by Debra Cowan
She had been pregnant then. She hadn’t known it, but Matt believed she had. He had cornered her in the cemetery for the sole purpose of getting her to admit it.
She still hurt over that so she understood the pain, the betrayal in his blue eyes when he learned about the baby’s marker. Even so, she refused to feel badly about not telling him. He had neither supported her nor acknowledged their baby, and his offer of comfort now didn’t hold any water with her.
For the past two days she had tried to keep her thoughts from him. Besides purchasing a mare and riding to outlying ranches to check a couple of patients, she had read further about the tumor she suspected to be on his father’s spine. She had also spent hours comparing the impression of Matt’s wounds to different implements in Haskell’s mercantile. So far, she had been unable to identify the weapon.
Now, just after noon, she went looking for and found Quentin Prescott outside The Prairie Caller’s office. In addition to laying type for the newspaper, he also kept bees and supplied honey to all of Whirlwind and Fort Greer.
After using so much on Matt’s wounds, she needed to replenish her stock.
“I’ll gather fresh honey in the morning and bring it over.” The brother of her deceased best friend was crippled and in a wheelchair courtesy of a shoot-out with his former brother-in-law, Jake Ross. “Thank you.”
Though still whip-lean, Quentin had put on weight since Annalise’s return. His sun-burnished features were sharp, but the cruelty she had noticed in his dark eyes when she had first returned was gone. “How are things going?”
“Very well.” When she didn’t have to be in the same vicinity as Matt Baldwin.
“Seeing a lot of patients?”
“I’m keeping busy. I guess you are, too, what with both your jobs.”
Quentin nodded. Before his injury, the man had laid track for the railroad. While his job for the newspaper was quite a change from that, he still had a hard muscular torso and arms. His frame was more streamlined now, but just as strong.
He had shaved off his thin dark mustache, and his coal-black hair, while still neatly trimmed, was longer than Annalise could remember ever seeing it.
She wondered if he was still bitter about his injury. They hadn’t talked about it since her return. “Have you thought any more about letting me take a look at your leg?”
Something indefinable flashed in his dark eyes. “I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure I want to do it.”
“If you change your mind, you know where I am.” She smiled.
“I do.” His eyes warmed. “I saw you coming from the cemetery the other day. Matt, too.”
Annalise tensed. Had he seen them kissing? She steered the conversation away from the two of them. “Do you still ride out to Jake’s to visit Delia’s and the baby’s graves every week?”
“No, not every week. I’m trying to move on. You’re not the only one who’s said I should.”
The shadow that crossed his features at the mention of his sister had Annalise reaching out to touch his shoulder. She was glad to see he allowed it. There had been a time when he wouldn’t have welcomed anyone’s touch or advice. “Do you still blame Jake for Delia’s death?”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he answered, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve learned some things about Delia, things Jake should’ve been told, but wasn’t.”
“Do you mean like her never telling him about the doctor’s warning that it was too risky for her to have a child?”
Squinting against the sun, the man nodded. “Did she tell you that?”
“No. I asked her straight out and she ignored the question. That was my answer right there.”
He nodded in agreement. “As much as I hate to admit it, I know if Jake had been aware of Delia’s secret, he would’ve done anything in his power to keep her from conceiving.”
“Do you still blame him for putting you in this wheelchair?”
“I admit I provoked him. He only returned fire because I almost put a bullet in his head. It’s hard to let it go, but I’m trying.”
“That’s good.”
His gaze went past her then returned. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Is there anything going on between you and Matt?”
A sudden burst of skittishness had her wanting to say goodbye. “Anything like what?”
“You seem to be avoiding him.”
“He’s not in town enough for me to avoid him,” she said drolly.
Her friend just looked at her, obviously aware she was trying to dodge the subject. He took her hand. “I saw you at his brother’s wedding. I thought the two of you might—”
“No.” She shoved away the memory of their kiss. “That’ll happen when Sunday is the day after Wednesday.”
His dark gaze scrutinized her. “That was over a long time ago, huh?”
“Yes.” Annalise had to push the word past her suddenly tight throat. Thankfully, Quentin didn’t appear to have seen what had happened between her and Matt at the cemetery.
Her friend brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right.” She squeezed his hand then started back toward her clinic. Just as she passed Haskell’s, Andrew Donnelly jumped down from the porch and ran to her.
“Doc!”
“Hi, Andrew.” She smiled at the boy, who was flushed with excitement.
His sister-by-marriage, Deborah Blue, walked out of the mercantile with Bram Ross. The dark-haired rancher said something to make Deborah laugh as they stepped into the street.
“What are you all doing in town today?” Annalise shaded her eyes from the sun. She hadn’t expected to be out this long so she hadn’t worn a bonnet.
Bram thumbed back his cowboy hat, turning serious. “More cattle were stolen from our place and the Baldwins’ last night. I came to report it to Davis Lee.”
“But,” Andrew said with an impish look at the couple, “He saw Deborah in the store and got sidetracked.”
The young woman laughed, sharing a warm smile with Bram.
“Guilty.” The big man grinned. “In fact, I rode to town with Matt, but I don’t see him anywhere. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”
“No.” And she planned to keep it that way. “Why aren’t you in school, Andrew?”
