Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2)

by Margaret Madigan

  But he’d already accused me of murder, and as tempting as it was, I wouldn’t play into his taunts and become what he accused me of being. When it came down to it, he’d won. I couldn’t do anything without hurting Lydia or exposing my father to unwanted attention.

  My lungs constricted in my chest and the blackness of despair threatened to pull me under. Everything in me fought against admitting defeat. How could I let go of the one woman I’d ever loved? How could I leave her here with this monster? At the very least, I could wire Beth and tell her the circumstances. She’d come after Lydia. Randall had nothing to threaten her with. She could stand up to him and free Lydia. Beth would take her home.

  More than anything else, I needed to protect Lydia and my father from Randall Templeton. And from me.

  I looked down, and ground out the one word that hurt more than anything. “Fine.”

  Randall chuckled. “It’s not like there isn’t a world of women out there for you to choose from, and most of them are a hell of a lot more appealing than Lydia. Honestly, I don’t even know why you’d bother with her. I mean, even one of the savages would have been a more interesting way to pass the time.”

  I shot up from my seat and turned on my heel to leave the room without saying a word, because if I stayed I’d be damned about the consequences, and there’d be no doubt about my being a murderer.

  I’d lost my way. I went to church in Palmer, and said my prayers before bedtime every night, but it had become just something I did. I didn’t accept it in my heart.

  While I sat in the quiet church, lit only by a few candles at the altar, I started my journey back.

  “Lord, you and I haven’t seen eye to eye for a while,” I said.

  I’d started the night reciting scripture, and going through the motions of worship. But somewhere deep in the secret part of the night, I’d dozed. I must have slept a couple of hours because I woke, groggy and unguarded, right before sunrise, and started talking to God instead of praying.

  “When Father sold me in marriage, and Randall refused to bring me home, I was mad at you. I thought you’d betrayed me.”

  I watched the candles as they guttered and went out one by one, until I sat under a blanket of darkness.

  “I grew up terrified of you. I did what Father told me because he’d put the fear of God in me from as far back as I can remember. I was more afraid of you than Lucifer.”

  I sighed a soft laugh at my childhood fears. I’d imagined God lurking after me, watching my every move, keeping a record of my every word, and judging each and every one. I figured Lucifer was easy to recognize and reject, but there were so many rules to follow in order for God to love me. I knew for sure I’d break one and damn my soul to hell.

  “When I was left alone in Nevada, I didn’t think you cared about me. I didn’t understand how I could work so hard to hold up my end of the relationship, and you’d still let that happen to me. So I just went through the motions as a habit.”

  Warm, wet tears trickled down my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I was crying. “It wasn’t until I met Emmett—well, when we fell in love, really—that I realized you hadn’t forsaken me after all.”

  One of the candles suddenly came to life on the altar, and for just a moment, I thought God had done it, acknowledging my gratitude, but then the light flickered on Randall’s face as he lit several more candles.

  “Don’t be so quick to come to that conclusion, Lydia.”

  I swiped the tears from my face. “What conclusion?”

  “That Emmett Wilder is a gift from God. What if he’s a temptation sent from Satan?”

  He blew out the match and came to sit in the pew in front of me. Sinister shadows rippled over the contours of his face. I had to suppress a shudder.

  “What if,” he continued, “God watched the whole time, and when you fell for the bait, that’s when he actually abandoned you.”

  “What are you talking about? Emmett is not a test from either God or Satan.”

  “You may think differently when you learn that he left.”

  Gooseflesh rose on my skin, and I thought I might be sick. “What do you mean?”

  I couldn’t tell with the candles behind him and most of his face in shadow, but Randall seemed to be smiling. “I mean, he stopped by this morning and we talked. He said after sleeping on it, he didn’t want you after all.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Ever since we’d been married, Emmett losing interest in me had been my biggest fear. But Randall’s words were far too flippant to take seriously.

  “I’m sorry, Lydia. That was ill-mannered of me. Please forgive me. I’ve never been fond of Emmett Wilder, so I’m happy to see the back of him.”

  My heart stuttered, and I had to close my eyes and swallow a couple of times to before I could speak again. “He’s gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?” My throat tightened so I had to force the words out.

  “That’d he’d made a mistake. In the light of the real world, he realized you were better off without him, and that he really preferred a solitary, bachelor life.”

  Randall shrugged, as if he hadn’t just pulled the rug out from under my life.

  “But he told me he loved me.”

  “Lydia, men will say anything when they think it will get a woman in their bed.” He held up a hand, preventing me from responding. “I’m sorry to be so crude. I’m usually more gentle with ladies, but you need to understand how this is a good thing.”

  By now tears poured down my face, falling onto my hands in my lap. “How is this a good thing?” My heart stuttered and I thought it might shrivel and die in my chest, while the rest of me went on living in misery.

  “It’s better you find out what kind of man he is now, before you actually married him.”

  If what Randall said was true, I had no idea what kind of man he really was. I’d thought he was decent, kind, loyal, and that he loved me. He’d told me he loved me, and I trusted him.

  “He’s a good man. You’re lying to me. You have to be.”

