Page 23 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

T he heavenly smell of frying bacon lured Brian from a deep sleep, enveloping him in love and comfort.

Then he moved his leg, and the pain spiking into his thigh jerked him into full awareness, a betrayal of both his body and elusive memories of a time long past. “What the—” He chomped off the curse at the sight of the woman cooking at the stove.

She turned, holding the spatula, and grinned. “Good morning. Seems you slept well.”

Brian had slept well, but only as long as he didn’t move. Pain would wake him, and then he’d lie perfectly still until exhaustion swept him under. But since he wasn’t inclined to explain, he only grunted.

“Bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast,” she said gaily, flourishing the spatula over the frying pan as she pointed out each part of the meal. “What jam would you like on your toast? Huckleberry, saskatoon, or blackberry? Or there’s apple butter if you’d prefer that.”

“I’d prefer for you to be gone.” His voice sounded gravelly from sleep, and he waited for the pout or the guilt or the dismay or whatever pitiful reaction she’d conjure up.

“If you don’t pick a jam, I’ll pick one for you. Hmmm.” She touched the tip of the spatula to her chin in a thinking pose and studied him. “I think you’re a blackberry man.”

The chit hit the nail on the head with her guess. So, to be contrary, he spat out, “Huckleberry,” which to his ears ended up sounding more childish than surly.

“Huckleberry it is. I’ll take blackberry for myself.”

Brian became aware of an urgent need to use the pot. But he was certainly not about to ask for help. He didn’t even want her in the room when he suffered through the debacle.

“I think you’re going to need this.” She picked up an object resting on a chair and held it up.

“What. Is. That?” Even as Brian asked the question, he was sorely afraid he knew the answer.

“It’s a Eureka bedpan.” She patted the wedge. “The latest design in bedpans. So much lighter and easier to use and clean. Not like those cumbersome ones we had to deal with at the hospital where I volunteered.”

“You sound like a bedpan saleswoman.”

She chuckled and held up the bedpan with both hands, her expression changing to mock solemnity.

She turned it several ways, as if for him to admire the entirety of the object.

“Step right up and buy the one and only Eureka bedpan!” she said in the pattering cadence of a street huckster.

“Astound all your family and friends recuperating at your home with the latest bedpan design.”

Brian wanted to bark out a laugh at her clever rendition. Yet he held back, not willing to encourage her.

Undeterred by his lack of response, she continued acting.

“Of equal capacity yet far lighter than those old-fashioned earthenware versions. Save your wife or your servants the pain of carrying a heavy basin, instead of this light, yet durable container. In fact, it’s so light and convenient, that the patient may handle it without assistance. ” She sent him a pointed look.

That possibility piqued his interest. If he could manage on his own—still awkward, painful, and embarrassing—but without, thank the Good Lord, the possibility of exposing any of his private body parts to her. Or even worse, her touching those parts.

She set down the bedpan and turned back to the stove. “Let me plate the food, and then I’ll go into the bedroom and give you some privacy.”

Grateful for her consideration, he nodded. “Appreciate that.”

The woman wasn’t anything like he expected.

In Brian’s experience with his former fiancé, the minute he turned grumpy, she became lachrymose.

She accused him of being insensitive, being unkind, of not being chivalrous, not being a gentleman.

It got to the point where he felt like tiptoeing around her on uncertain ground where he inevitably was going to flounder and end up in the mud. I ended up in a crater.

He tilted his head, studying her slim form.

Maybe I will use her name. Cora.

After breakfast, of which her patient had eaten every bite, Cora heated water for washing the dishes.

While her hands moved to do the tasks, her thoughts lingered on last night when helping Brian into bed.

Afterward, she tried to ignore that moment of heightened awareness between them and, blessedly, fatigue certainly helped, sending her into sleep.

But this morning, seeing him all rumpled and grumpy and growly, which should be a repelling sight for a right-thinking woman, instead she found him endearing, a feeling she tried without complete success to squash.

