Chapter Ten
Grace leaned against the door to settle her nerves. Why had she let that man kiss her? Invited the kiss? She’d been frozen, unable to move, at least, that’s what she told herself. She could have screamed, pushed him away, something, but she had stood there, inviting him to caress her.
She pushed away the thoughts. Mr. Taron was dead, and that’s why she was here. The house was eerily quiet, and the heels of her boots clicked against the hardwood floors. She should have entered the infirmary wing, not the main part of the house, but she had expected people to be here.
The kitchen was in a centralized location, and she paused to look in. There were no signs of any previous activity. Her eyes could not help but go to the pan she had used to wash the blood away. Had that only been last night?
Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she brushed them away with the pad of her thumb before leaving the kitchen.
The infirmary wing was even quieter, if that was possible, and she traveled down the long hallway to the end and peered into the room where she’d last seen Mr. Taron’s body.
Dr. Robbie was there, sitting next to her husband, her forehead against the bed, one hand draped on the chest of the body. Grace’s heart squeezed with sorrow until she thought it would burst. Dr. Robbie appeared to be asleep, and Grace was backing out when the doctor raised her head and smiled forlornly. She motioned Grace to enter and rose to meet her.
They embraced for a long minute before Dr. Robbie pulled away.
She smiled again, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Grace, I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
Dr. Robbie shook her head. “Not at all. I was only waiting for the undertaker so I can make the necessary arrangements.”
Grace wet her lips. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to come in or not. I thought we might have a patient or two today, and you might need me to take over.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, but I had Thatcher send a telegram to Dr. Granger. He’s to send a man this morning who will set up practice in town for at least a few weeks.”
Grace was at a loss. “Is there anything I can do? Help with Catherine or help Mrs. Franklin?”
“Everything is taken care of. Abby took Catherine home with her, and neighbors have been bringing in food all morning. It’s at the bunkhouse, in the kitchen there, if you’d like to eat before you go. I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“It sounds as if I am not needed...”
She must have sounded forlorn for Dr. Robbie gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll tell you what you can do. Check with the doctor in town—surely, he’s arrived by now. Perhaps he could use your help.”
But the suggestion did not appeal to Grace. He was a stranger and probably had his own way of doing things. She’d probably be more of a hindrance to him at this point, and if he needed help, he would ask Dr. Robbie.
She didn’t want to go where she was not wanted. “I think I’ll head home and see about Mother and Gus if there’s nothing I can do here.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.
Dr. Robbie tilted her head. “Is everything all right?” And then the doctor paled, bowed her head, and then gazed at Grace through her lashes. “Of course, I know Taron’s death has affected you, and you are grieving. He was very fond of you.”
Grace nodded, guilt wracking her. Her distress was due more to the strange cowboy than to her grief over Mr. Taron’s death. “I was very fond of Mr. Taron.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, tears for Mr. Taron this time, and Dr. Robbie hugged her again and released her.
The doctor’s eyes searched hers. “Go home and get some rest.”
Grace moved away. “I will. Before I go, have you decided when the funeral will be?”
Dr. Robbie shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve sent telegrams to Taron’s mother last night. I have not yet heard from her or his brother. I wanted them to know before I made arrangements.”
“How long will it take them to arrive from Boston?”
“They will not arrive in time to attend the funeral, but we will have a memorial service once they get here.” Her face paled again, although she rallied as she escorted Grace to the door.
Grace shouldn’t have asked but could not help herself. “What will you do once Mr. Ander and his wife return?”
Technically, it was none of her business, but it would affect her job situation, and the uncertainty plagued her.
Dr. Robbie gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know. The ranch belongs to Ander, and I will be at his mercy. I can’t imagine him wishing me to stay when I no longer have any ties to the family, and no holdings in the estate.”
“But Catherine is his niece.” Grace bit her lip, angry with herself for causing Dr. Robbie more distress. “I shouldn’t have asked. Please forgive my impertinence.”
Dr. Robbie patted her arm as if Grace was the one who needed to be comforted. “You have not been impertinent at all. I do have a small amount of money, a legacy from my father, but I’m not sure if it is enough to begin a practice on my own, and even if it is, I will have to use strict economic measures. I hope you understand.”
Her forehead became a mass of furrows, and it was Grace’s turn to offer comfort. “We are jumping the gun, and we should not be discussing this at such a time. Please don’t worry about me. I will find another job. God will lead us to the correct paths.”
“Of course! We must not imagine the worst. God will provide a way.”
“If you need anything at all, let me know.” Grace said and left with Dr. Robbie watching her wistfully from the doorway.
To her surprise, it was already ten o’clock. Rance was probably waiting for her. And she discovered he was waiting on the front porch.
He got to his feet when he caught sight of her and sat back down when she took a seat in an adjoining rocker. Her talk with Robbie had drained her, and she let him chat, only occasionally answering a question with a word or two.
