Chapter 5   

Tara watched while the doctor dipped the last strip bandage into the bowl and finished applying the poultice to Timothy’s shoulders and back. “Change these several times a day. You’ll dip them in this mixture of bitterroot, honey, and whiskey until I can get back with a bromide solution.” He swished his hands in a bowl of water then picked up the towel as he gave instructions. “Keep giving him a lot of fluids, especially bitterroot tea with a little more honey. If he doesn’t get infected, he has a fighting chance.”

“I can do that.” Tara said. “But Pa, what about the fence and the cattle if’n I’m here?”

“Don’t worry about that, Mouse. I’ll find more men.” He put his arm around Tara. “Anything else we should do for him, Doc?”

“Someone should be watching over him the next several days around the clock. If a bad fever sets in or if his muscles lock up …” He shook his head. “Well, there’d be little I could do, but call me over and I’ll try.”

“He can stay here in my son’s room. We can take turns watchin’ out for him through the night,” Robert said.

“Give him a spoonful of this for pain so he sleeps through the worst.” The doctor set a small bottle of laudanum on the bed stand. “Watch out for a red, creeping rash from any of those cuts. That barbed wire did a nasty number on him. He’s lucky to be alive. Quick action, young lady, probably saved your man’s life.”

“He’s not—” Then she realized the doctor meant employee, not suitor. “Thank you, Doc, for your help.”

Tara stared down at Timothy sleeping fitfully on his stomach. When he was awake, he grimaced each time he moved his head, but with the wounds down his back and arms, there’d be no way for him to sleep comfortably in any other position. She gently covered him with a lightweight sheet and then a heavier quilt for his lower body. The cool nights could set him to shivering. But for now, the sedative seemed to ease him enough he no longer flinched at every touch.

Over the next few days, Tara nursed Timothy while the extra hands her father found in town helped on the ranch. So far she hadn’t yet met any of them and only caught a glance now and then when she saw them in the yard. Cookie fed them out in the courtyard, or on rainy days they ate in the bunkhouse. Anything to keep Timothy’s healing undisturbed.

She’d taken to reading passages from Psalms out loud to comfort him and playing hymns on her lap harp to entertain him. Cookie came in to assist with needs too personal for an unmarried woman. But Tara waited outside the door, cringing at each groan from any movement. Two weeks in and clear of fever, Timothy sat up in bed waiting for her.

Carrying in a tray of chicken and vegetable soup, Tara stopped in surprise. “Look at you sittin’ high like a rooster on a fence.” A sense of relief flowed over her. “How’s that feelin’ to your back?”

“I have a new understanding of what the scourge might have been like for Jesus.”

The comparison struck Tara’s soul with conviction. Jesus went through all that punishment unto death for her. The wounds Timothy bore were horrible. How much more the Son of God’s? Lord, forgive my grudge against You for the deaths in my family. I see what You done for me now.

His smile still seemed a bit strained. “And I think my neck has a new shape to it.”

“I’m sorry. I’d’ve hurt you more if’n I tried to do anything about it.”

“I’m better for sitting up.” He inhaled the aroma as she set the tray on the nightstand. “Eating face down has not been ideal.”

“Nor for the floorboards,” she teased. “You’re a sloppy slurper.”

“My apologies, dear lady.” He placed his hand over his heart. He winced and drew in a quick breath. New skin replacing deeper cuts hadn’t fully regenerated, tugging painfully across his shoulder.

She caught his hand in both of hers and lowered it gingerly to his lap. “Stop all that whippin’ your arms about. You want to break all them wounds to pieces?” She leaned over his shoulder and peeled the light cotton nightshirt away, checking for damage. She braced her hand on the edge of the bed so she wouldn’t lean on him or cause him pain in any way.

“I’m not whipping my arms, Tara. I was just—”

She cut him off with a gentle, admonishing tone. “You can use any excuse you like, but I saw what you did.” His hand slid off his leg and covered hers, catching Tara off guard. She didn’t move. Instead, she whispered close to his cheek, “That’s my hand there, cowboy.”

He turned his head and looked deeply into her eyes. “I know. I’m grateful for your care. And you called me cowboy.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his, though their noses were near touching. The shaving cream scent still clung to his skin from Cookie’s work. Should she let him kiss her? She held her breath, waiting.

“Would you—”

“Would I what?”

“Help me with the soup?” He gave her a lopsided smile.

She sprang backward, plopping into her chair. Heat raced to her cheeks. Turning away from him, she said, “Yes, of course.” She took a little extra time to gather the tray into her lap. How foolish of her to think he might want a kiss when he still had so much recovering to do. Tara forced herself to pretend she’d felt nothing. But his eyes never left her face, unsettling her even further.

“You know, Timothy, I think you’re ’bout able to feed yourself now.”

“Oh no, I need your help.” His smile nearly curled her toes. His voice lowered and held the allure of romance, if she wasn’t imagining it. “Maybe for a while yet.”

“So that’s how you get a pretty gal ’round here-abouts.” A gruff cowhand leaned against the doorjamb, holding a bunch of wildflowers. “Guess I’ll have to go and break a leg.”

Timothy’s face darkened at the intruder.

“I’ll take care of this.” She rose, set the tray on the stand, and hurried toward the man. “You know you can’t be here, uh …”

“Jesse, ma’am.”

“Jesse.” She met him at the door. “Timothy needs to rest and heal. I’ll put those in a jar for him.”

“Miss Tara, I ain’t here for him. These here buds are for you.”

She shooed Jesse out of the way and closed the door behind her, leaving Timothy to feed himself for the first time. Except she wanted to be in there with his blue eyes and not out here dealing with yet another man who wanted a washwoman and grub maker. Ain’t there someone, Lord, that wants me for me?

Timothy could kick himself, except he couldn’t get out of bed yet. Now that burly cowhand brings Tara flowers? He had to get well before he lost his chance for good. Hadn’t he honored her wishes? He should have kissed her. But what woman wanted her first kiss to be from an invalid who could barely move his arms? When he kissed her, Timothy wanted to be able to hold her close. Show her she could rely on his strength and protection. No matter what it took, he’d figure out a way to prove he was the best choice to be her husband.

He could see and hear enough through the cracks in the door planks to tell this Jesse fellow’s intentions—to woo a wife!

“I heard ya say ya liked these here wild roses the other day when you was out by the creek.”

“Thank you, Jesse, I do. But you don’t have to pick them for me.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do if I want ta show ya how I feel.” He cleared his throat. “I’m hopin’ ya’ll will accompany me ta the Independence Day party over ta the Gregson Hot Springs next week. They got a band, a potluck, and such.”

Fuming, Timothy pounded a fist on the mattress then squelched a groan. The effort sent sizzles through the tender skin of his shoulder.

Another man’s voice joined the conversation outside his door. “Hey, I asked her first. You cain’t go hornin’ in on another man’s territory!”

What? There were two of them? Timothy closed his eyes and shook his head. He’d have to manage these new cowboys, show himself worthy of leadership. But right now he wanted to throttle both of them.

“Thank you for the invites, but I ain’t nobody’s ter—”

Her stern tone was interrupted by yet another interloper. “Hey, I got business here with boss lady.”

Timothy hung his head. Three men vying for her attention? What could he do about it from a sickbed? With great effort, he rolled to his stomach. His only hope would be to heal as fast as possible. That meant rest and prayer. Desperate prayer!

A few minutes later the third man warbled out a love song. Timothy shoved his head under the heavy feather pillow to drown out the caterwauling coyote and prayed like he’d never prayed before.