Sutton's Way

She still shivered from the look Quinn Sutton had given her, and now she was worried about her Aunt Bess, though the woman was more liberal minded and should know the score. But Sutton had convinced Amanda that she wasn’t the first woman to be at Blalock’s cabin. She should have told that arrogant rancher what her real relationship with Blalock Durning was, but he probably wouldn’t have believed her.

Of course, she could have put him in touch with Jerry and proved it. Jerry Allen, their road manager, was one of the best in the business. He’d kept them from starving during the beginning, and they had an expert crew of electricians and carpenters who made up the rest of the retinue. It took a huge bus to carry the people and equipment, appropriately called the “Outlaw Express.”

Amanda had pleaded with Jerry to give them a few weeks rest after the tragedy that had cost her her nerve, but he’d refused. Get back on the horse, he’d advised. And she’d tried. But the memories were just too horrible.

So finally he’d agreed to Hank’s suggestion and she was officially on hiatus, as were the other members of the group, for a month. Maybe in that length of time she could come to grips with it, face it.

It had been a week and she felt better already. Or she would, if those strange noises outside the cabin would just stop! She had horrible visions of wolves breaking in and eating her.

“Hello?”

The small voice startled her. It sounded like a boy’s. She got up, clutching the fire poker in her hand and went to the front door. “Who’s there?” she called out tersely.

“It’s just me. Elliot,” he said. “Elliot Sutton.”

She let out a breath between her teeth. Oh, no, she thought miserably, what was he doing here? His father would come looking for him, and she couldn’t bear to have that…that savage anywhere around!

“What do you want?” she groaned.

“I brought you something.”

It would be discourteous to refuse the gift, she guessed, especially since he’d apparently come through several feet of snow to bring it. Which brought to mind a really interesting question: where was his father?

She opened the door. He grinned at her from under a thick cap that covered his red hair.

“Hi,” he said. “I thought you might like to have some roasted peanuts. I did them myself. They’re nice on a cold night.”

Her eyes went past him to a sled hitched to a sturdy draft horse. “Did you come in that?” she asked, recognizing the sled he and his father had been riding the day she’d met them.

“Sure,” he said. “That’s how we get around in winter, what with the snow and all. We take hay out to the livestock on it. You remember, you saw us. Well, we usually take hay out on it, that is. When Dad’s not laid up,” he added pointedly, and his blue eyes said more than his voice did.

She knew she was going to regret asking the question before she opened her mouth. She didn’t want to ask. But no young boy came to a stranger’s house in the middle of a snowy night just to deliver a bag of roasted peanuts.

“What’s wrong?” she asked with resigned perception.

He blinked. “What?”

“I said, what’s wrong?” She made her tone gentler. He couldn’t help it that his father was a savage, and he was worried under that false grin. “Come on, you might as well tell me.”

He bit his lower lip and looked down at his snow-covered boots. “It’s my dad,” he said. “He’s bad sick and he won’t let me get the doctor.”

So there it was. She knew she shouldn’t have asked. “Can’t your mother do something?” she asked hopefully.

“My mom ran off with Mr. Jackson from the livestock association when I was just a little feller,” he replied, registering Amanda’s shocked expression. “She and Dad got divorced and she died some years ago, but Dad doesn’t talk about her. Will you come, miss?”

“I’m not a doctor,” she said, hesitating.

“Oh, sure, I know that,” he agreed eagerly, “but you’re a girl. And girls know how to take care of sick folks, don’t they?” The confidence slid away and he looked like what he was—a terrified little boy with nobody to turn to. “Please, lady,” he added. “I’m scared. He’s hot and shaking all over and—!”

“I’ll get my boots on,” she said. She gathered them from beside the fireplace and tugged them on, and then she went for a coat and stuffed her long blond hair under a stocking cap. “Do you have cough syrup, aspirins, throat lozenges—that sort of thing?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said eagerly, then sighed. “Dad won’t take them, but we have them.”

“Is he suicidal?” Amanda asked angrily as she went out the door behind him and locked the cabin before she climbed on the sled with the boy.

“Well sometimes things get to him,” he ventured. “But he doesn’t ever get sick, and he won’t admit that he is. But he’s out of his head and I’m scared. He’s all I got.”

“We’ll take care of him,” she promised, and hoped she could deliver on the promise. “Let’s go.”

“Do you know Mr. Durning well?” he asked as he called to the draft horse and started him back down the road and up the mountain toward the Sutton house.

“He’s sort of a friend of a relative of mine,” she said evasively. The sled ride was fun, and she was enjoying the cold wind and snow in her face, the delicious mountain air. “I’m only staying at the cabin for a few weeks. Just time to…get over something.”

“Have you been sick, too?” he asked curiously.

“In a way,” she said noncommittally.

The sled went jerkily up the road, around the steep hill. She held on tight and hoped the big draft horse had steady feet. It was a harrowing ride at the last, and then they were up, and the huge redwood ranch house came into sight, blazing with light from its long, wide front porch to the gabled roof.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Amanda said.

“My dad added on to it for my mom, before they married,” he told her. He shrugged. “I don’t remember much about her, except she was redheaded. Dad sure hates women.” He glanced at her apologetically. “He’s not going to like me bringing you….”

“I can take care of myself,” she returned, and smiled reassuringly. “Let’s go see how bad it is.”

“I’ll get Harry to put up the horse and sled,” he said, yelling toward the lighted barn until a grizzled old man appeared. After a brief introduction to Amanda, Harry left and took the horse away.

“Harry’s been here since Dad was a boy,” Elliot told her as he led her down a bare-wood hall and up a steep staircase to the second storey of the house. “He does most everything, even cooks for the men.” He paused outside a closed door, and gave Amanda a worried look. “He’ll yell for sure.”

“Let’s get it over with, then.”

She let Elliot open the door and look in first, to make sure his father had something on.

“He’s still in his jeans,” he told her, smiling as she blushed. “It’s okay.”

She cleared her throat. So much for pretended sophistication, she thought, and here she was twenty-four years old. She avoided Elliot’s grin and walked into the room.

Quinn Sutton was sprawled on his stomach, his bare muscular arms stretched toward the headboard. His back gleamed with sweat, and his thick, black hair was damp with moisture. Since it wasn’t hot in the room, Amanda decided that he must have a high fever. He was moaning and talking unintelligibly.

“Elliot, can you get me a basin and some hot water?” she asked. She took off her coat and rolled up the sleeves of her cotton blouse.

“Sure thing,” Elliot told her, and rushed out of the room.

“Mr. Sutton, can you hear me?” Amanda asked softly. She sat down beside him on the bed, and lightly touched his bare shoulder. He was hot, all right—burning up. “Mr. Sutton,” she called again.

“No,” he moaned. “No, you can’t do it…!”

“Mr. Sutton…”