He finally paused, and his eyes searched hers. She’d never noticed his brown eyes were actually hazel, of three distinct colors, a golden color around the pupil, and dark green framed in black. His eyes were quite beautiful, and for the first time, she took a good look at the man. The only sign of his age were crow’s feet around his eyes. He looked as strong and fit as Ward, when he kept his hat on, although not quite as tall. Most women would have found him infinitely preferable, more handsome, especially when they compared him to Ward with his scar that zigzagged across the top of his head and almost down to his brow.
She sighed heavily. What if it was only pity she felt for Ward? Her attraction to him could be no more than curiosity of how one could survive such a terrible wound. She frowned at herself for trying to convince herself of something that could not be true. She realized Rance watched her with an avid curiosity.
She mustered a smile. “I wanted to speak to you if you have the time.”
“For you, I will make the time.”
His words only served to irritate her. “I wished to apologize—”
“For what? You have never done anything to—”
She cut him off by holding her hand to him, palm out. “Please, let me say what I have to.” When he nodded, she continued. “I am sorry if I have led you to believe anything could come of our relationship.”
He got to his feet and moved to the rail, placing his hands flat, his arms stiff and straight, his head down. He threw her a look over his shoulder. “This is about that man, Ward Henderson. You’ve known him one day and you think you have feelings for him.” He spoke softly, sadly.
“No! This is not about Ward.” She gripped the arms of the rocker and shook her head.
He turned fully, leaning against the rail and studied her. “You have just used his given name.”
She stood and moved to lean against the rail as he did, although keeping a good distance between them. “He is a guest in our house, and formality did not seem suitable.”
Ha
d he seen Ward kiss her? Or, were her feelings for Ward so obvious?
Rance rubbed his chin and did not look at her. “Even if what you say is true, he has expressed to me...” His voice trailed off, and he turned his head away so she could not read his expression.
Her heartbeat quickened. What had Ward said about her? “Rance, let’s keep Ward out of this. You know of my obligations to my family, that I must support them.”
Rance turned fully around to look at the view beyond the porch, with its sloping pastures leading to the river. His eyes focused on something in the distance, and then he spoke. “Your brother could be made to get a job.”
“He has had his share of jobs. He is either fired or quits. You know that.” Heat rose to her cheeks although it had been going on so long, it usually no longer embarrassed her.
He turned his head to her. “Maybe he hasn’t found one that suits him. I can—”
She fully faced him and stamped her foot in anger. “Even if you did, even if Gus found employment, supported himself, even if he fully supported Mother, I am not cut out to be your wife.”
“How do you know?” he said gently, his eyes serious.
“It would only work if I were deeply in love with my husband, and even then, marriage would be difficult since mother and Gus are in the picture. You are a fine man and deserve better—better than me.”
“I cannot imagine anyone better.” His eyes shone with unshed tears.
Her heart broke for him. Why could she not love this man? He was decent, hardworking, handsome—what most women longed for. She reached to touch his arm. “Please don’t harbor false hope.”
Her own tears flowed freely, and she groped for her chair and sat down, her face in her hands. She raised her head to search for her handkerchief to blot her face.
Rance stood before her. “I’m sorry I caused you such pain. I shouldn’t have made it so difficult for you.”
She waved a hand. “It’s not just you. All of this...” She waved a hand toward the house.
“Babbitt being killed has been hard on you. Plus, there are a lot of folks grieving for their loved ones in town. Twelve men were killed altogether.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I need to go home and prepare food, especially for the Mock family. He was always so kind to me.”
“He left behind three little ones,” Rance said.
They were quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.
Rance stirred. “I need to get going. Are you helping Dr. Robbie, or do you need a ride back to town now? I know the marshal said he’d take you...”
“She doesn’t need me today, so, yes, please. There’s no need to wait for the marshal.” It would be awkward, going with either of them, but she’d rather go with the sheriff than with Ward. She’d come to her senses and knew she could not trust herself around Ward.
Rance gave a nod, started off the porch, and stopped. “Oh... I almost forgot. I think I have something that belongs to you.”
He patted his vest pocket, unbuttoned it and pulled out a locket and handed it to her.
She examined it, dispassionately. “Yes, this is mine. I suppose Gus was gambling again.”
“From what I gather.”
“I need to find Ward... Marshal Henderson... and tell him I am leaving.”
“I will let him know. I’m heading in that direction to get the wagon.”
She searched his eyes, and he seemed a different man, the look of adoration gone. “Of course. Thank you.”
“I’ll meet you back here.”
When he’d gone, she went around the house to where the well was located. She raised the bucket and cupped her hands to lift the cool water to splash on her face. She sighed deeply.
Yes, she had hurt Rance, but he was the type of man who will get over it quickly, was already doing so if she was any judge of character. Her own heart hurt, not only because of the pain she inflicted, but because she knew she would never have a relationship with Ward—it was foolish to think so.
Besides, it was all a silly fantasy, fueled by his air of mystery. She’d only met the man last night, and even if love at first sight were a reality, it would dissipate quickly. They both had their own lives, their own obligations, and their relationship would never flourish.
