Anything for You

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Gypsy, tell me!”

  Light and dark merged and disappeared. She swayed on the bench. A new wave of agony stung her. She gasped as she saw Adam pressing a cloth over her sliced arm.

  When she moaned, he whispered, “I’m sorry, honey, but I have to stop the bleeding.”

  “I … know.” She gulped each word past the lump in her throat.

  “Where do you keep your medical supplies?”

  “Over the counter.”

  “Wait here.”

  Whether he was gone a minute or an hour, she could not tell. She battled not to drown in the anguish from the blazing river inching along her hand.

  “Gypsy?”

  Adam’s face wavered before her as if he stood beyond a shimmering curtain. She put her right hand on his arm.

  “I’m going to bandage this, honey.” Regret filled his voice. “It’s going to hurt really bad when I do.”

  “I know.”

  “Scream if it helps.”

  She closed her eyes as he lifted her left arm and wrapped soft cotton around it. When she had ordered the medical supplies, she never guessed she would be the one needing them.

  As he twisted the material around her wrist, Adam asked, “Did he say anything this time? Or did he simply try to kill you?”

  She started to nod, but her head threatened to fly off her shoulders. Wanting to wiggle her fingers to be sure they worked, she kept her hand still. “He said he didn’t want to hurt me.”

  “If this isn’t hurting you, I don’t know what is.”

  “I think he meant it. I know Chauncey wouldn’t—”

  His hand gripped her wrist tightly. “What did you say?”

  Wanting to deny her words, she could not. The truth had been in her head from the moment she heard him speak, but, in the midst of her terror, she had not recognized the truth. “It was Chauncey Lewis. But he wouldn’t hurt me on purpose!”

  “No?”

  Without giving her a chance to answer, he strode to where his coat hung by the door. He reached into a pocket and pulled out something that gleamed malevolently in the meager light.

  When he tilted the pistol to check its steel cylinder, she gasped, “Adam, you can’t shoot him!”

  “I’m not planning on shooting him.” He buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his denims, then shoved the gun into his belt and reached for his coat. “This will make sure Chauncey cooperates when I ask him to explain some things to Glenmark.”

  “Be careful.”

  He smiled grimly and walked to her. Ignoring the flaps of his boots, which slapped against his insteps on every step, he whispered, “Stay here. I’ll send one of the flunkeys over to sit with you as soon as I have a chance.”

  “All right.” Her head ached with the steady pulse in her arm.

  “He won’t be back, but …”

  The uneasy timbre of his voice brought her gaze up to his taut face. “But what?”

  “That has to wait until later. Now I have to catch up with Lewis before he hits the hay trail.” He caressed her shoulder before he hurried toward the door. Snow exploded into the room as he rushed out.

  She stared at the table, unable to move. Wanting to deny the truth, she wondered where the madness would end. When it did, there might be nothing left of Glenmark Timber Company’s logging camp—or any of them.

  Morning light was glowing through the snow-coated window before Adam returned. Hanging his coat on its peg, he looked at Gypsy, who was standing at the stove. He sat at the table, and she put an empty cup in front of him. Picking up a quilted cloth, she reached for the heavy coffee pot.

  “I’ll do that, Gypsy.” He poured a cup for himself and another for her. “I’m not going to say you should be resting. I know it’s a waste of breath.”

  She went to the window and looked out to discover a crowd of jacks in the center of the camp.

  Adam drew her back from the window firmly, but gently. “Gypsy, don’t think about going out into that mob.”

  “Mob?” Pain scorched the single word.

  “The jacks aren’t happy to find out one of their own killed two women and hurt you.” Adam checked the bandage on her arm. Shadows of blood seeped through the material. “You need to keep this on for a few more hours before we change it.”

  “I thought Chauncey was my friend.”

  “Maybe Lolly and Rose did, too.” When she flinched, he turned her against him and stroked her back.

  The door opened, and Gypsy raised her head to see Per and Hank’s tense expressions. They stared at her, clearly wanting to determine the extent of damage done to her.

