Page 19 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

“Kaylee was almost captured by a murderous outlaw. Holmes was the survivor of a gang who robbed the bank back in Grant Hills, Wyoming, murdering K.C.’s father and fiancé.

Her father, the sheriff, killed the other two before he went down, and our sheriff tracked him to Sweetwater Springs and captured him.

Then, after taking him back for a trial and hanging, she returned, us being in need of a sheriff. ”

He couldn’t help staring at the lawwoman, smiling and chatting with the children, while also noting that Chogan Redwolf’s normally stoic expression sported a wide grin.

Hank leaned closer. “After they hit town—” he said, amusement in his tone “—our sheriff and our blacksmith tied the knot.”

Didn’t see that coming.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”

“What’s with you and monkeys, Buck?”

The man ignored him, too busy blowing kisses at the saloon girls clustered in front of Hardy’s.

In retrospect, when Brian reviewed what he’d witnessed between the two, he realized there was more depth to their relationship than he’d considered at the time. Chogan’s a married man now, still on his honeymoon. Of course, he’s grinning.

Brian had no doubt the two would make a good match. Not like… He cut off the thought.

A buxom woman in burgundy velvet blew a kiss to them. He wanted to sink down out of sight and pretend he didn’t see her. But since his buddy-in-heroic-injury blew a kiss back, Brian spared the lady enough energy for a partial smile and a nod.

Hank chuckled. “The heroes of Sweetwater Springs will have their pick of the ladies—what few available ones we have.”

Traitor. He’s enjoying my discomfiture all too much. “I’m not a damn hero,” he snapped. “I got shot. I didn’t open the gate.”

His friend raised an eyebrow. “You’re a damn hero because you put yourself—” he emphasized each word “—in a position to be shot.”

“Well,” Brian grumbled, fed up with the whole spectacle, “that makes you a damn hero, too.”

The wheels hit a rut, and agony stabbed his leg. He grunted, tightening his hand on the side of the wagon, breathing through the pain.

“Get me out of here,” he begged Hank. “I need me some peace and quiet.” And a bed that’s not moving.

“I want to be home, away from people. Although, I might tolerate you and Torin and Jewel.” He glanced at Elsie, so patently full of joy he could imagine her filling up like a balloon and floating away. “Elsie, too,” he added.

Hank quirked an eyebrow. “Constance? Doc Angus?”

“When did my social circle get so big?” he grumbled. “But I draw the line after those two. No more people! We’ll build a fortress around the lake like McCurdy had around his hideout.”

With a rueful grimace, Hank shook his head. “Brace yourself, Brother. There’s worse to come.”

The last of the helpers had left Three Bend Lake several hours ago, so they could get down to town and not risk meeting Brian traveling up the mountain and giving away the secret of Cora’s presence and the changes to his home.

The sudden quiet after she’d waved goodbye to the last of the people who’d worked so hard to build onto Brian’s cabin was unlike anything Cora had ever experienced before, and she’d quickly gone back inside.

She spent the intervening time unpacking and ironing her wrinkled clothing. Then she heated water for a sponge bath and donned a fresh dress—nothing fancy, just one that was cut almost like a nurse’s uniform—no balloon sleeves in sight. A white bibbed apron protected the outfit.

Afterward, she entered the main room and stood for a moment, surveying her domain for the next month or so.

Brown velvet curtains flanked the sparkling clean windows.

Two comfortable wing chairs, lacy doilies draped over their tops, practically dwarfed the small-two burner stove, a tiny marble-topped square table between them.

In front of one chair sat a three-legged wooden stool topped with a damask cushion in brown, blue, and silver made by Elsie from a leftover scrap of fabric.

A hutch with brown transferware dishes by Spode stood next to a battered kitchen cabinet. On the other side of the hutch, a door led into a lean-to that contained a larder and also covered the previously boarded-over hole in the ground used as an outdoor cellar.

Remembering how Uncle Andre dramatically bewailed the need for a lean-to, rather than a properly dug and squared-off cellar and substantial pantry above it, made her chuckle.

Hank had sternly told him they didn’t have enough time, building supplies, and men to construct the bedroom for Cora, refurbish the inside and outside of the original structure, and completely expand on the other side.

They could only tack on the lean-to, and even that was cutting their timing close.

Uncle Andre gave in when Hank pointed out that having people still working and the sound of saws and hammers would impact Brian’s much needed rest. He had to content himself with purchasing an icebox to store in the lean-to, and then made sure the icebox was filled with food prepared by his cook for Mr. Bly’s supper.

Hank had roared with laughter when Cora told him what she’d ordered from Cook to tempt the invalid to take some nourishment—jars of calf’s-foot jelly, gruel, and chicken broth.

Annoyed by his response, she’d swatted his arm, as if he were one of her brothers.

