On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2)

by Lynnette Bonner

  Kin nodded his thanks.

  They had just paused at the back of the crowd, when the minister started speaking.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dixie stood at the back of the crowd, arms folded against the cold. Steven had lived through the night, and with each passing moment that he lingered on, there was an urging deep inside to protect her future—Rose’s too—and to do it quickly before he regained his strength. Because once he regained his strength the upper hand would fall to him. A shiver slipped over her that had nothing to do with the cold.

  The clouds that had brought the skiff of snow during the night had cleared and sun sparkled so brightly off the fresh white blanket that it hurt her eyes. She’d much rather be back in the boardinghouse kitchen preparing her supplies and planning the coming week’s meals—and what she was going to do about Steven. But she’d felt it might seem rude for her not to show up. As a town businessperson, she wanted to stay in the good graces of all, especially Mr. Heath.

  At the front of the gathering the minister smiled, and it transformed his face, making her realize he was much younger than she’d first thought, and actually quite handsome. His dark hair and soft green eyes would soon have all the single ladies of Wyldhaven swooning, she’d bet.

  “Good morning, everyone. I’m glad you could join me today.” His voice, a smooth tenor, had coaxing overtones that were pleasant to listen to.

  A good voice for a minister to have, she supposed.

  “I promise not to keep you out in this cold for long. I’m Preston Clay, your new town minister, recently hired by town founder, Mr. Zebulon Heath.” He stretched a hand toward Zeb and everyone broke into applause. After the applause died down, he continued. “As many of you know, there was a bit of hubbub with the coach’s arrival yesterday”—many eyes turned to look at Kin, who stood in cuffs by Joe’s side—“and at this very moment a man lies upstairs in the boardinghouse, fighting for his life.”

  Dixie’s attention narrowed on the man. Surely he wasn’t…

  “I’ve gathered us here to seek our maker on that man’s behalf.”

  Murmurs of concurrence traversed the crowd.

  Dixie suddenly didn’t care if she would be thought rude, or not. She wasn’t going to stay here to petition the Almighty for the life of a man who had made hers nothing but torture.

  Even though the minister kept talking to the townsfolk as she walked away, she could feel his gaze boring into her back the whole way across the street.

  Rose lay gravely ill with pneumonia, and yet no one had called a town meeting to petition the Lord on her behalf. Of course, the minister might not have heard yet about Rose’s condition, she supposed, since he’d only arrived in town last evening.

  Instead of going through the front door of the boardinghouse, she slipped around to the side and took the door that led her straight into the kitchen. Her troubled thoughts were still wrestling with themselves over what to do about Steven.

  One thing she knew—she couldn’t let him live. She’d been accused of his murder once already, so why not make the accusations true? She didn’t have a problem with that. What she did have a problem with was leaving Rose to care for herself in her elder years. If she got caught, it would be hanging for her, without question. And what would it do to Rose to lose both of her children in such violent manners? For despite the fact that she wasn’t Rose’s blood daughter, she knew the woman thought of her as one.

  No. If she were going to follow through with this, she needed to come up with something that couldn’t be traced back to her. She just wasn’t sure what that was.

  With a sigh, she hung her coat on its peg by the back door, and set to rolling up her sleeves. She had meals to cook for Rose and—

  She froze.

  Sitting on the small kitchen table was Flynn’s doctor bag. And in that moment, she knew exactly the solution to her dilemma.

  Flynn must have left it there after he’d checked on Rose and Steven this morning, and before he’d headed over to the impromptu church service. Laudanum. When she was a girl, their neighbor had taken her life with an overdose of the medicine. In fact bottles of it were now most often labeled with the warning of “poison!” even though small doses were quite harmless.

  A cramp took hold of her stomach. What better opportunity was she ever going to have to find something that would make Steven’s death look like it had come of natural causes? He was already on high doses of the opiate. It would only take a little more to ensure that she and Rose never had to face his cruelty again. And yet to take advantage of it would be a massive betrayal of Flynn’s trust.

