Montana Rose Page 17

  “The money will help you get your ranch that much quicker, Rose.”

  Chapter 35

  “Ben, you’re being awfully mysterious about this patient.” Rose shifted position on the wagon seat. “Don’t you think I should at least know her name? We’re coming into town, and I feel like I’m purposely being kept in the dark. You’ve skirted around every question I’ve asked.”

  “Guess I have been evasive.” He smiled at the lovely woman sitting beside him. As tired as Ben was, they’d both decided to make the first call on the sick woman today. Jesse and Tory wouldn’t be back from the Watson for a while, and Rose had put a stew on to simmer that morning. She’d be home in plenty time for supper.

  “I sure appreciate Jesse loaning you to me.” He stalled again.

  Rose looked off into the distance, busy mulling over something she wanted to share with her kind and understanding brother-in-law. Making up her mind, she turned to him, her voice low.

  “Ben, do you know much about Jesse?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve only known him a short time. Jarrett knows him better than I do. Why?”

  “I’m being silly, but—” She paused, wishing she hadn’t started the conversation. “It’s nothing, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

  Ben pulled back on the reins, stopping the wagon. “You’re not bothering me. I’ve felt you had something on your mind since we left the ranch. What is it? Are you regretting helping me?”

  “No,” she protested loudly. “Of course not. I’m grateful you asked. It’s just Jesse seems . . .” Rose sighed, not daring to look at him.

  Ben touched her chin and gently tipped her face toward him. The tears in her eyes surprised him as she quickly brushed them away.

  “Rose, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And he . . .?”

  “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

  Ben gave a snort of laughter. “Oh, yes he does. I’ve caught him looking at you. It’s like he’s drinking in every drop, storing it away. He cares.”

  “No. He doesn’t. When I mention my ranch and leaving as soon as I save enough money, he clouds up and walks away. My leaving would simply be an inconvenience.”

  “You’re wrong, Rose. Jesse’s had a hard life. As I understand it, his father beat him quite often. He experienced the man’s explosive anger and watched it destroy his mother. If I were to venture a guess, I’d say he’s afraid to love.”

  “Afraid?” Rose tried to keep the hope out of her voice. Could Ben be right? Did Jesse really care for her, but was afraid to let her know?

  Ben jiggled the reins, starting the horse into a trot, “I would be. If I were Jesse, I’d hold back my love. He’s never been a part of a happy home until you came. And like everything else he’s known, it’s temporary. You’ll leave, and again he’ll have nothing. So he’s determined not to care, not to hurt. And, maybe, not to be his dad.”

  “He’s nothing like his dad. Jesse would never be mean to someone he loved. You should see him with Tory. There have been times I wouldn’t hold it against Jesse if he gave him a good shake. But he doesn’t. He takes time to reason with him, to talk and listen. I can’t imagine him ever using his fists on a woman or child. I’m not saying he would back down from a fight, but he wouldn’t provoke one. The other man would have to initiate it.”

  Ben smiled at the vehemence in her voice. She was protective of Jesse, ready to defend him against anyone that maligned him. Jesse Rivers was a lucky man. But if he was right, Jesse would have to be pushed into admitting his love.

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “Of course not. I couldn’t possibly . . .”

  “You’ll just leave and lose the chance at sharing life with a man you love. Is that ranch worth it?”

  “No,” she said softly. “I’d give it up in a minute for him and Tory. They’ve become as vital to me as breathing.”

  “Then, Rose, fight for him.”

  “What if he doesn’t care? What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not. Jesse loves you, but there’s something stopping him from allowing himself to act on that love. It will take a strong woman to overcome that.” He turned toward her. “And you’re a strong woman, Rose.”

  A smile touched her lips. “I am. I just hope I’m strong enough to not be humiliated if I try and fail.”

  “Better to try than leave and always wonder.”

  Rose chuckled. “How’d you get to be so smart, Ben McCabe?”

