Home to Roost_Bower, Colorado Page 9

  “Birdie,” he said her name in a calm measured tone, “I’m not tired of you, not in the least.”

  “You have to say that,” she sighed, her voice softer than before.

  “I mean it, Birdie. You know that I don’t say what I don’t mean.” He cleared his throat. “I mean you’ve known me for a few days, but I hope you feel that you know me.”

  “Of course.” He felt her hand brush the front of his shirt. “You’re a good man, Livingstone Quinn. Everyone knows that.”

  He managed to swallow a breath without bumping her or moving her from his shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that you think so.”

  Quinn looked up into the night sky, watching the stars flicker in the darkened canopy. “I’m hoping that you might consider staying here… with me.” He waited for a minute hoping she would say something. When she didn’t he took a steadying breath, at least she hadn’t said no.

  “Having you here… spending time with you… being alone, what I mean is, I don’t want to be alone anymore. My homestead may not be much at the moment, but I work hard and I would do everything I can to make you happy.”

  Still nothing. Quinn was beginning to lose what remained of his confidence. “Earlier, you said that you would prefer to live out here instead of Bower. So, if you think that you could really be happy here, I’d like you to stay.”

  Silence.

  “With me.”

  Crickets. He could hear the soft sounds of crickets in the long grasses and Birdie’s wildflowers.

  And then a soft intake of breath before Brigid sighed… in her sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Brigid awoke with a start. Sitting bolt upright in bed she looked about the room with a frown. The sunlight pooling on the bed around her over-spilled the pile of blankets that covered her.

  To say that she was confused would be a huge understatement. She was completely lost.

  Lifting her hand to her hair she felt a half-formed braid and some tangled clumps. She pushed at her blankets and moved to the side of her bed and set her feet on the floor.

  Pants.

  Pants and shirt.

  She was still dressed.

  Supper. She remembered having supper. Then Dishes. Then the porch. She’d sat out in the night air and leaned against Quinn’s shoulder.

  Her heart stopped. What had she done? What had she said? Rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, she struggled to remember more than the vague flashes of memory that darted through her sleepy mind.

  A soft scrape of sound reached her ears and made her stand and cross the room to the front door. When she stepped outside her confusion turned to worry and then disappointment… in herself.

  The gate to the coop was open and chickens covered the yard, scratching and pecking at the ground, happily devouring whatever couldn’t manage to scurry away from their sharp little beaks. Hunched over the nesting boxes, Quinn was quickly picking through the hay and removing eggs from the depths.

  A quick look at the sky told her it was still early. Pacing her way across the porch and into the yard, she made her way through the throng of curious chickens, most of which followed after her in a half-hearted clump. She stopped just outside the fence. “Quinn?”

  She knew she’d startled him. Saw the tension shoot through his shoulders.

  He took his time, tucking away another three or four eggs before he met her eyes. “I wanted you to rest.”

  Brigid didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know what to say.

  That didn’t stop her from saying the first thing in her head. “I like helping you.”

  He nodded, but his eyes moved away, somewhere over her shoulder. “I think you’ve done more than your share. You were my guest.”

  She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. There was something in his words, not just the low tone, but it was his choice of words. “Done.” She felt her throat tighten up and even then, she had only managed to echo one word at first. “You don’t want me to help with the eggs?”

  His jaw was tight, and even with the shadow along his jaw created by his shoulder-length hair, she could see a muscle tense under his skin. “You won’t be able to.”

  Before she managed to form more than a breath, he explained.

  “I checked the creek this morning. It’s low enough to cross safely. Having a whole day and night of dry weather helped.”

  Brigid nodded, absorbing bits and pieces of his words rather than the whole.

  “If you’re up to it,” he continued on, “I’ll take you back to Bower today. I have eggs to deliver to Hampton House. They’re likely out or about to be, and I’m sure they’re worried sick about you, wondering what happened.”

  “Sure.” She heard the truth of his words. He had to go and so did she, but what really hit her the hardest was that he would come back to the homestead without her.

  His home, not hers.

  Not anymore.

  It took everything she had to tug the corners of her mouth into something resembling a grateful smile and manage to speak in a tone that sounded happy, grateful. “It shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes to gather my things.”

  There was so much truth in those few words. She had less than the clothes on her back to take with her, and yet, her heart was filled with memories that she would treasure.

  There was a flutter of feathers as she turned, chickens scooting away from her dragging steps. She thought she might have heard something from Quinn, but she couldn’t turn around. She couldn’t look at him again, not yet. She was dangerously close to asking to stay. She wanted it more than she could comprehend, but she couldn’t trust herself not to play the fool.

  If he wanted her to stay, he would have said something.

  Wouldn’t he?

  By the time she pushed open the door, she could breathe again. One gasp after another peppered the air in the cabin as she paced to the wash basin. Some of the cold water splashed over the edge of the basin and onto the stand, and without thinking, she picked up the end of her borrowed shirt and swept it up.