“The teacher let me take my lunch with Bram, so he could go with me to Ef’s. I just got my first pair of spurs!” The boy lifted a foot and turned it to the side so she could see the way the spur fitted his boot. “Bram said I need ’em if I’m gonna help him run cattle. He helped me tell Ef what I wanted. I paid for them with money I made doing chores for you.”
“Hmm, those are pretty fancy.” She gave a mock frown. “Maybe I’m paying you too much.”
“Oh, no, ma’am!” The look of alarm on the boy’s face had the adults laughing.
Flashing a good-natured grin, he knelt and removed one spur. He rose, stepping over to Annalise. “See these buttons on the heel band here? They have my initials on them.”
She looked closer at the piece. “You say Ef made them?”
“Yeah.” The boy flicked his finger down the toothed rowel, making it spin.
“He does excellent work.” She knew he had done all the iron work for the Fontaine’s balcony. Annalise smiled at Deborah. “Are you still thinking about getting your teaching certificate?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I wish you’d consider becoming a nurse or a doctor. You have a way with people. You’d make a good one.”
“I’ve told her the same thing.” Bram smiled warmly at the woman next to him.
Deborah gave him a look of affectionate exasperation. “You say that about anything I want to do.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Bram’s blue eyes twinkled.
Annalise could tell the rancher was stupid in love with the young woman. She’d once been that stupid in love with Matt.
“We were heading over to the Fontaine for s
ome lunch,” Bram said. “Would you like to join us?”
Andrew set his rowel to spinning again, giving her a toothy grin. “Miz Naomi’s supposed to have her special chocolate cake.”
“That sounds delicious.” Ef’s wife oversaw the cooking at the hotel. “But I’d better get on to my clinic.”
“I guess that means I have to go back to school now,” the boy grumbled.
She smiled down at him, her attention again caught by the sun glinting off the still-turning wheel. “Are you allowed to wear your spurs in the classroom?”
“No, ma’am. Mr. Tucker says we aren’t to scratch the floor or put gouges in it. I’ll take them off before I go inside.”
Gouges? Caught up short by a sudden thought, she stared at the rowel. The tips were blunted, but if enough pressure was applied, could they break the skin? Dig out someone’s flesh? What kind of mark would they leave on someone? Could spurs be the weapon used on Matt?
Annalise pictured the impression she’d made of his wounds on the cheesecloth. She couldn’t be sure unless she compared rowel markings side by side, but the sudden jump of her pulse said she was on to something.
“Something wrong, Annalise?” Bram asked.
She became aware then that the others were staring at her expectantly. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just need to check on something. It was nice to see you all.”
“You, too.” Bram tucked Deborah’s hand in his arm and clamped one hand on Andrew’s shoulder, steering him toward the school at the east end of town. “Back to class for you, boy.”
Annalise bade them goodbye. Once inside the clinic, she carefully picked up the starched cheesecloth with the impressions on it, then made her way to Ef’s smithy.
Under a side awning, the blacksmith had a fire blazing in his forge. A raised brick hearth was outfitted with bellows and a hood to let the smoke escape. As she neared, a wall of heat hit her smack in the face. A hammer lay atop the anvil and Ef’s leather apron hung from a nail just outside the lean-to.
Seeing no sign of him, she walked to the front door and knocked. Ef answered, his massive shoulders filling the doorway as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Oh, I’ve caught you at lunch,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”
“It’s all right. I’ve finished. Naomi has already gone back to the Fontaine. What can I do for you?”
“Andrew told me you made him a pair of spurs.”
“And you want a pair, too?” he teased. The smile he seemed to wear constantly since marrying Naomi grew broader.
She laughed. “I do want a pair, but it’s so that I can compare the rowels to the impression I made of Matt’s wounds.”
“Are you thinking that spurs could be what made those marks on his back?”
She nodded.
Ef’s eyes lit up. “I know a way we might be able to find out.”
She waited as he went inside then returned a minute later with a clean white scrap of linen and a tin of blacking made from beeswax and lampblack. Taking down the lone pair of spurs hanging in the back of his lean-to, Ef coated them with the substance.
Annalise held the fabric taut against the side of the wall and Ef drew the blackened spur rowel down the cloth, careful not to tear it. He held it up as she brought the cheesecloth impression up next to it. Her breath caught as she looked over at Ef.
“You’re onto something, Doc.” He smiled. “It’s not the same pattern, but it’s similar enough to suggest you’re right about the weapon being spurs.”
“Oh, my.” Excitement tightened her chest.
“How did you come up with the idea?”
“Andrew was showing me one of his new pair, spinning the rowel and I just wondered… Oh, my.”
Ef studied the marks on his sample then those on the stiff cheesecloth. “One of the rowels in your impression is sharpened.”
She stilled. “Which would explain why some of these gouges and cuts are more defined than the ones made by the blunted rowels.”
“Yes.” Ef turned solemn. “That sharpening is deliberate, probably done by the owner of the spurs. I don’t know any spur makers who typically sharpen rowels like that. It ain’t necessary for riding a horse. It hurts ’em. Getting spurred had to hurt Matt like the devil.”
