by Donna Dalton
“Wait there, Doctor. I’ll come to you.”
As she started forward, the easel propped near him began to wobble and shake. A second later, it toppled over as if pushed by a stiff gust. Except there wasn’t any wind. Not even a hint of a breeze. Only one person could move inanimate objects without touching them. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Gabe was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding and watching, waiting for an opportunity to use his gift. She’d have a word with him later. She couldn’t allow him to take his frustration out on Anson.
She trotted the last few yards to the doorway. “Are you all right, Dr. Locke? Did you get hit?”
“I’m fine.” He collected the easel and set it back on its three legs. “Don’t know how the thing fell. I must have brushed against it and knocked it over.”
That wasn’t why the easel had fallen. But she couldn’t let him know the real reason. The truth would make his head reel.
She nodded. “It’s easy to miss in the dark.”
A shadow fell across the boardwalk, and a young girl filled the doorway. “I saw the easel fall,” she said. “Did anyone get hurt?”
It was Sally Hunt, Gabe’s sister. While he had the ability to move things with his mind, she used hers to send mental messages across vast distances. All she needed was to hold onto a personal object of the person she wanted to communicate with. A handy gift to have when time was of the essence.
“No one was hurt…” Anson retrieved the wedding placard that had skittered across the boardwalk. He brushed at a brown streak. “Except for this. I’m afraid it took the brunt of my clumsiness.”
Sally opened her mouth to respond, but Moira stopped her with a wag of her head. The girl reached for the placard. “It’s just a little dirt. Nothing a good dusting won’t fix. May I borrow your handkerchief, Doctor?”
“Certainly.” He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Perfect. I’ll see to cleaning this up. Why don’t you and Moira take a walk? It’s a nice night. Good for a stroll. There won’t be many more like this once winter sets in.”
Moira gave Sally a quelling look and formed a few select words in her head. Mischief-maker. Meddler.
Sally merely smiled. “Go on, you two. Enjoy. I’ll launder your handkerchief and return it to you later…if that’s all right with you, Dr. Locke?”
“That’s fine by me. Thank you for cleaning up my mess.” He held out his arm, crooked at the elbow. “I find I could use a bit of fresh air. How about you, Miss Devlin? Care to join me?”
It appeared she had no choice. It would be rude to refuse such a gentlemanly offer. She rested her hand on his arm. “I suppose a short walk wouldn’t hurt.” She hoped.
****
Silky skirts swished against his legs. A warm, tingling sensation travelled over his skin and settled in his groin. After Alice died, he didn’t think he would feel desire again. An empty numbness had taken hold and refused to let go. Yet this woman with her every touch, with her every breath, had awakened his body. He wanted her with an ache that left him reeling.
Using his free hand, he unbuttoned his jacket. The evening air seeped through his shirt and cooled his overheated skin. Perhaps he just suffered from desiring something that was unattainable. The curiosity. The excitement. The challenge of the chase. It was normal behavior after all. And last time he checked, he was human.
Their footfalls clicked softly on the wooden boardwalk. The street was well lit. But not by lamplight. Out in the back country, with no tall buildings or smog to block its luminescence, the moon shined as brightly as the dawning sun. It was soothing and easy on the eyes.
Speaking of easy on the eyes…he cut a glance at Moira. Moonlight played over her skin and danced on her lips. Her satin gown hugged every dip and curve. She was lovely and most desirable, there was no denying that. Had she felt the stirrings of passion as well? Her ebony eyes flamed when he’d pulled her close during the waltz. Her breaths had become short and uneven. Fright also caused such a reaction. Did she fear him? The thought sent daggers into his chest.
“Why did you leave so abruptly after our dance?” he asked. “Did I upset you? If so, I apologize.”
Her grip on his arm loosened and dropped away. Was she afraid of telegraphing her thoughts through her fingertips? He was a fair hand at reading people, but not that astute.
“You didn’t upset me. The meeting hall became too hot and stuffy. I simply needed some air.”
