The Healer's Touch (14 page)

Running a hand through his hair, he frowned. “I won't allow you to crawl up that hill on your hands and knees.”

“You would rather spend the next week in here, with no fire and only eggs and milk?”

His gaze strayed to the horse. “We could eat that contrary thing.”

She turned to look. “The
horse
? What's he done?”

“He doesn't like me. He spits on me and steps on my foot every chance he gets, and he's bitten me twice since he's been here.”

“Horses don't spit.”

“This horse takes water in his mouth, washes the hay out, and then lets it roll onto my boots. It's as close to a full-blown spit as a horse is going to get.”

“Really?” She studied the buckskin that stood quietly in his stall, big brown eyes peering out. The animal's markings were beautiful. Full tawny belly and fetlocks of jet-black coat. “He looks like a perfectly gentle animal.”

“Well, looks can fool you.”

“Perhaps his nature is why his owner turned him loose—but one would think they would keep the stable gear.” She turned to smile. “I can't afford to feed him, so when the weather breaks I'll have to sell him.”

“If I don't end up bringing much in the way of bounty, that should pay for a new barn door.”

Lyric smiled. “You know, Joseph, for an outlaw, you're not that bad.”

He reached out to tweak her nose. “And for a recluse, you're not a bad cook. Those eggs were the best I've ever eaten.”

Relief flooded her, a heady, breathless sensation that left her puzzled. Was she coming down with something? A cold, perhaps?

“Joseph?”

He turned. “Yes?”

“You can call me Lyric.”

He nodded. “That's a right pretty name.”

“Mother never did anything normal, including naming her daughters.”

“Then she couldn't be all bad,” he noted. “Shall we take a closer look at that hill?”

“Sweet
Moses
, that looks like fifty miles of bad road.” Joseph's troubled gaze traveled the huge hill, frozen slicker than a Minnesota pond in January.

“I've seen it worse—but not much,” she admitted. She took a cautionary step ahead of him, slipped, and almost went down. He
grabbed an arm and steadied her. “And you're going to try to walk up that hill?”

“Crawl,” she corrected. “Very slowly and methodically.”

“I'll be right behind you.”

“You most certainly will not. I didn't stich all those cuts closed only to have them torn loose. You stay put.” She pulled her coat tighter and set her jaw. “This may take a while.”

“I don't plan on going anywhere.”

She set off, slipping her way across the frozen ground. If she were lucky Lark might look out the window, but her hopes weren't high. Once that girl buried her head in a book nothing distracted her. She would surely be wondering where Lyric was, and common sense would say that she was stranded at the barn, but then she never went to the barn before daylight.

Her feet spread and she went down. Regaining her footing, her legs bowed and she froze in place. If she moved even the slightest inch she would be flat on her back. Slowly, she eased both legs together. Tossing a sheepish grin over her shoulder she started off again, and her feet flew out from under her.

Heat burned her cheeks. Joseph was standing in the barn doorway, and though she couldn't see him she could
feel
his amusement. She didn't know what he found so funny. Just wait until he tried the climb—he'd suffer the same humiliation.

Struggling back to her feet, she grabbed for her scarf when the wind snatched it and the sudden movement threw her off balance. Lying face-up, she stared at the stormy sky. So far she'd moved maybe fifty feet. Joseph's calm voice came to her on a windy gust. “Are you sure you don't want me to try?”

“No.” She sat up, brushing icy pellets off her skirts. “I'm doing fine. I said it would be slow.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

Thirty minutes later she had made it halfway up the hill—just to the point that she could see the house. Smoke curled from the
chimney but there wasn't a thing stirring. No Lark peeking out the window. “Lark!” she yelled, praying the wind would carry her voice.

After a long silence, she tried again. “Lark!” By now her clothing was wet and she was chilled to the bone. She had to make it to the house shortly or she would catch her death.

“Sit down and ease up the hill,” Joseph called, his voice echoing over the frozen countryside.

Nodding, she sat down and began slowly easing up the hill on her backside. The movement met with success and she steadily inched her way toward the house.

