With Kildare's report of Chet's capture in late September, life on the ranch slowly returned to a semblance of normal, and the heightened state of anxiety they'd all lived in for the past five weeks eased.
Declan still retained the habit of keeping his firearms nearby whenever leaving the house and was ever mindful of Eldon's, Luella's, and his family's whereabouts when they were outdoors; however, he noticed when he scanned the area it wasn't in search of a man's silhouette intent on wreaking havoc in their lives, but for wild animals who would threaten his loved ones safety.
Wren's ankle and blistered arm were on the mend, and she'd gained a measure of freedom thanks in equal parts to her salve and a pair of crutches he'd had the blacksmith, Anton Hunniford, fashion—though if Declan were honest, his wife had looked less than thrilled the morning he'd surprised her with the return of mobility.
"They're crutches," he grumbled, setting them on the mattress beside her when she failed to take them. "Don't forget; Uncle Em said you're healing well enough that you might only have to use them for two or three more weeks. I had to use mine for months on end."
She stared at him with a quirked brow as she sat on the edge of the bed in her chemise and bloomers, rubbing salve into the healing burns along her right arm. "I reckon what they are, Declan... but I don't see why I need 'em when I've been doin' fine without—"
"Only because I've been carrying you around," Declan chuckled. "Don't you wanna be able to go outside without having to holler for me to take you there?"
Wren pursed her lips and sighed, and Declan knew he'd made his point.
"I have one rule, though," he stated, settling his hands on his hips.
Her eyes snapped to his, crackling with heated emotions to let him know she took exception to either his words or tone—probably both—so he tipped his lips in a lopsided grin, witnessed the miracle of her mismatched eyes warming and corrected himself, "A request, I should say."
She studied him, "What sort of request, husband?"
Without a doubt, he thoroughly enjoyed hearing Wren call him that. His heart kicked against his ribs, his stomach fluttered, and it took considerable self-control to keep his feet firmly planted where he was instead of crossing the room and drowning himself in her kiss—an experience he hadn't allowed to happen since her injuries three weeks ago.
"Don't use them on the staircase—they're for getting around up here or once you're downstairs."
Wren grinned, "How am I gettin' downstairs then? D'you want me to slide on the banister?"
Chuckling at the mental image, he shook his head, "I'll carry you, same at night. But this way, we'll each have our days to ourselves, and we can get back to helping more around the house and ranch, so it's not so much work on Mama and everyone else's shoulders."
"All right," she muttered, scowling at the crutches as though they were coiled snakes readying to strike, then took one in each hand and lowered her right foot to the floor. "But only because I don't want to be a burden to anyone, least of all your mama and Mae."
"You ever used 'em before?" He asked, stepping forward.
She glanced at him through her lashes, her lips twisting in a wry smile as she teased, "I may seem a couple eggs short of a dozen sometimes, but I am aware one goes under each arm."
Declan snorted a laugh and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching with bated breath as she muttered an unladylike curse, planted her left foot, and wedged the cotton-padded bar of the crutch under her arms as she stood.
"Now what?" She grumbled, adjusting her hands on the grips and staring at the floor.
"Try walking—don't put any weight on your right leg, though. And go slow; I don't want you falling."
"Do I move first or the crutches?" She frowned at him, bending her right leg at the knee so her foot hovered over the floorboards.
Declan hesitated and rubbed his neck, trying to remember the machinations from when he'd spent months using the damned things, then clapped his hands together in victory and said, "Put your good leg forward first—not too far, yup. Then the crutches... now swing your body to meet... it's just those two moves, repeated."
"But in a dress," Wren grumbled.
"Well, I wouldn't mind you staying in your underwear," he teased, moving aside as she made a slow pass toward the opposite end of the room, "but you might feel a little uncomfortable in front of everyone else walking in and out downstairs, especially with the colder weather and all."
Wren snorted a laugh and glanced at him over her left shoulder, "I was thinkin' more along the lines of wearin' some of Dorsey's old clothes packed away in one of the trunks in the attic."
"Try turning," he mumbled, distracted by the sudden mental picture of Wren's backside adorned by a pair of trousers.
"How do I do that?" She asked at a standstill, her head bowed.
Declan cleared his throat, forced a swallow, and then raked a hand through his hair. "Plant one of the crutches—"
"Does it matter which one?"
For the life of him, he couldn't remember. Every coherent thought had scattered from his mind like dandelion fluff in a wild gust of wind. "I don't know... whichever way you want to turn, I think."
"I thought you had months on end of experience," She teased, then squared her shoulders and added, "I'm plantin' my right one, so I'll turn right. Now what?"
"Want me to show you? " he chuckled, rubbing his face before walking up behind her and settling his hands at her waist. "It'll probably be easier than me trying to explain."
