Free The Horseman's Bride by Elizabeth Lane Page B

“What time is it?”
    “A little after two, and it’s still raining outside. I fear my grandmother won’t be back anytime soon.” Clara rose from the chair. “I’ll make you more tea and maybe some broth. You need all the fluids we can get down you, and the hot tea and broth will keep you warm.”
    “I have a better idea.” He sounded drunk, although there was no way he could’ve had any alcohol.
    “What’s that?” She paused in the doorway.
    “Since you’re wearing your nightgown, why not just come to bed?”
    Heat flashed in Clara’s cheeks. She checked the impulse to lash out at him. The man wasn’t in his right mind. Clearly he was even sicker than she’d feared.
    His heavy-lidded eyes looked her up and down.“Can’t say much for the style. A little lace might improve it some, and maybe a nip in the waist…”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Clara exploded. “Having a fever’s no excuse to act like a lout! Be still and rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes with the tea!”
    Slamming the door, she stalked into the kitchen, where she put the kettle on to boil and crumbled more willow bark. While the water was heating, she stood on a chair and searched Mary’s supply of herbs for something else she could add. Yarrow…sage…creosote nodes…She put in pinches of the plants she knew to be safe. But she was still only guessing.
    In the cool box, built into a shaded north wall, she found a pot of freshly made chicken soup. Silently blessing her grandmother, she put the soup on the stove to heat. While the tea was brewing, she carried the letters upstairs and replaced them in the trunk where she’d found them. She didn’t have the time or energy to deal with her discovery now. She needed time to think. Maybe a long time.
    When she came back downstairs a few minutes later, the tea was ready. Clara strained it into a white china cup and walked back toward what she’d begun to think of as Tanner’s room. Opening the door, she gasped. Tanner was on his feet, moving unsteadily toward the doorway. Startled, she dropped the cup. It landed on the rug, not breaking, but spilling hot tea in all directions.
    Her frayed nerves snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?” she shrilled. “Get back into that bed, right now!”
    He glared down at her as if she were a backward child. “ Miss Clara, there are certain things a man likes to do standing up,” he drawled. “Now if you’ll excuse me—” He pushed past her, made his way toward the front door, stepped outside and turned toward the far end of the porch.
    Clara retrieved the cup and found a rag to sop up the tea. Her cheeks were flaming. What was it about Tanner that made her want to fly at him with her fists and pummel him black and blue? The man was crude, arrogant, condescending and plain impossible. He had a way of making every word that came out of his mouth sound like an insult. Why, the ingrate hadn’t even thanked her for taking care of him. Being sick was no excuse for being rude. It would serve him right if she rode away and left him here to rot!
    Walking back toward the parlor, she flung the tea-soaked rag toward the kitchen sink. A tear welled in her eyes and made a salty trail down her cheek. Furiously she brushed it away. The last thing she wanted was for Tanner to see her cry. But more tears kept coming, like water spilling over a broken dam. It wasn’t just Tanner. It was everything that had happened today—the whole blasted emotional bronco ride. The stress of dealing with Tanner had pushed her emotions to the brink. But what she’d learned about her parentage had carried her over the edge. She was exhausted and angry. Worse, her secure world had just shifted on its axis. Why hadn’t they told her the truth? Who could she trust and depend on, if not her own family?
    She had never felt so alone.
    Tanner was gone for just a few moments. But by the time he came back inside, letting in the smell of rain, Clara’s eyes were red and