When she was twenty feet from the back door, frozen to the core, her hands red and stinging like fire, the door opened and Lark popped her head out. “There you are. Better bring in more wood; the fire's getting low.”

“Exactly where did you think I had gone?” Lyric's chattering teeth made it nearly impossible to talk as she sank to the kitchen table. Lark had quickly stripped her out of her wet clothing and was now briskly rubbing warmth back into her frozen limbs.

“How did I know? I thought you might be at the barn but I didn't see how you got down there. I told Mother you were outside doing something in the yard.”

“Doing something in the yard.” Lyric clamped her rattling teeth together. “On a day like this, I'm outside, doing something in the yard.” She grasped a mug of steaming tea and took a trembling sip.

“Well, I had to tell her something or she'd have worried. By the way, the stranger's gone too.”

“Joseph's at the barn.”

Lark paused and met her eyes. “Joseph?”

“I was tired of calling him a stranger, so I named him Joseph.”

“And he's okay with that?”

“Why should he care? He doesn't know his name.”

“Well, that's pretty cold.”

Lyric set the cup aside and turned to pull on clean bloomers. “I thought it only proper to give him a name.”

“He has one. Younger or Cummins.”

“We don't know that for certain.”

“Goodness. What's happened? You've changed since yesterday.”

“Go find the rope we strung during the last big ice storm. We have to string it down to the barn so Joseph can come in out of the cold.”

“Mmm…I'm not sure where we put it.”

“On the service porch, behind the extra milk can.” She pulled on a woolen dress over the bloomers and tidied her hair. Feeling had returned to her hands and fingers. “Hurry, Lark. He's cold and in pain.”

Lark left, and a moment later Lyric heard the back door open. Checking her appearance a final time, she reached for a dry coat and a pair of gloves, dreading the elements.

Outside the wind blew something fierce and heavy snow fell from a lead-colored sky. Lark had dressed warmly and Lyric held the ladder as her sister climbed to the roof where a strong bolt with a looped head was in place. Lark tied the rope securely and then slid down the gutter, ignoring the ladder. She collapsed in a deep drift of snow.

“You know you're not supposed to do that,” Lyric scolded. “If you tear the gutter down I can't replace it.”

“But it's the only thing that makes this kind of storm any fun.”

Dragging the rope, the two sisters sat down and slid down the hill. Lark squealed, apparently thinking the adventure great fun; Lyric thought it was pure misery, but Joseph's wait was nearly over. He was huddled near the dwindling fire when the women entered the barn. Lark went straight to Rosie, hugging the old cow around her neck. “Hello, love.”

Joseph straightened, his face chapped by the biting cold. “I see you made it.”

“It was a breeze. The rope's up. All you have to do is hang on and pull yourself up the hill—or scoot on your backside.”

Lark glanced at his stitched face and grimaced. “I see Lyric's been busy.” She flashed a grin. “She must be starting to like you.”

The process of climbing the hill was laborious at best, even with the rope to guide them. Lyric went first. Joseph followed and Lark trailed. The process would need to be repeated twice a day during the storm's duration to milk Rosie, gather eggs, and feed the buckskin, but for now the immediate crisis was over. Joseph wasn't swinging from the end of a rope, and Lyric wasn't frozen stiffer than wash on a mid-February line.

All in all, the day hadn't been all that bad.

7

I
think you're turning sweet on him.”

“For goodness' sake, Lark.” Lyric snapped a clean sheet free of wrinkles and tossed one end to her sister. “Why would you say that? I'm moving the man from the sofa to a bed until the weather lets up.” She smoothed the sunshine-smelling fabric and tucked one end neatly in a corner. “He can't sleep in the parlor forever. For one thing, I haven't mentioned a word about his being here to Mother. Have you?”

“Not me. I don't want her to know.”

“She'll have to know; she can't just walk out of her room one night and find him.”

“Then you tell her. You're the one who brought him here…and besides, it's starting to feel like he's moving in with us.”