With Autumn's Return (Westward Winds Book #3): A Novel

by Amanda Cabot

  Elizabeth heard the concern in her friend’s voice. “She’ll outgrow it,” she assured Gwen, “especially when she has horses to ride. Once you and Harrison are married and living on the ranch, Rose won’t have time to think about anything other than how much she loves horses.”

  “I hope you’re right. I probably shouldn’t say this, but I want Rose to have an easier life than you.”

  As Rose squirmed and headed toward the door, murmuring “horses,” Elizabeth smiled. “See? She’s already forgotten. You can stop worrying, Gwen. The truth is, being a doctor is not for everyone, but it has its rewards. I was able to save Phoebe’s life.”

  Gwen’s lips twisted into a frown. “I’m not sure you did her a favor.”

  Elizabeth refused to believe that. Life was precious. All life.

  That afternoon, she poured herself yet another cup of coffee in an attempt to stay awake. The long, sleepless night had taken its toll on her, and her eyes wanted nothing more than to close. But she could not, for she had a patient in the next room. She took another sip of the strong brew, savoring its flavor. And then she heard it. Elizabeth laid the cup on the table and rushed into the infirmary, hoping she had not been mistaken, that she had indeed heard Phoebe stirring. Though the woman’s eyes were still closed, her position had shifted.

  “No, Nelson.” The words came out as little more than a whisper. “Not right. Can’t marry.”

  It hadn’t been Elizabeth’s imagination. Phoebe’s condition was changing. “I’m here, Phoebe. It’s Dr. Harding. You’re in my office.” Elizabeth knew patients might be disoriented when a coma ended and that it was important they be told their surroundings. Though she repeated her explanation and watched Phoebe carefully, the woman gave no sign that she heard. Once more Phoebe lay silent and unmoving. But she had spoken. That was important.

  Not bothering with a coat, Elizabeth rushed next door. “Can you come?” she asked when she saw that Jason was alone. “I don’t want to leave Phoebe, but I need to talk to you.”

  When Elizabeth returned to the infirmary, Phoebe’s coma appeared to be as deep as it had been all night. The only evidence that something had occurred was the fact that she was no longer in the center of the bed.

  “She was delirious,” Elizabeth explained to Jason. He stood at her side, looking down at her patient. “What she said didn’t make a lot of sense, but I couldn’t ignore it.” Elizabeth told Jason what Phoebe had said. “I wonder what she meant.”

  “Perhaps nothing.” Though his tone was matter-of-fact, Jason’s expression belied the phrase.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath, thankful that the scent of Jason’s soap counteracted the odor of the salve she’d used on Phoebe’s wound. “You don’t believe that.”

  “No, I don’t,” he admitted. “I think it might be a clue, but . . .” He hesitated, and Elizabeth saw the conflict in his eyes as he weighed his words. “I shouldn’t tell you this, because I was told it in confidence.” Jason paused again, his gaze returning to Phoebe. “If Phoebe meant what I think she did, I don’t believe he’d want me to remain silent.”

  Though Jason had mentioned no names, there was little question who he meant. “Nelson?” Jason nodded. No wonder he was reluctant to say more. Whatever he had been told was protected by client confidentiality.

  Jason gestured toward the kitchen and waited until he and Elizabeth were seated before he spoke again. “You know Nelson was my client. What you don’t know is that he asked me to draft a divorce for him. He also told me he planned to marry again.”

  Elizabeth was not surprised by the first part of Jason’s revelation, but the second part gave her pause. “And you think Phoebe might be the woman Nelson intended to make his second wife?”

  “He wouldn’t divulge her name, but it would appear so. I can’t imagine any other reason why Phoebe would have said what she did.”

  Elizabeth considered the significance of Jason’s revelation. “If Tabitha knew about his plans . . .”

  “She might have killed Nelson to prevent it.” Jason completed Elizabeth’s sentence.

  “And then she would be a wealthy widow instead of a humiliated divorcee.” Though Elizabeth did not know Tabitha Chadwick well, she could not imagine that the woman would have relished the thought of Nelson marrying a prostitute. No matter how high-class Phoebe’s establishment was, there was no ignoring the fact that it was a house of ill repute.

