Page 42 of Cloaked in Beauty

That was not an image he needed planted in his brain. Heat flared around his neck and ears.

His host chuckled. “You ain’t been married long, have you?”

Philip ducked his gaze away from the knowing look on the older man’s face and used his horse as an excuse to move past him. “Nope.”

“Susanne won’t mind holding supper back for a bit if you want a turn with the bathwater when your woman’s through.”

“No, thanks.” Good grief! Was the man trying to torture him? “I’ll, uh, just wash up at the pump.” And hope that a dousing of cold well water put his thoughts back on the straight and narrow where they belonged.

Another chuckle echoed behind him.

Not helping, Bullock.

Philip clenched his jaw until he reached the tacking area of the barn. Thankful to have something else to turn his hands and mind to, he gave Steele his full attention as he unsaddled his mount and spoiled him with an extra-thorough brushing.

Fortunately, Lincoln quit both his chuckling and his discussion of bathing wives and worked in relative silence as he unburdened the packhorse and piled the supplies in a corner of the barn.

Steele’s steady presence combined with the repetitive motions of the currycomb proved soothing, and Philip soon felt more himself. He tossed a glance toward his host.

“How’s Dennis?”

Lincoln finished picking the hoof he’d been cleaning, then released the packhorse’s back leg and straightened.

“His mother has him in bed, surrounded by pillows.” The man’s teasing smile faded as he met Philip’s gaze. “You did a good job setting his arm. There’s quite a bit of swelling, but he can move his fingers, and the pain is manageable. Not sure I could’ve done what you did.”

Philip’s arm stilled its circular motion. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could do it, either. I broke my own arm as a boy and did my best to recall how the doctor set the bone. Pretty sure I had some help from upstairs, though.”

“My wife would agree with you.” Lincoln rested his arms on the packhorse’s back. “She’s a praying woman. Can’t say as I put much store in it myself. Always figured a man who waited on God to solve his problems was just lookin’ for an excuse to be lazy. But if the Almighty played a role in protectin’ my boy, I reckon a thank-you might be in order.”

Philip turned back to his brushing. “I imagine he’d be glad to hear from you.”

Lincoln snorted as he pushed away from the horse and positioned himself by the next hoof. “Been so long, he probably don’t even remember who I am.”

Philip stilled. “A father never forgets his children.”

Lincoln’s gaze turned in the direction of his house—and his boys. “No, I don’t suppose he does.”

****

Feeling slightly guilty for having soaked for so long, Letty hurriedly dried off and donned her underclothes. She took a few minutes to scrub the dirt from her blouse, split skirt, and stockings in the leftover bathwater. Washing up in the streams they’d camped near had allowed her to maintain a minimal level of cleanliness, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to freshen her clothes as well as herself. No lady wanted to smell of perspiration and horse when sitting down to dinner in company. Especially when that company included a rather handsome, heroic individual who’d likely forgotten what she looked like without her usual coating of trail dust. Why she wanted to remind him was a question she didn’t care to examine too closely for fear she’d discover she wasn’t quite as free of vanity as her grandmother had raised her to be.

She pulled her spare skirt and shirtwaist from her travel bag and frowned over the plethora of wrinkles. After shaking them out as best she could, she laid them on the bed and smoothed the fabric with her hands. A wry smile crooked her lips when the worst of the creases refused to yield. Nothing like a rumpled ensemble to keep a lady from thinking too highly of her appearance. Laughing softly at herself, Letty pulled on the clothes. Being clean and presentable would have to be enough.

Philip Carmichael might have demonstrated admirable heroic tendencies with his ravine scaling and feats of child saving, but her growing regard for the man need not turn her into one of those empty-headed misses who thought capturing a gentleman’s attention was the only way to prove themselves worthy. She had an uncle to thwart and a family legacy to protect. Gaining a man’s favor wouldn’t even make a dent in the worth-proving that lay ahead of her.

Taking her comb in hand, Letty attacked the tangles in her wet hair with vigor, wincing a bit each time her less-than-gentle strokes caught on a stubborn knot. She’d dallied back here long enough. She should be in the kitchen, helping Susanne with supper. With quick fingers, she plaited her hair and twisted it into a simple bun at the base of her neck. She’d taken to wearing her braid down while traveling to avoid the headaches of pinching hairpins as well as the increased speed it allowed for readying herself in the morning, but tonight called for a touch more formality. Once her hair was secured, she packed away her pins and comb, donned fresh stockings, and laced up her low-heeled riding boots. Gathering her wet laundry, she gave each item a final wring over the tub to ensure they’d not drip, then left the privacy of the bedroom to join the family in the kitchen.

Susanne spotted her the moment she crossed the threshold. “Well, don’t you clean up nice.” Her friendly smile instantly put Letty at ease. She gestured to a wooden contraption set up in the back corner on the far side of the stove. “Calvin helped me set up the clotheshorse. Hang up your wet things there. They’re sure to be dry by morning.”

“Thank you.” Letty sidestepped the hot stove, draped her laundry over the rack, then presented herself to her host. “What can I do to help?”

Susanne grabbed a stack of small plates and set them on the table beside a similar stack of bowls. “You can spread these around. There’s drinking glasses in the hutch there,” she said with a nod of her head toward a large, glassed-in cabinet on the far wall. “You’ll find spoons and knives in the top, right-hand drawer.”

Glad to have something to do, Letty set the table and filled each glass with water from a pitcher that sat on the counter beside the sink.

“I fed the boys while you were washin’ up.” Susanne lifted the lid from a stockpot that had been staying warm on a back section of the stove. The savory smells of chicken broth and stewed vegetables wafted through the room and set Letty’s stomach to growling. “Dennis was about tuckered out, and Calvin is always hungry. I thought it might be nice for the adults to have a quiet supper without the boys underfoot.” It also made it easier to fit around the table since there were only four chairs.

“That smells delicious,” Letty said as she rummaged through the hutch, looking for napkins.