  Adam broke the strained silence to say, “Gypsy made some coffee and biscuits, so we might as well eat.”

  “You made biscuits?” Per’s voice was as close to anger as Gypsy had ever heard. “I don’t care if you are the kingbee cook, girl! If you’d let Adam tend to the stove as he—”

  “I made the biscuits,” she interrupted with a hint of her customary authority. “If you want them, eat them. If not, don’t.”

  The old man rubbed his hands in distress. “Sorry, Gypsy.”

  “You heard the lady, gentlemen,” Adam said. “Help yourselves while I persuade her to rest.” When the men shuffled toward the table, he lowered his voice. “Do you want to sit here, honey, or do you want to lie down for a while?”

  A shiver of distaste wrenched her away from him. “I’ll be fine. Don’t mollycoddle me.”

  “Gypsy, it would make me feel a lot better to pamper you for a while.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, understanding his underlying pain.

  “If I hadn’t been sleeping instead of tending to the fire, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

  Her fingers eased along the hard line of his clenched jaw. “My love, if you hadn’t been sleeping by my side, we wouldn’t know this joy.” Standing on tiptoe, she tilted his mouth over hers. She did not care if the flunkeys were watching. She wanted to be in his arms and know they were safe from the terror.

  He kept his arm around her waist to steer her to the table. She leaned her head against his shoulder until he urged her to sit. In silence, she did.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Or, to be honest, I will be fine.”

  The door opened again, letting in more cold. Bert wiped mud off his feet as he came into the kitchen. “Gypsy, you and Adam are wanted over at Farley’s office. ’E said ’e wants to see you right away.”

  A shiver ached across Gypsy’s shoulder blades, and she was sure her face was whey-colored with fear. She let Adam assist her in putting on her coat. Saying nothing, she walked out of the cook shack.

  “Honey, I can speak to Farley if you don’t feel up to this,” Adam said quietly.

  “If I can supervise my kitchen, I can listen to Farley’s complaints.” Despite her boasting, she sighed with relief when he put his arm around her shoulders and helped guide her past the widening puddles. The sunshine was nature’s warm apology for the late season blizzard. “We’ll be leaving for the river drive in a few days if this weather continues.”

  “Then we’ll head for Saratoga.”

  She smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “I’ve had enough of the north woods to last me a lifetime.”

  “Me, too.”

  He paused to stare at her. “Do you mean that?”

  “Now. Come autumn, I may be itching to return.” Tapping the brim of his hat, she laughed. “Maybe not.”

  “I think we should talk about this later.”

  “Later?”

  He entwined his fingers with hers as they continued toward the camp manager’s office. “I’m going to have the stove watch tonight again.”

  “You’re going to exhaust yourself doing that every night.”

  “You’re going to exhaust me with your luscious loving, honey.” When she flushed, he chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time for sleeping and other things when we leave here.”

  “
Maybe. Maybe not.”

  He laughed. “I like the way you think, honey.”

  Gypsy’s reply was halted when they stepped up onto the porch of the camp office. Glad that Adam did not release her hand, she let him open the door and usher her into the small room.

  When Farley rose from his desk, she was astonished to see the camp manager wearing denims and a wool shirt like the jacks. Gray circled his eyes, and deep lines were ground into his face, which must not have endured the scrape of a straight-edged razor since the attack on her two days before. Whiskers could not shadow the strain along his lips.

  “How are you doing, Gypsy?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” she answered, as she had so many times. Glancing at Adam before looking back at Farley, she continued uneasily, “How are you?”

  “How do you expect?” He leaned his hands on his desk. “What have you learned, Lassiter? Has he confessed?”

  “He’s admitted to smothering Lolly and killing Rose.”

  Dampening her arid lips, she asked, “Did he say why?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  He stared at the floor. “He said they had flirted with him, made him want them, then jilted him.”

  Farley cried, “Rose wouldn’t have—”

  Gypsy put her hand on Farley’s arm. “Don’t let him hurt you more. He must have imagined it all.” Glancing at Adam, she looked hurriedly away, but not before she saw he believed, as she did, that Rose had enticed Chauncey. Perhaps Rose had hoped to use that flirtation to get something more out of Farley.

