Dorothy Clark - Courting Miss Callie

She banged the bread plate down on the table and looked straight into his astonished gaze. “I am not a delicate flower that must be pampered and coddled, Mr. Ryder! I have seen wounds worse than yours. I was merely surprised by it. Now please sit down and eat your meal. That wound needs care. I will tend to it when you are finished.”

“You’re very kind, miss, but I can’t permit—”

She jutted her chin up a notch and stared at him.

A puzzled look flickered in his blue eyes. He gave a small nod. “Very well.” He sat, took a bite of the stew, then lifted a piece of the bread from the plate and dipped his knife in the butter.

Heat spread across her cheeks. Perhaps she had reacted too strongly, but she was so tired of men seeing only her beauty and none of her worth. She’d come back to Pinewood to escape that—at least for a little while.

Her long skirts flared out at her pivot, swishing over the tops of her shoes as she strode to the stove. She poured warm water from the iron teakettle into a large bowl, moved to the dry sink and draped a few clean cloths from the bottom shelf over her arm, snatched a small, covered crock from a shelf and walked back to the table.

The man crossed his knife and fork on his empty dish. “My compliments, miss. That stew is the best I have ever eaten.”

“There’s nothing like hunger to refine the palate.” He had praised her cooking. She smiled, set the crock and bowl on the table and glanced at him. He was staring at her with that look she so hated. Her hands tightened on the bowl of water. If he told her she was beautiful, she would—

“Callie dear, I’ve been thinking about—” Her Aunt Sophia swept into the room, stopped and stared. “And who are you, sir?”

The logger rose and made her a polite bow. “Mr. Ezra Ryder, at your service, madam.”

Her aunt’s delicately arched brows rose, her gaze shifted to Callie. She gave a small shrug. “Mr. Ryder asked if there was work he could do in exchange for a meal, Aunt Sophia.” She dropped one of the cloths into the bowl of warm water. “Is there something you needed? I was about to tend a wound on Mr. Ryder’s head.”

“Nothing that can’t wait, dear. Please be seated, Mr. Ryder.” Sophia came to the table, glanced at the man’s wound then took the chair opposite him.

She recognized the expression in Sophia’s eyes from her days of youthful escapades with her friends. A smile tugged at her lips. Her aunt would soon know all about the logger. She squeezed the excess water out of the cloth and held it on the lump at the crown of Ezra Ryder’s head to loosen the dried blood.

“How did you injure yourself, Mr. Ryder?”

Her smile grew. Sophia’s inquisition had begun.

“I was ambushed by two men intent upon relieving me of my...wages.”

Why had he hesitated? She frowned and moved the position of the wet cloth.

“Here in Pinewood?”

“No. I was attacked in Dunkirk on my way here.”

“Greed makes men do evil things.” The words left a bitter taste in Callie’s mouth. Her father was numbered among the greedy. Why else would he plan to sell her hand in marriage to the highest bidder? Her stomach knotted. She looked down, rinsed out the cloth then applied it to the wound again.

“Sadly, that’s true, Callie. And what brings you to Pinewood, Mr. Ryder? Are you seeking employment as a logger? Or a sawyer or teamster?”

“I came to visit a distant cousin...Johnny Taylor. But I was told by the clerk in the mercantile that Johnny and a man by the name of Arnold Dixon quit their jobs and headed west a few days ago.”

Johnny Taylor and Arnold Dixon. Thomas Hunter’s friends. The men who had so frightened Willa. Was Ezra Ryder of the same ilk? She frowned, turned the cloth over and again held it on Ezra Ryder’s bowed head. “What a shame your cousin didn’t know to expect you, and you made your journey in vain.”

“Yes, indeed.” The sympathy in Sophia’s voice belied the sharpened look in her eyes. “Were you close with your cousin, Mr. Ryder?”

“No, not at all. I know him only from when we were young boys, and my uncle brought his family to visit us on the farm. My visit here was to renew our acquaintance.”

There was something underlying the ring of truth in Ezra Ryder’s deep voice—something he wasn’t telling. Her shoulders tensed. She detested lies and subterfuge. And disdained the men that indulged in them. In her experience, they were many. She dabbed the softened blood from his hair, dropped the cloth in the water, dried her hands on the long white apron that covered her blue wool dress and opened the small crock.

“So you are without funds, and without a place to stay?”

“Thanks to those thieves, and my cousin’s leaving town, yes. That is why I inquired if there is work I can do in exchange for my meal...and perhaps a place to sleep?”

“I see.” Sophia glanced around. “I’m sure there is something...”

“The stables need a thorough cleaning.” A cheeky suggestion. It was not her place to interfere in her aunt’s business, but she didn’t want the man given work around the kitchen. It was her sanctuary. She clamped her jaw to keep from saying more, and smoothed the salve over the exposed gash.

“An excellent suggestion, Callie.” Sophia gave her a warm smile, then lowered her gaze to Ezra Ryder. “My groom suffers from rheumatism and can no longer care for the stables as he once did. You may clean them as payment. But you must do so as Joseph directs.”

“I understand, madam.”

There was politeness and acquiescence in Ezra Ryder’s voice, but not a hint of subservience. Sophia ran her gaze over his neatly trimmed hair. The man had recently been to an excellent barber. She frowned, held back the questions crowding into her mind and put the cover back on the crock and placed it on the table.

“Very well. There is a cot you may sleep on in the equipment room. You’ll find a mattress tick you can stuff with fresh hay in the tin cupboard, and— Yes, Mary?”

The maid in the doorway gave an apologetic smile. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Sheffield, but there’s a gentleman out front that wants a room.”

“Thank you, Mary. I’ll come right along.” Her aunt rose.

Ezra Ryder stood and made her a small bow. “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Sheffield.”

Sophia nodded and stepped toward the doorway, paused and looked over her shoulder. “Callie, Ezra will need blankets. You’ll find some in the chest in my bedroom.”

Something akin to shock flashed in Ezra Ryder’s eyes at the subtle message of his servile position contained in her aunt’s use of his given name. It was followed by a flicker of amusement. A strange reaction for a man come begging. He glanced her way, caught her studying him.

“I’ll get the blankets.” She hurried through the door that led to her aunt’s private quarters, snatched three blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed and returned to the kitchen. He had donned his jacket.

“Here are the blankets—” She glanced up at him and his first name stuck in her throat. There was something about the man that commanded respect. “The Allegheny has flooded the fields out back and is only a few feet from the stables, but these should be sufficient to ward off the damp and the cold.” She handed him the wool blankets and stepped back.

He nodded, fastened his gaze on hers and smiled. “Thank you for your suggestion to your aunt that I might help in the stables. I’m grateful for the opportunity to earn bed and board. And thank you for tending my wound. It already feels better.”

She turned from the look of admiration in his eyes and began clearing the table. “The salve is made by the Senecas. It’s very effective. I’ll apply more in the morning.”