sponged dried blood off his arm and torso. “But I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
Thatcher let that hover for a moment, then said, “Tomorrow when you change the dressing, it probably wouldn’t hurt to apply a little coal oil.”
“I planned to,” she said around a light laugh, “but I wasn’t going to admit it. My mother swore by its healing properties.”
“Keep the moonshine handy, too.”
“I also planned to do that.” She used a clean towel to dry Irv’s damp skin where she had washed.
“Ready to wrap?” Thatcher asked.
The girl had left them with neatly stacked bands of cloth. Together she and Thatcher began winding them around Irv’s torso, being as gentle as possible when they rolled him from one side to the other.
The room Irv had created for himself wasn’t that spacious, but the quarters had never seemed small to Laurel. Until now. When sharing it with Thatcher Hutton.
As they wound the bandage, their movements were so in sync they could have been choreographed. Or perhaps they were just keenly attuned to each other, so attuned they read each other’s mind.
Occasionally their fingertips brushed. When even a whisper of contact was made, she felt his eyes on her, but she didn’t have the nerve to look into his. She kept her head down and pretended that her concentration was solely on their task.
But her awareness of him was breath-stealing. The five-button placket on his undershirt was open, revealing a wedge of dark chest hair that looked soft. The long sleeves had been rolled up to above his elbows, tightly cuffing his arms just beneath his biceps. Plump veins ran down his forearms all the way to the backs of his hands, which she watched now as long, strong fingers tied a knot to secure the bandage.
“It’s snug,” he said, “but keeping pressure on it tonight will keep the bleeding down.”
“Thank you for stanching it when you did.” She glanced over at his discarded shirt on the floor in the corner. “I’ll wash it for you.”
“It isn’t a favorite.”
“That one is worse for wear, too.”
He looked down at the streaks of blood on his undershirt. “It’ll soak out.”
Looking away from him, she rested her hand on Irv’s forehead. “He doesn’t feel hot now, but I’ll keep checking for fever.”
“If the wounds get red and puffy, or start to stink, call in a doctor. Only, please don’t tell Irv I was the one who suggested it.”
Remembering what Irv had threatened to do if Thatcher took him to a doctor, Laurel bit back a smile.
Thirty
Laurel had learned that the girl’s name was Corrine. She had been very useful, eagerly fetching and carrying, handling everything with remarkable efficiency considering that she had the use of only one arm and limited eyesight.
She reentered Irv’s room now. “There was a pie in the pie safe. I cut each of y’all a piece and started a pot of coffee. Take a breather, I’ll sit with the old man. Irv’s his name? Never mind that bloody water in the washbowl. I’ll pitch it out the winda.”
“Did you help yourself to some pie?” Laurel asked.
“It looked too good to pass up. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You’ve been extremely helpful tonight. Thank you.”
Corrine shrugged off the thanks, and with her free hand made a shooing motion for Laurel and Thatcher to leave the room. Irv was snoring loudly through his open mouth. Laurel didn’t think she would be missed.
Thatcher followed her into the kitchen. When they were out of earshot of Corrine, she asked quietly, “Who is that girl? Where did she come from?”
“She works at Lefty’s.”
Laurel looked toward Irv’s room, then back at Thatcher. “Not upstairs, surely?”
The look he gave her said otherwise.
“She’s just a girl.”
“Seventeen.”
She was about to say more, ask more, but then remembered that Thatcher had been at Lefty’s tonight when it was raided, and that what he was doing in the company of a teenage prostitute was none of her business.
He stood there, looking down at her as though waiting for her to pose questions she had thought better of asking. Then, stepping around her, he said, “I’ll be right back,” and went out through the back door.
She loaded a tray with the slices of pie Corrine had prepared, cups of coffee and the fixings, and carried it into the dining room, where she laid two place settings on the table. Since she and Irv had begun eating their meals here, she’d bought a secondhand sideboard. At each