  Pushing her hands into the basin she swept the water on her face as she leaned over it, enjoying the cold bite against her skin. She was leaving. Walking away. Just like she was supposed to, but the last thing she wanted.

  Still, she wasn’t going to be a child about it.

  She wouldn’t leave Quinn with this last memory of her. He didn’t deserve her weakness, not after everything he had done for her.

  Brigid combed her fingers through her hair and yanked at the tangles, managing to tame them into a braid tight enough to survive the walk back into town. She had enough pins to attempt an upswept bun, but without a looking glass Brigid was afraid it would have looked awkward at best. A braid was easier and would at least keep her hair from her face.

  Her bodice and skirt were a loss, as was her hat. She’d used a pair of shears to cut her clothing into rags that Quinn might find helpful. He’d already told her to keep the clothes she was wearing and she was more than grateful for his generosity. She’d wear his coat on top of it when they entered town. It would give her a modicum of protection from the prying eyes of the people in town. If the wrong people saw her wearing such odd clothing, there might very well be some backlash.

  She could shake off the idea that it would affect her. That didn’t matter. The Hamptons would become the target, all because of her. It was difficult to find people who would see beyond the surface. Appleton had proved that for her. A new start still had all the worries and obstacles that had been an issue for her before.

  A new town like Bower was just another opportunity for her not to fit in. Once she returned to town and hopefully her room at the Hampton House, she had to plan on her next move.

  A move away from here.

  When everything else was ready, she picked up her old boots and carried them to the table. She pulled out the chair and sat down before slipping one onto her foot.

  The door opened and she kept her gaze on the
floor boards.

  “Why are you putting those on?”

  Don’t look up, she reminded herself. She could only be brave for so long and she was near the edge. “You made the boots for your sister,” she reminded him. “I know you haven’t had a chance to start on another pair, so you should have the first pair to work from, like a pattern.”

  She picked up the second boot and tried to slip her foot in, but the high sides scrunched down and made it difficult to get more than her toes into the boot.

  He shook his head, smiling at her, and she only saw it from the corner of her eye. “Still so stubborn.” Moving over to the bed, he picked up the boots and moved toward her. “If I didn’t want you to have them,” he explained. Quinn set one boot down on the floor and set the other in her hands. “I wouldn’t have given them to you. I left them by the side of the bed when I carried you in last night.”

  She paused and felt a real smile play over her lips. “I had wondered.”

  “You fell asleep on my shoulder last night.” There was a soft strain in his voice. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I brought you inside.”

  She felt a pain twist in her middle. “I hope you didn’t hurt-”

  “Birdie,” his voice was a warning, but she felt the playful tone of it too.

  Instead of wishing for what she couldn’t have, she pulled on the boot and reveled in the soft caress of the leather against her feet. Even with her stockings on, she could feel the care that had gone into making the boots. Distracted by her thoughts, she managed to wrap the ties around her leg with a practiced ease.

  “You look like you've been doing it all your life.” His tone was soft, familiar. So very painful.

  “Thank you.” She winced at the odd feelings twisting inside her. “I feel really bad that I ruined your present for your sister. I have a bit of money set aside in my things at the boarding house. Please allow me to pay for them so you can buy her something in return.”

  He refused with a soft shake of his head. “You don't owe me anything, Birdie. They’re yours. I couldn't imagine anyone else wearing them but you.”

  “I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

  Quinn was silent for a moment and she chanced a glance in his direction as she lifted her foot to slip it into the other boot. There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t name, but if she had been more of a romantic, she might have wished that it echoed the feeling within her heart.

  When he opened the door he managed a smile, but she had lost his expression in the shadow cast over his features as the sun pushed in through the open gap.

  “You’ve given me more than anyone else, Brigid Belham. I’ll never forget you.” That said, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be ready to go when you are.”

  Brigid finished tying on her second boot and found enough voice to speak where she knew she couldn’t be heard. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” she sighed, “but it’s not my choice, is it?”

  Brigid had tried to argue with him when she saw the weight of what he was carrying. The pack on his back had been swept up and slipped easily on his back, but he held a second pack in one hand.

  “I could help, somehow.”

  He smiled at her. He’d already crossed the creek twice to set the two packs down on the opposite side. He’d come back to take her hand and cross the creek beside her.

  She was selfish enough to take his hand when she knew it would be easier in the long run to take his arm and cross. Once on the other side of what had been a dangerous flow of water just a day before, Brigid concentrated on keeping up with Quinn’s longer strides. She might only be a few inches shorter than him, but she wasn’t used to walking with such a purpose. Especially when the purpose seemed to be to separate them.

  When the outer buildings of the Haverhill Mining Company came in sight, Quinn set down his burden and gave her a chance to put his coat on over her clothing. The length of the coat was a good one on his more muscular body, but on her slimmer shoulders it, like his shirt, seemed to stretch, covering her almost to her knees where her boots began.

  Brigid made quick work of donning the garment. The walk and the riot of emotions swirling in both her head and her heart had exhausted her.

  It would be easier to just put everything behind her. Maybe, just maybe, it would hurt less.

