Charlotte’s eyes dropped closed. Patrick Waddell. When she opened them a few moments later, the sheriff was looking right at her, but he quickly dropped his focus to where the toe of one of his boots kicked at the floor.
“Did this man have thinning gray hair and look like he might have fallen in the river at some point?”
Mrs. Kastain frowned as though trying to remember, and Zoe spoke up for the first time. “Yes, sir, I’d say that was right. His clothes was still all damp.”
The sheriff swallowed. He looked at Charlotte once more, opened his mouth as though about to say something, then snapped it shut again.
A tremor surged through her. He thought this was her fault! And he was likely right. Oh, why hadn’t she just kept quiet on the stage the other day? The sheriff and his men would have swept in and captured Waddell and his gang then. But because of her interference, the man had gone free.
The sheriff seemed to have moved on from the idea of pointing that out to her in public. He tipped a nod to the ladies in the room before saying, “I’ll come up and let you all know just as soon as Doc gives me an update.” And with that he pushed his hat back on his head and exited the room.
Reagan clomped down the stairs, still unsure whether he should have offered a word of warning to Miss Brindle. If Timothy King had heard that the Waddell gang was gunning for Miss Brindle before this, she might be in even more danger now. Waddell was nothing if not calculating and vengeful. He would know that someone had betrayed him, and he wouldn’t have to think hard to draw the conclusion that the person was from Wyldhaven and had tipped off his gang so they’d know he was going to be on that stage.
Waddell would certainly head to one of his hideouts. Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely to be the one that Joe had followed Lenny to the other day. Though they would certainly check it out, as well as attempt to follow the wagon tracks to wherever he might be heading. But Waddell was smart. He’d only use the wagon for so long, and then he’d ditch it. It would be that much harder to follow his trail through their rocky mountain terrain after that. And after he’d healed up for a few days, he’d be heading this way. Reagan would bet his bottom dollar on it, if anyone asked. And he didn’t like this feeling of impending trouble for his town. Not one little bit.
With a sigh, he pushed into McGinty’s.
Doc still leaned over his patient on the table, a grimace of concentration on his face. “Hold the light higher, Ewan!” he snapped.
Ewan did as he was commanded, but heaved a sigh. “He’s gone, Doc. Ain’t your fault. But there ain’t anything you can do ’bout it neither.”
Reagan stepped over and lifted another of the lamps, holding it to cast more light on the wound.
Doc grunted. “He’s not gone! He’s still breathing.” He angled his head for a better view and tied off a string that looked like fishing line, then used a rag to swipe away more blood. He seemed to be searching for any more areas that might be bleeding inside. “There, I think we’ve finally got it.” He set to sewing up the wound on the outside.
Reagan felt his stomach turn and looked away from the needle piercing the man’s skin. “Kastains are waiting over at Dixie’s. Can I give them an update yet?”
Doc nodded. “This is the last stitch. He’s pulled through till now. But it will be touch and go. He can’t go back out to his place. Too much jostling for him in his current state. We’ll carry him up to my bed for now. So you can tell them it’s hopeful, but I’m making no promises just yet.”
Reagan nodded and set down the lamp. “Need me to stay and help carry him?”
Doc shook his head. “I sent Ben for Joe. And”—he tipped a nod to Ewan—“between the four of us, we should be able to get him up there just fine.”
“All right.” Reagan clapped a hand on Doc’s shoulder. “Good work.”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte heard the stair treads squeak and knew someone was coming. She bit her lip and stared at the door, waiting for it to open. If she was this worried about Mr. Kastain, she couldn’t imagine how his family must be feeling. Of course, none of them probably felt the guilt of being the reason that Waddell wasn’t behind bars right now.
A flash of light and a sharp pain in her head let her know she didn’t have long before she would need to lie down. The pain ebbed to a tolerable level as the door opened and the sheriff stepped in.
He swept his hat off and smiled.
