Kitty returned from the barn, where she’d fed and watered Buck and, failing to locate a curry comb, wiped his filthy coat down as best she could with clean straw. She’d led him around the barn a little, but her heart dropped when she saw how he was still limping. She wouldn’t be riding Matt’s buckskin for help anytime soon.
Wearily dropping into her rocking chair once more, she gazed at Matt sleeping soundly in the bed, remembering what Doc always said about plenty of rest being the best medicine. She certainly hoped so. She didn’t remember Matt ever being down for the count for this long, except when he was gunshot. Maybe his poor body would heal itself if she could keep him in bed long enough.
Her stomach noisily reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since morning, and despite Matt’s protests to the contrary, he needed to eat at least a little something to keep his strength up. She found a jar of green beans and another of delicate new potatoes and dumped them together in an iron pot with some salt, wishing she had a little pork to season it with. No matter. She was so hungry she’d eat shoe leather at this point. Not for the first time, she said a little heartfelt prayer of thanks for the poor folks who’d called this small cabin home and had left behind their rich bounty of provisions.
A tiny mirror was hung on the wall with a blue ribbon over the small, carved bureau, the one possession of the late couple that looked like it might have been an expensive purchase. Kitty looked at her reflection in the wavy glass with dismay. Hair snarled, face smudged, clothes filthy. She felt dirty and smelly, but maybe after she fed Matt, she’d have time at last to do something about it. She couldn’t abide being this grimy anymore, shuddering at the thought of what had been washed downstream with the floodwater that she and Matt had marinated in for hours. She could’ve sworn she saw an outhouse floating by at one point that black night.
Carefully, she opened one of the drawers with a protesting squeak, hoping to find some serviceable, clean clothing she could wear after her bath. There wasn’t much--a man’s faded shirt and frayed pants, an extra blanket, threadbare handkerchiefs, a dainty crocheted doily. But her heart leapt happily when in the bottom drawer she found some soft, cotton ladies’ pantaloons and a thin shift edged with a delicate row of tiny, white ruffles. And folded painstakingly next to them was a simple pale green cotton dress with a square neckline and a pristine white cotton apron that’d been starched and ironed. Kitty sighed in appreciation. Perfect. They looked like they might be a little big on her, but they were clean. She tenderly removed the clothing from the drawer, gently unfolding them and laying them over the rocker to air a bit while they ate supper.
She sat on the bed next to Matt with a big, steaming plateful of green beans and new potatoes and a hot cup of coffee. Setting the food on the nightstand, she spread a cloth napkin on Matt’s chest. Kitty noticed a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks and worriedly placed a hand on his face to check for fever.
“You’re warm, Matt.”
His eyes opened a crack. “Well, if I weren’t, I’d be dead.”
She pursed her lips at him. “That’s not funny.”
For the first time in a long time, he gave her a crooked smile that almost, but not quite, reached his eyes. She threaded her fingers through his thick, unruly hair, brushing it off his face. “You need to eat.”
“Not very hungry,” he said.
“I didn’t ask you if you were hungry. I just said you needed to eat.” She popped a bite into her own mouth. “It’s not half bad, considering what I had to work with. Here…”
Obligingly, he opened his mouth and chewed quietly. “You’re a pretty good cook, Kitty.”
“You’d be surprised at what I can do, Matt Dillon.”
“Oh, yeah?” He gave her another charming lopsided grin and took a big bite from her fork.
“Here, have some coffee. It’s a little old, but it still tastes okay. Better than Chester’s.”
“Anything is better than Chester’s,” he chuckled quietly as he took a deep draw from the mug and offered it to her. She sipped it and placed it back on the nightstand.
“I thought you’d say that,” Kitty laughed. “I know your stomach hurts, Matt, but just a few more bites. Please…”
He couldn’t resist that charming pout. Just the tiniest frown on her lips and he relented, taking another chunk of potato in his mouth. Together they cleaned the plate before she helped him lie back comfortably once more, relieving the painful pressure on his bruised innards. “Matt, I’m going out for some water.” It was growing dark out, and she entreated him, “You just rest, alright? This fever worries me.”
“I’ll be okay, Kitty,” he yawned. “I’ve got you taking care of me.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest with his sweet words, and she gave him an appreciative smile as she went outside with the empty water bucket.
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Red-orange firelight flickering on white, supple curves, wet and glistening. Quiet splashing in an enamel wash pan, delicate hands wringing out a threadbare cloth, slowly stroking over graceful arms and softly rounded belly, voluptuous bare breasts, long, supple, shapely legs and full hips. Low, contented sounds of bliss escape from moist, rose-colored lips, long flaming hair drenched and clinging. All too soon, her exquisite form is concealed within clean white cotton, shadowy hints of the beauty that lies beneath barely visible through flowing, gossamer fabric. He still feigns sleep, watching breathlessly through heavy lashes, and sighs soundlessly when she slips under the covers with him, curling up on the far side of the lonely bed.
tbc
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