  They crossed over into the main part of town, strolling down Riverside Road nearly side by side. As they rounded the corner, Brigid’s ears were assailed by the noise from the sawmill and she realized how close she was to saying goodbye.

  A quick glance at Quinn told her something was amiss.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He opened his mouth and started to deny his mood and stopped when she gave him a knowing look. “I usually arrive before dawn,” he explained.

  Feeling the warm midday sun on her face and shoulders, Brigid understood. “More curious eyes than I would like, myself.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “But with your jacket on,” she mused, “and my hair tucked in under the collar, someone would be hard pressed to recognize me even if they knew me well.” A little more guilt settled on her shoulders. “Most wouldn’t even know me, but here you are like Daniel in the Bible, dragging a double delivery of eggs and a woman in pants through the lion’s den. I would call that immense courage.”

  He shrugged and winced at the pressure on his shoulders. “Or supreme foolishness,” he answered back.

  She sighed aloud. “I like my version better.” She looked up at the neat wooden sign for Hampton Road. “We’re nearly there.”

  The prospect of a bath urged her forward, but halfway across the street she felt Quinn’s hand snare her arm and pull her back.

  A man pushed past them as he crossed the path, nearly trampling her feet. She was used to people walking right over her, but these were the boots that Quinn had given her, made by his own hands.

  “You’re excused,” she muttered the words before she could think twice about it.

  “You watch your tone, boy!” The imperial snap in the man’s voice felt like a slap and in that moment she realized her terrible mistake.

  “Yes, sir,” she managed to push the words out over the lump in her throat, “so sorry, sir.”

  Before she could say anything else, she started forward, hoping that her bowed head and quick apology would be enough.

  “No,” came the caustic reply from behind, “I don’t think you’re quite sorry enough.”

  She heard the scuff of heavy boots and turned a pleading look to Quinn, who had easily kept up with her pace. She hoped he could see her apology for him in her gaze.

  Just shy of the front gate of Hampton House, Appleton Winslet caught up with them and barred the way with his forbidding state and fancy suit.

  For a moment and just a moment, Brigid thought how strange it must be for the three to be standing there in an odd triangle. Three tall oaks in the vast emptiness of the street. Any humorous stir melted like iced cream on a summer day.

  “What right do you have to speak to me like that?” Appleton was in a fine temper. “You should give me the right of way.”

  Brigid wished she could know what Quinn was thinking, but at the top of her list of wishes for the moment was escape. Keeping her gaze on the fancy watch chain that hung from Appleton’s vest pocket, she could barely whisper her words. “My apologies, sir, I wasn’t thinking.”

  The truth, they said, would set you free. Appleton didn’t subscribe to the theory.

  “There are a multitude of things you weren’t doing, boy.”

  “That’ll be enough, Winslet.”

  Quinn’s voice was a breath of fresh air, easing some of the strain of the moment. “You have your apology several times over. Let us pass. I have a delivery to make.”

  “Delivery,” the lawyer nearly sneered his reply, “one doesn’t need an education to do menial tasks.”

  Brigid felt her temper heating up but she held onto it. The exercise was ev
en more exhausting than walking the miles back to Bower.

  “If you have any other issues you can wait until I’ve made my delivery and then I’ll be happy to deal with you.”

  With a nudge of his elbow, Quinn tried to move Brigid through the gate, and she struggled to find a way around the other man, but the attorney wouldn’t give way and moved to block her path.

  Quinn didn’t let it go. “Walk away, Appleton.”

  Dread crawled down her spine.

  “Why should I?” came the challenge. “I’m off to have my midday meal at Hampton House, if it’s any of your business, which it’s not.”

  Knowing she was trapped, Brigid did the one thing she could do. She squeezed past Appleton and putting one foot in front of the other she continued to walk.

  Just a few steps up onto the porch and she might be lucky enough to-

  “Well goodness, looks like we’re going to have a full table today.”

  If it wouldn’t have given her away, Brigid would have broken down into tears at the sound of Carolina Hampton’s voice. She just managed to keep moving, hoping to avoid a scene.

  “Livingstone!” Miles was there too, calling out a greeting. Brigid could hear the real sound of friendship in his voice. “Glad to see you could make it. We had a feeling the storm had you stranded out in the woods.”

  Carolina’s skirt with its stiff petticoat was enough to block most of the door. Moving past her would have been an outright insult, so Brigid remained still just outside the door, her head down, hoping for an opportunity to avoid unmasking herself.

  “And we were hoping,” Carolina’s tone darkened, and her smile dimmed, “that you might be able to help us.”

  “Help?” Quinn’s answer was immediate and heartfelt. “Whatever you need.”

  “What I need is to pass and have my meal. I have strict office hours.”

  Miles’s grimace was almost a smile as he stepped aside. “Welcome, Mr. Winslet, everything is on the table.”

  Brigid nearly laughed with relief as Appleton stepped in through the open door, heading for his meal. Instead she took in a deep breath and turned to smile at Quinn. The movement caught Carolina’s shrewd gaze.