The next two days brought more sun, and Melinda could hardly believe that the way out of Easton was blocked. Looking outside was like looking at a Christmas card.
Now that it was clear they would be staying for a while, Melinda decided to do everything she could to make the ranch feel like home. She organized the larder, scrubbed the floors, and even sent Darla to put the books in the library in order.
“But it’s so hard not to get distracted!” protested Darla. “I keep on finding something interesting, and then I just have to stop to read it!”
Savannah came in and out of the house, which provided great company for Melinda when Darla was occupied. Mr. Hart and Mr. Winter spent most of the daylight hours working outside. Part of one of barns had collapsed under the weight of the snow, and it took a great amount of work to fix it; even Jacob came up to lend a hand.
Melinda had not forgotten her conversation with Savannah and paid close attention to her interactions with Mr. Hart. While nothing of further importance had passed between them, she sometimes felt he was watching her.
Not in a concerning way, but in a way that she couldn’t quite decipher. In fact, that very morning, she had been singing a little tune that she loved while scrubbing the front entrance, and Mr. Hart had the most peculiar look on his face when he came upon her.
Now that Melinda knew she would not be spending Christmas with her aunt, she and Savannah had started setting plans in motion for the quiet Christmas they would have together in her and her father’s cabin.
“We can’t have any decorations,” Savannah told her. “He won’t like to see them through the window.”
Melinda remained perplexed as to why Mr. Hart was so dead set against the holiday. He had mentioned his mother the other day when they had been in the kitchen together.
It was the first time he had talked about his parents, and she found it strange that they were not near, especially at such an important time of year. She had so many questions, but she did not want him to think her improper.
On the fifth day of their stay at the ranch, Melinda decided to take on the task of cleaning all the windows. They had become grimy through the years, and with such a beautiful view to look at, Melinda wanted them to shine as bright as diamonds.
She had just sat down her bucket at the kitchen window when she saw Mr. Hart walking toward the house from the main barn. They had not had much opportunity to talk that day, as Mr. Winter was occupied by a fallen fence elsewhere on the property. Because of this, Mr. Hart had seen to all the milking, which had kept him out of the house all morning.
Darla had expressed a great preference for the fresh cream that came to the top of the milk from Mr. Hart’s cows, so Mr. Hart had been kind enough to bring some to her fresh for the past two days.
Melinda smiled when she saw Mr. Hart coming toward her. In his hand, he held a silver pail. Even at a distance, she could tell it was full of cream.
She scrubbed one of the window panes, putting Mr. Hart into sharp focus. She thought it sweet that he had paid enough attention to Darla to know her likes. Not every man would be so indulgent to a child he barely knew.
Melinda watched as Mr. Hart climbed a small hill just a few feet from the house. He and Mr. Winter had cleared a path to make it easier for them to get to and from the barns. The path was lined with thick, sharp rocks.
One of the rocks had clearly moved out of place because one moment Mr. Hart was walking toward her, and the next, he was flat on the ground. The cream spilled out, blending in with the snow.
Melinda let out a gasp and ran to fetch her coat, dropping her cleaning rag on the way. Before Mr. Hart could fully sit up, she was by his side. A nasty gash ran across the length of his hand.
“Mr. Hart, oh, Mr. Hart, are you all right?” Melinda knelt beside him, holding out her arm so he could steady himself.
He shook his head. The fall had sent him down face first, and his hair was covered in snow.
“I must not have seen that rock. Mr. Winter and I have had to redo this path a few times over this past week, and something must have come loose. That was foolish of me.”
“Not at all,” soothed Melinda. “You couldn’t have predicted it.”
Mr. Hart winced. Blood from his hand covered the wrist of his coat and had begun to drip onto the snow below, adding to the gore and drama of the scene.
“Here, allow me.” Melinda scooped up some fresh, clean snow and applied it to his wound.
He let out a sound that was either pain or relief; Melinda couldn’t tell.
“We need to get you inside, Mr. Hart. This needs to be seen to right away.”
“But the cream … Darla …” he gestured helplessly at the toppled pail.
“That doesn’t matter now,” said Melinda gently. “You are what matters.”
Curtis looked into Melinda’s eyes. She still had her hand pressing snow onto his. She felt his hand tighten.
He nodded.
“All right, you’re right, Miss Dalton. If you’ll be so good as to help me up.”
Melinda looked down at Mr. Hart’s hand and saw that his blood had almost soaked through the ball of snow.
“Wait,” she said.
She unwrapped the scarf she had flung around herself when she ran out the door and let out a sharp inhale as the cold hit the bare skin of her neck. She saw Mr. Hart’s eyes shift slightly before quickly returning to her face
Melinda took Mr. Hart’s hand and wrapped the scarf firmly around it. Making sure to tie the ends together in a stiff knot, she took his other hand and pressed it hard against the knot.
“Keep pressing down firmly on the knot,” she instructed. “It will stop the bleeding.”
Once Melinda was satisfied that he was applying enough pressure, she helped him to his feet, and the pair made their way back to the house.
Inside, Melinda turned the parlor into a makeshift hospital room. She called Darla from the library and had her fetch some extra covers from the linen closet at the end of the hall. Once Mr. Hart was sufficiently warm, and Darla was back at work, Melinda sat down a bowl of hot water, some gauze, and clean cloths.