Luckily, he seemed to take her attack in the same spirit, informing her that Brian had regained a man’s hearty appetite and if she tried to feed him calf’s-foot jelly or gruel, he’d probably throw the bowl at her.

Luckily, the cook also sent along chicken, potato salad, and brown sugar glazed carrots if her patient arrived home and was famished.

That didn’t count the loaves of bread, white and dark, cookies of all kinds, and a blueberry cobbler set out on the lean-to’s shelves or the two hams now hanging from the lean-to ceiling, which she had to carefully maneuver around lest she bump one with her head.

Donations of food stuffed the rest of the larder, adding to Mr. Bly’s meager supplies.

She still couldn’t believe Uncle Andre had persuaded the Cobbs to part with their wingchairs, icebox, hutch, guest room bed, wardrobe, nightstands and dishes from their home.

The main room now was rather crowded, given a bed was tucked into the corner.

But it possessed all the needed comforts.

Except indoor plumbing, which will take getting used to.

Delia didn’t seem the least bit fazed by her father’s bargaining triumph, only whispering to Cora that she had no doubt Mrs. Cobb would probably catch the next train to Crenshaw for a replacement buying spree.

The bookshelf once positioned next to his desk was moved against the wall and next to the bedroom door to make room for the hutch.

A little space remained on the shelves, and Cora added the books she’d brought along for her own reading and those sent for Brian’s pleasure.

A stack of narrow volumes caught her eye, and she pulled one out to see the lurid cover depicting a cowboy on a bucking horse.

A dime novel. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she hastily shoved it back with the others.

The sun started to descend in the sky, trailing streams of gold and pink and orange, and the air grew chill.

Her stomach grumbled, and Cora realized she’d worked steadily since her arrival without taking the time to eat.

Not interested in setting out a meal, she spread some butter over a slice of bread, folding it around a narrow wedge of cheese.

Taking her coat from the coatrack, she donned the garment, before going outside to the new front porch and sinking into one of the two rocking chairs, which came from O’Reilly’s carpenter shop.

There were another four sat on the back porch that faced the lake.

She glanced at the pretty blue ceiling, which Mr. Bellaire insisted be painted ‘haunt blue” in the Southern tradition for good luck and to keep away evil spirits, a nice contrast to the freshly painted brown wood of the rest of the house.

She ate her sandwich and studied her surroundings. From this position, she had sight of the dirt road, more of a wide path, really, before it curved out past a stand of trees, and the side of the mountain, rising about five hundred yards away.

Gradually, Cora became aware of sounds. The breeze rustled the tree leaves. The tweets and chirps of birds, seeming to call to each other. I’ve never been alone before. Not this alone, where I couldn’t walk out of my room or out of the house and be in the midst of people.

She peered through the trees, nervously wondering what creatures might lurk out there. Bears? I should have asked Hank while I had the chance.

Cora wondered if she’d made a mistake letting Hank keep Brian’s puppy before reuniting Sassy Girl with her owner. The dog would have provided a distraction. And protection. Stubbornly, she refused to retreat inside. I have to get used to temporarily living here.

By the time Cora heard the sounds of horses and wagons approaching, she was on tenterhooks, what with keeping an eye out for bears and other wildlife, worrying about her patient’s condition after his journey, what Brian would think of his expanded house, and if he’d strenuously object to her presence—no, not if, how he’ll strenuously object to my presence.

He can object until the cows come home. I’m not leaving.

Apprehension seized her, and Cora stood and stepped back into the shadows, instead of forward as she’d intended. She sent up a prayer that Brian’s homecoming would go smoothly, and he’d quickly realize the need for a competent nurse.

Hidden, she had a chance to watch the driver expertly pull the team to a stop parallel to the house.

The man sitting in the back twisted his torso to take in the house.

By the widening of his eyes and mouth falling open, he was obviously shocked.

Then his jaw clenched, his brown eyes glaring.

“Canfield! What have you done to my house?”

Nothing about him looked pale and wan. Only some shadows under his eyes hinted at his physical state.

“Wasn’t my doing.” Hank swung down from the saddle, flicked Chipper’s reins around the porch rail, and sauntered over to the wagon. “Your nurse needed her own bedroom.”

“Nurse? I don’t need a nurse. I can take care of myself.”

Nerving herself up, Cora moved forward across the porch and down the step to the ground.

His glower made the strong lines of his face look granite hard.

Instinctively, Cora knew she couldn’t show how he intimidated her, so she stood straight shouldered, chin up, and with a calm expression.

His reaction’s just what I expected.

But what Cora hadn’t expected was her reaction—for Brian Bly to be so ruggedly handsome—in a smoldering, broody way. Nor how the zing of attraction thrummed through her body and the solid ground under her feet seemed to ripple, unbalancing her.