Amanda's Beau (17 page)

"Why don't you go back to bed for a bit?" Ella suggested. "I can watch Minnie. We'll be fine for a little while." She glanced down at the baby in her arms with such a look of deep joy and tenderness Amanda wanted to weep with relief. Ella was getting better and accepting her role as Minnie's mother with loving determination.

"I might, but not right this minute. There's too much work to be done," Amanda told her. "You sit right there, and don't try to get up by yourself. You're still weak, and I don't want you to over do. If you can keep an eye on the baby, it will be a big help."

Hearing a knock at the kitchen door, Amanda straightened and said, "Now who has come here at this hour of the morning?"

Bonita barked and rose from rug in front of the hearth.

"Not Doctor Morgan again, surely?" Ella said.

With Bonita leading the way, Amanda left her sister comfortably situated in the rocking chair near the fire in the sitting room and went to answer the door. She was mildly astonished to discover Nate Phillips standing there, a horse tethered to the porch railing. He hadn't bothered to drive out in his impractical automobile this time, she noted, grimly satisfied. With his hat pushed back rakishly away from his smooth, tan forehead, Nate stood on the porch holding four tin cans — two in each hand.

Both curious and annoyed, Amanda swiped her hands down the front of her apron and greeted him with cautious reserve. "Good morning, Mr. Phillips."

"Good morning, Miss Dale. There's no need to ask how you're doing today," he said, giving her a silky smile. "You're radiant this fine autumn morning — if I may say so."

Amanda felt a small flame of anger. Liar! She'd briefly studied herself in the mirror after washing her face earlier in the morning. A lack of restful sleep and a nagging headache had given her pale face a tight, pinched expression. She looked like death warmed over. Even Ella had noticed. It was one thing to be paid a pretty compliment, Amanda admitted to herself. It was quite another to be the recipient of an out-and-out lie.

"What brings you out this way so early?" she asked with forced politeness.

"May I come in?"

With some reluctance, she stepped back to allow him into the kitchen. His grin widened. Presenting her with the canned goods, Nate then reached into the pocket of his corduroy jacket. "I wanted to bring the money I owe you." He propped the folded bills next to the sugar bowl on the table. "I also brought some canned fruit for your sister." He indicated the cans still held in her cupped hands. "I believe the treat may tempt a sluggish appetite."

"Why, thank you," Amanda replied, surprised and a bit mollified. She hadn't considered Nate Phillips as the sort of thoughtful person to bring treats for an invalid. Perhaps she'd been wrong about him. Not knowing whether to be touched by the gesture or suspicious of his motives, Amanda placed the cans on the table. Two cans of peaches in syrup and two tins labeled fruit salad, with peaches, pears, grapes and cherries all mixed together. What would they think of next?

"You may count the money, if you'd like. It's all there, the amount we agreed upon. Perhaps you can buy yourself a new readymade dress or some furbelow that tickles your fancy," Nate suggested, patting Bonita on the head. The dog thumped her broken tail happily against the leg of the kitchen table. "Mr. Schwarzkopf has a fine selection of goods at his general store, considering how small the town is."

Amanda felt her cheeks grow hot. "I wouldn't think of spending any of it, Mr. Phillips. The money belongs to my sister."

"I've offended you. I'm sorry." His tone was contrite. He fixed his dark eyes upon her face. His lashes were impossibly long and curled at the ends. He asked in a low tone, "Are you intuitive, Miss Dale? Have you ever met someone for the first time and known immediately she would be special to you? I did on the first day we met. I like you. I like you a lot."

Before she could sputter a flustered response, Nate went on. "You remind me so much of my favorite sister, you know. Perhaps that's why I feel comfortable talking to you in this frank manner. I miss her. I'm frequently homesick, as you may have guessed. Some think the life of an archeologist is romantic and glamorous. It can be, but it's a hard life and a lonely one too."

He gave her a hopeful, pleading look, which wrung her heart. His usual manner was so bright and easy, she'd overlooked the fact he might have deeper thoughts and feelings too. Lonely? She'd been lonely most of her life.

"I do understand, Mr. Phillips," she said in earnest.

"I knew you would," he replied, beaming down upon her. "Say you'll allow me to pick you up on Sunday afternoon for the spelling bee. I'll come in Atalanta — my little runabout. I bet you've never ridden in an automobile before."

