Her attention flitted back to the doctor, who still watched her with that soft sorrow in his gaze. She forced strength into her voice. “What’s she got?”
He rubbed a hand over his face slowly. “It’s…” He gave a little motion in the general direction of the whore house. “From her…time working for Hunt.”
Aurora’s jaw clenched. So not only had Mr. Hunt made Ma’s life a living hell these last few years, but he’d killed her too. And she would be next.
The time had come for the doctor to leave and she suddenly realized that she didn’t have a cent to pay him with. Chagrin weighed down her head. “I don’t have any money to pay you. I’m sorry.”
The latches on his bag made a soft clicking sound. “Please don’t worry yourself. I certainly didn’t become a doctor for the money. Or the hours.” Those last words were accompanied by an expansive yawn and a wink of gentle humor.
Aurora couldn’t help but give him a little smile in return. She liked the man, despite the bad news he’d just shared. “I’ll try to make it up to you, sometime.”
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed. Just before ducking out the door he paused. “Send word once she expires and I’ll fill out the appropriate papers.”
Expires. Such a final word. Aurora nodded.
He gave her a tip of his head, and then disappeared into the evening gloam.
Flynn sent up a prayer for Aurora McClure as he mounted his horse and turned its head toward Wyldhaven.
A weight hung heavy in his chest. The girl was in for a rough time of it. John Hunt and his kind did nothing but steal, kill, and destroy—much like the Good Book said of the devil. In fact, “devil” would be an apt description for the man and his cronies. Without money, and carrying her mother’s debt to the man—something Hunt always seemed to have on his side in situations like this—what would the girl’s chances be? The law would be in Hunt’s favor, hard as that seemed to imagine.
If only Flynn weren’t already run off his feet, he would start a home to help Aurora and girls like her. But only last month he’d put himself flat in bed for a full week because he’d overworked himself and gone for too long without any sleep. He’d collapsed from exhaustion—thankfully just as he’d arrived at the diner where he now lived with his wife Dixie and her first husband’s mother, Rose. But he had scared ten years off of Dixie’s life, to hear her tell it, and she’d been harping on him ever since not to work so hard.
He wished he could listen to her demands, but there was little he could do about the number of hours he was putting in. The region could use two, if not three more doctors. He’d sent letters to as many people as he could think of—former colleagues, medical schools, and hospitals—asking for doctors to come, but until the Lord laid the region on someone’s heart and they decided to take his appeals seriously, he remained on his own. One doctor with fifty square miles of patients. And many of those miles housed people living in the dangerous and illness-inducing conditions of the logging camps.
But no matter his level of exhaustion, it wasn’t conscionable to stand by and do nothing when he knew that predator John Hunt would pounce on a girl like Aurora the moment her mother passed. He sighed. For tonight, she would be fine. But he should go to Parson Clay and see what could be done. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d at least asked the parson to check in on her.
With a click of his tongue, he urged his mount into a trot. Dixie would have fresh biscuits and stew waiting when he got home. Then he’d have a hot bath, and hopefully get a few hours of sleep tonight—instead of the two he’d gotten last night—before someone came banging on his door.
The road wound through the rolling hills which as recently as last year had been thickly forested, but now had been stripped of timber. With the growing populations all the way down the coast to California needing lumber, Zebulon Heath had bought into the timber industry at just the right time. The bare hills appeared desolate right now, but in fifteen years they would be covered with new growth fifteen to thirty feet tall.
A herd of deer grazed about halfway up one of the hills and Flynn enjoyed the sight of the graceful creatures. Munching from a patch of green grass, they watched him attentively with wide curious gazes, but didn’t seem inclined to flee—until the first shot rang out.
Flynn froze. His horse whickered and danced in agitation. Scanning the hills around him as the deer bounded over the crest of the rise, he tried to assess where the shot had come from. It wasn’t close. Nor directed at him. Another shot—and this time he could tell it came from down the road a bit.
Near Liora’s new place! The realization shook him.
“Get up.” He kicked his heels into his mount and set out at a gallop down the road. When he got closer to the house, he led his bay off to one side of the road, ground-hitched him, and then, taking his rifle, soft-footed it to the top of the ridge that would give him a good look down on Liora’s place.
Smoke spiraled from her chimney, and nothing seemed to be out of place in the yard… except that Joe Rodante’s Paint was staked in a field several paces from the cabin. What was he doing here at this time of evening? Maybe Liora had invited him for a meal as thanks for all he’d done to help her build this place? At any rate, everything appeared normal.
Flynn frowned. Had the shots really been coming from here?
A curtain at one of the cabin windows moved and another shot rang out. Dust puffed from the log wall just to the right of the window. The curtain went still.
Flynn flinched and scrutinized the area where a flare of light gave away the shooter’s location. Someone had Liora pinned down in her cabin. And likely Joe Rodante, too. Who could it be and what did they want? Liora wouldn’t hurt a fly, and Joe was a fair and upstanding lawman.
Flynn pondered what to do. He could stay here and try to scare off whoever was taking the pot shots. Or he could ride for town, where Sheriff Callahan and Marshal Zane Holloway would know better what to do. They had more experience with this sort of thing and could be back inside an hour. But what if they arrived too late? He scrubbed at his eyes, wishing he’d managed to get more than a couple hours of sleep last night.
