lamp over to the washroom to see if the basket was there. After Doc had unwrapped her feet yesterday, she’d peeled off her tattered stockings so he could examine the damage, especially the sore spot where the thorn had jabbed her toes. Jeb had wadded up her discarded stockings and muttered something about tossing them in the mending basket, though heaven knew no amount of darning could repair the shredded things. He hadn’t gone far, so the basket should be nearby. She wished she’d paid more attention to where he’d gone, but her attention had been riveted on Doc’s face as he examined her feet. Thankfully, he’d declared that stitches wouldn’t be necessary, though he’d instructed her to keep the cuts clean and let him know at once if they worsened.

Keeping them clean would be a simple enough matter if she possessed proper footwear. Which she didn’t. She’d found some woolen stockings in Mrs. Kingsley’s trunk and had pulled them on, but there had been no shoes.

One problem at a time, Pen.

Shoes could wait. Right now, she was hunting the mending basket, and judging by the mound of clothes heaped in the corner just inside the washroom door, she’d found it. Her wadded stockings lay on the floor beside an overflowing market basket, probably because they weren’t clean. She searched the shelf on the wall above the basket until she found a small box containing needles, thread, and a small jar of random buttons. Knowing she wouldn’t have time to tackle the entire pile this morning, she grabbed an armful off the top and headed to the kitchen table. If the size of the pile was any indication, this was a chore no one at the Diamond D enjoyed. Which made it the perfect opportunity to show her appreciation. She was a little nervous regarding how Coy would feel about her commandeering his kitchen, but it looked like no one would mind her making free with the mending.

An hour later, four shirts sported new buttons and repaired seams, one set of trousers had a patched knee and a resewn pocket, and two pairs of socks had been darned. All items were folded and stacked on the spare chair sitting against the wall. Fresh coffee stood ready on the stove. Her cake was out and cooling, and her bread dough was rising nicely. As was the sun. Pink and orange painted the sky as she stared out the back window and sipped a cup of tea.

“You’ve been busy this mornin’.”

Penelope spun around to find Doc shuffling into the kitchen, hair combed and glasses on, though it looked like he’d pulled on a pair of pants over his nightshirt.

“Did I wake you?”

“Nah.” He waved off her concern. “The aches and pains of bein’ an old man woke me. But the smell of somethin’ sweet and tasty got me out of bed.” He drew in a deep, appreciative sniff. “Is that cake I smell?”

Penelope grinned and pulled away the tea towel covering the cake she’d turned out a few minutes ago. “Coffee cake. Can I cut you a piece?”

“Mmm. Mmm. I can’t remember the last time I had fresh-baked cake. Probably not since God called Mabel home.” Nostalgia colored his voice. “My wife had a sweet tooth and always had cookies, cake, or a pie on hand just in case company came to call.” He grinned at Penelope. “If getting up early gets me a piece of cake, I’ll have to greet the dawn more often. You’ll join me, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

Humming softly, Penelope cut two slices of cake and poured Doc a cup of hot coffee. She waited for him to take his place at the head of the table, then sat cattycorner to him. Her stomach knotted slightly as he tore off a bite with his fork and lifted it to his mouth, but the moment his eyes slid closed and a purr of satisfaction rumbled in his chest, her nerves vanished.

“Mercy, girl, but you can bake. This is delicious!”

She ducked her head, but modesty couldn’t restrain the delighted smile that stretched her cheeks. “Thank you. The woman who raised me was a cook at a girls’ school back in Chicago. Everything I know about baking, I learned from her.”

Intelligence flickered in his eyes, and she had no doubt he was filing away the tidbits she’d revealed about her past, but he didn’t press her for more details. “She taught you well, Miss Snow.”

“Please, call me Penelope.”

He nodded his head in her direction. “Penelope.” He took another bite of coffee cake but slanted her a sideways glance. “Still wearing my grandson’s shirt, I see.”

Heat flared across her face. “None of the tops in your wife’s trunk fit, I’m afraid.”

He turned back to his cake and nodded, as if trying to put her back at ease by removing his attention. “I worried that might be the case.” He swallowed a sip of coffee before finally catching her eye. “Do you sew? I can send one of the boys into town to fetch some fabric for you.”

She shook her head. “I can’t ask that of you. Maybe if you have some old flour sacks lying around, I can piece something from them. Maybe even alter one of your wife’s pieces—if you don’t mind, that is.”

“’Course not. Mabel would want you to make use of them, so make whatever alterations you need. They’re not doin’ anyone any service stored away in that trunk.” He pointed his fork at her as if he’d just remembered something. “Rowdy is going to clean up a pair of old boots for you to wear until we can get you some shoes. He’s got the smallest feet. The boots might be a tad big, but if you stuff some newspaper into the toes, they should work. Ike’s got a coat you can wear, too.”

“I . . . don’t know what to say.” Penelope blinked at the moisture filming her eyes.

Doc looked at her over the rim of his wire spectacles. “We had a house meeting while you were sleeping yesterday, Penelope.”

Her heart thumped an erratic beat at his serious tone, and she circled her hands around her mug of tea to keep them from shaking.

“We are all agreed that we will help you get back on your feet in whatever way you deem best. We can put you on a train back to Chicago if that is what you want. Or we can take you to Glen Rose and help you find a job. We’d even take you to the county sheriff in Granbury to press charges against the man who attacked you.”

Panic seized her chest, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Not Granbury. Not with Madame LaBelle and her troupe in town.

Doc laid his hand over her forearm and squeezed slightly.

Had he sensed her fear? Her dread?

“But if you have nowhere in particular to go,” he continued, his voice gentle and steady, “we would like you to consider staying here at the Diamond D.”