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Authors: Pamela BAUER

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BOOK: Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)

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Jeremy went to the screen door and ordered the dog to come in, but he ignored the commands. “I’ll go get him. He’s being stubborn again.”

A few minutes later he returned with Outlaw. Two red spots brightened Jeremy’s cheeks, his eyes were wide. “Gabby, we’ve got a problem!”

“What’s wrong?” Hannah demanded.

“He’s gone!” Jeremy squeaked.

“Gone?” Gabby repeated, dropping her knife and folk on her plate.

“Who’s gone?” Hannah wanted to know, but neither Gabby nor her son answered. Both went scampering out the door, Outlaw trailing on their heels. “Is there someone in the bunkhouse?” Hannah asked, as she followed.

Into the wooden building they marched. Hannah saw the basin of water on the nightstand. “All right, what’s going on? Who was in here?”

“A sick man.” Gabby wrung her handkerchief in her hands. “And now he’s wandering around out there, delirious. He had too much sun.” She moaned. “Jeremy, do you think Outlaw scared him away?”

“He liked him,” Jeremy said.

“Him who?” Hannah demanded in frustration.

Suddenly Outlaw stopped barking, and a man’s voice echoed in the still, evening air. “Hannah! Hannah!”

“He’s not gone!” Jeremy declared wide-eyed and headed for the door.

Gabby followed him saying, “He shouldn’t be out of bed, not in his condition.”

“Would someone please tell me what is going on here?” Hannah said in frustration as once more she was forced to follow the two of them. “Why is there a man calling my name?” She detained Gabby with a hand on her arm. “Gabby, is he a friend of yours?”

Before she could answer, Jeremy shouted, “There he is. By the barn!”

All Hannah could see in the setting sun was the silhouette of a man. As she followed Gabby and Jeremy, she heard the man call out to her.

“Hannah? Is that you?”

Perplexed, Hannah looked at Gabby. “Do I know this man?”

“Not yet,” Gabby answered.

Suddenly he came staggering toward her. Fear caused Hannah’s nerves to tingle as he came closer and she saw how dirty he was.

“The good Lord must have answered my prayers. I prayed for an angel to save me and here you are.” His eyes raked her from head to toe. “You’re pretty, too. I’d better say a prayer of thanks to the Almighty.” He looked as if he wanted to wrap his arms around her, but before he could reach out and touch her he fell in a heap at her feet.

“See, I told you he’s not well,” Gabby fretted, stooping down to place an ear to his chest. After several seconds she looked up at the two who stood with mouths agape.

“He’s breathing.”

“Are you telling me that
this
is the reason why you cleaned up the bunkhouse? So that this...this...derelict could have a place to sleep?” Hannah’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“He’s not a derelict,” Gabby responded.

“Jeremy, run back to the house and call Red Murphy,” Hannah ordered her son. “Tell him there’s a drunk passed out on our lawn.”

“No! You can’t do that!” Gabby protested. “He’s not drunk. He’s suffering from heat exhaustion. That’s all. See how sunburned his face is.”

Hannah grimaced. “All I see is dirt. He’s a grub!”

“He’s not that bad.” Gabby tugged on his lapels, trying to straighten the wrinkles from the fabric. It was useless. The garment still looked like it came out of a rag bag.

“Look at him,” Hannah said derisively. “His clothes are filthy, he hasn’t shaved...” she trailed off in frustration, failing to understand how her aunt could have allowed this man onto their farm. “Gabby, who is this man, and why is he using our bunkhouse?”

Gabby shifted from foot to foot, then looked around nervously. Finally, she said in a shaky little voice, “His name is Alfred and he’s our guest. I invited him to stay with us.” She hadn’t lied—not really. She simply didn’t bother to explain that Alfred was Hannah’s future husband.

Chapter Three

U
neasiness churned Hannah’s stomach. She didn’t want to believe that this man could possibly be Gabby’s suitor. It was one thing for her aunt to date stodgy old Bernie Lamphart, quite another for it to be a man half her age who looked like something the cat dragged in.

Hannah asked the dreaded question. “Why have you invited him to stay with us?”

She didn’t get a direct answer.

“I know he looks as if he’s a little down on his luck right now, but he’s quite respectable. I’ve checked his references,” Gabby stated primly, as if she were seated behind a desk at the library.

“References for what?”

“For his character. Just because I haven’t had much experience with men doesn’t mean I’m stupid!”

Experience with men?
Hannah swallowed with difficulty. “He is your boyfriend!”

“No, he’s not my boyfriend.” Gabby made a disgruntled sound that questioned how she could even entertain such an idea. “He’s young enough to be my grandson!”

Hannah exhaled in relief. “Then who is he and why is he here?”

“His name is Alfred Dumler. He’s from Nebraska. He’s here because—Well, it’s like this....” she hemmed and hawed then finally said, “I was reading the want ads in the farm journal and—”

Hannah’s hand flew to her chest. “You didn’t answer one of those ads put in by people who are looking for work, did you?”