“Are you feeling better, then?”
Dangling ribbons twined in her hair bobbed. “Yes, much better. Fresh air is just what I needed.”
Her coloring looked normal. Her gait was even and steady. The only anomaly was the hoarseness in her voice. But that could be from taking in cool air too quickly after being overheated.
“Good. I wouldn’t want my best assistant to take ill.”
Her chuckle slid like a waterfall over his skin. “I’m your only assistant, Dr. Locke.”
“Indeed. One I am most grateful to have working by my side. Between the two of us, I have no doubt we will uncover the source of the arsenic.”
They reached a store window filled with pies and breads and various other baked goods. She slowed and ran a finger along the glass. “What if we don’t find the source? What then?”
“We’ll just continue to treat those who take ill as we have been doing. Have a little faith, Miss Devlin. We won’t give up until we find the source.”
She turned her face to him. He wanted to trace a finger over that silky skin. Set his lips to her mouth. Take her in his arms and cover her like a stud stallion.
“You must be a bull.”
He coughed around the cotton that had sprouted in his throat. “Pardon me?”
“From the star charts. When were you born?”
“In May. The fourteenth to be exact.”
Her pretty smile rivaled the moonlight. “I knew it. Taurus. The sign of the bull. Nel studies the star charts. She can tell a lot about people based on when they were born.”
“And what does being a Taurus say about me?”
“Let me see if I can remember…” She scrunched up her face and tapped a finger to her cheek. A few seconds later, her expression lightened. “Oh yes, I recall Nel did a reading for Timmy Rowe. He was a May baby. Children born under the sign of the bull are reliable, patient, and practical. They commit wholly to completing their tasks. That’s why you won’t give up on finding the source. And it’s what makes you such a wonderful doctor.”
It’s also what made him a horrible husband. His commitment to his profession took precedence over his marriage. And Alice had suffered for it. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Bachelordom was safer and much easier on the heart.
Gunderson’s livery stable loomed ahead. Four men had gathered at the main entrance. The faint hum of conversation and tobacco smoke rode the air.
“There appears to be others seeking fresh air as well,” he said.
She nodded. “And refreshments. Mr. Gunderson just took a swig from a crock jug. Moonshine whiskey, perhaps? I’ve heard talk of someone selling home-brewed spirits to the folks in town.”
“Mr. Hammock did ask if he could continue having his whiskey. But he didn’t mention which brand.”
Fingers drummed on his arm. “Perhaps this stroll will provide more than a restoration of our health. All four of those men have come into the office, complaining of stomach ailments. And all four are drinking from that jug. It could be the clue we’ve been searching for.”
It could very well be. But he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Practical and patient. Just like his star chart said.
“Let’s have a chat with them, shall we?” He cupped her elbow and guided her across the street. She might not want his assistance, but he wasn’t going to risk her safety. Even though the roadway was deserted, one never knew when a drink-addled rider could come barreling down the street. He’d treated many a patient who’d be
en unlucky enough to meet with such a disaster.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said when they reached the other side. “Enjoying a bit of fresh air?”
“We sure are.” Claude Gunderson glanced skyward. “It’s a good night for it. Not too warm, not too cold. In the sweet spot my Sarah would say.”
Anson gestured to the jug clutched in the livery owner’s hand. “And a good night for a drink as well, I see.”
“Just a little something to wet our whistles.”
The man looked healthy…as did the others. Normal pallor with just a touch of flushing, but that could be from the whiskey. “I take it you are feeling better after your pumpkin seed treatment?”
Moira had suggested the sickened men eat raw pumpkin seeds. The ruffage would purge their bowels and hopefully purge any lingering arsenic as well.
Gunderson nodded. “It helped some, but I still have stomach cramping. This here moonshine helps dull the ache.”
Anson eyed the other men. “Is this the same for the rest of you? Does this drink dull the pain?” At their nods, he held out his hand. “May I have a look?”
