“Oh, think of me like a sister.”

- Teresa O’Brien, The High Riders

 

Little Sister 

The door opened and Teresa carried a steaming mug of tea into the room. Her eyes swung from the empty bed to the chair by the windows. A dark-haired young man sat there, a blanket draped casually over the lower half of his body. He was pale, but looked pleased with himself. A tall, blond man leaned against the wall nearby, his arms crossed. 

“What are you doing out of bed, Johnny?” The girl glared at the dark-haired man. “Are you crazy? The doctor didn’t say you could get up yet.”

He flashed a quick smile at her. “I’m fine, T’resa.”

She wasn’t falling for that smile. Instead, she directed her glare to the blond. “You should know better, at least. How could you let him get up?”

One of Scott Lancer’s brows shot up. He had only met his half-brother for the first time a little more than a week ago, and was hardly responsible for his behavior. From what he’d seen so far, Scott doubted Johnny often listened to orders from anyone, let alone a brand new brother from back east.

“Don’t just stand there, Scott,” Teresa scolded. “Help him back into bed.”

The smile disappeared and a mulish expression crossed Johnny’s face. “I said I was fine. Nobody needs to help me.”

“I’ll get Murdoch,” she threatened, locking eyes with him.

Her eyes dropped first against his determined blue gaze. Her lashes fluttered and tears welled up in her eyes, to the young man’s horror. “Don’t cry, Teresa,” he begged. “I’m OK, really. Been hurt worse than this.”

Her lip continued to quiver. She directed a piteous look at him. “You’ve been so sick, Johnny, and it scared me. Please.”

He rolled his eyes and did something he’d never done in a fight, not once in his life. He surrendered. “All right,” he grumbled.

“No, wait,” Teresa said, as soon as he started to get to his feet. “Let Scott help you.”

Johnny gave her a suspicious look, but let his brother steer him across the floor to the bed and settle him against the pillows. Teresa was beaming, all signs of tears gone. She handed him the mug of tea. “Make sure you finish all of it.”

Johnny sniffed cautiously at the evil-smelling brew and wrinkled his nose. “What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just herbal tea.” Teresa smoothed the covers and tucked him in more securely before she moved over to the dresser and began to straighten it out. “It’s good for you.”

Johnny took a small sip and grimaced. “It sure don’t taste good.”

Her big eyes were on him, and he took another sip.

Fifteen minutes later, Teresa had departed with the empty mug. Scott sat in the chair by the window, a book open on his lap. He didn’t think he’d be reading aloud for long this afternoon. Johnny looked increasingly drowsy, no doubt lulled by the comfort of the bed as well as Teresa’s medicinal tea. And, of course, Teresa was right. Johnny had been dangerously ill with a bullet wound and really didn’t have any business getting up yet. Scott didn’t think it was his place to tell his half-brother what to do, but he had resolved to maneuver Johnny back to bed as soon as he entered the room and saw the younger man in the chair. He just hadn’t had any opportunity to execute his strategy before Teresa burst in.

“Hey, Boston?”

Scott looked up. Johnny persisted in calling him that, rather than by his proper name. But it no longer sounded like an insult, and didn’t rankle so much.

“It’s Scott,” he corrected, but there was no animosity in his voice either.

The corner of Johnny’s mouth turned up. “Teresa keeps flapping around like an old mother hen,” he observed. “Is that what sisters do?”

Scott considered it. “I can’t really say. I’ve never had a sister either.”

“Mmmm.” Johnny propped his eyes open with an effort. “She’s kind of cute.”

“I suppose so.” A faint alarm went off in Scott’s head. “You’re not interested in her, are you?”

“Me? Hell, no.” Johnny looked horrified, to Scott’s relief. “She’s just a kid.”

Scott didn’t think his brother was so much older than Teresa, not in years anyway. In experience, well, that was another matter. Johnny was right. Teresa was much too young for him.

“How about you?” Johnny asked.

Scott shook his head. “I’m older than you are, remember? I generally prefer more sophisticated women, brother, not little girls in pony tails.”

“Can understand that.” The brothers exchanged small smiles. Johnny returned to the subject of their newly acquired sister. “Notice that she don’t ever knock?”

Scott had already experienced that problem himself, more than once. A few days earlier, the girl had actually barged into the bathhouse while he was in the tub. She hadn’t seen anything, thanks to the partition, but the experience had been unnerving and he wasn’t anxious to repeat it.

She’d seen far more of Johnny, of course, since she had helped to nurse him. Johnny didn’t seem to be particularly modest and Scott supposed that was fortunate, since he still wasn’t wearing anything but the bed covers and bandages. At first, it wasn’t really practical to get a nightshirt on or off him, due to his injuries, and Johnny didn’t seem to own one anyway. They’d unpacked his saddlebags, something Johnny hadn’t done himself when he arrived at the ranch. Scott was a little shocked at just how lightly his brother traveled. Counting the small derringer they found hidden in his blood-soaked, ruined jacket, and the second Colt they’d found in the saddlebags, he owned as many handguns as shirts.

He pulled his mind away from Johnny’s meager wardrobe to the issue at hand. Scott would be mortified if Teresa had to take care of him the way she’d helped to take care of Johnny. She proved to be a good nurse, but it wasn’t suitable for a girl her age. And it certainly wasn’t suitable for her to barge in on either of the Lancer brothers without knocking. Scott wondered if it would do any good to speak to Murdoch about it.

“Suppose it could be worse,” Johnny said, his eyes open just a crack.

“What do you mean?”

Johnny settled more deeply into the bed with a long sigh, and his eyes finally closed. “Could be a lot more complicated if she didn’t want us to think of her like a sister,” he mumbled.

 

THE END

 

Whistle

westwhistle@yahoo.com

August 2005