  With a tormented groan, she sank into the chair across the table from the bag. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and stared at the black leather. Thirty seconds. Maybe even less. That was all she needed.

  She glanced to the back door. If someone came through from the dining room she would hear them coming, but if anyone stepped through that door they would see her immediately. One more glance at the doctor bag sealed her decision.

  She dashed across the room and twisted the back door’s lock into place, then hurried back to the table. Her hands trembled almost to the point of uselessness as she fumbled with the clasps on the bag. Her ears strained to hear if anyone might be coming through the dining room, but her heart was beating so loudly that she suddenly knew she’d never be able to hear if someone approached.

  Hurry!

  The clasp finally gave way to her fumbling, and she pushed the satchel open, scanning the interior. He kept all his medicines in neat rows of pockets and loops of leather. It only took her a moment to spot the large brown bottle with the red label that read “laudanum-poison.”

  She lifted it, but a thought suddenly stilled her. She couldn’t just take his whole supply or he would surely know that he’d been robbed. But what could she store a portion in? She fumbled through the pockets and compartments, doing her best to hurry yet not disturb the orderly contents too much. There! A pocket in the satchel contained empty apothecary jars that he must use for doling out doses of medicine to patients. Since it was full of empty jars of varying sizes, it wasn’t likely that he would miss one.

  Both bottles rattled against the table as she set them down and worked to unstop first the empty one and then the laudanum.

  That task accomplished, she paused. How much would she need to kill a man? She’d watched Flynn give Steven the equivalent of half a teaspoon last night. So more than that. If she took too much, Flynn might notice it was gone. Yet if she didn’t take enough, she might not succeed in her mission.

  “Be right with you, I just need to grab my bag!”

  Dixie jolted and almost dropped the bottle of laudanum! Flynn’s voice and coming from right outside the back door! He rattled the handle. Dixie held her breath.

  “Huh.” His footsteps retreated.

  No time! She didn’t even stop to consider further. Her hands shook so badly that she spilled some of the brown liquid down the side of the empty apothecary jar, but she managed to fill it half way.

  She heard the bell over the front door ring.

  Quickly, she thrust the cork into the top and snatched a towel to wipe the side of the jar. She couldn’t have it leaving brown splotches everywhere!

  She shoved the apothecary jar into the pocket of her skirt and snatched up the cork for the laudanum bottle. It tumbled from her trembling fingers and bounced to the floor and under the table.

  He was going to catch her! Dixie dove under the table, hand fumbling across the shadowy boards in search of the darkness-cloaked cork. She couldn’t find it!

  Flynn had started through the dining room, because she heard him move a chair out of his path.

  Cork still not in hand, Dixie froze and settled her forehead against the floor. She’d failed.

  “Doc! Could I speak to you a moment?” That was Joe’s voice.

  “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  Dixie’s head shot up. Reprieve! And there was th
e cork! She could see it, now that her eyes were used to the dim light under here.

  She snatched it up, holding it more carefully this time as she tamped it home. She settled the laudanum bottle into the pocket she’d removed it from, assessed that she hadn’t disturbed anything else too much, and snapped the flap closed.

  “Alright, I’ll stop by in a few minutes.” Flynn’s voice was coming her way again.

  Dash her quavering fingers and the double leather buckles. Her heart pounded in her throat. At last, the final clasp settled into place and Dixie shoved the bag against the wall where he’d left it.

  He banged through the batwing doors as she swiped up the faint brown ring of liquid from the tabletop.

  Dixie jolted guiltily and hurried to the sink, presenting him with her back. “Morning.” Her voice rattled like a marble in the bottom of an empty milk pail. She cleared her throat and tried again, turning to face him this time. “Morning.”

  He had paused by the doors, one hand still holding one of the wings open. He studied her, concern etching his features. “Everything alright?”

  She waved the towel, too late realizing that it held convicting evidence. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep too well last night.” She dropped the towel into the sink and pumped water onto it as though her intent had been to scrub it all along.

