Page 16 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

A fter being away with the posse for so long, Hank Canfield needed to stock up on supplies, both for his room in the Gordon Building and for his home in Three Bend Lake.

He had Elsie to consider now. If she and Constance and Dr. Angus visited, he needed to feed them more than just opening up a can of beans.

Thus, his excursion to the mercantile took longer than he’d ever shopped before, as well as three trips back and forth to haul everything back to his room.

He was just about to step into the Gordon Building with a sack of flour slung over one shoulder and his arms holding smaller bags of rice, white sugar, beans, and cornmeal, when a fancy surrey pulled to a stop. He recognized Sam, the Bellaire-Norton coachman, and gave him a nod.

Sam leaned over. “With Mr. Bellaire’s compliments, he requests your presence at his home. You are urgently needed for some advice.”

“Is Elsie Bailey all right?” he demanded.

“All is well with Miss Bailey and the other ladies.”

Hank shrugged the shoulder holding the bag.

“Give me a minute to store these upstairs.” Without waiting for an answer, he hurried through the large double doors he’d purposefully left unlocked and took the stairs two at a time until reaching the third floor, where his door stood open, the other supplies stacked on a small table.

Glancing down, he made a face at the flour impressions left behind and went over to the shaving mirror over the sink, where he had to contort himself at various angles to make sure he’d brushed himself clean. Good thing I’m still in my Sunday clothes.

Grabbing the keys from a hook at the door, he quickly shut and locked the door, trotted down the stairs and outside, locking the double doors behind him.

As Hank got in beside him, Sam shot Hank a grin and an approving lift of his chin.

“What’s all this about?”

“Don’t rightly know. Although Milliana did mention your friend Mr. Bly’s name. ’Spect Mr. Bellaire wants to do something special for him. You know how he is.”

While Hank didn’t know Mr. Bellaire, except for an introduction after church a few months ago, he’d have to be blind and deaf not to know of Mr. Bellaire.

The man was known for his good nature and generosity.

He gave a thought to what Brian would accept.

Some home-cooked food, maybe. And that was a maybe, probably depending on his mood.

Sam dropped him off in front, and then pulled up the drive to head to the stables.

Hank took a moment to admire the mansion, which he’d never seen before.

The honey-colored Indian summer sunshine made the pinkish-brown, rough-cut Sioux quartzite bricks gleam.

The house looked to be three stories with a cone-topped round tower on the left.

He would have stared longer, noting more details, but conscious of the urgency of the summons, he strode up the walkway.

At the double doors, he tapped a lion’s head knocker.

The tall, Negro butler, his curly hair completely white, opened the door with a smile. “Mr. Canfield.”

“I’m sorry.” Hank inclined his head. “I don’t know your name.” I really should make a better attempt to get to know everyone who lives in town.

“Rufus, sir.” He stepped back to allow Hank inside and then shut the door. “Please follow me, sir.” Rufus turned and began a stately walk down the entryway.

Trying not to gape like a hayseed, Hank followed the butler to the right and into a long parlor full of ladies like a bouquet of colorful flowers that only on closer examination became familiar faces.

With a slight bow, Rufus announced Hank to the bevy of ladies and Mr. Bellaire.

Hank sent an uneasy look around at the women watching him. His gaze paused briefly on his pretty, blushing Elsie, relieved to see her looking more herself after being subdued and a bit teary since he’d returned. With relief, he fastened on his host. “Mr. Bellaire, what’s this about?”

“Andre, my dear boy. We are all friends here.” He waved toward the other wingchair. “Come join us.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Hank remained standing.

“Very well.” With broad strokes, Andre summed up their plan to send a nurse to take care of Brian.

As he listened, Hank became more and more annoyed. He planted both hands on his hips. “Mr. Bellaire, um, Andre, with all due respect, I can tell you that Brian Bly won’t like this arrangement. He’s stubborn and a loner. The last thing he’ll want is some female fussing over him.”

“Dr. Cameron says your friend will need constant nursing,” the man pointed out in a calm tone. “Will you provide that?”

Hank clenched his jaw but lowered his arms. “I’m willing to stay the first night or two, and then look in on him once a day.” I know he won’t allow more than that.

“That won’t be enough, Hank,” a pretty girl said hotly. In her righteous indignation, she disregarded proper manners and addressed him informally.

His eyes narrowed. “And you are?”

“Cora Collier. I’m studying nursing. If Mr. Bly’s injury is as bad as I’ve heard described, he should not be moving around at all, not if he wants to recover the use of his leg.”

“Look.” Hank sighed and rubbed a hand over his head.