More than likely, she was about to lose her job, the only income for her family. She had no time for falling in love, no matter how much those vivid eyes attracted her.
As far as she was concerned, all would be better off if he kept them hidden beneath that hat.
Chapter Eleven
Ward waited at the side of the barn until the men inside had sufficient time to settle down. The sheriff had gotten them together while Ward had waited outside. The sheriff had left for his meeting with Grace, but Ward had no time to imagine what they discussed.
He went to the entrance of the barn. The sun was to his back, and he could see each man clearly, but they could not see his face, as far as he knew, and that was the way he wanted it. He kept the brim of his hat low.
He gave a nod of acknowledgment but did not speak. He took his time, studying each man in turn.
William Thatcher Rainer leaned against a post, near the back of the barn. Ward had heard of the bounty hunter, and one glance told him he was the most dangerous of the three. He wore his gun belt low, like a gunslinger.
Joshua Flint also wore a gun, but his face was friendly, like an overgrown puppy, eager for praise. He was the husband of Abby, Ward recalled, the woman who worked for the doctor by taking care of the Babbitts’ daughter.
Flint and Tristan Martin had taken a seat on a bale of hay. Martin, the youngest of the group, wore no gun. He was slim and tall with thoughtful eyes, a bookish man, judging by his looks.
Ward tugged his hat down even farther. The three men were studying him, as silent as he was.
He cleared his throat and spoke distinctly to make sure there would be no misunderstanding of his words. “I have a few questions regarding an investigation.”
Flint and Martin both nodded. Thatcher appeared not to be listening although that was probably an act.
Flint’s eyes were wide, as if this was an enjoyable occupation. “Are you helping Sheriff Rockson investigate Mr. Taron’s murder?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” Ward said. “Although the man whose death I’m investigating was killed in the saloon shootout along with Babbitt.”
He lowered the timbre of his voice and looked down before he said the next words although he kept each man in his vision. “That man went by the name of Fletcher. I had planned to bring him to justice.”
Again, it was Flint who spoke after casting a puzzled glance to the other two men. “Why? Did he break the law?”
The look that passed between the men alerted Ward. He shifted his position and rubbed his chin before he cleared his throat. “He was involved in taking young women from their families.”
Thatcher scoffed although his position did not change. His arms crossed, he focused on something outside the barn.
“What?” Ward asked, directing his question to Thatcher. “Do you have any information to share?”
Thatcher turned his head toward him, and his eyes narrow with suspicion. “So, are you saying you believe Fletcher was part of Berren’s Bandits?”
“Yes.” Ward firmed up his stance, keeping his eyes on the man. “I’ve heard of you, that you’re a bounty hunter. You were involved in the killing of Boyd Berren. Too bad you killed him before we had a chance to question him, to find the other members of the gang and bring them to justice.”
Thatcher scoffed again and then amusement played on his lips. “I’m sorry if it inconvenienced you. If I had known his death would hinder your investigation, I would have allowed him to kill Melly and me instead.” He looked down and scuffed a toe of his boot, sending up a cloud of dust. “Though I ain’t too sure Boyd would have killed her... although dying would have been preferable to what he had in mind.”
Martin held up a hand, palm out. “Now, Thatcher, I’m sure this man is only trying to help. God knows, all the men in that gang need to be brought to justice after what they did to our wives. Isn’t that what we’ve been attempting to do?”
Flint spoke. “Yeah. We know it—"
But Ward cut Flint off with a swing of his arm and focused on Martin. “Do you mean y’all are married to Berren’s victims?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, each of us, and they only met yesterday for the first time. This tragedy with Mr. Babbitt has sadly marred their reunion.”
Ward creased his forehead in puzzlement. “These women knew each other before they were kidnapped?”
Thatcher laughed harshly. “Seems like your investigation has a few holes in it, Marshal.”
Ward stiffened his spine and crossed his arms. “Please enlighten me.”
Thatcher remained silent, but Martin stood, brushed his pants, and then looked at Ward, his face serious. “As it turns out, our wives are sisters. Sixteen years ago, when they were teens, Berren’s Bandits killed their parents and younger brother.”
Ward nodded. “I see. What do you know about the gang’s recent activities?”
Thatcher resumed looking beyond Ward and spoke without turning his head. “More than you, it appears.”
Martin frowned at Thatcher before turning his gaze back to Ward. “Really, not much. All we know is that Mr. Taron was eager to help Abby, Joshua’s wife. She has worked here on the ranch for many years.”
Flint nodded and added his two cents. “And when Mr. Taron found out what had happened when Abby was younger, he told her he would help find these men and bring them to justice. That’s when he hired a private investigator.”
At this, Ward’s heart gave a leap. He would only have to question the investigator and find out what he discovered. “Where will I find this man?”
Thatcher laughed harshly again but still did not turn his head, as if Ward was not worthy of his attention. “It’s a little late for that.”
Ward had enough and took a step toward him, his fingers itching to shake him like a dog shaking a dead rabbit.
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