“Not exactly,” Gabby replied, giving the unconscious man a quick, apprehensive glance.

Not exactly?
“Gabby, please tell me you didn’t find this man in the want ads.” When her aunt didn’t reply, Hannah groaned. “Oh, my gosh! You did, didn’t you?”

“You don’t need to get upset. It’s all right. I told you—I’ve checked his references.”

Hannah tried not to panic. She wet her lips and calmly asked, “Did you hire him?”

“I wouldn’t do that—not without asking you first,” she said contritely.

Relief rushed through Hannah, and she pushed the bouncy curls back from her forehead. “Thank goodness. That means he can leave.”

“No, he can’t leave!” Gabby objected. “I asked him to come here.”

It was with a great effort that Hannah controlled her temper. “We’ve talked about this before, Gabby, and you know we can’t afford to hire anyone other than Barry and certainly not someone we have to board.”

“He could turn out to be just what we need around here,” her aunt argued. “Alfred knows a lot about farming. I’ve checked him out. I even did a credit report.”

“Obviously not a very thorough one,” Hannah retorted, looking at him disdainfully.

“I admit, he looks a bit strange, but it’s only because he’s not well. In the picture I have of him in my room he’s all neat and clean. I can get it for you, if you want.”

“I don’t care how he looks in a picture,” Hannah said impatiently. “It’s the way he looks now.”

“He looks like someone in need of care, and I don’t think we should be standing here doing nothing,” Gabby said in a maternal tone. “We should help him get back to bed.” She turned to Jeremy and said, “You take his feet and your mom and I will lift his shoulders.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Wait a minute.” Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “Where do you think you’re taking him?”

“To the bunkhouse. But if you’d rather he stay in the guest room at the house....” Gabby suggested innocently.

“No, I don’t want him in the guest room at the house! I don’t want him anywhere on this property.” Hannah could feel the color rush to her cheeks.

“But, Mom, he’s sick!” Jeremy protested.

Censure sharpened Gabby’s features. “We can’t just turn him away.”

“Oh, yes we can,” Hannah contradicted her.

Gabby, in her sternest librarian’s voice, said, “Hannah Marie Davis, your mother would roll over in her grave if she knew you were thinking about refusing help to someone in need. Not to mention I invited him here.”

Hannah could have screamed in frustration. What had possessed her aunt to do something so irresponsible? It was true that Gabby had been prone to quirky behavior at times, but until now, none of her whimsies had ever landed them with an unwanted man on their doorstep.

She looked down at the unkempt stranger and felt a twinge of compassion. He did look rather pathetic. She already had a dozen stray cats wandering about the place....

She supposed she could let him stay—at least until he was well enough to travel back to Nebraska. “Oh, all right,” she grumbled.

With a sigh, she stooped down and lifted the man’s shoulders, leaving Jeremy and Gabby to wrestle with the rest of him. “All I can say is thank goodness he doesn’t smell,” Hannah muttered as the three of them hobbled their way back to the bunkhouse. His clothes were the coarsest cotton she had ever felt, and she wondered if he’d found them at a homeless shelter.

As soon as they had managed to get the stranger onto one of the wrought-iron beds, she dusted off her hands, saying, “He’d probably weigh twenty pounds less if he washed his clothes.”

Gabby ignored her comment because Wood stirred. “Look. He’s coming round again. He’s probably hungry.” She looked pointedly at Hannah.

“You want
me
to get him something?”

“There are plenty of mashed potatoes left.” Gabby looked at her expectantly. “And tea is always therapeutic. Oh, and it probably would be a good idea to take his temperature. There’s a thermometer in the medicine chest.”

“Maybe you should just make a list,” Hannah drawled sarcastically, then did as her aunt requested.

Alone with Wood, Gabby and Jeremy watched him toss and turn. “You think he’s having a bad dream or something?” Jeremy asked.

Gabby pressed a hand to his forehead. “He’s awfully warm. Maybe he has a fever.”

At her touch Wood’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?”

“You’re on the Davis farm,” Gabby answered him. “Remember us? I’m Gabby and this is Jeremy.”

Wood raised himself on one elbow and looked around. “I’m not at the Nelsons’ then.”

Gabby gave him a puzzling look. “The Nelsons sold out twenty-five years ago.”

Wood’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Sensing his confusion, Gabby repeated, “This is the Davis farm. You came here to meet Hannah, remember?”

At the mention of his sister’s name, Wood sighed. “She’s really here then?”

“Yes. She just went to get you something to eat. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m a little dizzy,” he admitted, falling back down and closing his eyes.

“I think you may have a fever. Maybe I should call the doctor.”

At that his eyes shot open. “No! No doctor.”

Just then Hannah called through the screen door for Jeremy’s help. While Jeremy carried the tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of mashed potatoes over to Gabby, Hannah remained in the background.

“Do you feel up to eating?” Gabby asked Wood, who winced as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. He sank back down against the pillow and told Gabby, “I can’t do it. I feel as if my body’s made of straw.”

