The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich (12 page)

Rowdy exhaled a heavy sigh.
“All right, Doc. But—”

“Calliope?” Judge Ipswich exclaimed, bursting into the room and giving everyone in it a start.
He was frowning, and Calliope recognized it as his worried frown. “What’s happened? Fox Montrose came plowing into the courthouse like the whole town was on fire. He said you’d been hurt! Are you all right?”

Calliope smiled as her father dropped to his knees before her, taking her face between his strong, warm hands and brushing her wet hair back as he studied her face.

“I’m fine, Daddy,” she assured. “Mr. Gates saved my life out by the mill. I…I was walking, and I slipped on some moist soil and—”

“You’re covered in blood, sweetheart!
How can you be fine?” Lawson interrupted, however.

“It’s not my blood, Daddy,” Calliope began to explain.
“I told you, Mr. Gates saved me. And in the course of doing so, he was terribly, horribly wounded, suffering a gash to his head, and it bled on me when—”

Her words were lost as her father gathered her into his arms and against his trembling body.
Kissing the top of her head, she heard him say, “Thank you, Rowdy. I don’t know yet what happened, but I’m sure I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

“No, sir, Judge,” Rowdy said, however.
“It’s probably my fault for startlin’ her. I came up behind her, and she started to slip.”

“But he grabbed me
, and we sailed off the edge of the high bank by the mill…landing in the water,” Calliope interrupted. “Otherwise I would’ve been pulverized on the rocks of the bank when I fell, Daddy.” She paused a moment, wiping another tear from her cheek. “He saved my life, Daddy—he did—and now he’s all bloodied up and hurt. And he lost so much blood on the way back to town!”

Calliope collapsed against her father then, sobbing as overwhelming guilt engulfed her.

“I’m fine, Judge Ipswich,” she heard Rowdy say. “Ask the doc here. I’m just a bit banged up—no more than usual, really.”

“I can see by your condition, Rowdy
, that you are more banged up than usual,” Judge Ipswich humbly argued, however. “And I thank you for putting my daughter’s well-being above your own.”

“Judge, I swear
—” Rowdy began.

But Lawson interrupted, “Please, Rowdy.
I know you’re not comfortable accepting any sort of praise or thanks. Therefore, I’ll say thank you again, and we’ll leave it at that…as long as you don’t try to put off my gratitude, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Rowdy sighed.

“Thank you, Rowdy,” Calliope’s father said then.
“Thank you for returning Calliope safely back to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Rowdy mumbled.

“Good man,” Lawson said. He released Calliope, taking her face between his hands and wiping her tears with his thumbs. “Now, let’s get you home, cleaned up, and into bed.”

“I’m fine, Daddy,” Calliope assured him.

“And so is Rowdy, Miss Ipswich,” Doctor Gregory assured her. “You get on home to your family now. I’ll make sure Mr. Gates is all patched up good as new before I send him on his way.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Gates,” Calliope began—unable to look at her rescuer at first
for the guilt and humiliation she was feeling entirely thwarted in her usual confidence. “I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble…and discomfort.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, Miss Calliope,” Rowdy reiterated.
“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

It was then that Calliope finally looked to him again—and when she did, an audible gasp escaped her.
While she’d been embraced in the consolation of her father—had her head buried against her father’s chest—Doctor Gregory had roughly shaven Rowdy Gate’s face. The result was a revelation of just how intensely handsome Rowdy Gates was. He was more handsome without his beard and mustache than even Calliope had imagined—shockingly so!

She felt her mouth hanging agape in awed wonderment but could not seem to command it to close.
Without his hat and heavy beard, the purely perfect, sculpted contours of his face were blessedly exposed. Square-jawed and cleft-chinned, Rowdy had high cheekbones that gave him the look of something akin to European aristocracy. He looked like some mythical, warrior prince! Further mesmerizing, his green eyes flashed with light, undimmed by the brim of his hat as they usually were.