Annalise had just realized that, too, and she inwardly winced. While it didn’t dim her excitement over possibly finding the weapon used by Matt’s attackers, it was sobering. “May I take this sample you marked?”
“Yes. Are you going to tell Matt?”
“I…guess so.” She didn’t want to.
“I heard he was in town today, but I’m not sure where. Want me to help you look for him?”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. When he raised a brow at the vehemence of her answer, she hurried to add, “You’re busy. I’m sure I can find him.”
“All right,” he agreed thoughtfully. “It’s real smart how you figured that out.”
“It wasn’t due to any special effort. I hope we’re right about the spurs being the weapon.”
“Let me know if I can help any more.” Ef took his apron from its peg and put it on over his head, tying the leather strings behind him.
She nodded as he got back to work. She hesitated in front of his house, debating about whether to hunt Matt down. She flat-out didn’t want to. If she saw him, she would get mad and want to slap him again.
It was better for her to just keep her distance and find someone who could relay the information to him. Russ?
Her gaze went to the jail. Davis Lee. The sheriff would also need to know what she’d found and he could pass the information to Matt or whoever he saw fit.
Perfect. Now she wouldn’t have to see Matt.
Matt sauntered over to the door of the jailhouse and looked out the adjacent window, glad to see Annalise and Quentin were no longer in the street. They were nowhere in sight, and despite the relief he felt, the tightness in his chest didn’t ease.
He knew Prescott and Annalise were friends, but what did she have to talk to him about for so long? Why had she smiled at him like he was something special? And why the hell had they been holding hands?
Was their friendship turning into more? Had she done anything else with Prescott? Like kiss him? The thought had Matt’s gut knotting up like rusty barbed wire.
He didn’t try to tell himself he didn’t care because he did. A heap.
Clenching his jaw hard enough to snap bone, he moved back to the corner of the room where he couldn’t see out the window.
He wished it was that easy to get her image out of his mind. Despite sitting up two nights in a row to keep a watch over his cattle, he hadn’t been able to forget the kiss they’d shared. And her sweet taste wasn’t the only thing that had haunted him. His doubts about her lying wouldn’t leave him be.
Was that kiss making him soft in the head? Had he been wrong about her all these years? The idea didn’t sit well.
He braced one shoulder against the weathered pine wall, taking in the four shotguns lined up in the glass-fronted cabinet behind Davis Lee. The wanted posters for Reuben and Pat Landis helped Matt focus his attention on the rustling and not on his former love.
“A cow and her calf disappeared from our herd. I know those cattle were rustled, but I found no footprints, only cow hoof prints.”
“What about horse tracks?”
“No. They hit the Circle R last night, too. In fact, Bram and I started trackin’ those rustlers together at dawn and we found nothing.”
Davis Lee opened his top drawer and pulled out a leather-bound book. Snagging a pencil, he eased down on the corner of his wide oak desk then flipped through a couple of pages. “How many head were taken from the Ross place?”
“Five. Two of those are unbranded calves.” As the sheriff made notes, Matt continued, “Bram and I rode into Whirlwind together to report the thefts.”
“Where is he? I would make a joke about him getting rustled, too, but I’m sick to death of these t
hievin’ bastards.”
Matt nodded grimly. “Bram saw Deborah Blue going into Haskell’s.”
“Ah, enough said.” The lawman continued to scribble in his book. “It sure would be helpful if we could get a lead on these rustlers or even the two SOBs who attacked you.”
“It was those damn Landis brothers who jumped me.”
“We can’t prove it, though.”
“Provin’ it is your speciality. I know where to set my sights.” Frustrated and on edge, Matt dragged a hand down his face. “I’m going to the saloon. I need a drink.”
Just as he straightened, the door opened. Annalise stepped inside in a swirl of yellow skirts, carrying two pieces of white fabric.
Matt froze, squelching the pleasure that flared inside him. Had she seen him come in here? Was she looking for him?
“Annalise.” Davis Lee rose from his desk, his eyes dark with concern. “Has something happened with Josie?”
“No, she’s just fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” She gave a reassuring smile. She didn’t appear to have noticed Matt yet.
Well, he was noticing plenty about her. Even from here, he could smell her light floral scent and in that sunny dress she looked like a spring flower. Her wavy mahogany hair was down, sliding around her shoulders in a fall of deep brown silk. It was pulled back on the sides by a pair of combs, showing the soft curve of her jaw. The sunlight picked up dark and light shades of gold, even a touch of red. He wanted to bury his hands, his face in it.
She closed the door behind her. “I may have figured out what caused Matt’s injuries.”
Then she could dang well tell him. “What do you reckon it was?” he asked.
Annalise whirled toward him, the surprise in her green eyes quickly shifting to irritation. Ah, she hadn’t known he was here and she was vexed that he was. Well, too bad.
When she didn’t answer him, he let his gaze drift from the top of her gorgeous head over the square neckline of her bodice that bared a small patch of peachy skin to the tip of her black shoes. A slow burn started in his belly. On the way back up, he paused at her soft pink mouth. “Hello, Angel.”
