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“I’m going downstairs for a few minutes. Mr. Mackenzie, I believe you need to talk to Mary Alice.”
“Ruth, I—”
“I’ll be downstairs, sir, sitting in the parlor.” Her smile lit her face, and she touched a lock of his hair that had fallen across his forehead. “You’ll be fine.”
She was gone.
Garth turned toward the bed. His little girl sat up, her back upright against the oak headboard, her face back to its pasty paleness. What could he say? He wasn’t her mother, for God’s sake.
“Are you feelin’ better, child?”
“A little, Pa.”
“Some water, maybe? Breakfast?”
“A cup of water would be nice. I’m not hungry for breakfast.”
Garth fetched a cup of water from the basin and handed it to her. She took a few swallows and handed it back. He set it on the night table.
Now what?
He cleared his throat. “I’ve asked… That is, I’ve asked Miss Blackburn to talk to you about this new…uh…condition. She’ll be able to help you more than I can.”
She nodded.
“We’ll…have her out to supper tomorrow evenin’. Does that sound good to you?”
“Yes, sir. I like Miss Blackburn. I’m happy to have her visit anytime.”
“Yes. I…” He wanted to say he liked Miss Blackburn, too. That he’d thought of nothing but the pretty schoolteacher since he’d first laid eyes on her. But that wasn’t for his daughter’s ears.
Ruth had told him to tell Mary Alice he loved her. Of course he loved her. She was his child. He opened his mouth to say as much, but the words caught in the back of his throat.
Why couldn’t he bring himself to utter those damned words? He’d never said them. Not since the war. Never to Lizzie. Never to his children.
He inhaled, held his breath for a few seconds, and opened his mouth to try again.
“Mary Alice, I…”
“Yes, Pa?”
“I…” Damnation. “I…hope you’ll be feelin’ better tomorrow so you can make a nice meal for Miss Blackburn’s visit.”
“She taught me to make her chicken pie. I think I can do it, Pa, if you’ll dress me the chicken.”
He nodded. “I can do that.” He stood and looked around the sparse room. “If you’re feelin’ up to it, get up and get dressed now. We need to be gettin’ home. I got lots to do around the farm. The animals need tendin’, and there’s clean up from the fire. Let’s make haste.”
Chapter Nine
Ruth normally enjoyed walking the homestead in late spring. The floral aroma of the wildflowers, the sweet scent of new grass, downy baby jackrabbits hopping about after their mothers—she loved the prairie. Always had.
But walking with Doc Potter felt all wrong. Ruth would rather be sitting down, where their height difference wasn’t so blatantly obvious to the entire free world. He’d come calling this evening. Land alive, she’d told him he could. This morning, right in front of Garth Mackenzie. She had no one but herself to blame.
After a short visit in the front room with her parents, he’d suggested a walk, and she hadn’t been able to come up with a reason to decline, especially not with her ma and pa scrutinizing her every move.
“May I take your hand, Ruth?”
An honorable request, one she should grant to a suitor. He didn’t pull her into his embrace like Garth Mackenzie had. But should she encourage his suit when her heart lay elsewhere?
