Free Conor's Way by Laura Lee Guhrke - Conor's Way

He
eased himself back down onto the bed and collapsed, pulling the
sheet over his body so her maidenly sensibilities wouldn't be
offended. He wanted his breakfast.
    After a few minutes, he heard a light tap on
the door, then it opened just a fraction. He heard her voice
through the opening. "Mr. Branigan?"
    "Yes, Miss Maitland?"
    There was a long pause, then she said, "Have
you...that is, are you..."
    He knew perfectly well what she was asking,
but she sounded so tentative, he couldn't resist having her on a
bit. He pretended not to understand. "Am I what?"
    Another long pause, then, "Are you
decent?"
    Now that was a question for debate. His
stomach growled, and he decided to stop teasing her. "No, but I'm
safely under the sheets."
    The door opened wider, and she peeked at him.
Satisfied that he was speaking the truth, she entered, but she
wasn't carrying his breakfast tray this time, much to Conor's
disappointment. A large basket was hooked over one arm, and she
carried a basin of steaming water in her hand. Draped over one
shoulder were several garments. "I've brought you some things."
    Her acute embarrassment aside, there was
something different about her today. She looked softer somehow,
prettier. Instead of wearing her hair in a plain coil at the nape
of her neck, she had it swept up in a soft and intricate puff that
looked ready to tumble down at the slightest provocation. The
battered hat had been replaced by an absurdly small bonnet of
yellow straw and white ribbon. The collar of her plain gray dress
was still far too high for his taste, but she had softened it with
some sort of white, lacy thing that draped her neck and shoulders.
He approved of the change.
    "How pretty you look! You should wear your
hair that way all the time."
    The blush in her cheeks deepened at the
compliment, but she did not look at him. "That wouldn't be very
practical," she answered, setting the basin and basket on the
table beside his bed. "I'm afraid the hogs and chickens wouldn't be
impressed."
    He grinned at that. "So why is today
different?"
    "It's Sunday. I'm taking the girls to church.
You'll be here alone until this afternoon." She slid the clothes
off her shoulder. They landed in a pile beside his hip. "I've
brought these for you. I hope they fit."
    The linen under-drawers and shirt and gray
wool trousers were of fine quality, the clothes of a wealthy
gentleman; but the once-white linen had yellowed with age, and all
the garments smelled musty, as if they'd been packed away. He
wondered who they belonged to.
    He glanced at Olivia, but she still wasn't
looking at him. She was studying the contents of her basket with
great fascination, her cheeks still pink. "I've brought your
boots," she said, holding up the pair for him to see before she
bent to place them on the floor beside the table. "I've washed your
socks, and they're in here, too. I've also brought soap and water
so you can wash, and I thought you might want to shave, so there's
a shaving kit," she added. "And a mirror. And a toothbrush. And
some soda. I—"
    "Olivia." He interrupted her rambling as his
stomach growled again. "Would you happen to have any breakfast in
that basket?"
    She made a vexed exclamation and dropped the
shaving kit back in the basket. "Your breakfast! I forgot all
about it." She shot him an apologetic glance. "It's probably stone
cold by now. I'd better make you a new one."
    Seizing on the perfect excuse he'd given her,
she departed in a rush.
    After she'd gone, Conor turned his head and
gazed longingly at the steam rising from the basin. Hot water, a
toothbrush, a razor. Heaven on earth.
    He sat up and reached for the water, but his
tired body rebelled at even that small exertion. Water sloshed over
the sides of the shallow basin as he pulled it onto his lap. He
brushed his teeth and washed as best he could, moving with
agonizing slowness. By the time he had lathered his face and picked
up the razor and mirror, his hands were shaking with the
effort.
    He