The Edge of Hell: The Mitchell Brothers Series Book One

7

June melted into July, and with it came the promise of Doctor Emerson Mitchell's long-awaited arrival.

The house was a flurry of activity with Emmaline at the helm, ensuring the guest room was aired and the root cellar fully stocked in preparation for his week-long stay.

By mid-morning, there wasn't an inch of the home that hadn't been dusted, swept, or washed in some capacity. And Mae had the sore back and arms to prove it.

"Mae, this room is spotless; I couldn't have tidied it better myself," Emmaline praised, giving the front parlor a final inspection. "Why don't you run upstairs to rest and freshen up? Emerson should be here within the next hour or so, and your arm must be aching."

"Thank you," Mae murmured, smiling at the compliment as she wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty brow. "There's just—"

"Go," Emmaline laughingly commanded with a gentle nudge toward the stairs, "I'll see to it. You've done more than enough, dear."

Sighing in defeat, Mae hurried to her room and closed the door firmly behind her before removing her shoes and tossing her dust-covered apron to the floor.

She stood in front of her wardrobe for several minutes deliberating over which of Emmaline's old dresses to wear. All of them were equally faded and should have been consigned to the rag bin years ago.

Plucking a blue floral muslin gown with ruffled elbow-length sleeves, she tossed it on her bed. Then she gave herself a quick sponge bath to wash the sweat and grime from her body, and changed into a fresh camisole and bloomers.

Once dressed, she brushed and re-pinned her hair into a simple bun, missing the days when it was short, and all she'd had to do was run a comb through it. Studying her reflection, somewhat surprised her hazel eyes appeared blue as she tucked a wayward curl behind her left ear, she hoped no one would notice the frayed shoulder seams. Then she tugged and adjusted the delicate lace edging along the scooped neckline.

"Prettier than a heifer, but not by much," she murmured, remembering her daddy's favorite backhanded compliment to give whenever she dressed up. The affection in his tone and green eyes when speaking the words had let her know he fully meant it.

Pushing the unpleasant memory from her mind, Mae heaved a sigh and straightened her skirts as she left her room. But then she grumbled an expletive under her breath when she noticed a grease stain near one of the clusters of blue flowers.

Maybe if she re-pleated the skirt, she thought, her attention focused on trying to hide the stain instead of where she walked. And, in the next heartbeat, she collided with Wolstan exiting his room.

"Goodness gracious," she gasped, unconsciously wrapping her arms around him as he stumbled backward.

He grunted, locked his left arm around her waist, and flung his right toward the wall. The action and her momentum knocked him further off-balance, sending them tumbling to the floor.

They landed with a hard thud in his bedroom doorway, Mae sprawled on top. For several terrifying seconds, while he lay motionless and silent beneath her, she feared she'd crushed him to death.

"Please don't be dead," she breathlessly whispered, scrambling to kneel beside him.

"I'm not," he wheezed, staring at her with soft grey eyes filled with amusement. A ragged breath filled his lungs as he rolled onto his right side and slowly sat up. "But your concern is deeply appreciated."

"I didn't see you," she added lamely, getting to her feet.

"I noticed."

Embarrassed heat flooded Mae's cheeks, and she reached out her left hand to help him stand. "Did I hurt you?"