The Green Lace Corset, стр. 67

“Yes, you’d better.”

She touched his wound gently. “It might need stitches.”

He pulled away. “Don’t bother. It’ll be fine.”

“But it might become infected.”

He pulled a flask from his coat pocket and took a swig. “Okay. Do what you like.”

She grabbed her sewing kit and a cotton remnant from her pile. Standing before him, she seized his flask, poured alcohol on the cloth, and dabbed the lesion.

“Ouch!” He jerked away.

“Don’t be a baby.” She held his stubbled chin and lightly cleaned his eye and the wound.

She couldn’t see to thread a needle, so she lit a lantern and had him hold it up. Her hands shook. She’d never done this before, only watched Doc Mackenzie stitch up her finger when she’d cut it chopping carrots. Even then, she could hardly bear to look.

Feeling queasy, she placed her hand tenderly on Cliff’s forehead. “Keep steady, now.” She inhaled and let it out. “Ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gritted her teeth, drove the needle into Cliff’s skin, pushed it through, and pulled the thread. She kept going until she’d made five neat stitches. While she worked, he flinched only once. As she snipped off the thread’s end, relief flooded her and she collapsed next to him on a chair. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“You and me both.” He closed his eyes.

“Come on.” She grasped his elbow, helped him up, led him to the cot, and pulled off his boots.

“It feels good to be home,” he said, and soon fell to snoring.

She stared at him. Now that she knew he was okay, and given his weakened state, this was her best chance to find the money and scurry away. Outside, she climbed the fence railing and flipped open the saddlebag on Roan’s back.

“What’re you doin’?” Cliff bellowed from the doorway.

Her heart leaped into her throat. “You shouldn’t be up. I’m just gonna let Roan graze in the pasture with Scout.”

Cliff hobbled toward her, clutched the bags, and stumbled inside.

Sally Sue used all her strength to take off Roan’s saddle. She returned to the cabin. Arms crossed, she plunked down in the rocker and moved to and fro to dispel her frustration. How was she ever going to find the money and get away?

Before she got in bed, she wiped the perspiration from Cliff’s brow. He had tucked the saddlebags between the cot and the wall. She’d be unable to get to them without waking him.

Overnight, Cliff’s wound festered and became red and raw.

“Does it hurt much?” She tilted his head sideways to inspect it.

He took a swig from his flask. “Nah. Only feels like someone threw a pine cone at it.”

She doubted that very much and reached for the flask. “Here, I’m going to clean it again.”

“Let it scar over.” His voice was gruff. “Just slap a little honey on it.”

Was he teasing her? “Really?”

“Yep.”

She got the honey from the cupboard. It reminded her of Elvira, that strange woman the first day in Flagstaff. Hadn’t she said something about honey? “Honey in every pot,” or something like that? Sally Sue carefully spooned some over Cliff’s eye.

A few days later, Cliff’s wound began to heal, but he continued to sleep late.

White clouds parted like saloon doors to reveal chartreuse mountaintops, the snowy peaks now gone. Under the turquoise sky, a joyful explosion of wildflowers dotted the meadow. A quail shook his topnotch plume as his family bobbed and skittered behind him. A turkey hen, red waddle hanging off her chin above a long, curved neck, zigzagged her drooping body along the meadow toward the pond.

A white-tailed doe and her twin white-speckled yearlings nibbled green fodder that had magically sprouted overnight. The doe’s ears perked up; she turned toward and stared at Sally Sue as if she knew Sally Sue was there. Then, suddenly, she sprang away, her babies following on spindly legs.

Spring had arrived, and with it, Sally Sue’s sadness had begun to abate. At home she’d never paid much attention to nature, but here the graceful beauty of the peaks and sweeping meadow filled her heart with newfound vigor. She’d thought she’d miss the springtime hustle-bustle of the city, but the surrounding quiet here was so peaceful, and she felt freer here than in Missouri.

A stream had begun to flow and gurgle into the gulley behind the big oak beyond the cabin. Birch trees, sycamores, and cedars had sprouted leaves. From the giant oaks’ cupped leaves, tendrils twirled down like cherubs’ curls. The beauty of the ranch filled her with awe and gratitude for God.

Sally Sue’s chest felt hollow, eggshell thin, ready to crack and break as she realized the paths were clear. It would be difficult to leave all this budding nature, especially after the hard winter she’d endured. But she needed to depart soon, before she changed her mind or Cliff snapped again.

But once she got off the ranch, she would have no idea which way to go. She wandered to the pond with a bucket, singing her favorite hymn aloud: “All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small . . .” She’d sung it in church her whole life but had never truly listened to the words until today.

Maybe if she asked nicely, Cliff would take her to church in town and she could memorize the way.

Later that evening, she sat at the table while he finished the supper dishes, the cabin aglow with candles and lantern light. Crickets whirred a constant cadence.

Cliff dried his hands and joined her at the table. Daily doses of honey had helped heal his lesion. She’d soon remove the stitches.

She got up enough gumption to broach the subject. “Don’t you think Sheriff Mack will wonder if he never sees me in town?”

“Why should he?”

She tried a different tactic. “Now that the weather’s clear, don’t you think it’s time to go back to church?”

“Church.” He scoffed. “I don’t go to church.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Don’t believe in God.”

“What?” She’d never heard anyone admit that before.

“If you’d seen the horrible acts I’ve witnessed, you’d agree.”

“Like what?” Maybe