~~Chapter 8

I woke the following morning feeling very weak and almost as sick as I did before my fever broke. It was a pretty bad set-back but the fever didn't get high enough to send me into a delirium and my cough was quiet if I rested propped up on pillows.

James declared that I would live – unless she shot me for being such a bad patient.

She was in and out over the next two days, busy with the last of the winter chores and checking on me. She'd rush in and press her wrist against my forehead in that way I was beginning to love. I found that she would linger if she thought I was sleeping. Once, she gently brushed my hair from my forehead with her fingers.

There was something happening beyond the intimacy forced upon us by my illness and our isolation. There was a growing tension, a pleasant anticipation, like watching train approach with your lover on board.

In the evenings, we'd start to read in front of the fireplace but after a few minutes, we talked to each other, our books abandoned in our laps. We talked about everything, her family, my people, her life in the valley, my life in Dodge City. I marveled at the ease with which I told her things that I never told anyone before. She listened intently, her eyes roaming my face as if she were memorizing every line and wrinkle. I was making my own memories of her – the way she chewed her bottom lip when she was thinking, her slightly over-sized ears and those eyes so startling in a dark face.

I had a lot of time to think on it while I lay in bed. I meet women all the time that I'm attracted to. Most times, I shut it down. Other times, depending on the circumstances, I let it happen. If there was a time to shut it down, this was it. James was half my age. She was grieving and all alone in the world. Add to that, I was probably the first man she'd ever known, outside her father and brother. A man with less integrity would take advantage of that. I heard her muffled sobs at night. I wanted to go to her but I didn't. It was bad enough that I was the one who found her brother. I did not want her feelings for me to become intertwined with her feelings of grief.

She needed time and I was willing to wait.

I wondered what Doc would say of me actually thinking about the future of – with – this woman. I couldn't bring James to Dodge. I would not leave her all alone in this valley. "A skinny Negro girl? You can't do anything the easy way, can you?" Doc would say. Being the practical man that he is, he would then advise me to shut it down.

I couldn't shut it down. This was going to happen. And like the time I fell off my horse and landed at her feet, I was helpless to stop it.

xxxxx

I was making a pot of coffee when James burst into the house, practically flying in on a blast of snow. She was wet to her knees and furred with ice crystals. I put down my cup and helped her close the door. The wind pushed heavily against it like a giant hand. James stomped and puffed and shivered as I helped her out of her coat and muffler. She clomped to the fire and sat in her chair.

"Mr. Dillon, if you could help me with my boots?" she said, lifting her feet. "My fingers are too stiff."

I knelt at her feet and propped her boot on my thigh. I worked the laces free and tugged off the boot.

"These are nearly frozen solid," I said. "What were you thinking tramping around for so long?"

"There's barely a foot of snow on the ground in the fields. I needed to spread the compost on the corn field before the snow got too deep. We have been saving manure and leavings for a year. Seemed a shame to let it go to waste."

I tugged off her other boot.

"It's not worth losing toes over, cowboy. Your socks are wet."

"I might not get to the barn for a week. I had to -."

"I get it." I peeled the soaked socks off her feet. I warmed her cold toes in my hands. "Next time, come in and dry off at some point. You don't want to get as sick as I was."

"Being cold does not make you sick. That is a myth. In fact - ."

I gave her my most severe U.S. Marshal frown. Her mouth snapped shut. The smell of compost rose as the ice on her pants began to melt. I stood and filled the large kettle with water and swung it over the fire. I shouldered into my coat and headed for the back door.

"You just told me to stay indoors," said James.

"I'm just going to the woodshed," I said, ignoring her protests. The shed was only a few feet away from the house. When I went to fetch more wood earlier, I saw a tin tub propped against the wall. I paused at the door for a moment. The wind blew the snow almost horizontal. I could still see pretty well but soon, visibility would be zero and the guide ropes would be needed even to go to the few yards to the wood shed. Fortunately, I had stocked the large wood box in the anteroom off the kitchen while James worked in the field. I retrieved the tub, went back inside and set it close to the fireplace.

James watched me with an arched brow. "I don't need the tub, Mr. Dillon."

There were three large barrels of water for cooking and drinking in the anteroom with the wood box. It was enough to last two weeks if we got snowed in but washing would be limited to sponge baths. I picked up the bucket and walked through to the front door.

"It's not too late for me fetch a couple buckets of water, James. You're still shivering and you stink."

I opened the door. Mortimer stood on the porch with a huge snow rabbit in his mouth. He dropped it at my feet and pushed it toward me with his nose when I didn't immediately pick it up.

"Thanks, Mortimer. Looks like dinner and maybe a new hat," I said. He wagged his tail vigorously and looked up at me with merry eyes, now my new best friend.

It took two trips to fill the tub and re-fill the kettle. When I came in the second time, James was undressing. I averted my eyes as I refilled the kettle and poked up the fire.

I went to hang my coat and hat. I stood by the door with my back to her. I heard a small splash. I breathed deeply through my nose.

"Do you have a curtain or...something?" I asked.

"I usually do this in my bedroom," she said.

"Oh." I turned and focused my attention on the far wall. "I'll wait in my room until you're done."

"You can't."

I stopped. "Why not?" I asked the far wall.

"That rabbit needs to be prepared now."

"It can wait."

"Have you ever skinned and gutted a cold and stiff rabbit, Marshal?"

The gentlemanly thing to do was just shut myself in the room until she finished her bath and deal with a stiff rabbit later. I took another deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips.

"Ok," I said.

I walked into the kitchen and began sharpening a knife.

xxxXXXxxx