Ellie gritted her teeth. “I’m going to need a place to stay. I don’t think it’ll work, Mrs. Dillard.”
“Let’s eat first,” Tess suggested. “And then you can go talk to him.”
Ellie wavered. “I’ll walk over there a little later on. I don’t want any more folks to see me than have to, with me looking like this.” She bent to take the stuffing pan from the oven. “I hope you don’t mind that I made this. I saw the bread all cut up and I thought it was what you intended.”
“You’re a gem, Ellie.” Tess’s praise was heartfelt as she sank into a chair at the table. “I’m not usually one to take advantage, but I’ve had a long day. I thought I was doing well to come home long enough to stick a chicken in the oven. Hadn’t even gotten as far as what we’d have with it.”
“Well, if I can’t do much else, I’m a good cook. At least my pa never had any complaints,” Ellie said stoically. Her gaze scanned the table, where plates and silverware awaited. “I guess you can eat now.”
“Aren’t you going to join us, Ellie?” John asked, glancing at his wife with a puzzled look.
“I’m not hungry,” Ellie admitted, sidling toward the door. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a walk around the back way to the doctor’s house. If he’s willing to give me work, I can’t afford to turn it down.”
“Take some of this chicken with you,” Tess offered, rising quickly and bustling to the cupboard for a container. “We’ve got more than enough. Unless I miss my guess, Doc will be thankful for a decent meal.” She darted a look at Ellie, and smiled widely. “Maybe he’ll be impressed if you tell him you did the cooking.”
The bread was moldy and the milk had gone sour. All in all, supper looked to be a complete disaster, Win decided. Scrambled eggs didn’t taste like much without a piece of bread alongside, and he’d lost his appetite for them anyway. With a shrug, he left the kitchen to stalk through the living room, and sat down on the front stoop, reaching to pet the stray cat who’d been hanging around lately.
“I’d give you the milk, cat, but you’d turn your nose up at it,” he murmured. He glanced toward the hotel, where the dining room offered a decent meal. Somehow, it seemed to require too much effort, and he decided to settle for a can of peaches from the pantry.
A movement caught his eye and he turned his head to where a woman’s slight form approached from around the corner of the house. “You weren’t in the kitchen,” Ellie said, “so I came around, hoping to find you.” She carried a pie tin, covered with a bleached dish towel, and his hopes for a decent meal rose from the depths to a more palatable level.
“What’s that you’ve got?” he asked, aware of an optimistic note in his voice.
“Mrs. Dillard sent over some of their supper, in case you’re hungry,” Ellie said. “I’d hand it over, but the pan’s hot, and you don’t want to burn your fingers. I suspect your patients would admire you more without blisters.”
He grinned at her dry remark and hastened to open the screen door. “Come on in, Ellie. Go on through to the kitchen and put it on the stove.” He followed her, lured by the scent of chicken, and watched as she lowered the tin plate to the back burner. Placing the dish towel she’d used for padding aside, she removed the covering.
“I made stuffing to go with Mrs. Dillard’s roasting hen, and I brought plenty for you. I must have thought I was gonna feed an army, with the big panful I put together.”
“Tell you what,” he said hastily, reaching for a cupboard door. “I’ll get out some plates. It looks like there’s enough for both of us.” He turned to look at her, dishes in his hand. “Or have you eaten already?”
She shook her head and he scrutinized her in the dim light, then decided against lighting a lamp. “I’m not real hungry,” she said quietly. “But I’ll be glad to dish you up some.”
“Sit down, Ellie,” he told her, and she sat on the nearest chair, then glanced up quickly, as if his firm tones might give way to anger. Placing two plates on the table, he lifted the meal she’d carried to his door and divided it, allowing himself the larger portion, knowing she would protest otherwise.
After retrieving two forks from the cutlery drawer, he approached her, then squatted beside her chair. His hand lifted to touch her swollen flesh and she flinched. “I won’t hurt you,” he said calmly. “I just want to see how much bruising you have.”
She nodded, sitting quietly beneath his touch, and he silently cursed the man who had done this. “Is there more?” he asked as he rose and circled the table.
Ellie hesitated. “Some.”
Win picked up his fork and took a bite, savoring the flavor of chicken and stuffing. “Where,” he asked after a moment.
Ellie looked up, startled, then replaced her empty fork on the table. “In places you don’t need to see.”
“I’m a doctor, Ellie.” He took another bite, and nodded at her. “Eat now and we’ll talk about it later.”
She sighed and obeyed his dictum, bending a bit, perhaps to hide the damage done her face, he thought. The next problem would involve coaxing her to allow him to examine the full effects of her father’s wrath.
The few bites of food left over from their meal were scraped onto a small dish on the back stoop for Win’s porch cat, and Ellie smiled as he described the stray who’d adopted him, taking occasional meals from his hand, although he didn’t allow her entry into the house. The dishes were washed with hot water from the reservoir on the side of the big black cook stove, and Ellie dried them carefully, putting them back in the cupboard.
“Mrs. Dillard says you might want me to do some work for you,” she ventured as she emptied the small dishpan and wiped it out with the cloth she’d used.
“That’s right,” Win answered. “I need someone to do up my washing. I’ve had the woman at the hotel doing it, but I fear she’s partial to bleach, and my best blue shirt has blotches all over it. I’d thought you might take a hand and see if you could keep me in order.”
“You need someone to cook?” she asked diffidently. “I’m pretty well able to keep a kitchen, and I’ve always been a good hand at housework.”
“I think we could work something out,” Win said quietly, watching as she wiped the table, then picked up the broom. “You don’t need to sweep right now,” he told her. “Come sit with me and we’ll talk.”
Her eyes darted in his direction and then back to the darkness that had gathered as the sun settled beneath the horizon. “I’ll light a lamp,” he offered. “It’s getting too dark to see in here.”
She nodded, settling in the chair across the table. Her hands were folded neatly before her, and he looked down as he lifted the globe of the lamp to light the wick. “Would you rather I lit a candle?” he asked. “I have a good supply of them.”
She shook her head. “The lamp’s fine. You can take a look at me and see for yourself I’m not hurt bad. You don’t need to worry about my eye,” she said with a wave of her hand “I’ve seen worse on men after a Saturday night on the town.”
“Men from the ranch where you lived with your father?” he asked, sitting down again to face her.
She nodded. “I did a little mending when they got banged up. Used witch hazel and carbolic acid, and even stitched up a few cuts before you came to town.”
He smiled, admiring her nonchalant description of the chores she’d been called upon to perform. “So I put you out of business, did I?”
Her eyes were warm as she turned them in his direction. “I didn’t mind. I never much liked tending