Naturally, there was no ignoring the large wound at his right cheek that Doctor Gregory now worked to stitch
, but even it did not detract one smidgen from the fact that the rather unmasked face of Rowdy Gates was stunning—literally breathtaking!

“Come on, sweet pea,” Lawson said then, rising to his feet.
Taking Calliope’s hands in his own, he pulled her from her seat in the chair in Doctor Gregory’s office and to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”

At last Calliope was able to close her gaping mouth
, but she blushed, knowing she’d been staring at Rowdy as if gold were spilling from his ears.

Somehow she managed to stammer, “Th-
thank you, Mr. Gates,” to Rowdy.

He grinned at her and nodded, saying, “My pleasure, Miss Calliope.”

Looking to Doctor Gregory—who stood, offering a blood-smeared hand to her father—Calliope said, “And thank you, Doctor Gregory.”

“Of course, Miss Ipswich,” the doctor said as Lawson accepted his handshake.

“Yes, Nelson,” Lawson said, careless of the blood on the doctor’s hand. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad it was Rowdy that sustained the lacerations,” Doctor Gregory said.
“I’d hate to have had to stitch up Miss Ipswich here.” He smiled at Calliope, adding, “You’re such a lovely young woman, Miss Calliope.”

“Thank you,” Calliope mumbled.
She looked to Rowdy again, and again he grinned at her, nodding his reassurance that he was fine.

“And
, Rowdy,” Lawson continued, “I’ll take care of lighting the lamps tonight…and putting them out in the morning.”

“Oh, no, Judge!” Rowdy began to argue.
“It’s no problem. I’ll just—”

“I’ll take care of it, Rowdy,” Lawson interrupted, however.
“Please, allow me that one small task, as part of my thanks for your rescue of my daughter. All right?”

Rowdy frowned, and Calliope knew he was not a man to allow anyone to help him—let alone do his job for him—no matter what the circumstance.

“I think it would be wise to let it go for one night, Rowdy,” Doctor Gregory confirmed. “You’ve lost more blood than you think because of that head wound. You really should head home to bed, at least for tonight.”

Calliope could see the man’s struggle.
It was obvious he had no intention of allowing anyone to help him.

Therefore, quickly she said, “Please, Mr. Gates
, I won’t sleep a wink tonight for worrying if you don’t do as the doctor suggests. Please, just go home and rest tonight, and let Daddy take care of the lamps. Please?”

Shaking his head
, Rowdy rather grumbled, “Well, all right, Judge. But just light them tonight. I can put them out in the mornin’ well enough.”

Calliope knew her father was a wise man.
She’d always known it.

But when Judge Ipswich agreed, “All right, Rowdy,” his wisdom was even more evident.
He knew Rowdy Gates’s pride could only take so much—and so he’d agreed with Rowdy.

“Now let’s get you home,” Lawson said then.
Putting a strong arm around her shoulder, Calliope’s father pulled her close against him.

As much as she hated to leave Rowdy—as guilt-ridden as she felt over what had happened to him—she knew that Doctor Gregory was capable.
After all, hadn’t she already done enough? Hadn’t she ruined his day, caused him pain and injury? What more could she do but leave him to his peace? Most likely he was relieved as she and her father stepped out of Doctor Gregory’s physician’s office.

“Did you see how much blood there was, Daddy?” Calliope asked as she walked toward home with her father still holding her close against him.

“I did,” Lawson admitted. “But head wounds, they bleed quite fiercely, and Rowdy seemed otherwise well.”

“It’s my fault,” Calliope whispered.

“It’s no one’s fault, sweetheart,” Lawson assured her in a low, soothing voice. “Now let’s just get you home, cleaned up, and comfortable. Kizzy’s got stew simmering on the stove, and it should be just the thing to settle you down.”

But Calliope doubted that anything would ever settle her down again.
Rowdy Gates was so terribly wounded! How would she ever handle the guilt of knowing that, because of her, he’d been hurt? And not just because he’d saved her by jumping into the millpond with her. The only reason she was even there—and stepped on the soft soil on the high bank—was because she’d been spying on him. It really was all her fault—all of it!