  “I really am sorry,” he said, and by the soft, solicitous tone of his voice, I almost believed him. “But he’s not a good man, and he’s the one who lied to you. He used you; took advantage of you for a wild, adventurous tryst before returning to his real life.”

  A sob escaped my lips, and I covered my mouth to keep the rest of them inside until I could be alone.

  “You’re a naive woman, Lydia, not a woman of the world. You’re too trusting. The first man who comes along who says he loves you, you believe him.”

  “No. It can’t be true. I’ll talk to him myself. Clear things up.”

  “You will not. I forbid it.”

  I sat up straight and cocked my head in confusion. “You can’t forbid me. I’m a grown woman. I need to hear the words directly from him.”

  “Lydia,” his voice had added firmness. “He’s a bad man. I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but aside from the way he treated you, he’s a charlatan and a murderer.”

  I waved the information away. “I know all about that.”

  “He told you he killed a woman and her baby?”

  I froze. “What?” I whispered.

  “After the war. He attended a woman in childbirth. He was drunk and when she didn’t deliver fast enough for him, he sliced her open to get the whole thing over with more quickly. I suppose the bottle called out to him. It was a tragedy, really. And worse, his senator father used his connections to cover the whole thing up. Poor husband.”

  Emmett had told me about a woman dying, that she would have died anyway. Could he have lied to me, telling me only what he wanted me to hear? Or was Randall the one manipulating the story? It was too much information. I didn’t know what to believe.

  “I need to talk to him. I need to hear the truth from him.”

  “No. You will not see him again.”

  “But I need to understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understa
nd. He left. He decided he didn’t want you after all. Maybe he realized there are plenty of less ordinary women in the world, and he’d be better off finding one of them to wake up with every morning.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as his words struck home.

  “That man,” he said, “is nothing but a vile, contemptible, murdering fraud. You’re better off here with me and the church and God. And eventually, once you’ve atoned for this whole debacle, I’ll find you a proper husband.”

  I couldn’t hold back anymore. Dropping my face into my hands, I curled up on the pew and sobbed.

  I lost track of time, and when I woke, the golden light of the late afternoon sun shone through the stained glass windows.

  My head throbbed from crying so hard for so long. I tried to swallow past my dry throat, and barely managed some saliva. I didn’t really care. Dried tears tightened the skin of my cheeks, and my toes tingled from laying in the same position for too long, but I didn’t care.

  When my stomach rumbled, I whispered, “shut up.” I didn’t want to eat, maybe never again. I just wanted to lie there and die, a little bit at a time.

  I pulled my coat closer around me, shrinking as far inside it as possible.

  “Why?” I asked God. “You made me what I am, the way I look, but I still have a heart. I’ve always followed the rules, done what I was told. Nobody’s ever loved me.” I snorted at the irony. “There are dogs more loved than me. Horses. Criminals. Whores. Why not me?”

  Of course he didn’t answer. Why should he? I was nobody. Father made sure I knew that a long time ago. I’d prepared myself for a life alone, and had found a form of happiness I could live with. I should have known better than to expose my heart and risk disappointment. Now I’d have to pay the price.

  I sat up and took a deep breath, then another one. “Why should he get to just walk away? He should have to look me in the eyes and tell me himself he doesn’t want me.”

  I’d make him face the consequences of his actions and see the results of his thoughtless behavior, and maybe show him I’d be fine without him, maybe even better off; although I didn’t know if I could pull that off.

  I crunched back to the house through the snow, in the rays of the afternoon sun. When I closed the back door behind me, I hung my coat on a hook just inside. The savory smell of cooking meat wafted from the kitchen. The smell made my stomach rumble that much louder, reminding me I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

  “That smells heavenly,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. Short, round Mrs. Jackson stood at the stove, her gray hair held back by a scarf, and a crisp, white apron covering her dress. Her blue eyes twinkled when she saw me.

  “Come in, dear. You look like you could use a hot meal.”

  I imagined I looked as haggard as I felt. “It’s been a long several days. I’m just tired and hungry.”

  She sliced a hunk of bread from a nearby loaf and handed it to me. “To hold you over.”

  I smiled and accepted it, gratefully. “So you keep Randall fed?” I asked, shoving the warm, delicious bread in my mouth.

  She huffed a soft laugh. “I cook for him every night and keep the house.”

  “Are you a member of the church?”

  “Yes. My husband passed several years ago, and when Mr. Randall took over the church he hired me.”

  “Well, this bread is wonderful, and whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

  “Thank you. Supper will be ready shortly.”

  “Is Randall home?”

  “He’s in his study.” She tutted in a concerned voice. “That man works so hard.”

  “I look forward to supper, Mrs. Jackson.”

  I made my way through the dining room and parlor, back into the foyer. I wanted to sneak past Randall’s office and up the stairs without him noticing, but the floorboards creaked under my feet.

  “Lydia?”

  I sighed. I didn’t want to face his self-righteous smile, or hear him say he’d told me so.

  “I’m going upstairs to tidy up for supper,” I called to him from the bottom stair.

  “Come in for a moment.” A command, not a request.

  I smoothed my hair and straightened my glasses before entering his office. “What?”