  “That’s possible,” Jason said, nodding his head, “but without proof, it’s only speculation.”

  And that was the problem. “The sheriff won’t believe it. He’ll probably say I imagined it. You know how he dismissed my story of Phoebe being left-handed.” Elizabeth clenched her fists, remembering that the sheriff had suggested she let Phoebe die. “In his mind, he’s already tried and convicted her.”

  Jason reached for Elizabeth’s hands and unfurled her fingers. “We won’t give up. All we need to do is find a way to prove that he’s wrong.”

  Elizabeth smiled at the way Jason made it sound easy. Though the situation was deplorable, she could not deny that she was pleased by the way she and Jason were handling it, the way each of them seemed to understand what the other was saying.

  Her smile broadened. “What if we . . . ?”

  It was only four blocks. He could have walked, but Jason suspected Tabitha Chadwick’s butler or maid or whoever opened the door would be more likely to admit him if he came in a carriage, and so he’d rushed to the livery for his. He’d also taken the time to change into his Sunday suit, suspecting that Tabitha would be favorably impressed. Jason was leaving nothing to chance. One way or another, he was determined to see the grieving widow before she learned that Phoebe was still alive.

  As he flicked the reins and headed east on 15th Street, Jason felt excitement rush through his veins. It was true that he had been sorely disappointed that yesterday evening had not proceeded according to his plans. It had been tragic that Nelson had been killed, and yet something good had come from it. Jason smiled, recalling how often the reverend had reminded his parishioners that God had the power to turn evil to good. That had happened for Jason.

  The time he had spent with Elizabeth in the aftermath of Nelson’s death had erased Jason’s last doubts. For the first time, he truly understood what Kevin Granger had meant when he’d spoken of his life with Ruby as a partnership.

  Jason’s hours with Elizabeth had been exhilarating. Never before had he felt as if he’d been united with the other half of himself. He hadn’t known what had been missing until he found it, but now that he had, nothing would ever convince him to give it up. Elizabeth might have responsibilities in addition to being his wife and the mother of his children. She might not always be at home. But Jason knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the time they spent together would be so wonderful that nothing else mattered.

  Last night and today had been like that. He and Elizabeth had worked together, devising a plan to determine whether Tabitha had killed her husband. Jason shook his head. Work was the wrong word. That made it sound like a chore, when in fact, it had been as close to pleasure as was possible, given the fact that they were dealing with murder. He and Elizabeth had completed each other’s sentences, almost as if their thoughts had been aligned. She would say one thing, and that would trigger a new idea in his brain. Together they were stronger and smarter than either one was alone. It truly felt as if they were partners in the highest sense of the word, two people working together for a common goal.

  Jason grinned as he turned onto Warren. The feelings he had for Elizabeth—oh, why mince words?—the love he had for her had deepened as they’d put their heads together, literally as well as figuratively, to devise a way to prove Phoebe’s innocence. There was nothing he had wanted more than to declare his love and place the ring that he still carried in his pocket on Elizabeth’s left hand, but that would have to wait until they’d found Nelson’s killer. That was why Jason was in front of Tabitha Chadwick’s house. The first step
was his. If it succeeded, Elizabeth would take the next.

  Though his instincts urged him to race up the front stairs of the Chadwick mansion, Jason forced himself to move at a decorous pace. He was, after all, supposed to be paying a condolence call. That demanded slow and deliberate movements.

  “Would you tell Mrs. Chadwick that Jason Nordling has come on a matter of some urgency,” he said when a neatly uniformed maid opened the door. Though the maid appeared startled by the presence of a single man, Jason suspected that Tabitha was not as devastated by her widowhood as Miriam’s mother had claimed and that she would welcome a male visitor, especially one with whom she’d flirted as blatantly as she had with Jason.

  His theory was confirmed when the maid returned only seconds later and ushered him into a small sitting room. There he found Tabitha reclining on what he had been told was a fainting couch. Though she was dressed in unrelieved black as befitted a widow, Jason noticed that the neckline of her dress was far lower than most widows would have deemed respectable, and her face bore no sign of tears or grief.