She tipped her head back to look at him, and Declan suddenly found his oxygen in short supply.
"You all right?" She asked in a bare whisper, her gaze drifting from his eyes to focus on his mouth as her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. "You sound distracted."
The combination of it all was his undoing.
In the space of a few heartbeats, he muttered an oath, cradled her in the crook of his left elbow, and buried his other hand in the hair at the back of her head, holding her prisoner while claiming her mouth with ravenous ownership and drank from her lips as though his entire being was as parched as desert sands, and she was his desert oasis.
The contact of her warm, soft lips against his released dizzying swarms of butterflies in the pit of his stomach, made his heart threaten to explode from his chest, and sent euphoria rushing through his veins.
Wren allowed the crutches to clatter to the floor unheeded as she turned and faced him, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with unadulterated fervor that thrilled him to his soul, made his knees quake, and curled his toes in his boots.
They stripped one another bare with frenzied greed, tossing their clothes to the floor, uncaring where anything landed; then Declan's hands roamed from the smooth skin of Wren's neck to her bottom in a desperate, futile attempt to draw her closer despite knowing no matter how hard he tried, he'd never get enough of her.
Growling low in his throat, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, his mouth never leaving hers as he glanced at the door to ensure it was bolted shut before carefully lowering Wren to the mattress and joining her in rapturous bliss.
That afternoon, Declan walked behind Wren as she cautiously maneuvered herself and the crutches to the staircase wearing her green and yellow floral gown at Declan's insistence instead of donning a pair of Dorsey's old trousers.
"Now what?" She murmured upon reaching the first step.
"You carry them, and I'll carry you," he said, scooping her into his arms and conveying her to the bottom, where he set her on her left foot, his hands lingering at her waist until she had the crutches under each arm. "All right, time for more practice."
"Is it, though? Practice," She grumbled, slowly hobbling toward the kitchen. "I'm either gonna get it or fall flat on my face."
"I'll catch you before you fall."
"Not if you're out chorin'."
Declan grunted.
Finally, after what seemed like eons later, Wren reached the kitchen and found Eldon at the table with Mae bent over a piece of paper, holding a pencil in his right hand, with several other papers scattered across the scarred surface each one bearing images ranging from poorly drawn depictions of what Wren thought might be a dog to expert illustrations of different people on the ranch.
"Mae's learnin' me to draw, Wren," Eldon beamed, glancing up from his paper.
"Teachin'," Wren corrected, "she's teachin' you to draw."
Eldon nodded, "That's what I said."
Declan chuckled from behind, "Close enough."
Then doing a double-take, Eldon watched Wren's snail-like approach with wide-eyed wonder, "Whatcha got there helpin' ya walk?"
"Crutches," she replied, pausing to adjust her grip before continuing the last few feet. When Declan pulled out a chair for her, she cast an appreciative glance at him and leaned the crutches against the table as she sat with a relieved sigh.
"These are pretty. You draw all of 'em?" She asked with a wink as she leaned forward to peruse the drawings, "or only the one you're workin' on?"
"Mae did those," Eldon said as he bent his head again to his paper, his tongue clamped between his teeth while sketching.
Wren glanced at Mae and smiled as she asked Eldon, "What're you drawin'?"
"Luella."
"I showed him some of mine," Mae grinned, a delicate pink staining her cheeks as she pushed one of the imperfect sketches forward. "I think he's determined to prove he can do better... Animals—well, anything other than people really—have never been my strong suit."
"They're all better than anythin' I could do, includin' the ones of Luella," Wren giggled.
Mae laughed, then glanced at Declan standing behind Wren's chair. "What?"
"I never realized you were so talented," he murmured, pausing before continuing, "Wooly said you were, and with how good he is, I assumed he knew what he was talking about. But these are exceptional, Mae—"
"Save for the ones of Luella," she teased, her blush intensifying. "I only keep them for kindling."
Declan snorted a laugh and walked around the table to take a closer look. "These your morning drawings you two do?"
"Some of them," Mae nodded. "It's been the one thing that's kept me sane—especially on the trail when every morning I woke up sure I was dying—"
"Only to find out you were dealing with the aftermath of the mischief you and Wooly got into while in Independence," Declan teased with a wink as he picked up a sketch with a resemblance to the one of Wren from the brief glimpse she caught and her heart skipped a beat. However, when he set it back on the table, she was discouraged to find it was one of Emmaline instead.
Mae playfully slapped his arm and settled a protective hand on the gentle swell of her abdomen. "Best mischief I ever got into."
He then picked up one of Eldon—as though purposefully avoiding the one now fully exposed to Wren's view bearing her unmistakable likeness.
Sensing she was being observed, Wren glanced up, and her intent stare collided with the cheeky glint in Declan's blue depths before he returned his attention to the paper in his hands.