He arched an eyebrow. When Amanda hesitated, he hurried on. "Rex may come too, of course. You'll both enjoy the little adventure, and I'll delight in your enjoyment. Say yes, Miss Dale." His eyes danced with merriment.

Amanda felt moved by his appeal. She also felt impatient with her own fickleness. What was the matter with her? One minute she was suspicious of the man and his smooth manners, and the next minute, she was beguiled by his charm. He was so temptingly handsome, she thought, smothering a sigh. But surely he was not a part of God's will for her life? But how could she know?

"Rex would never forgive me if I said no," Amanda replied, taking a deep breath. "So, yes. Come pick us up in that fancy automobile of yours."

"I trust you've made arrangements for someone to stay with your sister… and the baby," Nate went on.

She nodded. "A neighbor is coming to sit with Ella for the afternoon." She'd asked Dolores as soon as she'd returned from her visit to the excavation site. Dolores was happy to oblige, as she had no youngsters or grandchildren participating in the event.

"There's one more thing," Nate said, holding up a finger. "I must warn you I'm having some skeletal remains brought over." When Amanda blinked with surprise, he added, "I don't want you to take a fright if you go to the shed to peek at the latest discoveries and notice the skeletons there. Some females might consider them to be rather gruesome."

"Thank you for your consideration," Amanda said. "Are these the skeletons Rex and Mr. Gladney discovered?

Nate nodded. "And we found three more yesterday afternoon. One is quite small, perhaps the remains of a child. They are rather fragile, I fear. I may not be able to transport them safely to the museum back East." He shrugged, adding, "We also found a grinding slab and some knives, skinning blades, a spear, and an arrow straightener."

"I can just imagine the excitement among the men at the site," Amanda said. "Speaking of men, what happened to the one who fell? Is he going to be all right?"

"Doc Morgan says the fellow broke his leg. Such misfortune is not unusual on a site like this one," Nate told her. "But I'm hoping it will be the last accident. You might be interested to learn we also discovered a wide assortment of ornaments yesterday after you left — turquoise amulets, mollusk shell bracelets, and abalone beads. Gil insists we add some of these items to the display in the classroom, so the parents and community members at the spelling bee can admire them."

"And Rex is doing the work with the pottery pieces you asked him to do — I mean, doing it to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, my dear Miss Dale," Nate assured her. "He's a hard worker and careful. I think he has a real interest in archeology and history."

"Mr. Gladney thinks so too," Amanda said.

"Well, I need to get back to work," Nate said. He stuck out his hand as though offering to shake hands with her.

When she put out her own, he squeezed it with both of his. It wasn't a caress, nor was it a friendly handshake. Amanda, embarrassed, likened the gesture to the kneading of bread dough. Annoyed and shy, she tugged her hand from his grasp and shoved it into her apron pocket, fearing he might take possession of it again.

"Goodbye, Mr. Phillips. We'll see you Sunday afternoon," she said in a dismissive tone.

"Goodbye, Miss Dale," he replied, his eyes twinkling.

As soon as Nate took his leave, Amanda returned to the sitting room. She carried a can of peaches with her and one of fruit salad.

"Guess what I've got, Ella? Tinned peaches." She held them out for her sister's perusal. "Want some? Or would you rather try the can of fruit salad?"

Ella's pale face lit up with anticipated pleasure. She stopped rocking and tucked the baby into the crook of her right arm. "Peaches. I love peaches. Who brought them?"

"Mr. Nate Phillips, the archeologist Rex told you about," Amanda replied.

"Seems odd to hire a boy to wash broken pottery bits," Ella said.

"Mr. Phillips assures me Rex is doing a good job at it though."

With a gentle smile, Ella said, "I think Mr. Phillips must be sweet on you, Mandy. That's why he's paying Rex to do it at all."

Amanda shrugged and blushed a little. "I'm not sure," she confessed. Was Nate sweet on her? Or was he simply a lady's man — one who flirted with any creature in a skirt? She'd had so few conversations with unmarried men, handsome or otherwise, she didn't know what to think of Nate's merry, playful manner.