*

“Now you take it easy gettin’ home, Rowdy,” Doc Gregory said as Rowdy mounted his horse, Tucker. “Get home and eat somethin’, and then get right to bed. You’ll most likely feel like hell in the mornin’ too. So don’t overexert yourself tomorrow either.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Rowdy said.
He already felt like hell, but there was no reason to let on. His head and face, and pretty much every other part of him, throbbed and ached something awful. But he’d been through worse—much worse. Therefore, he determined not to let a couple of little scrapes and bruises and a dip in the millpond drag him down too far. He was tired, however. Home, supper, and bed were sounding mighty inviting.

Reining Tucker toward home, Rowdy’s attention fell to a chestnut and white appaloosa tied to a hitching post in front of the diner across the street.
For just a moment, Rowdy’s heart leapt inside his chest with an awful anxiety—for the appaloosa looked exactly like one he’d known from years past. Still, what were the odds that appaloosa from the past was even still alive—and still ridden by the man who’d owned it back then? Slim to none, Rowdy figured.

Shaking his head, he mumbled, “Get on home, Tucker.
My head’s poundin’ like there’s a drum pent up inside it.” Tucker whinnied and started for home.

Glancing back once more at the appaloosa tied up in front of the diner, Rowdy shook his aching head and sighed.
The day had been long, fatiguing, not to mention injurious, and Rowdy figured the culmination of a day the like he’d had was causing him to imagine things in the end.

Still, as he rode home
, keeping Tucker’s pace slow and steady to combat the dizziness that began in his head every time he tried to hurry things up, Rowdy figured it made sense that any chestnut and white appaloosa would put him in mind of Arness. And even for the remarkable resemblance between the appaloosa tied up in front of the diner and Arness’s horse, Pronto, he figured old Pronto would be near to five years old by now. And even if Pronto hadn’t broken a leg or died of some other ailment or injury, Rowdy knew the horse wouldn’t look as fresh and fine as the one in front of the diner did. Arness never took good enough care of his horses, and Pronto had been no different.

Yet as Rowdy dismounted Tucker, unsaddled him, brushed him
, and gave him a bucket of oats in his stall, the sight of that chestnut and white appaloosa in town nagged at his mind. The fact was it had brought back too many memories—bad ones. Rowdy figured that was what was eating at him. He was tired, banged up, and hungry. No wonder the appaloosa in town had turned his head a moment.

At last, however, Rowdy sat down next to Dodge
r’s pile of rocks and exhaled a heavy sigh.

“I had me quite a day today, boy,” he spoke aloud to his friend
’s remains. Rowdy lay down on the grass next to Dodger’s grave and gazed up at the dusk-dusted sky. “First off, I had to keep from smashin’ both Fox Montrose and that Tate Chesterfield in the face when I come upon them in town, tugging Calliope back and forth like they was fightin’ over a piece of meat. But I got through that without any incident.” He sighed, tucked his hands under his head, and continued, “Then them damn pigeons crapped all over me again, and I went outside to wash off and came upon the pretty Ipswich girl out for a walk along the high bank. Now that’s a tale to tell you! But I’m tired, so I’ll give you the short of it—which is, holdin’ that piece of heaven in my arms was well worth a couple of lumps on the head, I’ll tell you that!”

Rowdy closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment. Even for the cool aroma of the evening air, he could still smell the sweet fragrance of Calliope Ipswich.
Somehow her fragrance had imprinted itself forever in his brain. He’d only had a whiff of it—just a whiff—the instant he’d wrapped his arms around her and jumped them off the high bank. But he’d never forget it. Calliope Ipswich smelled like warm bread and butter, lavender, and mint, all rolled together in one beautiful perfume.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, Dodger,” Rowdy whispered.
“I’d take three more cuts in the head just to have her in my arms again…even for a second.” He chuckled. “Of course, I think three more cuts on the head mighta done me in. I’ve been dizzy all the rest of the afternoon from bleedin’ out. Even thought I saw Arness’s horse in town a while ago.”