Wolf Creek Wife. Penny Richards
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it looks like you’re on the mend now. What sounds good to eat?”
“What time is it?”
She looked at the watch pinned to the front of the apron she wore. “Almost noon.”
“How about a big hunk of beef?”
Rachel laughed again. “How about some oatmeal and toast with lots of butter and brown sugar?”
Will made a face of disgust. “How about we compromise? I’ll take the oatmeal if you add a couple of eggs on the side.”
“Done. I’ll have it ready in a jiffy,” she told him, heading toward the door.
When she was gone, he thought about what she’d told him. He’d been here two and a half days! Unbelievable! He could count on one hand how many times he’d been sick in his whole lifetime, and he’d never been so bad that he was out like a light for this long.
As silly as he knew it was, knowing that he’d succumbed to that kind of helplessness made him feel less a man. A woman had had to help him to the house, for goodness’ sake. How had Blythe Granville managed that? She was a little, bitty woman.
To make matters worse, she was big-shot Winston Granville’s sister. The Boston businessman-turned-banker had been a thorn in Will’s side for a long while now. He had to admit that he was tempted from time to time to take Granville up on his offer, but stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to give up. Slades had never been quitters. Besides, all he knew was lumbering, and he had no idea what he’d do with himself if he sold out. So he hung on, sometimes by the skin of his teeth.
With his thoughts all a-muddle, he must have slipped into a light sleep. The next thing he knew, Rachel was back with his food. Her father, Edward Stone, was with her. He must be having a good day, Will thought, since Stone was using only his canes. A victim of a stroke several years before, he was left with some weakness in his legs and was sometimes forced to use a wheelchair.
“How are you feeling, young man?” he asked now as he followed his daughter into the room.
“I think I’m going to make it,” Will said in a hoarse voice.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”
Rachel set the tray on the dresser and she and her father helped Will into a sitting position. Once he was settled with the tray across his lap, he reached for the mug of coffee and took a big swallow, disregarding its hotness. “That’s the best thing I’ve had in ages.”
“You’re just hungry,” Rachel said. “Dig in.”
Will did just that, giving equal time to the sweet oatmeal and the savory eggs while carrying on a conversation with the two doctors about what had been done for him while he was sick.
“What about Banjo?” Will asked, worried about his dog. “Has anyone been taking care of him?”
“I understand Blythe went out to feed him Sunday afternoon and he followed her back to town,” Rachel told him.
Will’s fork clattered to his stoneware plate. Not only had she helped him, she’d taken it upon herself to see that his dog was cared for.
“He followed her to town?” he asked. “That’s not like him. He doesn’t care much for strangers.” The big, black hound wasn’t mean, but he was protective, and most people were more than a little frightened of him.
“Well, it seems he took to Blythe. Maybe he just wanted some companionship,” Edward suggested.
“Where’s he staying? Is he just roaming around town?”
“Simmer down, Will,” Rachel said. “He’s fine. He’s staying in the Granvilles’ carriage house, and I’m sure Blythe is seeing that he’s well fed.”
Miss Granville didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would take to any kind of dog, unless it was some yapping little mutt with a finicky appetite that wanted to do nothing but sleep in its mistress’s lap. Pound for pound, Banjo was as big as she was—maybe bigger. It looked like he owed her for more than rescuing him from possible death.
“All in all, I’d say you owe that little lady a big ‘thank you,’ especially under the circumstances,” Edward said, echoing Will’s thoughts.
Will frowned at the older man. “What circumstances?”
“Why, all the gossip that’s been flying around town about the two of you spending the night alone together at your place.”
The sudden wave of nausea that washed over him had nothing to do with his food or his illness. It had everything to do with the memory of a group of men bursting into his house, finding him and Blythe together, and the preacher saying that Will should make an honest woman of her. As if there was anything on earth that could persuade him to do that. He’d had enough of women and their demands to last him a lifetime.
“Except for going to school to teach, she’s just about become a recluse, and she was pretty close to that already, thanks to that mess in Boston.”
“I heard she ran off with some fellow who took all her money.”
“Actually, they eloped,” Rachel said, a hint of steel in her usually soft voice at the implication that Will was making light of her sister-in-law’s difficulties. “And it isn’t as if she just met someone on the street and ran off. Devon Carmichael had insinuated himself into Boston society quite nicely. Everyone took him at face value and assumed he was everything he represented himself to be.”
Will felt properly chastised. From his own experience with Martha, he knew that some people were good at pretending to be something they weren’t. In fairness, he couldn’t fault Miss Granville for believing some man’s lies.
“I’m sorry if my choice of words implied otherwise,” Will told her. “That’s just what I’d heard.”
“Well, the truth is that she loved him enough to elope. Then, as if she wouldn’t have had a hard enough time with that scandal, he cleaned out her bank account and left town within a day of their return to Boston.”
“And if that weren’t bad enough, she discovered he was already married,” Edward added.
Though the Wolf Creek grapevine was pretty accurate, that detail had escaped Will’s ears.
“I’m thankful she found and helped you, Will, but the poor thing is paying the price for her good deed.”
Though he’d weathered his own scandal and personal humiliation when Martha ran off with the big shot from Springfield, Will found it hard to believe that things were as bad for Blythe as Rachel and her father were painting them to be. Martha had left him for another man; Blythe Granville had helped someone in need, a sick man. There was no comparison in their actions.
“I’ll be sure and thank her properly when I’m up and about,” he told them, trying his best to think of some way to make things right.
“That’s all well and good, Will,” Rachel said, “but I don’t think an apology is what the town has in mind for fixing things.”
“C’mon, Rachel. There shouldn’t even be anything to ‘fix.’ I was unconscious. I didn’t even know she was there until the rescue party barged through the front door.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said with a sigh of frustration. “All I know is that I hate to see history repeat itself here.”
“This, too, will pass,” Will said, quoting one of his mother’s favorite sayings.
The corners of Rachel’s lips lifted in a sad smile. “I suppose you’re right, but what kind of damage will be left behind when it does?”
Blythe bade the last of her students