She scurried back to the kitchen before Ella could ask any more embarrassing questions. Counting the bills he'd left on the table, Amanda made up her mind to get to the bank as soon as possible to make another payment toward Ella's debt. She intended to take the letter from the Las Cruces lawyer too and ask the bank manager for advice regarding its contents.

After opening the can, she poured the sliced peaches — syrup and all — into a small bowl and wondered again about Nate's generosity. He was paying more for the privilege of using the old empty shed than anyone would have found reasonable. The money he was paying Rex was generous too. Again, she couldn't help wondering why.

Grabbing a spoon from the kitchen drawer, she carried it and the bowl of fruit into the other room. "Here, Ella, give me the baby. You eat this. Every bite."

Minnie began making soft whimpering noises when Amanda tucked her into the cradle next to Ella's rocker. Bonita peered over the cradle's rim and stuck her large wet nose directly in Minnie's face. The baby let out a frightened wail.

Amanda's heart jolted in her chest. "Bonita, no!" She struck the dog across the nose — hard — with the full force of her open hand.

Bonita yelped and cowered.

"Mandy? My goodness! What are you doing?" Ella demanded, alarmed.

Her pulse racing, Amanda scooped the squalling baby girl out of the cradle. She glanced first at Ella and then down at Bonita, who'd scuttled away to safety near the legs of the marble-topped table. Placing Minnie on her shoulder, Amanda patted the baby gently on the back to stop her from crying.

"What's the matter, Mandy? Tell me," Ella insisted, her large eyes round with fright.

Amanda, breathing heavily, glanced down at the dog. She'd never hit Bonita before. But when she'd seen the dog's treacherous mouth so close to Minnie's little face, she'd felt afraid — deathly afraid. What if Bonita should bite Minnie, mistaking the infant for a chicken?

"Sorry, girl. You were just curious, weren't you?" she asked. The dog made sad sweeps across the wooden floor with her tail. She didn't look wild or vicious. At least, not at the moment.

"Mandy?" Ella's voice was anxious.

"It's all right, Ella. For a minute I thought the dog might bite the baby. I got scared and overreacted. It's all right."

"Bonita wouldn't bite anybody," Ella insisted. "She's a good dog."

By this time, Minnie had stopped crying, but she wriggled and squirmed against Amanda's fierce, protective hold. Easing her grip upon the infant's small body, Amanda glanced down at the fussing baby. She cleared her throat. "She looks a lot like Rex, doesn't she?"

Ella relaxed. "She does. And a little like Randall too. He wanted a girl this time."

Amanda felt hot tears stinging her eyes. She kissed her niece's soft cheek and knew she'd never forgive herself if anything happened to her. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she glanced down at Bonita again. Should she tell Ella about the dog preying upon the chickens?

Hesitantly, Ella asked, "Mandy, are you all right?"

Amanda blinked back the tears. "It's just this headache," she sniffed.

"It's more than a headache, I think," Ella said. With the back of her hand, she wiped the peach juice from her chin. "You'd better tell me."

Amanda hesitated, uncertain whether or not she should tell the truth and add to her sister's troubles.

"Something has been preying upon the hens for weeks now," she finally admitted. "Rex thought it was a skunk maybe, or a coyote or raccoon." Lowering her voice, she added, "But it's Bonita. The dog's been going after the chickens."

"How do you know?" Ella nearly gasped the question.

"I saw her come around the corner of the house with a dead one in her mouth." Amanda fixed her eyes upon her sister's pale face. "I think Bonita's got bloodlust."

Ella's eyes filled with tears. Her frail shoulders slumped. "Oh no," she uttered in a mere whisper.

Amanda nodded sadly. "Rex loves that dog. I don't know what to do."

"Have you told him?" Ella asked.

Amanda shook her head. "Can't bring myself to do it," she admitted, turning her gaze upon the watchful dog lying quietly on the hearthrug. "I know I ought to shoot her, but I can't bring myself to do it."

As she watched the tears roll down Ella's cheeks, Amanda fought back her own. She placed the baby back in her cradle and sat down in the caned-bottom chair across from her sister. "Maybe we could find Bonita's original owner and give her back. If they don't have chickens or geese or something, she might be okay there."

Ella made an impatient swipe at the tears on her cheeks and asked, "What original owner? We've had the dog for months. No one has reported missing a large, red, shaggy-coated dog. Randall even asked around, but didn't tell Rex."