"Where's my slingshot?" Wren teasingly grumbled, deciding from then on she'd keep it and her bag of pebbles in her pocket if for no other purpose than to remind her husband he could toy with her as much as he chose, so long as he didn't object to getting stung in response.
Winking at her, Declan chuckled and set the sketch on the table. "Where's Mama and everybody else?"
"Mama's finishing laundry—or trying to before it rains, and Uncle Em's out in the bunkhouse tending to Quincy—"
"What happened?" Wren frowned, her stomach clenched and twisting into knots.
Mae shook her head, "Something to do with Zeus is all I know."
Declan winked at Wren across the table, "I'll go check on him and see what I can find out."
Wren nodded.
"Where's Wooly?" He asked over his shoulder as he crossed to the kitchen door just as it opened, and Wolstan walked inside. "Speak of the devil—"
"And he shall appear in a corset and bloomers with a pretty parasol," Wolstan grinned. "Isn't that how the saying goes?"
Wren chuckled and shared a look with Declan before he tore his gaze away, cleared his throat, and grumbled, "I'm gonna go check on Quincy. You finish all the morning chores?"
Wolstan arched a brow and settled his hands on his hips, "Considering it's afternoon, I would surely hope so, or there'd be some miserable animals out there liable to revolt against us."
Declan scowled at him.
Wolstan scowled right back but ruined the effect with the grin tugging at his lips.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Declan looked at Wren with a warmth in his bright blue eyes that caused her stomach to flutter and flip in a series of somersaults. "I'll stay close, so holler if you need me—and keep practicing."
"I will," Wren nodded.
"And no stairs," Declan grumbled over his shoulder halfway out the door.
"I know," Wren sighed with a dramatic roll of her eyes, drawing chuckles from Mae and Wolstan as Declan closed the kitchen door.
"What're you up to, Leftboots?" Wolstan asked, peering over Eldon's right shoulder. "Oooh... drawing Luella."
"Uh-huh," Eldon grinned with a vigorous nod, glancing at Wren in delight, then back at his paper, "and when I'm done, Mae's gonna learn me how to draw people."
"She is?"
"Yep."
Wolstan smiled and turned an adoring look on Mae, "Well, then you'll be learning from one of the best, Leftboots."
"That's what she said 'bout you."
"Did she?" Wolstan murmured, winking at Mae as he sat to her left, grabbed her hand, and threaded their fingers, brushing his thumb against her index knuckle. "That's high praise indeed."
"Should I get somethin' started for a late lunch?" Wren asked, grabbing her crutches and swiveling in her chair.
"You sure you're up to it?" Mae frowned.
Wren stood and wedged her crutches under her arms, then carefully maneuvered around the work table to the stove. "I need to get used to walkin' with these and contributin' to the household again—'specially with you carryin'."
"You make it sound like we think you're a burden," Mae said with apparent concern and dismay.
"Because for the past three weeks, that's what I've been," Wren quietly replied. Then she sighed and squared her shoulders, "But now that my mind's no longer spinnin' like a top, my vision's back to normal, and ol' Gobby Goo was kind enough to have these crutches made for me—I'm almost a brand new woman."
"FINISHED," Eldon proudly hollered, scooting his chair from the table. "Wanna see?"
"Sure do," Wolstan chuckled as Mae giggled, "Of course."
Wren turned from warming the stove and situated herself on her crutches, then hobbled over to the table to look between Wolstan and Mae's shoulders. "Why that looks just like her, Eldon," Wren beamed, staring at her brother in adoration.
"Sure does," Wolstan nodded. "You even captured her perplexed frown."
"It certainly surpasses anything I've ever drawn of her," Mae praised, handing the sketch back. "Well done, little man. You're quite talented."
But Eldon hesitated to retrieve it, his bemused gaze fixed on Wolstan and Mae's intertwined hands atop the table.
"There something crawling on me?" Wolstan chuckled, though to Wren's ears, his tone held a nervous edge she'd never heard from him before.
Wren wondered if Mae heard it too because she dropped the sketch on the table and settled her right hand atop his as Eldon finally replied, "How come ya always hold her left hand?"
A relieved-sounding sigh escaped Wolstan that he forced into a short laugh before stating, "Well, see, Mae doesn't have much feeling in her right one—"
"How come?"
"Eldon," Wren softly chided, despite wanting to know the answer as well, "don't be so nosey."
Wolstan glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled, "It's nothing to hide, Wren." Then turning back to meet Eldon's enraptured gaze, Wolstan continued, "The thing you probably didn't know about Mae is, she fought alongside me in the war—"
"Ya did?" Eldon gasped, his eyes snapping to Mae in awe.
"Mmm-hmm," Mae nodded.