Gunderson handed him the jug. He poured a sample into his palm. Clear, with no sediment. He lifted his hand and sniffed. It smelled of slightly sweet corn. No chemicals. A perfect distillate.
“Did someone local brew this?”
“It came from right up there on the Shoehorn. Henry Jukes has a still on his property. Makes the best moonshine whiskey this side of the Mississippi.”
His skin prickled. It could be the answer they were looking for. “Can you provide directions to this Henry Jukes’ place? I’d like to visit. Have a look around. Ask him about his brewing process.”
Gunderson frowned and scratched his chin. “Don’t know about that. Henry ain’t too keen on visitors. Especially folks he don’t know.”
Skirts swished closer. “That won’t be a problem,” Moira said. “I know Mr. Jukes and where he lives.”
He turned and gave her a speculative look. He didn’t take her for the moonshine type. More apple brandy or a light port.
Her mouth scrunched into a delightful pout. “It’s not what you think. I was gathering witch hazel on the mountain last fall when I stumbled upon his place. It’s only about an hour’s ride from town. We can go together tomorrow.”
Go with the woman who aroused his body and clouded his mind? Curiosity, as was often quoted, killed the cat.
Chapter Eleven
Dark clouds hugged the horizon. They’d have to hurry if they wanted to beat the approaching weather. The temperature had dropped enough that they could expect snow or an icy rain. Either would put a damper on their trip, if not halt it altogether. The last thing she needed was to be trapped on the mountain with a man who turned her insides to porridge.
Anson Locke was far too keen-eyed and would surely notice any unseemly behavior. He would question her, just as he’d questioned her flight from the meeting hall after their dance. He thought he had upset her. He was partly right. He had upset her. He’d turned her world upside down. With his touch, with the rich timbre of his voice, with his scalpel-sharp intelligence. She couldn’t risk exposing her attraction to him. It would only complicate a tenuous relationship. They needed to focus on finding the source of the arsenic and saving the townsfolk from any further harm. Not on fruitless entanglements.
She reined her mount to a stop at the base of a steep incline. Witch hazel twined throughout a thicket of pines that paraded up the side of the slope. In its midst, a grizzled tree leaned on its neighbor as if returning from a night of drunken revelry. This was the right spot.
She pointed up the slope. “Mr. Jukes’ place is just over that rise. It would be easier if we leave the horses here and travel the rest of the way on foot.”
Anson cocked his head back and eyed the incline. “This Jukes fellow sure did pick a most inaccessible place to live. I see now why you suggested we wear more serviceable garments.”
She unhooked her leg from the sidesaddle and slid to the ground. The bulky jacket and heavy wool clothing would do more than keep him safe from the underbrush. It would also keep his lithe form hidden. The less distractions she had, the better.
“What do you know about Mr. Jukes?” He dismounted and led his horse closer. “How long has he lived up here?”
“When I spoke with him last year, he said he has lived on the mountain nearly half his lifetime. All alone, except for Miss Ruby.”
“Miss Ruby? Is he married?”
“No. That’s what he calls his donkey. He’s very fond of the animal. She’s like family to him.”
Anson looped his horse’s reins around a low-hanging tree branch. The gelding nosed into the foliage and began foraging. He gave the horse a pat. “That’s encouraging. Mr. Jukes must have some compassion in him to care so deeply for an animal. Perhaps it will give us an edge in gaining his trust and cooperation.”
“Perhaps. But, we should still be cautious.”
“Is he dangerous?”
She secured Dolly’s reins to a bush, yanking the knot tight. “Only if you threaten him or his brewing operation.”
“Well, I will make all attempts to put his mind at ease. I prefer to avoid digging bullets out of my own hide.”
A shiver skipped down her spine. As much as she wished Anson Locke out of her life, she didn’t wish him any harm. He was a good man. And a great doctor. The world would miss him. She ignored the voice yelling, as would she.
She gave Dolly a pat and turned toward the incline. It was going to be a tough climb, but it would be worth the effort if it provided the answer they were seeking.
