Saving Cinderella. Lilian Darcy
that yet. Face to face with Mrs. McCall, she was overwhelmed by how much there was to explain, and by the need to cut it as short as possible in order to get Sam inside.
“Gray s-sent me,” she stammered. “He’s coming along the… I’m sorry…the Angus spur, I think he said. He’ll be here soon. He said you’d— The thing is, my little boy is sick, and it’s getting colder by the minute, and I really want to…”
She trailed off.
“It’s all right. It’s all right,” said Mrs. McCall in a comfortable voice. Her hand, faintly dusted with flour, took Jill’s travel bag and tucked it out of the way against the wall. The same hand left flour traces on Sam’s forehead as she rested her palm there for a moment, then crooned, “You’re as hot as can be, aren’t you, cowboy? Come in, honey.”
She put an arm around Jill’s shoulder as Jill took a better hold on Sam, wrapping both her arms around him. He hadn’t spoken a word since they left Gray back in that big open field.
“Come straight through to the kitchen,” Gray’s mother said. “I have the oven on, and it’s the warmest room in the house. He must be hungry.”
“I don’t know if he is, but I’d like to get some hot liquid into him, and some Tylenol, and then I’m hoping he’ll take a long nap. He hardly slept last night.”
“Poor mite! I have soup on the stove and corn bread just gone into the oven. I’ve been expecting Gray back for lunch.”
“We delayed him, I think.”
“You’ll eat, too?”
“As soon as I’ve settled Sam.”
“You’re staying the night, of course.”
“Gray asked us to,” Jill hedged, then admitted, “I was so grateful.”
On her shoulder, Sam stirred. “Mommy…?”
“Isn’t it good to be inside, Sam?” Jill whispered to him.
She dreaded the possibility that this was a real illness. Strep throat, or influenza. What were doctors like out here? How long would it be before he could travel safely?
Stomach in knots, she followed Gray’s mother down a clean, plain hallway and, moments later, Sam was seated on her lap at a big old kitchen table. There was a cast-iron, wood-fired range that was no longer in use, next to an electric stove that wasn’t a whole lot newer. There was a wooden dresser set with a motley collection of decorative plates, and there were floral calico curtains bunched in the windows.
Mrs. McCall moved about the large yet cozy room with quiet efficiency.
“Where did you leave Gray?” she said.
“Um, I’m not sure. About a mile back, I guess.”
“He should be home any minute, then. He’ll come and check that you’re safe before he sees to the horse. You haven’t told me your name yet, honey.”
The reproof was so mild it was almost a compliment.
“I’m sorry. It’s Jill. Jill Brown.”
Jill Brown McCall? She didn’t say it, being absolutely sure that Gray, like herself until very recently, would have said nothing about their marriage to his family.
“It’s good to meet you, Jill. And you, Sam, darling-heart, although I know you’re feeling too bad to talk.” She slid a wide, half-filled soup plate across to Jill and cautioned, “Still piping hot, so wait a little,” then added, “I’m Louise.”
There was the sound of boots clumping on the back steps, then the rattle and creak of old doors opening, and Gray appeared. He swept his hat off his head with a single, practised movement, and Jill could see that his nose was shiny with cold and his black eyes glistened. The feeling of the outdoor world of the ranch seemed to enter the room with him. Space and air, the smell of animals and grass, a sense of freedom coupled with hard work.
The hard work part, Jill understood. She’d had to work hard herself, for much of her life. She wasn’t afraid of work, and when she’d taken on a task, she was stubborn about seeing it through. But everything else about Grayson McCall was new. And appealing, in an elemental way that unsettled and disturbed her. Disturbed her far more than it had in Las Vegas, when they’d both been playing roles that weren’t their own.
She had to struggle to take her eyes off him, to ignore the way his muscles stretched beneath the fabric of his clothing, and to avoid being aware of exactly where he stood and how he moved in the room. Even the sounds he made. The creak of his boots, the whoosh of the breath he blew into his hands.
He shouldn’t affect her in this way. Not when she hardly knew him. Not when she sensed his reluctance about having her here. And not the way things stood in her life.
“That wind is sharp!” he said. “Mom, this is Jill…and Sam.”
“I know,” Louise said easily. “We’ve just introduced ourselves.”
“Can you make up some beds for them while I put Highboy away?”
“You’re not taking him out again later?”
“Going to look at the engine on the old pickup instead,” he said, and Louise nodded but didn’t say anything.
Jill realized that her arrival must have caused a change in plans, casually communicated between son and mother. But she understood too little about ranch life to know if it mattered. She realized also that she’d be even more of a nuisance if she protested.
No, please, don’t hold off birthing those ten dozen calves, roping those six hundred steers and mending that twenty mile fence on my account!
Gray disappeared back out the kitchen door and his mother went off to set up a bed for Sam. He would be in it within minutes, Jill knew. Seated listlessly on her lap, Sam was only eating the soup because she was spooning it in. It smelled so good, and her own stomach was selfishly clamoring for its share.
Before the bowl was finished, Sam pushed the spoon away and Jill didn’t force the issue.
Louise McCall was back.
“All ready for him,” she said. “I did yours, too, so as not to disturb him later on. Now, what else do you need before you get him settled?”
“Just a glass of water, please,” Jill answered. “I want to give him some Tylenol, and he likes to wash away the taste afterward. Sam, sweetie, can you sit here while I find the Tylenol in our bag?”
He nodded, and sat obediently in the chair Jill had just vacated. From the far end of the hallway, as she rummaged around in their big canvas travel bag for the medicine, she heard Louise talking to him in a casual kind of way.
“I’m going to be here in the house all afternoon, little guy, so if you need anything you let me or your mom know, okay? And I should tell you, we have a cat might come and sleep on your bed, Sam. You like cats? Yeah, they’re interesting creatures, aren’t they? This one’s old. She doesn’t hunt anymore, just likes to find the warmest spot in the house and go to sleep. Will you mind if she does that on your bed?”
Bless her! Jill thought. She must be wondering who in heaven we are and why we’re here, but she hasn’t asked a single question about it. Instead, all she wants to know is whether Sam feels safe with cats….
And apparently Sam did, because the old tabby was already making herself comfortable on Sam’s trundle bed as Jill got him undressed and snuggled into his stretchy pajamas, and Sam didn’t object. Instead, as he slid between the covers, he croaked a tender “Hello, Firefly.”
He curled his body to make room for the animal, whose purr was so loud it almost made the bed vibrate. Within seconds the two of them were lying there with eyes closed, heading for sleep.
Tear-blinded and shaky once more, Jill pulled the faded, handmade quilt a little higher around Sam’s shoulders