From the front door, she heard a knock, followed by a little voice calling out, “Bry-an!”

Who? Cora glanced at Brian to see his familiar glower directed at the door. But, despite the scowl, his eyes looked concerned.

“Bry-an!”

“A child?”

He didn’t respond, only shifted, and then grimaced.

With a roll of her eyes, Cora went to open the front door.

There stood a girl wearing a pink dress and clutching a handful of colorful fall leaves. Her dark brown hair was mussed, as if not combed today, and, seeing Cora, her almond-shaped blue eyes looked frightened. She made as if to skitter away.

“Why, hello, there.”

The girl froze. “Hel-lo.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Cora crouched to be more level with the child.

“I’m Brian’s friend. There’s no need to be scared of me.

” Up close, she could tell by the child’s features that she was a mongoloid.

But she looked clean and healthy, even if her hair did need combing.

Someone’s taking good care of her. “Do you want to come in and see Brian?”

“Bry-an hurt leg.”

“Yes, he did. But he’s getting better. Do you want to see him?” She straightened and held out a hand.

The girl hesitated.

“Jewel,” Brian called. “I’m here. Come to me.”

The girl slipped her hand into Cora’s.

With a warm glow in her heart, Cora led her inside and over to Brian. “You must be very careful of his leg.”

“Come here, Sugar Princess,” Brian coaxed, his Southern accent thickening. He shifted, almost hiding a wince, and leaned to the side, sliding his arm around Jewel’s waist and drawing her to him.

She held up the leaves.

“Are those for me?”

She nodded.

He took them in his free hand. “Thank you, Sugar.” Then he glared at Cora. “Jewel is very precious to me,” he said fiercely.

Taken aback by his protectiveness toward the child, Cora merely said, “I see.”

Brian picked up the candy from the square table next to his chair. “You’ve had taffy before. Remember how chewy it tastes?”

Her eyes lit up. “Taf-ee good.”

“But you need to wait to eat it until your papa says you can. I’ll put it right here until he comes.” He set the candy back on the table.

Jewel looked from his bandage-wrapped leg to his face and then back to his leg. She pointed one stubby finger. “Ow.” She started to cry. “Ow, Bry-an. Hurt.”

“I’ll be all right, Sugar.”

“Hurt.” She looked at him pitifully, her blue eyes drenched.

“I know, Brian, ow, leg. But Miss Cora is taking good care of me. She’s helping make me feel better.” He gestured to her with his free hand. “Can you say hello to Miss Cora?”

“Hello, Jewel.” Cora came over to kneel down in front of her. “I’m so happy to meet you. I’m a friend of Elsie.”

The child’s eyes lost their fear. “El-see.”

“Do you live by the lake?”

Jewel twisted to wave in a vague direction.

“Ah, you do.” Cora had never seen a mongoloid child of this age, somewhere around ten or eleven, she guessed. There’d always been a few of these babies and toddlers at the foundling home. The children were so sweet but couldn’t talk or do much, and they died heartbreakingly young.

She’d often suspected a lack of attention contributed to their short time on earth.

The small staff at the foundling home focused on the other babies and children—the ones more likely to live and who were able to interact and hopefully become adopted.

When she volunteered, she always made it a point to spend some time with the neglected ones.

But since she devoted so much of her free time to the hospital, instead of the foundling home, she’d always doubted she made a difference in their bleak lives.

Jewel tentatively touched Cora’s locket.

“Would you like to see inside?” Cora pried apart the two halves and pointed to one miniature photograph. “Look, Jewel. This is my mama and papa.” She held the open locket up for the girl to see, and then tapped the other side. “And this is my grandmama and grandpapa.”

Jewel looked puzzled. “Papa?”

“Yes.” She pointed to her father in the photograph, and then tapped her chest. “This is my papa.”

“I don’t think she knows about mamas and grandmamas and grandpapas,” Brian said in a low tone. “She doesn’t have any. Or know of any other papas, either.”

