Part 8 (2/2)
Of course, this had been a tough year and she might decide to give it up.
She could go back to New York to her pa's s.h.i.+pping business and live like shewas meant to.
Louie chuckled to himself. That was a possibility he didn't much like tothink about. He was too old to go loo king for another job. He decided he couldn't blame Winn if he didn't spend much time thin king about the future.
He went to the bunkhouse to clean up the dishes. As he went about his afternoon ch.o.r.es, he kept an eye out for Mrs. Franklin's wagon. When it pulled into the yard in the middle of the afternoon, he went to meet it infront of the barn. He helped Cynthie down from the wagon seat as Peterjumped from the other side. Greg was slowly pulling himself out of a doze inthe back.
”Your Mr. Sutton had a little accident,” Louie told her.
”No thing serious.
Just a broken dish and a cut hand. ”
”Things like that are to be expected,” Cynthie said with a sigh.
”How badly was he cut?”
Greg had shaken off his sleepiness to hear part of the adults' conversation.
”Is Winn hurt?”
”Just a scratch,” Louie a.s.sured them both.
Greg jumped from the wagon.
”I told you not to leave him alone! Now he's hurt and it's your fault!”
Cynthie reached out a hand to stop the child as he made a dash for the house
but she was too late. She let her hand drop slowly to her side.”This isn't anything to worry about, ma'am,” Louie told her.”I just wanted you to know before you went inside.””It's no thing to worry about unless he agrees with Greg.” Cynthie turned and walked away, leaving Louie to wonder if he had missed something. He sent a questioning look at Peter, who shrugged and continued to unhitch the horsesas if the ways of adults were always somewhat mystifying.
As Cynthie walked toward the house, she tried to think of what to say toWinn. He needed encouragement. The worst thing for him right now would beto start to think, like Greg, that he should never be alone.
Greg, however, had taught her that there were also dangers in pus.h.i.+ng toohard.
She was dealing with an adult, an adult she hardly knew. How honest couldshe be with him? He had openly rejected her advice already, even though shesuspected he was applying some of it anyway.
And what if he blamed her the way Greg did? She tried to tell herself that it only worried her because it would effect how he listened to her advice.
What he thought of her personally made no difference otherwise.She stepped resolutely into the house and entered Winn's room. One look atthe handsome face told her she was lying to herself. She cared very muchwhat he thought of her.
He was seated in the chair, listening intently as Greg recounted the trip to town. The boy was swinging his legs over the side of Winn's bed but stopped abruptly when his mother came in.
She smiled at the little boy to cover her agitation. ”Go change out of your good clothes.”
”I'll be right back,” he said to Winn and ran out of the room.
Winn waited for Cynthie to break the uncomfortable silence.
”I hear you hurt yourself,” she said softly.
”I don't think it's much,” he said. It was odd how nervous she made him.”I'm sorry about the dish.” It seemed like a lame apology but it was all hecould think of to say.
”Can I take a look?” Her gentle hands were already touching his but shehesitated for a moment. Hearing no objection she began unwrapping Louie'shandkerchief.
She was kneeling on the floor beside his chair and
he could smell the soft flowery scent that drifted up from her hair. He leaned his head back in the chair in an effort to resist the attraction the smell always induced.
”Did I hurt you?”
”No, ma'am,” he answered, sit ting up again. He tried not to wince as her fingers probed the edges of the cut.
”Is there any chance there's still gla.s.s in there?” she asked, coming to herfeet.
”No, ma'am.”
”The bandages are in the kitchen. Come on in. I'll make us some coffee.”
Winn listened in amazement to her footsteps as she left the room. Greg hadbeen right. He couldn't hear it in her voice, but she was angry about thedish.
He touched a finger to the cut. It was slightly sticky. He was bleedingagain, thanks to her tender care. If he wanted a bandage, he had to followorders.
As he rose from the chair, he heard Greg's bare feet running down the stairs.A confused picture of shattered goblets and the child's bare feet broughthim to the doorway in a second.
”Greg!” he called.
Greg charged across the room. Winn went down on one knee and let the boyperch on the other. ”Don't go near the front door and the table where Ibroke that bowl unless you're wearing shoes,” he warned.
”I don't see no gla.s.s,” Greg said.
”Any gla.s.s. Your mama's got to wipe the floor with a wet cloth to get thetiny pieces you can't see. Until she's had a chance to do that, you gothrough the kitchen door.”
As he spoke he heard the soft tap of Cynthie's footsteps coming from the kitchen.
<script>