“Bly’s not sociable at the best of times.

I’ll bet being incapacitated and in pain, then having a strange female around him, why, he’ll be downright cantankerous.

” He cut her a sharp glance. “I tell you true, Miss Cora, nursing Brian Bly will be no picnic, so get any Florence Nightingale notions out of your head.”

The young woman bristled. “I’ve volunteered at a hospital in New York. I know what I’m getting into.” She dipped her chin, sliding a sideways guilty look in the direction of a woman he didn’t recognize before turning back to her opponent. “Not that what I do is anyone’s business.”

“I’m Bly’s friend and neighbor,” Hank retorted. “He’s not here to speak for himself, so I need to.”

Andre raised a hand in appeasement. “We all have Mr. Bly’s best interests at heart.”

“Do have some tea, Mr. Canfield,” Delia said, Southern sweet. She gave Hank a teacup and saucer.

The flowered teacup looked incongruously dainty in his rough hands.

“I hope you like cream and sugar.” When he nodded, she reached for a teapot on a nearby marble topped table and poured, adding cream and a spoonful of sugar.

Hank turned to Cora Collier. “Are you prepared to use an outhouse and haul water from a well?” he challenged.

“Because that’s what awaits you.” He flipped a hand toward the ceiling and walls.

“Nothing like this place.” Even without knowing her, the way she tilted her chin to a stubborn level told him the answer. “I’ll manage.”

“Well, Miss Cora,” Hank rubbed the back of his neck and glared at her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He lowered himself into the other wing chair, jittering his teacup and then hastily held the saucer still.

“Can you describe the cabin?” Andre asked, his drawl soothing. “What’s inside?”

“The cabin is snug, made of clapboard,” Hank said, his tone softening. “Bed. Small table. One chair. Rudimentary kitchen. Heated by a two-burner stove.”

Delia handed Hank a plate with sandwiches and cookies. “Now, you eat up, you hear, Mr. Canfield,” she said with a charming smile.

“Yes, ma’am.” They’ve got me rightly pinned down. He set the plate on his lap and took a sip of his tea, surprised by liking the flavor. It had been many years since he’d enjoyed tea this delicate.

“You’re right, Rose.” Andre frowned. “As is, this cabin is a totally inappropriate place for our Cora.”

“Uncle Andre!” The young woman wailed, sounding like a six-year-old.

“Delia is also right.” He nodded at his daughter in approval.

“We must make changes to the cabin to ensure the comfort of our girl, as well as welcome home our wounded hero so he can recuperate in comfort and have the best of care.” He slanted a wide-eyed glance of innocence at Mr. Canfield. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

With his mouth full of sandwich, Hank could only nod, trapped by the genteel persuasions of father and daughter.

“Andre!” An older woman ground out. “You can hardly go around building onto and furnishing the homes of everyone who wants to employ Cora.”

“My dear Rose, I hardly think that will be necessary,” he chided, although his eyes twinkled. “For all we know, Cora will change her mind after her first real experience of having the sole responsibility for a tetchy patient.”

“One can only hope,” she said, sotto voce.

With a scowl, Cora crossed her arms. “I won’t, Aunt Rose.”

Andre looked from Rose to Hank. “Remember, though, this is really for Brian Bly, who selflessly sacrificed himself to help bring the murdering culprits to justice. He’s a hero, and he deserves all the comforts and succor we can provide.”

The memory of Dr. Angus pulling him aside after operating on Brian’s leg gave him an inner shudder. “Another inch, the bullet hitting the artery, and we would have lost him. He would have bled out before I could do the surgery.”

“I don’t think Bly will see things in the same light,” Hank muttered. “He won’t let Miss Cora go home with him.”

Cora’s smile was sharp enough to cut. “Then when everyone leaves to drive back to town, I’ll stay. Since I’m already there, he can hardly kick me out of his house.”

“He’ll probably try,” Hank mumbled, shaking his head.

She stuck her nose in the air. “Well, he won’t succeed.”

Andre beamed benevolently and settled back in his chair. “Shall we figure out exactly what’s needed for our jaunt to Three-Bend Lake tomorrow?”

“I’ll approach Dr. Cameron for medical supplies,” Miss Cora volunteered.

“Windows for light and air.” Andre clapped his hands. “And since we’re heading into winter, velvet curtains to screen out the drafts. Do you think he’d prefer blue or forest green?”

Constance clapped her hands. “I can sew them.” Her eyes danced with obvious mischief. “I’ll just need the measurements.”

“I’ll help,” his Elsie volunteered.