“I’ll take the lead going up,” she said. “That way when we crest the hill, Mr. Jukes will see me first and hopefully remember my visit last year.”
“As much as I balk at the idea, your suggestion has merit. Take your time and be careful. If you need any help, I’ll be right behind you.”
Was he concerned because of his physician’s oath, or was there something more? Something deeper. Silly to be speculating on such a thing. There could be nothing between them. He was sophistication and education. She was earthy and plain. The two simply didn’t mix.
She gathered her skirts and began slogging up the hill. Heavy footfalls trailed behind her. He was close. Too close. She could almost feel his panting breaths warming her backside. All she had to do was make a misstep and she’d tumble into him. She shook off the notion of being held in his arms. Best to concentrate on climbing and avoid any calamities.
The top of the incline loomed ahead. She pushed over the edge and stopped at the edge of a small clearing. A wood-hewn cabin sat nestled in the center. The chimney was quiet. Nothing moved in or around the dwelling. The place was still as a cemetery.
She cupped hands to her mouth and called out, “Mr. Jukes? Are you here? It’s Miss Devlin, from town. I’ve come for a visit.”
The only reply was a fervent braying. Corralled in a pen just off from the cabin, Miss Ruby trotted frantically around the enclosure, nose in the air, hollering for all she was worth. Surely such a racket would bring Mr. Jukes running to find out what had his long-eared companion in a tizzy. Yet the cabin and surrounding woods remained still.
She crossed to the pen and leaned over the railing. Miss Ruby raced over and nuzzled her hand. Her tail flicked back and forth like the pendant on an overwound clock. Something was wrong. The few times she’d seen the donkey, it had been quite placid, almost indifferent.
Footfalls thumped behind her. “There’s no one here,” Anson said. “Mr. Jukes must be away on an errand.”
“He’s not close. That’s for certain. All this noise would have surely brought him running.”
“You sound concerned?”
She pointed to the empty water bucket. “If he planned to be gone for any amount of time, he wouldn’t have left Miss Ruby without any water. And her feed tub is dry as a bone. It’s not like him to mistreat her so.”
“Perhaps his erra
nd is taking longer than expected.” He reached over the pen and picked up the water bucket. “I’ll fill this from the water barrel I saw sitting by the wood shed. Then I’ll have a look around. See if there are any clues as to his whereabouts.”
She nodded. “Good idea. I’ll look inside his cabin.”
As she headed for the log hut, a light spattering of rain began to fall. Drat, she’d hoped the weather would hold off until they finished their task. If it wasn’t for bad luck, they’d have none at all.
She pulled the leather latch on the door and pushed inside. What little sunlight there was dribbled into the small, single-roomed shack. Two chairs flanked a table that held a half-eaten plate of food and a coffee tin. The fireplace was silent and dark. Not even a hint of a glow shined in the grate.
Worn, but clean, floor planks squeaked under her steps. She stopped in front of the fireplace and stooped, holding her hand over the ashes. Cold. He’d been gone for at least a day, if not more. And hastily, based on the clutter left on the table.
A quilt-covered cot sat near the hearth. A trunk rested at the foot with its lid raised. She didn’t want to snoop through his personal affects, but a quick peek wouldn’t hurt.
She crossed to the trunk. Inside was a folded stack of clothing, a pair of moccasins, and a heavy fur coat. He clearly planned to return, otherwise he would have taken his things with him.
“Miss Devlin,” Anson called out. “Come outside. I believe I have found our brewer.”
Good. Her examination of the cabin had only raised more questions. She ducked through the doorway and paused on the stoop. The clearing was empty. Miss Ruby stood in the pen with her nose sunk in the water bucket.
The surrounding woods were silent except for the occasional birdie-birdie call of a cardinal.
She turned in a circle. “Dr. Locke? Where are you?”
A movement near the woodpile caught her eye. Anson stepped from behind the stack, hand upraised. “I’m over here.”
She crossed to his side. He was alone. “Where is Mr. Jukes?”