  He gave her a short bow, then fixed his gaze on her as he said, “I came to extend my condolences. Nelson was a fine man.”

  “Indeed he was.” Tabitha extended her hand, gesturing toward a chair a mere foot from her couch. Curiosity shone from her green eyes, giving Jason the impression that she wondered whether he’d come to express more than sympathy. Surely the woman did not believe he’d court her so soon after her husband’s death. But, Jason reminded himself, Tabitha might have killed Nelson not only to avoid potential shame but to free herself to marry again.

  “I don’t know how I’ll survive without Nelson.” Tabitha’s words were expected. Only the tone rang false.

  Jason said nothing, simply inclined his head to encourage her to continue. It was a technique that had worked well with witnesses, rarely failing to elicit more information. It did not fail today.

  “That woman robbed me of the only man I’ve ever loved.” Jason was certain it was not his imagination that the words sounded rehearsed. Tabitha Chadwick was a clever woman. She knew visitors would expect her to express her grief, and so she had prepared her speech as carefully as a politician. “My only consolation is that that woman paid the price for her wickedness.”

  Keeping his expression impassive, Jason exulted in the fact that Tabitha had not heard the whole story. It was what he had been counting on, that he would have the element of surprise. He wanted to see Tabitha’s reaction when she learned that Phoebe was not in fact dead.

  “I don’t understand,” Jason said softly. “What do you mean, paid the price?”

  Tabitha’s lip curled in scorn. “That woman—that whore—killed Nelson and then she killed herself. She was a wicked, wicked woman, and she deserves to rot in hell.” Tabitha began to sob, but Jason noticed that there were no real tears, only what seemed like practiced sounds.

  He waited until the forced sobs subsided before he said, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Mrs. Simcoe is still alive. Dr. Harding arrived in time to save her.”

  Tabitha’s head, which had been bent in feigned sorrow, jerked up. The blood drained from her face, leaving her green eyes startlingly bright against pale cheeks. “That can’t be. I . . .” She hesitated for a second too long. “I heard she was dead. The sheriff said she was dead.”

  If he had been a betting man, Jason would have bet a sizable sum on the fact that Tabitha had started to say, “I killed her.” Tabitha was guilty. Guilty as sin. She murdered Nelson and tried to kill Phoebe. Jason was certain of it. All he had to do was prove it.

  When Tabitha laid an imploring hand on his arm, he tried to hide his revulsion. Though he wanted to fling her hand away, he did not. Instead, he spoke softly. “Mrs. Simcoe was close to death when the sheriff saw her. He may have believed that she would succumb to her wounds within a few hours.”

  “But she’s alive?” Fear mingled with shock, leaving Tabitha vulnerable and coloring her voice with genuine emotion.

  “Barely so. Dr. Harding is keeping a vigil over her. She only leaves the infirmary for a brief evening meal.” As Jason watched, a calculating gleam filled Tabitha’s eyes. “The doctor is hopeful, though, that Mrs. Simcoe will recover enough to stand trial. A jury will decide her punishment once they hear her testimony.”

  “Testimony?” The word came out as little more than a squeak.

  “Her version of what happened last night.”

  Tabitha was silent for a moment. “Yes, of course.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and Jason could practically hear the thoughts racing through her brain.

  The trap was baited.

  25

  It couldn’t be! Tabitha stomped her foot in frustration. Phoebe Simcoe could not have survived a knife slicing into her chest. No one could. But it appeared that evil woman, the one who had bewitched Nelson, was stronger than Nelson. He’d been easy to kill.

  Tabitha stomped her foot again. It might be childish, but she didn’t care. She had to do something to relieve the tension that had been building up inside her ever since Jason had announced that Phoebe had survived the attack.

  He didn’t know who’d been responsible for the Simcoe woman’s wounds. There was no way he could know that. He’d merely come to express his condolences and to remind Tabitha of his interest in her. Jason didn’t know the truth. There were only two people who did, and by the time today ended, that number would be reduced to one. Tabitha would not fail this time.

