Family of the Heart (18 page)

S
arah carried Clayton’s breakfast tray to the table by the stairs, came back and tugged the rocker away from the bed.

“What are you doing?”

She braced for battle, looked up at Clayton and launched into her prepared speech. “Quincy must go to the farm today, and Eldora will be putting up preserves. I will have Nora here with me. I thought it best to move the rocker away from the bed so we will not disturb your rest.”

There was no display of anger. Clayton went absolutely still. His face had taken on that carved-of-stone look. She leaned down and tugged at the chair.

“Leave the rocker in place. Lucy will watch the child.”

His voice was quiet, devoid of all emotion.
The child.
The words grated. As did his attitude. Anger would be better than cold indifference. At least it would show he had some feelings! Sarah lifted her chin. “Lucy is at her home. She has been taken with the sickness that is going around. And
I
am Nora’s nanny.” She took a firmer grip on the back of the rocker, glanced over her shoulder and backed toward the side wall.

“Stop! Leave the chair.”

Sarah jerked to a halt at the barked words, looked up at Clayton. There was no indifference now. The expression on his face—the tightened lips, the pain, anger,
despair
in his eyes held back her defiance on Nora’s behalf. That odd connection welled, stronger than ever. A desire to help Clayton, to see him healed. To see whatever caused him such pain erased. The longing rose, as strong as her purpose to give Nora her father.

She clenched her hands, hid them in the folds of her long skirt. Why did she have these feelings? How was she to help Clayton when her own heart was broken? What about
her
pain? Anger filled her eyes with tears. She ducked her head and blinked them away.

“The chair is too heavy for you. Get Quincy to move it.”

Clayton sounded resigned. Well, she was
not.
She was grieving Aaron, and she did not have the strength to take on Clayton Bainbridge’s burden. Sarah blinked her eyes clear and lifted her head. “Quincy has left for the farm.”

Clayton’s chest swelled. He blew out air. “Then leave the chair where it is.”

“But—”

“Miss Randolph, do you not understand the roles of a servant and an employer? That was an
order.
”

Sarah stared, bit back a retort. He was right. She was only a servant to him. She had forgotten that while caring for his wounds. Evidently he had not. And she had been concerned about him having a wounded heart? She ignored the pang of hurt. It was nothing but wounded pride.

“Very well.” She lifted her hands from the chair and took a step back. “If there is nothing you need at the moment, I will go down to the kitchen and bring Nora back.” She waited to a count of three, pivoted and sailed across the room. His dirty breakfast tray waited there on the table. She snatched it up and hurried out onto the landing before she gave in to the urge to throw his coffee cup at him, wound or no wound. It was a good thing for Mr. Clayton Bainbridge she was a lady!

Clayton leaned back against his pillows, bereft and hollow. He had accomplished his goal of distancing himself from Sarah. And all because he had been worried she would hurt herself moving that heavy rocker. He should have realized—should have challenged Sarah’s pride earlier. Her stiff posture, lifted chin and flashing eyes were proof of a wall he would not be allowed to scale no matter how he longed to reach her heart and claim it for his own. All he had to do was make certain that wall stayed in place—and return to work as soon as possible. The less time he spent in her company the better.

Clayton lifted his hand and gently probed the wound on the back of his head. It was scabbed over and tender to the touch, but there was no eruption of pain, only a dull throbbing. He would not be bedridden if it were not for the injury to his back. He may not be in condition to supervise the work sites, but he would at least be able to care for himself, and work in his study. He would be independent. Sarah Randolph could return to being a nanny instead of his nurse. And he would be able to avoid all contact with her.

Clayton flattened his palms against the mattress, braced himself and lifted his right leg a few inches off the bed. It hurt, but the pain was nothing he could not bear. He shifted his weight slightly, gritted his teeth and tried his left leg. “Ahhugh!” Pain thrust deep into his side, slashed across his lower back, agonizing and intense.

His stomach churned. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip, moistened his palms. Clayton clamped his jaws together and sagged back against his pillows. Pain pulsated in the bruised area above his hip, traveled down his leg. For all his effort had cost him, his leg had not moved. Fear clamped his chest, squeezed his throat. What if he was crippled? That would make it certain he could not have Sarah. Ever.

“Mr. Bainbridge!”

Clayton opened his eyes. Sarah, the child in her arms, stared at him from the open doorway. He closed his eyes again, unwilling to let her see his agony.

“Sit here, sweetie.”

The rocker squeaked. The blanket on his left pulled down. She was leaning over him. He kept his eyes closed.

“How can I help you?”

The sound of her soft voice was like balm, the fact that she cared, enough. But he could not tell her. He could never tell her. The wall had to remain firmly in place. Clayton rolled his head side-to-side, heedless of the healing wound, and waited for the pain to ease.

“And what is this?”

Sarah’s voice, pitched soft and low—the whispering rhythm of the rocker in the background. Clayton frowned. He must have fallen asleep. He opened his eyes and looked toward the chair. Sarah was sitting with the child on her lap, holding an open book.

“A cow.”

His lips twitched. The child was speaking in an exaggerated whisper. She must have been warned to be quiet.

“Very good! And what does a cow say?”

“Moooo.”

“Yes. Now, what is next?”

The child twisted her head around and looked up at Sarah.

“A butterfwy!”

“Shhhh…” Sarah placed her finger across her lips and glanced his way. Her eyes widened. “You are awake.” She rose, still holding the child, and stepped close to his bed. “How do you feel?”

“All right.” Lamplight danced among the crests and valleys of the child’s golden curls.
Deborah’s hair.
He looked away, glanced out the window. The sky was gray. Layers of dark clouds foamed in the distance. “Looks as if we are in for some weather.”