A collective release of breath brought a bubble of joy.
“Doc says to tell you he’s made it this far. Surgery is over, and he feels he’s gotten the bleeding stopped. He doesn’t want him traveling back to your place right away however. The jostling might start the bleeding again. They’ve taken him up to Doc’s room, and he’ll stay here in town for a few days.”
Mrs. Kastain strode to the sheriff’s side and clasped his hand between both of her own. Tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks. “Thank you, Sheriff. Thank you ever so much.”
He nodded. “Will’s a fighter. I pray he’ll pull through just fine.”
Charlotte’s mind caught and clung to his word “pray.” Was the sheriff a believer? Had she ever asked herself that question about Kent? He’d attended church with her, so she’d always simply assumed he was. Now she had to wonder.
Another flash of light and a pain deeper than the first pulsed through her. She needed to get to her room before someone had to carry her there. Gritting her teeth, Charlotte urged a sleepy Aidan to lie against one of the twin’s laps. They’d both moved around so much now that she’d lost track of which twin was which.
She stood and crossed to Mrs. Kastain and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so glad your husband is battling on. If you’ll pardon me, I’m going to head to my room now.” She turned to Dixie. “Please let me know if you need my help with anything.” She hoped that wouldn’t be necessary, because she knew that for the next several hours she wouldn’t be good for much except to lie on her bed with a cold cloth over her eyes. Hopefully, this headache would be a short one and wouldn’t go on for days, as they sometimes did. She lifted her skirts, nodded to the sheriff, and started for the door.
He stepped back and opened it for her. But then instead of staying in the room as she’d hoped he would, he followed her out onto the landing. “Miss Brindle…” He frowned and assessed her with a little worry in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
She brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and tried to smile, but feared it came out a bit wan. “I’ll be fine. And I want to apologize. I know you think this is my fault.” She tipped her head to the room they’d just left.
His frown deepened. “I feel no such thing. Why would you think that?”
“Oh…” She was at a loss. She’d felt certain that was the emotion she’d seen in his eyes before he’d gone down to check on the patient. “Well, you would have captured Waddell had I not been on that coach and done what I did.”
Reagan stepped toward her. “That doesn’t make it your fault. The blame for this lies solely with Waddell.”
Unaccountably, she felt tears well in her eyes. She blinked them away in frustration. “Well, I wish I could share your feelings on the matter. I can’t help but feel that had I not interfered, Waddell would have been safely behind bars and—”
Reagan held up a hand. “You are forgetting to consider that we didn’t know you were in the coach with Waddell when we laid our plan for his capture. I think he would have taken you hostage no matter what you did.”
She felt a bit lightheaded at that thought, but it did give her pause. And the more she thought on it, the more she felt he was probably right. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Another flash of light crossed her vision. And this time it was accompanied by such a flame of agony that she gasped and pressed her hands to her temples.
“Hey, what is it?”
She felt the sheriff draw a step nearer, even though her eyes were closed to abate as much of the pain as possible. A moment later when she could once more ope
n her eyes, she waved a hand to dismiss his concern. “It’s only a headache. I just need to lie down.”
He took her by the elbow. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“That won’t be necessary, Sheriff.” She gave her arm a yank meant to loose it from his grasp, but he held on.
A soft smile barely curved the corners of his mouth. “Nevertheless, humor me.”
She gave in because fighting him would take too much time and energy. “Very well.”
He walked her to her room and took the key from her and unlocked her door. Pushing the door wide, he held out the key and swept a gesture into the room with a gallant little bow.
When she reached to take the key, he withheld it from her. Her gaze darted to his.
He searched her face as though to assure himself she really was going to be all right.
She sighed and held her hand out once more for the key. “I’ll be fine, Sheriff.”
Slowly, he deposited the key into her palm. Then closed his hands around her fingers. The gesture was somehow much more intimate than he likely intended it to be. Her heart hammered, and for some reason she couldn’t seem to pull in a full breath. All thoughts of the encroaching headache were momentarily banished.