  Gypsy was surprised when Farley demanded, “And did he admit to attacking Gypsy in the woods?”

  “No,” Adam said quietly.

  “Then—”

  “Then nothing.” Adam scowled. “We have enough to send him to hang.”

  The camp manager hesitated before saying, “Gypsy, I suppose I should ask if you want your thousand dollars now, or if you want to wait until after the drive.”

  She frowned. “Thousand dollars? Are you telling me to walk?”

  A smile struggled to tilt his tight lips, but failed. “The reward for uncovering Rose’s murderer. It’s yours. Of course, you can share it with Lassiter. I’m sure the two of you can spend it in style.”

  “I don’t want your money, Calvin.”

  As if she had not spoken, Farley demanded, “Your gun, Lassiter.” He held out his hand.

  Adam withdrew the pistol from under his coat and offered it to the camp manager. “Be careful. It’s loaded.”

  “I expected it would be.” His haunted eyes looked from the gun to Adam. “You should have told me you’d brought this to camp.”

  “It would have been impossible to explain why I had it.”

  “That’s true. Glenmark felt obligated to keep me in the dark. Maybe if he had …”

  “Where is Daniel?” Gypsy asked.

  “Busy.” He scowled at Adam. “I assume you’ll be leaving soon.”

  “I’m here until Glenmark tells me otherwise.”

  Gypsy glanced at Adam in surprise as she heard his disquiet. He wanted everyone to believe the danger had ended with Chauncey Lewis’s capture, but he did not believe it himself.

  “Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” Farley answered in the same tight tone. “We may need you around after …” He rocked the gun in his hand, admiring the gleaming steel and the mother of pearl grip. “This is a fine weapon, Lassiter. Have you used it often?”

  “I prefer other methods of settling problems.”

  Farley rounded the desk. “Ah, yes, as you did with Lewis. You could have shot him, but instead you convinced him to surrender while we wait for the constable.”

  “Who should be here soon.”

  “I haven’t sent for him.”

  Gypsy gasped, “You haven’t sent for the authorities? What are you waiting for?”

  As if on cue, the door opened. Adam pulled Gypsy behind him as the inkslinger was pushed through the door by Peabody and Benson. The crew chief scowled at being kept from the hill to guard a prisoner.

  Chauncey Lewis stood silently between his two guards, his arms tied behind his back. He stared at the floor, but his gaze rose to meet Gypsy’s. “I’m sorry, Gypsy. I never meant to hurt you. You’re—” He looked past her and shouted, “No!”

  Adam leaped forward. The gun detonated with an ear-shattering shriek. The jacks shouted and jumped aside. Gypsy screamed as Chauncey rocked back into the door. Blood spurted from the front of his mackinaw shirt. Amazement rippled across his face before he crumpled to the floor to lie in a crimson pool.

  Farley shoved Adam aside. Turning to Gypsy, he lifted the gun again. Adam grasped his wrist, but Farley shook him off as he held the gun out to her.

  In an emotionless voice, Farley ordered, “Take it, Gypsy.”

  Her fingers trembled as she took the weapon, which still belched smoke. Balancing the heavy pistol in her hand, she watched as Farley walked to where the corpse sprawled in front of the door.

  “Curse you, Lewis!” Farley’s voice was raw with agony. “You made Rose’s life torture. I hope you burn for all eternity.”

  Gypsy shivered. His words echoed the ones her attacker had spoken. No, Farley could not be that man.

  “Take it away and put it in a pine box.” Farley’s mouth twisted out each word. “Even a beast deserves a few words from Reverend Frisch.”

  Peabody nodded, glancing at Benson. He grasped one arm of the corpse as Peabody took the other. Neither spoke as they pulled the body out of the office.

  Gypsy fought sickness as she stared at the bloodstain left in their wake. When Adam stepped over the scarlet line to close the door, Farley walked back to face her.

  “Gypsy,” he said, “with Glenmark gone, I surrender to you.”