  “Years of making mistakes.” He pulled back the reins, halting the horse in front of a white house with a wide porch and picket fence surrounding it. There were two chairs placed on the porch, looking as if no one ever used them. In fact, the house had a pristine, cold look about it.

  “Who lives here, Ben? Our patient?”

  Ben nodded just as the front door slammed open and Willy Backley bounded down the stairs.

  “Doc, Ma’s fierce sick. She’s been puking up her food.”

  “Willy, that’ll be enough.” A thin, stoop-shouldered man followed the boy down the steps.

  “I’m just telling him about—”

  “I know what you’re telling him, son, and like I said, that’ll be enough.”

  Ben climbed out of the wagon and offered his hand to Rose.

  “Ben,” Rose said between clamped teeth, “this is Mrs. Backley’s house.”

  “It is,” Ben muttered, still holding out his hand.

  “Then Mrs. Backley is . . .”

  “My patient,” Ben gulped.

  “You tricked . . . I’m not—” Her words were cut off by Mr. Backley coming to the side of the wagon.

  “We sure appreciate your coming, Doc. Especially after the way Mother refused to let you exam her. Is this the nurse you were telling us about? She seems awfully young. I’m not sure Mother will . . .”

  “Mr. Backley, this is Rose Bush, and ‘Mother’ will either let her help with the examination, or I’ll walk out of here and there will be no medical help available. Unless you want to drive close to one hundred miles looking for a doctor.” Ben’s voice was harsh. “Now, I’m a busy man and Miss Bush has graciously agreed to assist me, although I had to be less than honest to get her here. Your wife wasn’t the kindest woman to Rose.”

  Mr. Backley’s face turned red as he put everything together. He knew all about the infamous Miss Bush. Hadn’t his wife ranted and raved about her for days?

  “Dad”—Willy pulled at his arm—“Miss Bush ain’t no nurse. She’s a schoolteacher.”

  “Willy, you scat. Now I won’t be telling you again.” He emphasized his words with a pop to Willy’s behind. “And don’t you come back until you hear me call for you. Understand?”

  Willy grabbed the seat of his pants, shock registered on his face. “Wait till I tell Ma you . . .” He took one look at his father’s face and raised arm, then took off at a run.

  “Sorry about that, Miss Bush. I’d be obliged if you’d lend a hand to Dr. McCabe. I’m worried about my wife. She’s been ailing these past three weeks.”

  “Of course,” Rose said weakly, reaching for Ben’s hand. “I’d be happy to assist in any way I can.” She let Ben help her down from the wagon, but the look she gave him plainly said she’d deal with his ‘omissions’ later.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, grabbing his bag and following them into the house. The first hurdle was cleared, but the battle was far from won.

  Chapter 36

  The room was dark and carried a heavy smell of sickness and vomit. It was stifling, close, and airless. The patient’s face was partially hidden under a damp towel across her forehead. Her skin had a greenish cast. Her thin fingers plucked nervously at the blan
ket pulled up to her chin. She was breathing through her mouth, and every few minutes would swallow hard as though pushing down the urge to use the bucket by the side of her bed.

  “Mrs. Backley, it’s Dr. McCabe.” Ben walked to her bedside and picked up one limp hand, his fingers, in a practiced manner, automatically searching for her pulse. “Mr. Backley,” he said over his shoulder, “get some air into this room. And for heaven’s sake, empty that bucket.”

  “Nooo. I need it.” As if to give credibility to her words, the frenzied woman leaned over the side of the bed, making dry, retching sounds that produced no results. The effort wracked her body.

  She fell back on the pillow, her hand raised. “Horace,” she cried out.

  “Yes, dear.” Mr. Backley took her hand. “Dr. McCabe brought a-a helper with him,” he fumbled. “He’s here to help, but needs to do an exam before he can make a diagnosis.”

  “There is no help,” she said melodramatically. “I’m dying.”

