Cowboy Homecoming. Louise M. Gouge

long as needed. Six bedrooms lined the two sides of the center hall, which opened onto a balcony that extended over the front porch. Mrs. Runyan and Mr. Parsley had the two front rooms, Tolley and Mrs. Foster the middle two. She’d settled into the smallest bedroom at the corner of the house close to the back staircase and over the kitchen, with one empty room across from hers. Several times during the night, she tiptoed into Mrs. Foster’s bedchamber to tend to her needs but still managed to get a few hours of sleep.

      In the morning, she slipped downstairs quietly and fixed breakfast without disturbing the boarders. As she’d promised, breakfast was a success. The bacon crisp, the biscuits light, the eggs scrambled to perfection. The coffee tasted slightly bitter, but the boarders didn’t seem to notice, for they put copious amounts of sugar and cream into their cups.

      With a final warning to Laurie and Tolley concerning proper behavior, the two older boarders made their exits, traipsing off to their respective shops. Tolley lingered over a third cup of coffee and helped himself to another biscuit, slathering it with butter and raspberry jam.

      Feeling a bit smug over breakfast, Laurie propped the swinging kitchen door open and noisily cleared the table. Maybe Tolley would get the hint and decide to help her after all. Or maybe he’d leave so she could shake out the tablecloth and see if she needed a fresh one for supper. A sigh escaped her at the thought of all the laundry involved in keeping boarders, especially grouchy ones. Mrs. Foster probably couldn’t afford the Chinese laundry.

      “Breakfast tasted mighty fine, Laurie.” Tolley lounged back in his chair and called through the open door.

      “Glad you liked it.” In her morning prayers, she asked the Lord for patience, so tests would surely come. The first? Mrs. Runyan’s comment about the biscuits needing sugar. Where did the woman come from to think sugar belonged in biscuits?

      Carrying the last dish, except for Tolley’s plate and cup, into the kitchen, she gently nudged the door closed. Within five seconds, he opened it and stood in the doorway, resting his large frame against the doorjamb while continuing to eat his biscuit.

      “I’ve been thinking.”

      “Uh-oh. Sounds ominous.” She pumped cold water into the dishpan in the sink, added soap flakes and ladled in hot water from the tank above the stove. “Say, weren’t you going to open your law office today?” She didn’t have time to listen to whatever he wanted to yammer about.

      He grinned that grin of his, and a saucer slipped from her hands into the tin dishpan. She gasped softly. It wouldn’t do to break Mrs. Foster’s lovely china. To her relief, the saucer rested safely on the bottom of the metal pan.

      “What this house needs is a bathroom.” Tolley popped the final bite of biscuit into his mouth and walked to her side, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he slid his plate into the dishpan on top of the saucer. “Upstairs, of course.”

      A pleasant shiver streaked up Laurie’s arm. Her five feet four inches had never felt short, but now it did. At over six feet, Tolley stood tallest of the Northam boys...men. My, how her heart began to flutter. She had only one defense against such silly feminine feelings.

      “So, are you going to wash the dishes?” She waved a shaky hand over the sink.

      He snorted. “No, but I will feed the chickens.” He walked toward the back door. “Where’s the feed?”

      The instant he moved away from her, she managed to relax. Why did she respond to his presence this way? This was her old friend, knows-it-all, obnoxious Tolley. “In a tin tub on the back porch. You’ll find a basket for the eggs, too.”

      “I’ll be back shortly.” He stepped out and then poked his head back inside. “Be thinking about that bathroom.” The shoosh-ping of feed being scooped from the bin and into a tin pail came through the open door.

      She watched out the window over the sink as he crossed the wide backyard, his long stride quickly eating up the distance. He unlatched the gate to the chicken pen, and the hens flocked to him. She could hear his baritone singsong call beckoning any strays from the henhouse to come and get it. He certainly hadn’t lost his ability to work with critters while in Boston.

      Once he ducked his head and disappeared into the structure, she shook herself. She really must get over these foolish reactions. What did he say about a bathroom? Here? The hotel had bathrooms, but to her knowledge, none of the houses in Esperanza boasted such a luxury. Perhaps Nolan Means, the banker, and his new wife, Electra? Would such a thing even be possible?

      Tolley’s thoughtfulness softened her annoyance over his refusing to help with housework. In coming up with such an unselfish idea for Mrs. Foster, maybe he’d changed more than Laurie thought.

      * * *

      Showing the pugnacious rooster who was boss with a harmless shove of his boot—twice—Tolley took his time feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs. No sense in hurrying back to the kitchen, where Laurie would try to lasso him into washing dishes by batting those big blue eyes at him. In their younger years, he’d never noticed how pretty all the Eberly girls were. Now he regarded Laurie as prettiest of the lot, maybe because of that sassy little dimple in her left cheek. Without too much trouble, she could probably get him to do just about anything. Except washing dishes or doing any other housework. He must stand firm about that.

      A quick glance at the garden let him know it didn’t need watering, for dew still sparkled on some of the leafy plants. For a moment, Tolley stood in the middle of the grassy yard, breathing in both the familiar musty smell of chickens and the invigorating scent of country air. Mrs. Foster’s house lay close to the outskirts of town, but even in the center of Esperanza, the air was fresh and clean. Another reason to be thankful for being here. Sometimes the city smells of Boston had almost choked him.

      Despite his exhaustion from the two previous days, he hadn’t slept well last night. He kept waking up from dreams of his father dying, of Mrs. Foster lying helpless at the bottom of the stairs, of Laurie looking like a lost waif with all the work before her. Yet when he awoke early this morning, the water situation bothered him most. When Laurie returned to Denver—a day he didn’t look forward to because he would miss her friendship—Mrs. Foster would have to take care of her boarders by herself. It didn’t make any sense for her to carry heavy buckets of water up that curved back staircase with its narrow treads.

      The obvious solution? A bathroom. If his sister and brother-in-law could install bathrooms in their hotel three blocks from Mrs. Foster’s house, why couldn’t Tolley install one here? Boston had boasted water and sewage systems for almost forty years, so why shouldn’t Esperanza step into the modern world? Maybe not right away, but in the near future. For now, he’d have to figure out all the details for a single house. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got. Laurie hadn’t seemed interested, but he’d convince her. Now to figure out the details.

      Back in the house, Laurie no longer worked in the kitchen, so he left the basket of eggs for her to tend. Although he hadn’t done that chore in a long time, he remembered how to tell which hens were brooding. He supposed Mrs. Foster sold her extra eggs at Mrs. Winsted’s mercantile. If he wasn’t mistaken, Mrs. Foster’s flock should increase by eight or ten in a week or two, which in turn would increase her income. Later today he’d muck out the chicken pen and pile the droppings in the wooden compost bin by the back fence.

      He wanted to discuss the bathroom with Laurie, but maybe he should visit Nolan Means and see about renting that empty office space two doors down from the bank. The idea made him smile.

      He’d wash his hands in the dishwater, but Laurie might come downstairs and think he’d changed his mind about washing the dishes. Instead, he returned to his room by the front staircase and used the cold water from his pitcher.

      Yep, this house needed a source of water on the second floor. This morning, Laurie had carried pitchers of hot water upstairs for everyone. Tolley admired her willingness to work hard and give up her time to help a needy widow. Admired a lot about her. But for now he needed to concentrate on his own part in helping Mrs. Foster. He’d done a lot of building in his life, even helped