Concern lined her face. “I’ll help you. You just open up and I’ll spoon it in.”

“I like to tend to my own needs, ma’am, but I’d be obliged if you’d do just that.” He opened his mouth, and she shoved the potatoes inside.

When he winced she asked, “You don’t like them?”

“They taste good, ma’am, it’s just that it hurts to swallow.”

Gabby gave him a sip of the tea. “Here. Drink this. It’ll make your throat feel better.”

Wood did as he was told. Gabby fed him a couple more scoops of the potatoes before his eyes drifted shut. “Alfred?” she repeated his name several times, but he didn’t answer.

“Do you think he’s all right?” Jeremy asked in an anxious whisper.

“Gabby, how sick is this guy?” Hannah came closer to the bed.

“He said he doesn’t need a doctor,” Gabby answered.

“Well, he looks awful.”

“Did you bring the thermometer?” Gabby asked.

Hannah nodded and handed her a narrow plastic case.

“He’s waking up, again,” Jeremy announced.

“I’d better take his temperature,” Gabby removed the thermometer from its case and shook it.

“Dry.” Wood’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Mom, he needs a drink of water,” Jeremy remarked.

Hannah reached for the plastic tumbler. She watched long-lashed eyes slowly awaken. They were dark brown, full of slumber plus uncertainty. When they met Hannah’s, they widened and she felt something tumble in her stomach. She had never seen anyone with such startling eyes. This guy did for brown eyes what Paul Newman did for baby blues. Hannah didn’t understand how a man covered with dirt and looking like something that had been sleeping under the highway overpass could send a tremor of excitement through her.

Yet he did. Hannah figured it was more like fear than excitement. Neither feeling was welcome. She needed no man to stir any emotions in her, especially not one who looked like a bum.

“I need to talk to—” Wood began, only to fade away as his strength ebbed once more.

“Take a drink of water, Mr. Dumler,” Hannah ordered, lifting the cup to his lips.

He sat forward, then took a sip. Those dark brown eyes regarded her with a cautious scrutiny. “Hannah....” He fell back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

“That’s the second time he’s asked for me,” Hannah whispered to Gabby, who shrugged innocently. Uneasiness had Hannah taking a step backward.

Again Wood cried out her name, “Hannah.”

It was such a tormented sound, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. Whatever troubled him, he was in no state to deal with it this evening.

“Look, Mr. Dumler, try to rest. We can talk tomorrow,” she told him, the helplessness in his face evoking all sorts of conflicting emotions in her. Curiosity, pity, annoyance... and to her dismay, sympathy. She didn’t want to feel anything toward this man, yet she felt the tug on her emotions as if he were reaching out and touching her.

When he did reach out and grab her by the wrist, Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. His fingers were hot as they clutched her flesh, and soon she felt that heat travel to the rest of her body. He tried to use her for an anchor so that he could pull himself up, but it was useless. He didn’t have the strength. She pulled free, disturbed by the contact.

Hannah rubbed her skin where his fingers had been. It tingled—not from the pressure of his grasp, but from something else. His eyes met hers and she couldn’t look away.

“You have to help me,” he said in a low, husky voice that sent a tremor through her. But even more disturbing than his voice were his eyes. They pinned her with an intensity that held the promise of intimacy. The thought was an uncomfortable one. This man was a stranger and had no right to look at her as if there was some connection between them.

“You’re not well, Mr. Dumler.” She tried to look away from those compelling brown eyes, but found she couldn’t.

“Wood,” he murmured.

“Wood?” Hannah again looked to Gabby for an explanation, but she simply shrugged in ignorance. “What is it you need wood for, Mr. Dumler?”

He shook his head. “It’s my name—Wood.”

“Maybe it’s what his friends call him,” Gabby said softly.

Hannah didn’t want to become any more familiar with him than she already was. “You want me to call you Wood instead of Alfred?”

He nodded. “What should I call you? Angel?” A ghost of a smile creased his lips causing Hannah’s insides to tingle in an odd way. “I thought you were a dream, but you’re real, aren’t you?”

Hannah took a step away from the bed. She didn’t want this helpless man looking at her as if she were his own personal nightingale. “I think I should go back to the house,” she told Gabby. “You can nurse him or do whatever....”

“I’ll see if he has a temperature,” Gabby told her.

Wood groaned when she slipped the thermometer between his lips.

“Maybe we should take him to the hospital,” Hannah suggested, thinking that at least they would get him off the farm.

Again there was a groan of protest from Wood.

“I told you he doesn’t want to go to the doctor,” Gabby said in a near whisper. “I think we should wait and see how he is in the morning.” She studied her watch. “He’s falling asleep.” Within a few seconds she was carefully removing the thermometer.

“It’s normal,” she announced, once again shaking the mercury down.

“Then why is he so hot?” Again Hannah rubbed her own wrist, still feeling the impact of his touch.

“I told you. He was hit by lightning,” Jeremy insisted. “When I touched him that first time I got a shock.”

BOOK: Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)

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