"And was injured from here to here," Wolstan murmured, trailing his finger from his shoulder to elbow.
"Ya got a scar?"
"I do," Mae chuckled. "Looks like a headless snake coiling around my arm. Next time I wear a short sleeve dress, I'll show it to you."
Eldon smiled at Wren, then studied Mae's hands a moment, his forehead puckering in a frown as he said, "But they both work?"
"They do," Mae giggled.
"'Cause ya was learnin' me to draw with yer right."
"Yep."
"But ya only ever hold her left," Eldon stated with a frown, making Wren wonder what her little brother was trying to understand.
Wolstan nodded and turned to Mae, his voice gentling as he said, "Because I want her to feel it every time I touch her."
Upon entering the bunkhouse and seeing Quincy's battered and bruised state, it became evident to Declan that while the loyal and well-liked ranch hand would survive his wounds, he'd be indisposed for the next few weeks.
A fact further confirmed by Emerson when he finished bandaging Quincy's ribs and began suturing a large gash on Quincy's forehead running high from his left hairline to his right eyebrow, mimicking a section of the jagged mountain range of Falcon Ridge. "I'd like you to remain in bed the next few days—"
"Can't do that. Too much work to get done, Doc—"
"Well, then you're gonna have to be on light duty—"
"Light duty?" Quincy softly exclaimed with a wince and a glance at Declan, clutching his ribs.
Emerson nodded, "Mm-hmmm. For the next couple of weeks—though three would be preferable—at least till your ribs heal, which means no horse riding, not that I think you'd want to between five broken ribs and the dizziness. You're liable to topple out of the saddle this side of the barn."
"But—"
"There's plenty of chores close to the big house to keep you occupied," Emerson quietly interrupted, adjusting the lamp's position and then resuming his suturing. "Animals of a smaller variety that need tending."
Quincy snorted a laugh, then clenched his eyes shut, grabbed his ribs, and groaned.
"And now that Wren has her crutches and won't need me as much, I can help tend the herd," Declan said, his lips curling in a self-deprecating smile as he added, "Greenhorn though I am and no replacement for all you do 'round here, Quincy."
"I s'pose I don't have much choice, do I?"
"'Course you do," Emerson murmured, "but considering your injuries, I'd say a few weeks of light duty outweighs the sure misery that'll come your way, pretending life will go on as usual."
Leaning his left shoulder against the wall as he watched his uncle finish suturing Quincy's forehead, Declan asked, "What happened anyway?"
"Me and Billy were cutting the heifers away from Zeus, and he took exception to our presence, and timin'... knocked me off Rusty," he frowned and lifted his shoulders in a pained shrug. "Don't remember anything after."
"Rusty's in the barn, no worse for wear. And you're fortunate your wounds weren't more extensive or that Zeus didn't kill you and Billy," Emerson said, tying his last knot, then snipping the thread and setting his tools aside. "Drink this," he continued, offering a blue enamel tin mug.
Quincy eyed it as he brought the cup to his nose for a sniff, then drained it in one large gulp before asking, "What was it?"
"Something for the pain and to ensure you sleep for the remainder of the day—"
"You drugged me?"
"I prefer the term medicated," Emerson said with a wry chuckle as he patted Quincy's left shoulder.
Declan snorted a laugh.
Handing the empty mug back, Quincy settled into his pillow with a big yawn, his eyelids fluttering as Emerson gathered his dirty instruments onto a cloth, picked up his medical bag from the small table beside the bunk, and stood.
Within the next few moments, Quincy's gentle snores filled the room as Emerson and Declan left the bunkhouse and closed the door behind them.
"So...three weeks, you think?" Declan asked, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze straying to Wren visible through the kitchen window as they came to a standstill in the middle of the backyard.
Emerson nodded. "Providing he doesn't push himself too hard and make things worse."
"Have you met the man?" Declan scoffed, his mind in turmoil. Wren might not need him as much now that she had her crutches, but the sudden realization he'd be spending less time with her hit him like a hefty blow to the gut, driving the breath from his lungs.
"What are you frowning for?" Emerson asked with a soft nudge in Declan's left arm.
Declan glanced at his uncle and choked in a ragged lungful of air before replying, "I don't want Wren using the crutches on the stairs."
Emerson blinked, "Does she know this?"
Declan nodded. "And since I can't be in two places at once—"
"Don't worry. Either Wooly or I will help."
"Appreciate it," Declan murmured, wishing there were another option while Quincy recovered even as he wondered if putting some distance between them again might be for the better.
"That's what family's for," Emerson said over his shoulder as he walked to the old cabin. "Tell your mama I'll be over after I get these tools boiling."
Declan grunted and nodded, lingering a moment longer before shoving his hands in his pockets and wandering inside to break the news.