Giving himself a shake, he scrambled back down the hill to his horse and retrieved his binoculars from his saddlebag. Back at the crest, he scanned the hill across the way where he’d seen the flash of light. Sure enough, a man lay on his belly, sighting down his rifle toward the cabin.
On a hunch, Flynn methodically scanned the rest of the surroundings. He found two more men, and with the terrain being what it was, there were probably more.
Flynn dropped the binoculars and considered the angle of the sun. Whoever these men were, they likely wouldn’t attack until full-on dark. And he could be to town and back with Reagan, Zane, and a posse of men before that time. But only just.
Decision made, he hurried to his mount and set it at a gallop toward town.
And as he rode, he reminded himself not to forget to mention Aurora’s situation to Parson Clay.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Charlotte Brindle sat correcting papers at Jacinda Callahan’s dining table. She sighed in irritation as she realized that she’d just read the opening line to Zoe Kastain’s paper about the current state of politics in Washington DC for probably the sixth time without really reading it.
She couldn’t concentrate for her curiosity over Reagan’s strange behavior this evening.
This morning on their ride out to the camps to solicit funds for the boardwalk project, he’d seemed fine. Acted like his usual self.
But then, after they’d talked to Joe about Liora going to Camp Sixty-Five and Joe had leapt from the carriage and taken off as though someone had lit a fire under him, Reagan had turned suddenly pensive. And when he’d dropped her off at his mother’s house, instead of coming in for a piece of pie, as was his usual habit, he’d barely even offered a parting word before leaving her standing on the top step of the porch to see herself inside.
And the
n he hadn’t arrived for dinner. That wasn’t uncommon, because his work often took him away from town at odd hours, but combined with everything else, it made Charlotte uneasy.
Had she done or said something wrong? She’d racked her thoughts and come up empty.
Ever since Mr. Heath had given them permission to court, nigh on a year and a half ago now, Charlotte felt like her relationship with Reagan had grown comfortable and easy. She loved that he accepted her without trying to change her. He’d even said he understood that she wasn’t ready to give up teaching yet to become a wife and mother.
But had she held him off for too long? Had he decided to pursue someone else? If so, she really had no idea who it might be because he’d given her no reason to doubt his loyalty at all over the last years. Which brought her full circle to her puzzlement over what had suddenly changed about his attitude today.
She sighed and set the papers aside. Perhaps a cup of tea would help.
In the kitchen, she filled the kettle and nudged it closer to the center of the stove, then added a few small sticks of wood to the firebox and blew on the coals below them until she had a good fire going. Just as she reached for the tea cannister, Jacinda breezed into the kitchen.
“There you are. Someone is here to see you.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “In the parlor. I’ll finish up the tea.”
Charlotte frowned. “Who—”
But Jacinda cut her off with an uplifted palm. “I’ll join you in just a few minutes.” She turned her back before Charlotte could get a good read on her expression.
Curious over her behavior, Charlotte made her way to the parlor and cautiously peered around the door casing.
Reagan paced before the fire in the fireplace, one hand working at the muscles along the back of his neck.
Charlotte’s dread mounted. There really was something wrong. What had she done? Hands smoothing the pleats on the skirt of her dress, she stepped into the room. “Good evening.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.
Reagan spun to face her. One hand remained at the back of his neck, the other dropped against his hip. “Evening.” He nodded.
Silence settled between them. His gaze bored into hers. He obviously had something to say but couldn’t quite decide where to start.
Charlotte worried her lower lip. This tension between them was a strange new thing. “Reagan, I feel I may have done something to upset—”
With two swift strides, he stood before her and took her hand, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m bumbling this rather badly.” His fingers curled around hers, broad and blunt. Warm and oh-so-familiar.
Charlotte felt her brow lower. “Bumbling what?”
Reagan glanced up toward the ceiling, then down toward his boots—everywhere but right at her.
“Reag—”
He dropped to one knee and reached for something in the pocket of his shirt, finally focusing directly on her.
Charlotte’s eyes barely had time to widen before a loud banging practically shook the house. “Sheriff?! You in there? It’s me, Doc!”
Reagan glanced from Charlotte to the parlor door and then back again, lips twisted in frustration.
In the entryway, the outer door creaked open and then Jacinda gasped. “Land sakes, Doc, that horse looks done in.”
“Rode pretty hard to get here. Is Reagan inside? McGinty said he saw him heading this way a bit ago.” Doc’s words grew progressively louder, likely because Jacinda had admitted him entrance.
Reagan sighed and held up one finger to Charlotte. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He clambered to his feet and strode toward the entrance.
Charlotte realized that she had one hand pressed to her chest and dropped it to her side. She felt all aflutter inside. Had he really been about to ask… Yes. He had. Was she ready for that?
She paced to the fireplace and took up the poker, then prodded at the wood. A shower of orange sparks shot up and rose through the chimney. Her hand trembled, but she kept prodding.