  He sat at his desk, a huge Bible open nearby while he took notes. He must have been writing a sermon. If he was anything like Father, he’d be a mesmerizing preacher.

  I took a seat in an armchair near the fireplace. I welcomed the warmth of the crackling fire after sitting overnight in the drafty church.

  Before he could launch into whatever he meant to say, I asked, “How did Mother die?”

  He ignored my question, because of course what he had to say was more important. He was a man, after all, and I was just a woman.

  “There’s no need for you to be moping around here. I have plenty of work for you to do now that Mother’s gone. As I recall, you always had a head for numbers. I’ll start familiarizing you with the books first thing tomorrow morning. This evening, you can help Mrs. Jackson.”

  I almost told him okay, because what else could I do? He needed me, and if I could help, I should. It was my responsibility. But I was weary—from crying, from heartbreak, from being taken advantage of by the men in my life—and because Randall planned to use me as certainly as Emmett had.

  “I asked you a question, Randall, and I would appreciate an answer.”

  He’d already gone back to writing, expecting, without a second thought, that his orders would be carried out. When he looked up at me, I almost laughed at the confusion on his face. I doubted anyone had ever disobeyed him before.

  “What did you say?”

  “I want to talk about Mother. How did she die? How long has she been gone?”

  His lips thinned and his nostrils flared, and an image of Father flashed suddenly in my mind. I hadn’t thought about it for years, but that was the exact expression on Father’s face when he got mad at Mother, just before he slapped her across the face. I never saw what happened after that because I always ran and hid, but I heard enough to know it didn’t end with one slap.

  “Oh, God,” I said, the connection clicking in my mind. “Did you hit her?”

  He stood and rounded the desk until he towered over me. Using my hands on the arms of the chair, I pushed myself up. He was so close, he crowded the space between us.

  “Don’t get fresh with me, Lydia. You won’t like the consequences.”

  I smoothed the front of my dress, then looked him in the face.

  “Did Mother get fresh with you?”

  “Don’t pretend you cared about her. She certainly didn’t care about you.”

  “Did you ever ask her? Did you even care what she thought, or what she felt about me, or you, or anything? Or was she just another resource to you?”

  “You didn’t used to be so impertinent.”

  “I’m not the same woman I was when you and Father shipped me off to marry a stranger.”

  “I’m sure I can break you of that.”

  I realized, then, that no matter how things turned out with Emmett, I couldn’t stay with Randall. He was as unstable as Father had been, and I couldn’t live that kind of life. I wasn’t my Mother, at least not anymore. As it turned out, sending me away—even if I’d been rejected and struggled to survive—had saved me from being just like her. It had given me the strength to leave now and not suffer her fate.

  “You won’t have the chance.”

  I tried to step around him, but he clamped his hand around my upper arm, squeezing until I winced.

  “Oh, why’s that?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Going running back to that worthless killer?”

  I snorted. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

  His eyes glittered with rage. “How dare you insinuate…”

  “What? That you murdered your own mother?” I didn’t know if that’s what really happened, but I hadn’t lived with Randall
for a long time. He’d had a temper before, and if he’d taken after Father, believing he had the right to hit the women in his life, it wasn’t such a leap to think he’d done it to Mother. If he was capable of that, he could easily lie about Emmett. What had really happened between them?

  “How old was Mother, Randall? Sixty? You killed an old woman. Why? What did she do to deserve it? She didn’t step to fast enough? Didn’t bow deep enough? Didn’t kiss your boots?”

  His hand came out of nowhere. I heard the crack of it on my cheek before I even felt the sting. The force of it sent me flying backward into the chair.

  Tears sprung to my eyes from the burn, but I stood again, shoe to shoe with him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

  “If I have to.” The words were cold and lifeless and scared the hell out of me. I needed to leave, find Emmett.

  Then it occurred to me, “You lied about Emmett, didn’t you?”

  I should have just let it go. If I left and found Emmett, I could just ask him. The way Randall heaved deep breaths, he looked like a bull ready to charge a red cape. But something inside me snapped. I was done being weak and mousy, and letting people walk all over me, especially the men in my family.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said.

  I poked him in the chest, and he grunted. “You most certainly do. My life belongs to me, not you. I’m not about to be your servant, and I’ll never marry some man just because he pays you and you say so.” I put both my hands on his chest and shoved him. He stumbled back a step. Not very impressive, but I made him move. “Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

  I took a couple of steps past him, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. Only a few more steps and I’d be in the foyer and I could yank the front door open and run.

  At the office door I looked up and saw Mrs. Jackson in the parlor, heading our way, most likely coming to tell us supper was ready. I reached out for her and opened my mouth to warn her, but before I could, Randall lunged for me and snatched a handful of my hair. Randall didn’t see her, but Mrs. Jackson saw what he did, and the last I saw of her was her eyebrows shooting up and her mouth forming a round O right before she flung her hand over it. Just as she spun on her heel, I lost sight of her because, Randall, in a surprisingly fluid motion, swung me around behind him, throwing me to the floor. The arm of the chair gouged my ribs, and I rolled on the floor until my head struck the stone hearth.