  She stared sightlessly out the window as she considered the possibilities. Jason had said that Elizabeth went home for supper. If the gossipmongers were accurate, he would accompany her. Phoebe would be alone. But what if she were not? What if Jason remained or the doctor asked someone else to watch over her patient? Tabitha could not afford to take any chances. Her plan must be foolproof.

  She clenched the windowsill, then spun around when she realized what she would do.

  “Camille!” she shouted. “Come here.”

  “Are you certain this is all I can do for you?” Laura Seaman asked as she slid Elizabeth’s cloak over her shoulders.

  Elizabeth nodded. So far everything was going as planned. The weather had even cooperated. The evening was cold, giving Laura a reason to use the hood. Though she was the same height as Elizabeth, and the bulky cloak would disguise her thinness, the streetlights would have revealed the difference in their hair colors, for Laura’s was many shades lighter than Elizabeth’s. This way, all anyone would see was Jason walking with a woman, and since it was common knowledge that he normally accompanied Elizabeth, there would be no reason to suspect that his companion was anyone other than the doctor.

  Though Jason had protested initially, declaring he did not want to leave Elizabeth alone, she had pointed out that Tabitha might become suspicious if they deviated from their routine. Both of them suspected Tabitha would be watching Elizabeth’s office, waiting for her to leave.

  “Besides,” Elizabeth had reasoned, “I won’t be alone. The sheriff will be here.”

  He hadn’t come. Telling Jason that he and Elizabeth were engaged in a wild goose chase, the sheriff had claimed he had more important ways to spend his time than waiting for a phantom murderer to appear. Eventually, faced with Jason’s persistence, he had relented and sent his deputy. The man was even now seated in the infirmary, waiting for Elizabeth to return to her patient’s bedside.

  Laura gestured toward the cloak that made her resemble Elizabeth. “This seems like nothing at all compared to what you gave me. It’s a miracle, having Louella.” Laura’s brown eyes softened as she smiled. “Louis is excited about being a big brother, and Lloyd and I . . .” She paused, clearing her throat. “There aren’t enough words to tell you how happy we are.”

  Though her mind whirled with thoughts of what was to come, Elizabeth smiled at her patient. “I’m happy for all of you,” she said. “I know you’ll give Louella the love she deserves.”

  “That we will.” Laura clasped her gloved
hands together. “What do I do next?”

  Elizabeth handed her the now-empty medical bag. “You and Jason will go out the front door, then walk as quickly as you can to my home. Don’t run, but I want anyone who might be watching to think you’re in a hurry.” As Laura inclined her head in agreement, Elizabeth continued. “Gwen will be expecting you. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but Jason will come back to take you home as soon as he can.” He’d been the one who’d delivered the message to Laura and who’d brought her in through Elizabeth’s back door an hour earlier. Though they both thought it unlikely that anyone was keeping the office under surveillance before dark, extra precautions couldn’t hurt.

  “Thank you again,” Elizabeth said as Laura walked toward the front door, her head held high in an imitation of Elizabeth herself.

  Once she heard the door close, Elizabeth returned to the infirmary, where a small lamp burned. It was the same lamp that she’d lit at Phoebe’s arrival. Though she extinguished it during the day, as the sun began to set, she’d lit it again, just as she would have if Phoebe were still in the room. Though, like many of the buildings in Cheyenne, her office had electricity, Elizabeth preferred the softer light of a lamp in the infirmary.

  “They’re gone,” Elizabeth said as she slipped her arms into a nightshirt and reached for the wide white bandage she’d laid out earlier.

  “And now we wait.” Unlike the skeptical sheriff, the deputy seemed excited about his assignment, admitting this would be his first chance to apprehend a murderer. His eyes widened as he watched Elizabeth wind the bandage around her head. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Doctor, that’s a most unusual hat.”

  “But a necessary one. If Mrs. Chadwick comes, she’ll expect to see Mrs. Simcoe, not a woman with brown hair.” Elizabeth tucked in the end of the bandage, securing it. “This hat, as you call it, will keep her from realizing that the patient in that bed is not the woman she tried to kill.”