“Yes.” Sarah took a breath. “Are you hungry? We ate some time ago. But Eldora will fix a tray for you.”

Clayton nodded, tried not to notice the child who was staring down at him.

Sarah turned, lifted the picture book off the seat of the rocker and carried Nora to her mattress in the corner. “Now you be a good girl and look at your book, Nora. I have to go get your papa’s food, but I will be right back.”

Papa.
Clayton’s stomach knotted. “Take the child with you.”

Sarah shook her head. “I have to carry your tray, and Nora cannot climb the stairs.” She hurried out of the room. Closed the door behind her.

He was trapped! Clayton glared down at his useless leg.

“Duck…quack, quack.”

Paper crackled—a page turning.

“Horsy!”

He pressed back into his pillows, closed his eyes and willed Sarah to hurry. There were soft rustling sounds…hesitant steps…a bump. He did his best to ignore them. They grew louder, drew nearer. His heart thudded. Ridiculous to be frightened of a child. His blanket moved.

“Me petted your horsy.”

Clayton sucked in a breath, opened his eyes. The child was leaning against the bed staring at him, her tiny hands holding on to the covers, her chin level with the mattress.
How did she—The bed steps! If she moved
—Clayton’s heart leaped into his mouth. He shot a glance at the closed stair door, looked back at the child.
Better keep her talking.
“You did?”

Her blond curls bobbed with her emphatic nod. “Horsies are
big.
” She let go of the covers and spread her little arms as wide as they would go—teetered.

“Careful!” Clayton grabbed hold of her arm.
She was so small.
He cast another look toward the door. Where was Sarah? He looked back. The child was looking up at him. There was something about her blue eyes…He swallowed hard and held out his other hand. “Can you climb up here and tell me about the horses?”

She nodded, slipped her tiny hand in his. His chest tightened. He ignored the sensation, lifted her up onto the bed and sat her down in the center, beside him, where there was no chance she would topple off the edge.

“Horsy go—” She made a sound he interpreted as a snort, dipped her head and pushed it forward.

He recognized Pacer’s nudge. “That means he is glad to see you.”

“Uh-huh. And kitties, too!” She wiggled into a more comfortable position against his legs. “Kitties go, rrrrr-rrrrr, ’cause they be happy when you petted them. And they gots special names.”

“Oh.” Rain pattered against the windows. A soft, soothing sound. He watched it flow together, form small rivulets and run down the panes.

“Uh-huh. They be Happy an’ Fluffy an’ Wiggles an’ Bun’le.”

Clayton’s brow rose. Four kittens? He had told Quincy to take them to the farm.

“Me gots a special name. Me Nora.” She yawned, stuck her thumb in her mouth and looked up at him. Blue eyes full of trust. Her eyes…

Clayton’s heart lurched.

The stair door clicked open.

Sarah stepped through the door, leaned against it and pushed back until it clicked closed. She looked over at the bed and almost dropped the tray she carried. “Nora!” She rushed across the room. “How did you get up on your papa’s bed?”

“She climbed the bed steps. I thought it prudent to keep her up here where she could not get hurt.”

Sarah put down the tray and lifted Nora into her arms. The toddler snuggled close and closed her eyes. “I forgot about the steps, Mr. Bainbridge. I—” His raised hand stopped her apology. She searched his face. He had that stony look again. She could not tell if he was angry with her or—
O Lord, please do not let him blame Nora. It was my fault. I forgot about the steps. O Lord, please, please do not let him be angry with Nora.

She gave the toddler a hug. “It is bedtime for you, sweetie.” She tucked her in, gave her a kiss and hurried back to give Clayton his tray.

“Thank you.”

Polite, expressionless. She could read nothing in his voice. She walked to Nora’s dollhouse, straightened the furniture. Rain splattered the window beside her. The tree branches outside tossed in a rising wind. Her hands itched to close the shutters and pull the curtains, but it was not her room and she did not dare. She finished her work and turned her back to the window, looked toward the rocker. It faced his bed and the window beside it. There was nowhere for her to hide. Nothing for her to do.

Lightning flickered its white brilliance through the room. Thunder rumbled in the distance, from somewhere over the hill. She went rigid. The storm was coming.

“Would you remove my tray, please?”

Sarah whirled, walked to the bed. She lifted the tray and carried it to the table by the stairs.
The stairs.
There were no windows in the stairwell. Perhaps she could sit—

“And if you would close the shutters, please?”

She glanced his way, read the understanding in his eyes. She forced a smile. “Thank you. You are very kind.” She hurried from window to window, focusing on her task, trying not to see the storm outside.

Lightning flared. Thunder cracked. She winced, jerked away from the last window. It was coming closer.

“Come sit down, Miss Randolph.”

Sarah glanced at Clayton and walked over to perch on the edge of the rocker, unable to relax—ready to run.

“While you were down in the kitchen fetching my tray, I heard a tale of four kittens.”

“Oh?” What did kittens matter?

“I had told Quincy to take them to the farm.”

Oh.
Had she gotten Quincy in trouble? “I apologize, Mr. Bainbridge. I asked Quincy to allow Nora to play with them. I hope any displeasure you may feel will be directed at me, not Quincy.”

Something flickered in Clayton’s eyes. “You are very quick to throw yourself on the sacrificial pyre, Miss Randolph. But you need have no concern for Quincy.” A smile played with his lips. “I inherited him along with the property, and Quincy has his own quiet way of running things around here. I am quite certain, should I confront him with the situation, he would remind me that I did not tell him
when
the kittens were to be removed to the farm.”

Light flashed through the cracks around the closed shutters. Thunder crashed.