He squeezed her hands gently. “I hope you know that if you need anything, you only need to send someone for me.”
A warm wave of appreciation swept over her. And she couldn’t seem to get even half a breath in that moment, so all she did was nod.
He stepped back, gave the brim of his hat a tug, and then spun on one heel and strode away without so much as a backward glance.
Charlotte couldn’t help but notice how cold her hands felt.
As Reagan banged his way back into his office, he tried to banish the memory of the soft feel of Charlotte’s small hands beneath his own. It was late, but he needed to head out to the Kastain place if he wanted to get a jump on tracking Waddell first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in someone’s barn to aid in the speed of a case.
“Sheriff, what’s all the ruckus about out there?”
He ignored Horace Crispin and concentrated on the note he was writing to Joe. Joe had insisted Doc accompany him out to Camp Sixty-One to take a look at a sick woman he’d learned of, but they were due back this evening. Joe was a fine deputy and could cover things for him here while he went scouting. Next, he loaded up extra ammunition and pulled his warm jacket from the hook behind the door. Without so much as a word, he left the prisoners and stepped back out into the night. No sense in giving them the information that Waddell was still alive. Let them keep wondering.
It took him an hour to get his horse and get out to the Kastains, and then another hour to complete the evening chores that had gone undone due to the circumstances. The Kastains would have gladly invited him into their home, were they here, but since they weren’t, he laid out a horse blanket on some hay in the loft and curled into his jacket.
He slept fitfully, and every time he woke it was to the memory of a pair of pretty green eyes, or pouty lips that could make a man forget which way was up, or soft, tiny hands that enticed a man’s fingers to linger longer than was proper. He gritted his teeth in frustration and punched the straw into a more comfortable pillow beneath the horse blanket. There was no sense in going all loony over a woman who wouldn’t be staying around for long.
When the rooster finally crowed, he lurched from his makeshift bed with relief. He milked the cow and then set a saucer down for the Kastain’s tabby cat, and gave a bigger bowl to Jinx, who was tied to the clothesline. Then he set the bucket of milk on the back porch and covered it with a towel, took up his rifle, and led his horse in the direction of the river. By the time he arrived, the sun should be up high enough that he could start tracking.
The morning after Will Kastain arrived in town, gutshot, Liora stood behind the bar, willing herself to hold it together.
She knew all too well just exactly which sorry excuse for a human being had pulled that trigger. And Kastain a good family man, with little kids not even school aged yet. But what could she say? There was no information she could give that would help them catch him. The law likely knew more about his movements and activities than she had for the past several years. Until two weeks back, she hadn’t heard his name in months.
She wrung out a rag and set to wiping down the counter. Again.
The bell above the door tinkled.
She didn’t even look up. “We aren’t open yet.”
“I know.”
She stilled. Lifted her face. Her heart stuttered.
Joe had stopped just inside the door and shoved his hands into his back pockets. For a long moment he stood there simply looking at her with an ocean of sympathy reflected in his gaze.
Was it the little clapboard hovel that Ma lived in that had him looking at her like that? Or the fact that Ma was an entertainer of men, just like she’d become? She tilted her head, studying his expression. The pain and sorrow reflected in his deep brown eyes. The compassion evident in the angle of his head as he met her, gaze for gaze. Maybe it was both. And maybe something else deeper too.
Her fingers knotted into the rag. “Did you find her?”
He nodded, a small furrow ticking his brow for just a moment.
“Did Doc look at her?”
Again, only a nod.
Something was wrong. She could feel it. She turned her back on him and dropped the rag into the bucket of soapy water Ewan kept on the back counter. A strange swishing sound rushed through her ears. “Thank you for taking her the money. I’m sure Doc asked a fair price and gave her just what she needed to get back on her feet.” She lifted the coffee and poured him a cup. Pot clattered against rim. She thumped the pot back onto the stove. Dredging deep, she found her smile, pasted it on, and turned to slide the cup toward him. “Can I make you some ham and eggs?”
