Beauty for Ashes Page 0,25

here.”

She glanced away. “What if there is? It has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He caught her chin in his hand. “All I want from you is my money. And soon.”

“All right. I’ll get your blasted money.” She grabbed a handful of cards and flung them at him. “You’re certainly no gentleman, Griff Rutledge.”

“And you, Miss Dupree, are no lady.”

Carrie stood transfixed at the top of the stairs. After bidding goodbye to Ada, she’d gone back upstairs to tidy her room. She’d left it just in time to hear Rosaleen’s voice . . . and Mr. Rutledge’s raised in anger. Obviously they knew each other, a fact that shouldn’t bother her in the least. But it did. She felt disappointed. Maybe even jealous, which was even more ridiculous. Griff Rutledge was a stranger just passing through Hickory Ridge. She had no claim on him whatsoever.

The door slammed shut behind Griff. Carrie squared her shoulders and hurried downstairs. Rosaleen was on her hands and knees in the parlor, picking up her cards.

“Need some help?” Carrie retrieved the jack of diamonds lying beneath the side table.

“Thanks. I’ve got it.” Rosaleen got to her feet, and Carrie saw tears standing in her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Rosaleen straightened her blouse and sniffed. “Just a misunderstanding with an old friend.”

“Mr. Rutledge?”

Rosaleen’s eyes went wide. “You know him?”

“Not really.” Carrie explained the nature of their acquaintance. “I recognized his voice just now, that’s all.”

“I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Rosaleen dropped the stack of cards onto the table and looked up, her expression troubled. “How much did you overhear?”

“Only the barbs you traded as he was leaving.”

Rosaleen seemed relieved. “He didn’t mean it. Nor did I. We’ve always been—”

The door flew open and Lucy Whitcomb rushed in, her skirts blood-soaked, a small, golden-haired girl lying limp in her arms. “Quick, I need bandages.”

“What happened?” Carrie touched the child’s face. It felt cool and dry beneath her fingers.

“I—I turned my back for half a minute.” Lucy gulped air, stifling her sobs. “She picked up the ax and accidentally cut her foot. Please help me. I’m afraid she’s bleeding to death.”

Mrs. Whitcomb rushed down the stairs. “What’s all this commo—oh my heavens, that poor child. Rosaleen, don’t just stand there, go find Dr. Spencer.”

Lucy’s voice trembled. “He’s out at the Rileys’ place. I couldn’t think where else to bring her.”

“Put her on the sofa,” Mrs. Whitcomb said. “And for heavens’ sake, Lucy, bear up. Carrie, bring a basin of water and that can of powdered alum from the kitchen.”

Carrie hurried to pump the water, her heart twisting with worry and pity. Poor child. Poor Lucy. What would happen to her, to her future, if the little girl died? More importantly, how would Mrs. Grayson ever cope with such a horrific loss?

She returned to the parlor with the alum and the water. Rosaleen was busy tearing an old sheet into long strips. Mrs. Whitcomb held smelling salts beneath the child’s nose. The little girl revived and whimpered as Mrs. Whitcomb bathed the deep, ragged cut and poured the alum into the wound. Rosaleen paled and rushed from the room.

Carrie smoothed the child’s hair off her face and murmured to her while the hotelier bound up the cut. Lucy, as white-faced and shaken as her charge, took a piece of candy from her pocket and offered it to the child. The little girl licked the candy, fat tears sliding down her cheeks.

Lucy collapsed onto the sofa beside the child, her shoulders sagging. “Thank you for your help. I was so scared I couldn’t even think.”

“You did all right,” Mrs. Whitcomb said. “I raised six boys of my own,” she told Carrie, “and one or the other of them was always getting hurt.” She patted the little girl’s shoulder. “This cut looked worse than it really is.”

The little girl turned her teary eyes on the hotelier. “I gots Miss Lucy’s dress messed up.”

Lucy cradled the child. “Oh, honey, it’s all right. Don’t worry about that.”

“Mama is going to be awful mad,” the child said.

“No doubt,” Lucy muttered. “How will I ever find another job?”

“It was an accident,” Mrs. Whitcomb said, “pure and simple. And you got help for the child right away. I’m sure I don’t know what more the child’s mother can expect.”

“I should have paid more attention,” Lucy said. “But the children are so noisy and energetic, it’s more than I can handle.” She brushed her hair off her face. “I must go. I left