  Mr. Backley made a mournful sound, his face wrinkled with fear.

  “I see no evidence of your imminent death, Mrs. Backley,” Ben said dryly, “although I don’t doubt for a moment that you feel terrible. But your husband is right. I have to examine you. However, mindful of your earlier reluctance with me, I have brought my sister-in-law to assist.”

  “Sister-in-law?” Mrs. Backley’s querying voice shot out, nausea forgotten. “You mean, you mean, Miss—” The name appeared lodged in her throat.

  “Bush,” Ben interrupted brusquely. “Miss Rose Bush has kindly offered to assist. But before we begin, I need to tell you that this will be the last visit I will make to your house if you resist in any way. Or,” he added, “if you are rude to Miss Bush. I’m a busy man, and she not only is busy, but she has no reason to extend the hand of kindness to you. What will it be? Do I leave or do I continue?”

  “Horace?” she said pitifully, casting sad eyes at the man.

  “I’m afraid I agree, dear. We’ve had the doctor here twice and both times you refused. You’re not getting better. In fact, the vomiting continues throughout the day. It does seem to stop in the evening, but starts again each morning. Please. I’ll stay right here by your side.”

  “No, you won’t,” Ben ground out. “Miss Bush and I are quite capable and don’t need to be hampered by your hovering. In fact, instead, I’d like you to brew Mrs. Backley a cup of tea.” He didn’t take his eyes from Mr. Backley’s face. “Now.”

  Rose bit back a smile at the man’s hasty retreat, then crossed over to the window and threw it open, letting in the much-needed air.

  She picked up the offensive bucket, and holding it in front of her, arm’s length, she marched from the room, returning in a few minutes with a clean, damp towel.

  Ben slid up a chair and took out his stethoscope, cupping the end in the palm of his hand. “This might feel a bit cold. It rode in my bag on the way here.” He smiled reassuringly at Mrs. Backley and started to undo the buttons on her high-necked gown.

  “Stop.” Her hand caught his, a frightened look on her face. “I-I can’t.”

  “Of course you can’t unbutton them yourself,” Rose said soothingly, deliberately misunderstanding her. “I’ll just do it for you.” Quickly, she opened the gown then took both of Mrs. Backley’s hands in hers, holding them securely.

  “My,” Rose said softly, “you have beautiful hands. Your fingers are long and shapely. Do you play the piano, Mrs. Backley?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought so. These are the hands of an artist.”

  “My mother always said my hands were my best feature,” Mrs. Backley said proudly, a smug look momentarily replacing the apprehension on her face.

  “She was right. Well, only partially right.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. I’ve often thought your hair was your best feature. It’s so thick and such a rich color. Mahogany, don’t you think?”

  Ben was forgotten and his stethoscope moved across her chest as he listened for heart and lung sounds.

  Finished, he folded the instrument and put it back in his bag. He gave a nod to Rose and gently rested his hands on Mrs. Backley’s abdomen.

  “I would imagine taking care of such an abundance of hair must be quite a chore,” Rose mused, drawing back the woman’s attention.

  “What? Oh, no, not at all. I was brought up with a firm hand, Miss Bush. My mother insisted I do one hundred strokes each night before retiring.”

  “Mmm, I envy you.”

  “You do?” she said, surprised.

  “Yes, you see I didn’t have the good fortune of having a mother in my life. My sister, Petunia, raised us. No wonder you have such refined manners.”

  Mrs. Backley raised her chin and puffed out her cheeks, basking in Rose’s praise. Then, she swallowed hard and glanced toward the empty spot where the bucket had rested.

  “Here, let me put this cool towel across your throat. Petunia used to do this for us when we had a stomach upset.”

  A tear rolled out of Mrs. Backley’s eye as she looked at Ben’s hands gently palpating her abdomen. “I’m dying, aren’t I, Dr. McCabe?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, I’d venture to say you’re living. Yep, living life to the fullest. Rose, may I speak with you?” He tilted his head toward the door. “Privately.”

