A coughing fit seized him until he had to brace himself on the gate. He coughed up and spat out phlegm, caught his breath, then climbed back into the truck to jolt and bump his way back to the cabin.
Since he had to stop and rest often, it took him an hour to unload the supplies. He downed medicine first, the cough suppressant, the headache pills—he always seemed to have a headache these days—the decongestant, mixing them together in a kind of medicinal cocktail, downing them with the whisky-laced coffee he considered another element of his cure.
He’d picked up a meal, ate the two cheeseburgers slowly and without real appetite. He needed meat, good red meat, and forced it down bite by bite.
Breathing, wheezing, and whistling, he fell asleep in the chair in front of the fire as the sweat slicking his skin went cold. He woke in the dark.
Cursing, he lit the oil lamps, got the fire going again.
He spent too much time sleeping, and needed to spend more planning.
He’d driven all the way to Missoula and back, proving to himself he was recovering from the damn plague Esther had cursed him with. He’d gotten medicine and supplies, even managed some scouting around.
He’d seen plenty of women. Women showing their bare legs, women with their breasts rising up under low tops. Their faces painted.
He’d thought one or two of them might suit him, might make a good wife once he broke them. But he lacked the strength—as yet—to take one.
So he’d take the medicine, eat red meat, and get his strength back. When he had, he’d hunt the back roads, haunt the dark places outside the dens of sin. The bars and cheap motels.
The right one would come along. God would provide.
Not another like Esther. Or the one he’d christened Miriam, who’d managed to hang herself with her bedsheet weeks after delivering a girl child.
Or Judith or Beryl.
He’d buried them all, all but Esther. Given them Christian burials, though they’d been sinners. Been disappointments.
He had to find another quickly. A strong, young, fertile woman, one who could be trained to obey. And to tend to him, as his illness had shown him he was no longer young.
He needed sons to carry on his legacy, to honor him as he aged. And he needed the woman to provide them.
The tourists would come soon—those parasites—they’d come, as would those needed to make their meals, make their beds. As he drifted to sleep again, he thought the coming weeks would offer opportunities.
*
Callen would rather have ridden horseback to work, and he sure as hell would rather have ridden Sundown. Since neither made a spot on the plate, he rode shotgun in Bodine’s truck.
“I could’ve come in with Rory.”
She spared him a glance. “Something wrong with my driving, Skinner?”
“I’d rather be behind the wheel.”
“Take what you get.” But she glanced again. “What’s bothering you? The leg?”
“Christ, it got grazed. I didn’t get gut shot.”
She jerked her shoulder, maintained silence until she pulled up at the BAC. “Out, and take your crappy mood with you.”
He sat another moment. “I’ve spent a lot of time with Alice the last few days.”
“It’s noted and appreciated.”
“Careful you don’t smack your head on a tree branch riding that high horse with your nose pointed at the sky. I liked the time with her—it took my mind off other things. And I feel like she got to trust me. I’m not going to be around today when she tries working with Tate and the artist.”
“It’s good of you to worry about her. I mean that. Nana and Grammy will be there, Dr. Minnow, too. And Dr. Grove said he’s coming out to have a look at her.”
She watched the sun break above the horizon in a thin line of bright, beaming gold. “You’ve helped take her mind off things, too. It may sound strange to say you picked a good time to get shot, but it worked out that way.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” He shifted to her while the eastern sky exploded. “How about that fancy dinner Saturday night?”
“Not only a fancy dinner, but a Saturday night fancy dinner?” Wide-eyed, she jiggled her shoulders back and forth. “I might have to buy a new dress.”
“If you’ve got more than one, I haven’t seen it anyway.”
She laughed, kissed him. “Go on, get out, Skinner. You’re on my clock.” When he had, she leaned out the window. “If I get hung up, I’ll have Rory come back and pick you up after work.”
“I’ll wait for you.” He walked back to the window. “Come home with me tonight. I’ll pick something up from the kitchen here for both of us. Come home with me.”
“All right, but I’ll get the food. I’m closer to the kitchen.”
“Not fancy,” he called out as she backed up. “That’s for Saturday.”
It occurred to Bodine as she turned, flicked a glance back at him in her rearview, they weren’t just sleeping together. They were dating.
*
She did work longer than she’d hoped. Seasonals were dribbling back, others needed to be hired. New hires meant interviews, vetting, training, orientation.
“It’s all a good thing,” Bodine told Jessica as she packed her briefcase. “Bookings are up for spring right through to the first of the year, and they were solid last year. With us adding more activities and packages, it’s only going to head up from there.”
“You need a full-time assistant. I know how great Sal is, but you could use her full-time, or if you’d rather she run the front desk, you need somebody else. Having Chelsea’s made a huge difference for events. You need the same.”
Bodine frowned over it, over the simple truth of it. “I always get an itch in the middle of my back when I think of a formal assistant.”
Jessica pointed with a perfectly polished pink fingernail. “That’s your control button talking.”
“I’ve heard that before. Maybe I’ll talk to Sal. Maybe. Meanwhile, I’ve got an order to pick up from the kitchen. I have a date.”
“Me, too. Apparently it’s past time I saw Silverado. In exchange, Chase is going to try my lemon pasta with wilted arugula.”
It struck Bodine again, and she stopped in her tracks. “My God, he’s in love like Romeo. You’re getting married.”
“Yeah.” Jessica patted a hand on her chest. “You’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you?”
“I can’t believe it’s taken you a damn day to ask!” After dancing forward, Bodine gave Jessica a squeeze. “I was my cousin Betsy’s maid of honor, so I have some experience. And I trust you won’t make me wear raspberry-pink organza with poufy shoulders.”
“Blood oath on that one.”
But as Jessica’s smile struck Bodine as a little frantic, Bodine angled her head. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts?”
“I’ve already had two dozen thoughts. They all circle back to I really love him. It’s the marriage idea that scares me.”
“He’s going to eat wilted lettuce and you’re going to watch a classic Western movie. In my book, you’re already married. You just haven’t had the party yet.”