  “Daniel is gone? Where is he?” she cried.

  “On his way back to Lansing.”

  “Lansing?” Adam frowned. “Why?”

  Farley hunched into himself. “He got news his wife has taken a turn for the better. Apparently she’s even taken a step or two. He couldn’t wait to see for himself.”

  Gypsy whispered, “For the better? Really?”

  Adam did not give Farley a chance to answer. “Glensmark left without Gypsy?”

  “Why not? She didn’t want to go.” Farley regarded him with tear-filled eyes. “And why should she now? Lewis is dead.” He dropped to the bench. “Send for the constable, Gypsy, and I’ll give him my full cooperation.” He bowed his head. “Is this what love means? Being willing to do anything for the one you loved?” His voice broke as he whispered, “Even when it’s too late?”

  She bit her lip. Looking past the shattered man to where Adam stood, she held out the pistol to him. He took it without speaking, but the brush of his fingers against hers teased her to find solace in his arms. Instead, she went to Farley. Kneeling by him, she ignored the pain racing along her arm as she put her hand over his clenched knuckles.

  “I wish I could tell her how sorry I am,” he said.

  “You have.” She put her fingertips in the middle of his chest. “Calvin, she knew what you felt in your heart. Surely she can hear that even now.”

  He straightened. “Strange as it may seem, you’re in charge of the camp, Gypsy. Just tell me where you want me to wait for the authorities. Then, when I pay for murdering Lewis, I can tell Rose myself what I feel.”

  “I’m not sending for the constable.”

  “Gypsy, if you don’t, you can be considered an accessory to my crime.” He stood, gesturing to Adam. “Tell her she’s being foolish to throw away her life, too.”

  Rising, she cradled her aching arm. “There’s no crime in defending yourself against a man set on killing you.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “She’s right,” interrupted Adam. “We’ll all testify that you saved our lives today.”

  Farley choked, “That’s a lie!”

  “That’s our opinion,” Gypsy said. “That’s
what we saw.” Relenting slightly, her voice softened as she put her hand on his arm again. “Calvin, this camp needs you. No one else can oversee the river drive. If you aren’t here, someone is sure to be hurt.”

  He blinked. “You’d do this for me?”

  “You’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

  Slowly he nodded. “Anything for those you love, right?”

  She smiled. “Anything, but please not too often, Calvin. I don’t think we can withstand your heroics again.”

  He went to his desk. Taking a key out of his pocket, he unlocked a drawer. “Gypsy, I owe you—”

  “I can’t take your money. I didn’t find Rose’s murderer. He found me.” Her smile wobbled.

  “Lassiter?” he asked, looking past her again.

  “Glenmark is paying me.” Slipping his arm around Gypsy’s shoulders, he grinned. “If I had the money, I’d just spend it on something I probably don’t need.”

  “Thank you,” the camp manager whispered.

  Adam nodded. “I’d like to say we know you’d help us, but I hope it never comes to this again.”

  Gypsy tried to recall the camp manager’s grateful smile the rest of the day. Her conscience taunted her. Over and over, she reminded herself if Chauncey Lewis had come to trial, the result would have been the same.

  When Adam returned to the kitchen, whistling, she knew his discussion with Peabody and Benson had gone well. Neither of them would reveal the truth. Farley was already a hero. She heard the flunkeys talking about a party in his honor.

  When the work was done for the day and the stove was filled with wood, Adam came into the bedroom. His smile was as icy as his eyes.

  “Go ahead, and say what you’ve been itching to say all day,” he urged.

  She did not pretend not to understand. “Why are you lying to everyone about Chauncey Lewis being the man on the road? You don’t believe it!”

  “Are you daring him to finish what he’s started?”

  Incredulity widened her eyes. “So you do believe the man who attacked us wasn’t Chauncey?”

  “Of course.” He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots. With the flaps hanging like peeled bark on a downed tree, he leaned his elbow on the footboard. His compelling gaze held hers. “Honey, I’m not the tallest man in this camp, but Lewis is—was several inches shorter than I am. The man who ambushed you stood eye to eye with me.”