“Don’t look that way. I couldn’t help you if there was. We’d have to wait for Doc Foley.”
“That might be too long.”
“Ain’t a concern. He won’t do nothin’ for you I can’t.” Billie stood up, walked over, pulled a pot off the wall that was hanging just above the stove, then headed for the door. The water pump sat like a lonely sentinel just outside.
“I’d like to be on my way before the doc shows up,” Josiah said.
Billie ignored the comment. “Go on, get yourself somethin’ to eat. You need to regain your strength.” She seemed reenergized now that her attention was focused on someone else. Any pain she might have felt before was minimized as she prepared to take care of Josiah’s wound.
Josiah thought she had the makings of a good mother.
Billie grabbed the sack coat off the peg and threw it over her shoulders. She pushed out the door, unconcerned about the weather or anything else—like somebody watching from a distance. But Josiah was concerned. He scooted back against the wall, out of the line of sight from the doorway, eyeing the Spencer that he’d stood in the corner, just next to the door.
He couldn’t resist any longer and took a deep swig of coffee. It was hot and strong and had the flavor of Arbuckle’s, for which he was glad. He breathed deeply after the first swig, then took another drink. The coffee was nearly gone by the time Billie came back inside with a pot full of water.
She had barely dried herself off from being outside in the first place, and now she was soaked from head to toe all over again. The rain didn’t appear to bother her.
“Not lettin’ up out there. I think it’s gonna be a long storm,” Billie said.
“Looks like you all needed some rain.”
“The land’s been pretty much on its own since Charlie died. Not gonna be long before one of the outlying ranchers moves in and takes it. Probably come spring. Baby’ll be here anyway, and I can’t keep up with it the way it is. Can’t imagine runnin’ after a young’un and tryin’ to do all of Charlie’s work, too.”
“I’m sorry,” Josiah said.
“Just the way it is. I couldn’t just stop, not with my belly growin’ every day. Maybe if’n I would’ve been without it, then I could have.”
Josiah fidgeted in the chair. “I understand.”
“I imagine you do.” Billie put the pot on the stove to boil. “You look like a man who’s seen more than his fair share of ugliness. You was in the war, wasn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. The Texas Brigade.”
“I figured. Looks like you came back all in one piece.”
“Mostly.”
“That’s what Charlie would’ve said, too. I knowed him since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, but I sure didn’t know him when he came back from that fight.”
“War changes a man.”
“Ugliness does. Sure does. Charlie softened some after we married. But some nights he’d scream out, tremble like a scared little feller. You know what I mean?”
“I do,” Josiah said. “I do.”
“I ’spect bein’ a Ranger is a lot like still bein’ at war.”
“Not so much. It’s a different war, at least.”
“They’re all the same.”
Josiah nodded in agreement.
“You got family?” Billie asked.
“A son, in Austin. He’s two.”
“No momma?”
Josiah shook his head no. “Her and my three daughters died. Fevers took ’em.” He wasn’t about to tell Billie that Lily had died giving birth to Lyle.
Billie took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
Neither of them said anything for a minute or so. A long minute. Time enough for the drafts to push much of the sadness and death out of the house—at least as much as was possible.
“You drink all of your coffee?” Billie asked.
“Nearly.”
“Not hungry?”
Josiah nodded his head yes. “I was waiting for you.”
Billie smiled. “You go on while I get out of these wet clothes.”
“You sure?”
“I appreciate you bein’ a gentleman and all, Josiah Wolfe, but I’m not much for food at the moment. Now, go on, eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Josiah didn’t need to be told twice. He dug into the plate as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in a year, like he had upon returning home that first day from the War Between the States.
Billie disappeared into the same room Josiah had changed clothes in. The house creaked as a gust of wind pushed against it. Rain pelted the single window, and for a brief moment, Josiah felt safe.
He lost himself in the meal, in the warmth from the stove, in Billie’s kindness. He nearly forgot about everything. The pain in his leg. O’Reilly’s presence in Comanche. Scrap’s fate . . . And most of all, Lyle and Ofelia, waiting for his return in Austin. He was only supposed to be gone two days.
It was a moment to savor, just like the bacon, the fried bread, and the beans . . . because just as soon as he finished eating the meal, Josiah heard a loud thump in the other room and felt the floor shake.
A scream that matched the wind and the storm outside echoed inside the house, and without thinking, Josiah was on his feet, knowing full well what the tone of the scream meant.
CHAPTER 11
Billie lay on the floor motionless. Her face was drained of color, and there was a huge puddle seeping out from underneath her. The room smelled wet and sour.
“Somethin’ broke,” she whispered, her eyes flickering in pain—or maybe fear.
Josiah nodded, and exhaled deeply. “I sure wish Ofelia was here,” he said, looking to the ceiling. He was kneeling at her side.
They never had got around to bandaging his leg, but that seemed to be a distant concern at the moment. The wind outside whistled as loud as a locomotive, and rain hit the roof like stones dropping from the sky. Josiah sure hoped the house was built solid.
Billie put her hand on her belly and tears began to stream down her face. “Damn you, Charlie. Damn it all to hell. Why ain’t you here? You promised you’d never leave me.”
Josiah ignored the plea. There was nothing he could say to her to ease her pain and he knew it. Neither of them had the ones they loved in their lives to call on, to lean on, when they needed them the most.
“Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes on and get you in bed. That baby’s gonna come whether the doc’s here or not,” Josiah said, standing up.
It was a struggle, but with Josiah’s help, Billie pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, groaning softly, her hand never leaving her stomach.
“You’ve done this before, ain’t you?” she asked, her mouth wide as she breathed in quick bursts.
“No, ma’am. I wish I could tell you I have.”
“But you had four children. What did you do? Go huntin’ while your wife laid in misery?”
“I stood outside the door, watched the little ones after there was more than one. Ofelia, the
