Calvin’s eyes popped open. “I don’t want to worry Coralee. She has enough to do as it is. If you could find a ranch manager to oversee things here while I’m laid up so she doesn’t feel obligated to step in, I’d be grateful.”
Calvin’s concern for his sister spoke well of him, even if that included warning Houston to stay away from her. “Travis might be the better one to ask. I’ve only been here a couple of days.”
His brother pulled a roll of white cotton from his leather bag. “No one comes to mind.”
“In that case, I’ll ask Pa. He or one of our brothers is sure to know of someone.” Houston wished Calvin well and left.
A moaning sound coming from the bedroom two doors down stopped Houston. He peered inside. An elderly man occupied the bed. He slipped a bony arm from under the sheet and motioned to Houston.
“Did you want something?”
The man didn’t respond, not in words anyhow. He just waved and grunted.
Houston stepped into the room, which smelled of honey and almonds. A quick survey of the items on the bedside table revealed the source—a jar filled with some kind of cream.
He reached the bed, and his breath left him in a whoosh. The wizened man must be Coralee’s father. Once a robust rancher like Pa, Beauregard Culpepper was a shadow of his former self. “It’s me, Houston Hart.”
There was no sign of recognition in Mr. Culpepper’s eyes. He tapped his fingers against his lips.
“Are you thirsty?” Houston lifted Mr. Culpepper’s head with one hand, picked up a glass of water with the other, and pressed it to his lips, tipping it until a trickle of liquid flowed into his mouth. He swallowed. Houston repeated the motion five times, stopping when the water dribbled down the older man’s chin. Houston set the glass on the table, eased Mr. Culpepper back into his pillows, and dabbed at his wet front with a cloth.
A gasp from the doorway caught Houston’s attention. Coralee stepped into the room, her mouth agape. She staggered backward until she bumped into the door frame, clutched it for support, and stared at Houston with eyes as big and round as barrel rings. “Wh–what are you doing in here?”
“I— The door was open. Your father called to me as I went by. I figured out he was thirsty. He drank several sips of water.”
“You shouldn’t be here. Get out!” She jabbed a finger at the hallway.
He crossed the room, faced her, and fought the urge to pull her in his arms and offer what comfort he could. She’d obviously been dealing with her father’s decline for a long time. “Corrie, I mean Coralee, I was only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help, Houston. I want you to leave. Now.”
He stared at her, trying desperately to make sense of her outburst. Questions bombarded him. He asked the first one that came to mind. “What happened to him?”
She drew in a series of shallow breaths and held up her hands below her chin, palms forward as though shielding herself from him. “Please, just go.”
“Fine. If that’s what you want. I’ll go, since Travis is still here to take care of things. Or are you going to send him packing, too?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but turned on his heel and descended the stairs two at time. The sooner he got away from Coralee, the better.
Houston knew.
Coralee fought to regain her balance, but the floor still seemed to be moving. For years, she’d protected Daddy’s privacy. He’d had two requests when he realized his memory was slipping away—that she and Calvin care for him at home and that they keep the truth confined to as few people as possible. Although they couldn’t hide the fact that he was ill, since he’d ceased appearing in public years ago, he preferred having people speculate about consumption and other possible diseases rather than believing him to be mad. Which he wasn’t.
When Gene had found her at the barbecue and delivered the news of Calvin’s accident, her only thought had been about getting her brother the help he needed. It wasn’t until she’d raced up the stairs and heard a man’s voice in Daddy’s room that she realized Houston was inside. In the rush to care for Calvin, Sally must have forgotten to close Daddy’s door.
Seeing Houston giving her father a drink wasn’t as shocking as the way he’d spoken to Daddy. Houston had been kind and compassionate, treating Daddy with the respect he deserved.
And what had she done? Sent Houston away.
She dashed down the stairs and out the door, not stopping until she was a few steps behind him. “Houston! Please. Wait.”
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around, nor did he say anything. Not that she could blame him. For all he knew, she was going to hurl even more harsh words at him.