He switched his hands to his front pockets, thrusting them deep, hunching his shoulders high around his jaw. “Liora—”
“Maybe hotcakes instead?”
He sighed, hesitated, then finally sank onto a barstool. He tossed his black Stetson onto the bar, dragging the cup closer to him. “Sure. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”
She busied herself cooking up hotcakes, ham, and eggs. But the whole time she could feel his eyes boring into her back. Feel sympathy rolling off him in waves. She fisted her hand around the handle of the spatula and clenched her eyes tight. She did not want some highfalutin deputy’s sympathy. Just because he likely grew up behind a white picket fence with a ma who made him dinner each night didn’t mean he had a right to feel sorry for her! Whatever he had to say could wait for another day. She didn’t think she could stomach it today. Not after yesterday.
Scooping all the food onto a plate, she dug deep for that smile again and turned to face him. But the minute their gazes connected, she lost her will for pretense. The man could seemingly see right through her.
Pressing her lips together, she slid him the plate. “More coffee?”
“Liora.” He reached out and grabbed her arm before she could move away. “Your ma is sick.” His thumb grazed the inside of her wrist.
She yanked her hand back to her side. “I know that, of course. That’s why I had you take Doc out to see her.”
“She’s real sick. Doc says there’s nothing he can do but keep her pain as tolerable as possible till the end.” His voice rasped. “I’m sorry. I felt you should know.”
The corners of the room turned dark. Everything fell out of focus except for Joe’s fathomless eyes, searching her, piercing to her very core, willing her to be strong. “But the last doctor said it was just a light case of influenza. That she just needed to take his tonic for six weeks.”
Joe looked down at his plate. He stirred his fork through his food but didn’t eat any of it. “Doc says it’s something to do with her heart. It’s not pumping her blood around like it should. She’s all swollen up. Keeping too much water in her bo
dy, he says.” He lifted his gaze to hers once more. “If you are going to see your mother again, you need to go now.”
All the strength left her legs, and she stumbled to one side. There was nothing to sit on behind the bar, so she leaned her palms into the wood, hung her head, and willed herself to keep breathing.
Joe stood and dropped some money next to his plate. “I’ll talk to Ewan. Maybe if I offer to escort you, he’ll let you go.” His boots barely made a sound as he crossed the room and stepped out onto the street, closing the door behind him.
She shook her head. Joe thought her shock was about Ma. And if she was honest, some of it was due to learning Ma was dying. But truth be told, she’d seen enough death in her lifetime to know that sometimes it was a boon. You couldn’t live down in the squalor of humanity for very long without realizing that death and hard living went hand in hand. Despite that, she’d never before thought of it reaching out to touch them personally. How many times had she asked Ma to get out of her line of work, take them to a city where they could both do laundry or sewing? Ma had always declined. She said the pay was better in her line of work, which was a lie. They both knew the truth. John Hunt never would have let Ma go. She made him too much money.
All her growing up years, Liora had sworn she would never, ever become her mother. But then death had reached out its gnarled finger to touch them. Ma had taken sick. Yet hope bloomed when the first doctor had said they just needed his tonic. John wouldn’t pay for it unless she became one of his girls. She shuddered even now at the memory of his eyes drifting over her and the lecherous smile that had raised his lip. Liora had told him just where he could spend eternity, and left for Seattle. Providence had smiled down on her for a few short weeks. She’d found work and felt renewed hope. And then the bank had been robbed. She’d lost Mrs. Pendergast’s job. Ewan had been in Seattle picking up supplies for his alehouse when he’d discovered her crying in the alley behind the mercantile. When he’d told her what kind of job he was offering, she’d closed her eyes in defeat and given in. Maybe there was no grace for women like her.
Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Page 14
