LITMIR.BIZ

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she was completely well and could fetch her own supplies.

      Danny burst through the screen door. “Ma, guess what? Mr. Ness painted the mercantile pink!”

      “Pink? Why on earth would he do that?”

      “Actually, Miz Malloy,” said Mr. Winterman at Danny’s heels, “Ness claims his daughter Edith painted it. You want these coffee beans in the pantry?”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      Danny stopped short in front of her. “You all right, Ma? You look kinda funny.”

      “Yes, I—Well, I tried to milk Bessie and I guess I overdid it.”

      Cord stopped short. “I milked her before I went into town this morning, ma’am, even though you said not to. Didn’t you see the milk pail? I set it inside the back door.”

      “I... Well, I...” How could she ever confess what she’d done?

      He waited, a frown creasing his tan forehead.

      “I, um, I accidentally kicked over the bucket. I had to mop it all up, and then I decided to milk her again, but first I had to catch her and...” She closed her eyes in embarrassment. Only an ignorant city girl would try to milk a cow twice in one morning, and she was certainly not a city girl. Ignorant, maybe, but not a city girl. And only a clumsy idiot would kick over a pail of milk.

      Molly came to her rescue by stomping her little feet down the stairs. “Mama made me go to my room!” she announced in an aggrieved tone.

      “How come?” her brother asked.

      She stared at the floor. “Dunno.”

      The hired man and the burlap bag of coffee beans disappeared into the pantry, and then he tramped back out through the screen door. When he returned he had a big white sack of flour over his shoulder. But this time the screen door twisted off its one remaining hinge and hung sideways. Without breaking his stride, he yanked it all the way off and sailed it off the front porch.

      Molly and Danny watched, wide-eyed. “Wow,” her son breathed.

      Suddenly Eleanor was bone-tired. She made an effort to breathe normally, in and out, like Doc said. In and out, slowly. She couldn’t manage all of this, the milk pail, the mop, the cow, Molly’s incessant questions, the screen door...she couldn’t manage any of it. She closed her eyes. She wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the energy.

      She felt a hand on her shoulder and she snapped her lids open.

      Cord stood beside her, dusting flour off his jeans. “Got any whiskey?”

      “In the pantry,” she said wearily. “Top shelf.” She shut her eyes again and concentrated on her breathing.

      “Ma’am?” He stood in front of her, holding out a cup of coffee. She hesitated, then lifted it out of his hand and downed a big swallow. Her throat convulsed as something hot burned its way down her throat. Tears came to her eyes.

      “Guess you don’t drink much liquor,” he observed.

      “I don’t drink liquor at all,” she rasped. She risked a dainty sip of the brew this time. “It tastes awful, like varnish.”

      He chuckled. “You drink a lot of varnish?”

      She laughed in spite of herself—in spite of her exhaustion, in spite of everything. She breathed in the scent of sweat and sunshine and caramel. “Mr. Wint—”

      “Name’s Cordell.”

      “Cordell—”

      “Cord,” he corrected. At that moment Danny streaked out through the front door, stopping to inspect the space where the ruined screen had been. Molly tagged at his heels.

      Cord pulled his attention back to Eleanor Malloy. “Guess you’ve had a tough morning, huh?”

      At her nod, he continued. “Me, too. First there was that pink-painted storefront. Then what’s-his-name at the sawmill gave me some grief about putting the lumber on your account. And then,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “Daniel ate all the caramels and wanted Molly’s lemon drops, too.”

      “You bought lemon drops for Molly?”

      “Sure. I knew Daniel’d brag about his caramels when we got home, so I figured—”

      Without warning she started to cry.

      “Well, now, maybe Molly doesn’t like lemon—”

      “She l-loves lemon drops. Th-thank you.” She handed her coffee cup to him. “Mr. Winterman, I am feeling a bit tired. I think I will lie down for a few minutes.”

      She managed to stand up without swaying and reached the settee in the parlor before her knees gave out. Cord thunked his cup onto the kitchen table, walked over to her and lifted her into his arms. She sure didn’t weigh much.

      He started up the stairs. “Where’s your bedroom?”

      “Last door,” she murmured.

      Cord tramped down the hallway, swung open the door of her room and strode across the rag rug beside the bed. Then he bent and carefully laid her on the quilt. At once she curled up like a little girl and before he straightened up she was asleep.

      The room was Spartan, just the bed and a battered armoire and a chest of drawers with a basin and china pitcher on top. No mirror. Ruffled white muslin curtains fluttered at the double window. Which, he noted in passing, looked out on the front yard where the discarded screen door lay between two maple trees. Daniel and Molly were squatting on their haunches with their chins propped in their hands, contemplating the rusty mess. He hated to think what project they’d come up with for the old screen—a safe one, he hoped. Mrs. Malloy, Eleanor, didn’t need any more worry.

      He noted the intent look on both children’s faces and how they kept poking each other with their elbows. Guess he should be prepared for anything. Eleanor’s children were turning out to be fun to watch.

      With a chuckle he went back down the stairs, climbed up onto the wagon bench and drove the load of lumber around behind the barn.

       Chapter Four

      Eleanor stretched luxuriously and opened her eyes. Doc Dougherty had ordered her to take afternoon naps, but really, this was ridiculous! From the angle of the sun through the bedroom window, she guessed she had slept for hours.

      The sound of hammering came through the open window, and she dragged her aching body off the bed and peeked out. Danny was perched at Mr. Winterman’s elbow, handing him nails, which he pounded into the new porch step. Molly was playing with something in the porch swing. She wondered what it was until a tiny ball of orange fur tumbled off onto the floor.

      A kitten! Where had she found a kitten? As she watched, another orange ball dropped off the swing, and then another! She groaned aloud. Surely Cord wouldn’t have brought kittens from town without asking her first?

      Molly gave a squeak and scrambled out of the swing to corral the animals, and Eleanor turned away from the window. She splashed lukewarm water over her flushed cheeks and patted some on her neck. Imagine, sleeping away the afternoon when she should be baking bread and starting the beans for supper. It was probably because of that whiskey Cord had slipped into her coffee. The man was a bad influence.

      Well, maybe not so bad, considering that he’d apparently worked all afternoon and watched over Daniel and Molly while he repaired whatever he was working on. She looked out the window again.

      The front porch step was fixed. Oh, yes, she surely did need a hired man! She was glad she had hired Cordell Winterman. She thought about the tall, sun-browned man all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen to start supper.

      An hour later the children tumbled in through the new screen door, dusty and happy. And hungry.

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