  “Ohhh,” Mrs. Backley moaned. “What will happen to my sweet Willy? And-And Horace? They both depend on me for everything.” Tears rolled freely down her face, causing her sickly color to glisten.

  The door closed softly behind them, then in minutes reopened and Rose stepped back into the room. She went to the bedside and again took Mrs. Backley’s hands in hers then leaned over and whispered something into the woman’s ear.

  Mrs. Backley pulled back her head and gasped.

  “It’s important, Mrs. Backley. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. I must know.”

  “Very well.” She cupped Rose’s ear as if imparting a great secret.

  Rose smiled and again slipped out of the room, returning with Ben and Mr. Backley, who went immediately to the bed and gently put his arm under his wife’s head and around her shoulders. Then he rested his head against hers.

  “It’ll be okay, Mother. Together we can face anything.”

  “Oh, Horace, I’m so sick. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave you and Willy.”

  “Have you made a diagnosis, Doc? Do you know what’s wrong with my wife?” Tears clogged his throat as his haunted eyes searched Ben’s face, wanting to know, yet fearing the answer.

  Mrs. Backley’s knuckles were white as she gripped her husband’s hand.

  “I have.”

  Mrs. Backley gave another pitiful groan.

  “Mrs. Backley,” Ben addressed the woman, “in about six months you’ll . . .”

  “Nooo. Six months. I’ve only six months to live, Horace.”

  “Mrs. Backley, don’t interrupt me again,” Ben said, his voice short. But a smile crept around the corners of his mouth.

  Mrs. Backley nodded and glanced over at Rose who smiled back reassuringly.

  “Miss Bush, how can you possibly smile at a time like this?” Mrs. Backley asked in a wounded voice. “Oh, you must hate me.”

  “She can because as I was about to say before you interrupted me, in about six months you’ll be bringing another Backley into this world.”

  No one moved. The two occupants on the bed, holding each other, didn’t breathe.

  “A-Another Backley?” Mrs. Backley repeated in a whisper.

  Ben had to lean closer to hear her.

  “That’s right. You’re going to have a baby, Mrs. Backley.”

  A loud thump sounded as Mr. Backley slid off the bed in a dead faint, his head meeting the floor
.

  Rose rushed over to him, and Ben chuckled.

  “I can’t be expecting,” Mrs. Backley choked. “The doctor said after Willy there would be no more. I had such a hard time birthing him.”

  “Well, he was wrong. You’ve got morning sickness. And unfortunately, yours is lasting all day. I recommend a diet of tea and crackers until that baby of yours settles down and you start eating better and craving all sorts of foods.” He walked around the side of the bed and helped raise a pale Mr. Backley to his feet.

  “Better take a seat, Horace,” Ben said. “Being a daddy is hard work. Let me take a look at your head. Nope, no gash, guess it’s harder than the floor.”

  “A daddy? Did you hear that, dear? I’m going to be a daddy.”

  “Of course I heard it, you precious man. It stands to reason since I’m going to be a mother.”

  Ben picked up his bag and motioned to Rose. “I’ll be going. I’ll check back from time-to-time, but nature will take over from here on out. Don’t stay in that bed. Mothers need fresh air and exercise. The nausea will pass.”

  “I’ve heard peppermint or chamomile tea is helpful,” Rose offered.

  Mrs. Backley threw back the covers. “Miss Bush, I’m in your debt. If my baby’s a girl, I hope she’s as forgiving and kind as you. Horace, I’ll need your arm to steady me. You heard the doctor, an expecting mother needs fresh air and exercise.”

  Chapter 37

  Ben and Rose managed to hold back their laughter until the wagon reached the edge of town. Then all it took was one look at each other for it to explode. And after they got the initial bout under control, all they had to do was catch the other’s eye and both would dissolve into helpless laughter.