The Fire in Ember - DiAnn Mills [7]
A black and white dog followed the woman, wagging his tail as friendly as could be. At least she might have one friend here who wouldn’t ask questions.
“Oh, my goodness. He’s been hurt.”
“Yes ma’am. This is Bert. Doesn’t have a last name.” John glanced back at her with a threatening spark in his blue eyes.
“Good to meet you, ma’am.”
The woman smiled, and a warm sensation spread through Bert, or maybe it was the hunger in her belly and the pain in her head.
“What happened to you?” The woman’s eyes widened. “Never mind, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” John said.
Bert thought her heart would burst from her chest and thump into the dirt below her. This woman would not sound so caring once she learned about Oberlander’s mare.
A door slammed, and four boys made their way from the house and down the steps. They were all sizes, talking and asking questions like she were the newest addition to their livestock. The tantalizing aroma of ham caused her stomach to protest its lack of food, but dizziness overcame her before she could think more about a meal that could actually fill her stomach.
John turned back to Bert. “Can you slide off?”
Bert nodded. The prancing stallion frightened her, but she didn’t want to let on and swung her leg over the back of the saddle. Somewhere between mid-air and the ground, her head began to spin, and all the blinking in the world couldn’t clear her vision or stop the fall.
Voices blurred. The saddle squeaked. An invisible hammer pierced her skull. She had no strength to fight whatever was pulling her into a world of blackness.
CHAPTER 4
John picked up the bundle of bones at his feet and carried him up the porch steps and inside the house. Regret pelted him for picking up a stray kid who was already more trouble than a twister headed straight for the house. All eighty pounds of him.
A twinge of guilt struck him—if he hadn’t followed Ted, the kid would have been hanged. “Is he dying?” Davis said, on Mama’s heels.
“I don’t think so.” John carried Bert through the big kitchen, past the long pine table, and on into the back room where Mama slept. “He’s most likely hungry and feeling the results of a good beating.”
“Put him on my bed,” Mama called from behind him. “I’m getting hot water and ointment.”
“He’s dirty and smells.”
“I don’t care. The quilt will wash, and he’ll be easier to tend to there.”
John laid Bert on Mama’s prettiest quilt and turned his attention to his brothers standing in the doorway, except for Davis who seemed to be tied to Mama’s apron strings.
“You boys finish your dinner?”
“We’d just got started,” Evan said.
When had his brother gotten so tall and lean? When had all of them grown so tall?
“Why don’t you go back to eatin', and I’ll help Mama.”
“Are you thinking we aren’t old enough to hear the story?” Evan turned his head and lifted a brow, reminding him of their father. His tone tossed a challenge.
It’s about time you let your brothers grow up. Mama’s words rang in his ears. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that I ran this ranch at fourteen and took over at seventeen. All of you do a man’s work and deserve to be treated like men.”
“Praise God,” Evan said.
John grinned. He had that coming. He glanced at Davis. “Do you think you can take Racer to the barn for me?”
“Yes sir. Do you want me to rub him down?”
“You can start. One of us will come and get you in a few minutes. Don’t want you eating a cold dinner.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I can do a fine job. Yes siree, I can.” Davis lifted his chin as though he’d been flipped a gold coin, causing his brothers to laugh. He disappeared but not without telling Mama where he was going and what he was about to do.
“John, don’t start talking without me,” Mama said from the kitchen. “That way you only have to tell us once. Aaron, I could use a hand here.”
Bert’s eyelids fluttered. He looked downright pitiful with his face a mass of dried blood and a swollen eye quickly turning black.
“Just hold on there,” John said to Bert. “Once you’re doctored a bit, you can eat. Aaron,