It would mean giving up teaching. But somehow, she suddenly knew she would be just fine with that. She truly did love her students, but the truth was that lately she’d been dreaming about what it might be like to have little boys at her skirts with soft blue eyes just like Reagan’s. Or maybe a little girl in pigtails with her own slightly upturned nose and green eyes.
Charlotte felt a burn in her cheeks that had nothing to do with her proximity to the fire. She thrust the poker back into its holder and settled one hand over the flutter in her belly. She reminded herself to breathe. She didn’t want to faint from excitement, or bring on a breathing attack, before the poor man had even had the chance to ask her.
She forced herself to tune in to the conversation taking place in the entry.
“I don’t know,” Doc said. “But it looked like real trouble. I think we better hightail it back there with as many men as we can raise right away.”
“All right. Get Zane from the boardinghouse, and as many trustworthy men from McGinty’s as are willing to help. Then, meet me at the livery. I need five more minutes here.”
Doc must have agreed silently, because the next thing Charlotte heard was the house door clicking shut.
She smoothed her skirt and tugged at her sleeves.
Reagan stepped back through the door, a “V” of concern furrowing his brow.
“Trouble?” She moistened her dry lips.
He nodded. “Some trouble is brewing out at Liora’s new place. I need to ride out there right away. But first”—a hint of humor relaxed his face and softened his eyes—“I want to finish what I started.”
Charlotte couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “I really wish you would.”
His face turned immediately serious. “Do you?”
“I do.” She willed him to believe her with a look that must have done the job, because he strode toward her and dropped to one knee before her once again.
“Charlotte,” he pulled a gold band from the pocket of his shirt, “I’ve been thinking on this for some time, but then today when Joe went off halfcocked the moment he heard Liora might need his help…well… I’m not exactly sure what it was about it that made me realize I didn’t want to spend another day without you by my side, but it did. I know I’m not the richest man in these parts, nor am I likely the one most worthy of your devotion, but I promise you that for all our days I will do my best to love you and to put your needs before my own. And it would be my great honor if you would agree to be my wife.”
And Charlotte couldn’t help a chuckle, because despite the fact that she’d only a moment ago reassured him that she wanted his proposal, a tight uncertainty still lingered around his eyes.
She bent forward and took his face in both her hands. “Yes, Reagan Callahan. The honor would be all mine.”
His face broke into the hugest of grins. He gave her a quick peck of a kiss and then reached for her hand and slid the ring into place.
She examined it as he stood to his feet. “Isn’t this supposed to wait until the ceremony?”
He waved away her concern. “I want all the men in these parts to know that you are spoken for and that they’d better keep their distance.” He grinned and tugged her close for a lingering kiss, settling his hands at the small of her back.
Charlotte savored the feel of his lips working over hers, the strength of his arms around her, the feel of his heart pulsing beneath her palms. If only they could stay this way forever, but she knew he needed to get going, so she pushed back from him, but only far enough to admire the ring sparkling on her hand where it rested against his chest. After a moment, she looked up. “I love you, Reagan.”
He stroked her cheek with the pad of one thumb. “As do I you, Charlotte. You blew into my world like a tornado, but I find that I’ve rather come to enjoy the sensation of mountain-uprooting winds.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and smacked him gently but firmly. “Oh, do go on with you.”
&
nbsp; One lid lowered in a conspiratorial wink. “I wish I didn’t have to, but I do need to get. Be all right if I come by for breakfast in the morning?”
Charlotte raised up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick goodbye kiss. “I’ll look forward to it. And please be careful?”
He reached for his Stetson where it lay on the side chair. “I always am, darlin’. Don’t you worry any about me.”
And with that he exited, leaving her staring dreamily at her left hand in the parlor.
Joe paced from one window in the cabin to another, trying to see from which direction Hunt would likely mount his main attack. Thankfully, enough light still shone outside that Hunt and his men wouldn’t be able to see into the cabin past the glass, but that only gave the slimmest of benefits in this situation. He remained careful to keep to the side of the windows in case one of them decided to just start blasting away—and he was wary not to bump the curtains because clearly they were aiming at anything that moved. He’d instructed the women to do the same.
He currently had Tess stationed in the last bedroom down the hall, watching the back of the house.
No more shots had come since a few minutes after he and Liora had made it into the house, but that seemed only prudent. Hunt’s men knew they had them pinned down and were conserving ammunition. Nothing would pierce the log walls of the cabin.
After assessing the terrain surrounding them, Joe figured Hunt’s men would just wait till dark, when one of them would sneak up to the southwest corner of the cabin where there were no windows, and no line of site from inside the house. They would light a fire and smoke them out.
And blast if he could figure out a way to prevent it.
The only solution he’d come to was that they were going to have to make a run for it the moment it grew dark enough. If they were lucky, the moon would be hidden by some cloud cover and the men wouldn’t see them. Once he had the women to safety, maybe he’d even be able to soft-foot through the dark and catch the thugs off guard, one by one. And if further luck was on their side, he might even be able to save Liora’s cabin. But if they were unlucky and the moon shone unhindered, they would be doing good to escape with their lives.
Beauty from Ashes (Wyldhaven Book 3) Page 7