“May I see your hand?” she asked, holding out her own.
Mr. Hart released the hand that had been faithfully pressing down against Melinda’s scarf and let his injured hand fall into Melinda’s capable grasp.
“This may hurt a little.”
Slowly, Melinda began to unravel the scarf from Mr. Hart’s hand. The scarf had stopped the bleeding, but the gash still looked angry and raw. Some dirt from the ground and fibers from the scarf had mixed with the blood to give it a rather unpleasant appearance.
Curtis groaned. “Please, Miss Dalton, you don’t need to see this. If you leave me the cloths, I can tend to it myself.”
Melinda held firmly onto his hand.
“Nonsense. I’m not so delicate that I can’t handle a little blood.”
Mr. Hart looked at her curiously, but he didn’t put up any more objections.
Melinda placed one of the cloths in the water and then gently dabbed around the wound’s edges. Curtis sighed and closed his eyes.
She looked up. “Am I hurting you?”
Curtis opened his eyes. “No, not at all. You have a very gentle touch.”
Melinda smiled. She held his hand out of necessity; she couldn’t see to his wound without doing so. But something about it felt deeply intimate. She felt her skin grow warm against his and desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice. She bowed her head over his hand, feigning that it was a necessary move to do her job well.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
She continued to keep her head down as she cleaned the rest of his wound, but she could feel his eyes on her as she worked.
“You’ve been through many hardships, Miss Dalton, but that hasn’t made you hard.”
Melinda went still. She stopped what she was doing and looked up to meet his gaze.
“You’re a beautiful soul,” said Mr. Hart, looking deep into her eyes. “I hope you know how much I enjoy having you here.”
Melinda felt as though her insides had turned to mush. It was hard to look directly at him, and by this point, it felt like her hand had burst into flames.
“I’m not an imposition?” she asked finally.
Mr. Hart lifted his good hand from his side and put it over hers. She felt sure he must be able to feel the heat from her skin, but she didn’t want him to let go. He pressed down and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Not in the least,” he said.
The two looked at each other in silence, and Melinda felt the warmth from his touch spread all over her body, all the way down to the tips of her toes. Mr. Hart looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he lifted his hand from hers and allowed her to continue her work.
She carefully wrapped his wound in gauze, taking a little extra time than was necessary to make the final tuck of the fabric. She knew once she was done, she would have no further reason to hold his hand in hers.
Finally, Melinda finished her handiwork with a gentle pat on his arm. She instructed Mr. Hart to lie still for the next few hours and told him she would bring him some tea and a book while he rested. When she stood to leave, she realized her heart was pounding.
***
Curtis was having trouble organizing his thoughts. Miss Dalton had been staying at Hart Ranch for five days now and his reaction to her presence had surprised him.
When she and Darla had shown up on his doorstep, he had experienced surprise, followed by dismay. He wasn’t used to having anyone but Owen, Savannah, and Jacob in the house, and he thought he would find it annoying and tiresome. Instead, he discovered he greatly enjoyed having the two around.
He loved waking up, knowing that Melinda was in the house. He loved how she made the ranch feel like a home. He was eating better than he had in years, and every room he went into looked new and refreshed. He had also fallen in love with her voice.
Ever since the night he had heard her singing to Darla, he had caught her singing and humming around the house. It brought him pleasure every time he heard it.
One time, he had stopped when he heard her singing and just stood and stared, enjoying the sound of her angelic voice. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it until she turned around, and he had to pretend he hadn’t been listening.
Curtis also enjoyed Darla. The child had a quick wit and was very smart. He loved how interested she was in books. When she first started reading Alice’s old favorites, he thought he would be upset, but he found instead that it was nice to see the books enjoyed again. It kept Alice’s memory alive.
Several times over the past few days, Curtis had thought about how good it would feel to come back to the house to find Melinda and Darla there every day. They filled the house with warmth and love, and he didn’t like to think about a few weeks from now when they would be gone, and the house would be empty once more.
Now, Melinda had just bandaged his wound after he cut himself on a rock outside, and Curtis couldn’t get over the feeling he’d had when they’d touched.
Melinda had held his hand in hers for several minutes as she dressed his wound. While he knew he had said words to her during this time, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what they were. Her touch was so gentle, and her skin was so soft.
Curtis looked around. Melinda had situated him quite comfortably beside the fireplace in the parlor. She had left him a pot of hot tea, and Darla had presented him with a selection of books she thought he might like. The two girls were now preparing food in the kitchen to allow him some quiet time to recover.
I could get used to being cared for, he thought.
Curtis picked up a book but couldn’t get his mind to focus. Do I have feelings for Miss Dalton?
He tossed the book aside. He had never courted anyone, not really. One girl had interested him in school, but it had only just crossed his mind to do something about it when his sister died.
After her death, he was done with school, and it became easy to seclude himself at the ranch. If it hadn’t been for Jacob, he probably wouldn’t have seen anybody at all until Owen and Savannah moved onto the property.
Having had no experience in the matter, Curtis didn’t know the first thing about how to impress a lady or how to go about letting one know he was interested. He was also painfully aware that Miss Dalton was his guest and a guest through no choice of her own. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable by approaching her with unwanted advances.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The best thing to do was to swallow his feelings. They were probably one-sided anyway, he told himself. I’m sure she doesn’t have feelings for me at all.