Cora glanced at him in disbelief. “But surely her father talks about their relatives?”

With a sigh, Brian leaned back against his pillows. “The situation is…complicated. And painful. And a secret that’s not mine to tell. I’ll just say Torin, her father, is very protective of Jewel—with good reason. And so am I.”

“Hank knows?”

“For a long time, it was just Hank, Torin, and I. Then, relatively recently, we expanded our little circle when Hank wanted a wife, decided to go courting, and met Elsie. And Elsie came attached with Constance and Constance to Dr. Angus. So, all of a sudden, our foursome became a circle of seven. Constance persuaded Torin to meet Mrs. Swensen, who lives up the mountain from us.”

“I’ve met Mrs. Swensen. She has a lot of children,” Cora murmured, recalling how at the tea party, Elsie needed to confer with the woman, probably about Jewel.

“But so far, Torin’s balked about Jewel meeting the rest of her family.”

“Is it…?” Cora debated how to tactfully ask.

“Because she’s not quite right?” Brian’s scowl was back and his tone sharp.

“The medical term is Mongoloid. Jewel has Mongolism,” Cora said tartly. “And, in my admittedly little experience from volunteering at the foundling home, in comparison to the children I’ve interacted with who have Mongolism, Jewel seems to be doing quite all right.”

Cora’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Jewel seemed to stun Brian into silence, although he didn’t appear sullen this time.

Jewel pointed to the dishes on the table. “Jewel wash?”

Cora looked at him, wide-eyed in obvious astonishment. “Should I let her?” she whispered.

“Jewel’s a bang-up dish washer. Lately, whenever she comes over, she’s taken on this task.

Just set her up with soapy hot water in the dry sink, rinse water in a tin bucket—” he pointed to underneath the dry sink “—and towels.” Brian hesitated, looking toward where he stored them. “Who knows where they are? Hopefully, still there.” He pointed to the drawer.

Following his finger, Cora moved to the kitchen cabinet and opened the drawer, lifting out a snowy white towel.

“That’s not mine,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “When Delia saw the condition yours were in, she relegated them to the rag bin.” She pointed to a square tin underneath the dry sink next to the bucket. “So, you’ll still be able to use them as pen wipers.”

“Can never have too many pen wipers.” He gestured to the front door. “Before you heat more hot water, crack that open. Her father will be here any minute, petrified out of his mind.”

“Should I go find him?”

“A foreign woman trying to talk to him will make the situation worse.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Foreign?”

“You know what I mean,” he said gruffly.

With a laugh and a pat on Jewel’s head, Cora moved to the door and cracked it open a few inches, and then got everything ready for Jewel to wash the dishes.

The child picked up the sea sponge and held it up. “New.”

“You’re right.”

With a smile and look of concentration, Jewel dipped the sponge into the dish water and squeezed, seeming to enjoy the act, for she repeated it several more times.

Intrigued by the child, Cora stood close and supervised for a few minutes, as the girl painstakingly washed a plate, scrubbing far more than needed.

When the plate apparently was clean to her satisfaction, Jewel held it up to Cora. “Pretty dish. New.”

“Would you like me to dry that?”

“No.” Jewel lowered her head and didn’t stop, keeping her focus on her task, her mouth slightly open, tongue slightly out.

So earnest. Utterly adorable. Cora chuckled. “You are such a big helper.”

Jewel looked up and beamed, her eyes almost scrunching up. “Jewel good wash-er.”

“You are indeed.”

Whirling back to Brian, Cora assessed his condition. He’d eaten every bit of his breakfast, a gratifying sight.

Irritated, he waved her away. “Stop fretting over me.”

“It’s my job to fret over you.” Even though she had experience with difficult patients, there was something exhilarating in her back and forth with her curmudgeonly patient—almost like they played a game of badminton. He bats the shuttlecock to me, I bat it back. So far, I feel like I’m winning.

Barely.