  “Yes. I’m sure this must be wearing on you. I plan to sit with Rose today, and I hope you will do your best to rest as soon as you are done with this morning’s clean-up. It is the Sabbath, after all.”

  Dixie tensed. He planned to be here all day? She looked over at him. “I can sit with her.”

  He hefted his doctor bag, and Dixie halfway expected him to suddenly realize that it was lighter one apothecary bottle and some liquid.

  She held her breath and scrubbed the towel all the harder.

  “Nonsense. I have to be here all day anyhow to sit with Steven. He’s going to be very touch and go today, and I don’t want to be far from him. So I can check in on Rose often. I want you to take a walk, or take a nap, or simply lie about and read your favorite book. You need the reprieve. I don’t need another patient to attend to.” He smiled, but his expression brooked no bucking.

  Dixie huffed a breath. “Yes. Fine. I can do that. And thank you.”

  He nodded. “My pleasure.”

  When he didn’t leave right away, she hurried him on his way with, “I’ll bring oatmeal and dried apples up for everyone in a few minutes. And more broth for Steven?”

  He shook his head. “Today I only want to give him water. His body needs to put all its energy into healing, not digesting. So if you could just pour a bit of the warm water out when you make tea? And I’ll give that to him.”

  She dared not let her shoulders slump. It was probably best that she not heat the laudanum in a hot broth anyhow. It might change or dilute it somehow. And she couldn’t add it to water because the brown coloring and smell would give it away. She would just have to bide her time until she could have a few minutes alone with Steven.

  “Yes. Fine. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  He nodded and started out the door, but then paused and looked back at her. “Dixie, I’m going to do my very best to make sure he stands trial for what he did to you if he lives through this.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded, focusing on wringing the soap out of the towel.

  What she didn’t say was that she was going to do her best to make sure he didn’t have to go through that trouble.

  Monday morning, the sheriff pushed into the jailhouse. Kin sat up groggily, but he was afraid his teeth might chatter if he said anything, so he held his silence. He’d spent another night half frozen and huddled into the thin blankets. The sheriff, who hadn’t stepped foot into the jail all day yesterday, tossed a surprised double-take at the bare cot in the other jail cell, then immediately set about adding wood to the stove. Though Joe had done some better of a job of banking the fire last night than had been done the night before, Kin looked forward to the first rays of heat that would soon be radiating from the stove. He scooted to the end of the cot that was closest to the pot belly, both thin quilts still wrapped around his shoulders.

  The door opened again and Miss Brindle stepped into the room, followed by Deputy Rodante.

  Kin’s brows shot up. He straightened quickly, and combed his fingers through his too-long hair.

  Miss Brindle was saying, “…so I thought I would check with you to see if you would be willing to talk to her and see if she’s interested in the job? She could start right away.”

  Deputy Joe nodded. “I think Liora will be interested, of a certainty.”

  Even though Kin would have liked to have stayed wrapped in the quilts, he swept them off his shoulders and folded them up while he listened to their conversation.

  “I’m so glad!” Miss Brindle gushed. “I’m certain Dixie won’t have any objections to her. She’s perf—”

  Her words severed so quickly that Kin felt his heart give a thump. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look over the quilt at the three people on the other side of the bars. Miss Brindle was looking at him. Both the sheriff, who was halfway bent over with a stick of wood partway into the stove, and the deputy, who was hooking his Stetson onto a peg by the door, were looking at her.

  Miss Brindle’s jaw dropped nearly to her collarbone. “Reagan Callahan, what have you done to that poor boy?”

  The sheriff jolted, tossing a surprised look toward Kin’s cell. Then he chucked the wood into the pot belly, latched the stove door with a clang, and straightened, jaw jutting to one side. He gave Miss Brindle a look that could only be described as wary.

  Kin bit back a grin. The sheriff looked exactly like Jefferson Nolan had on the last day of school when Miss Brindle had given him a dressing down for forgetting his homework three days running.

  Miss Brindle hurried toward his cell. “This poor boy’s lips are almost as blue as cornflowers!” She rounded to face the sheriff and plunked her hands on her hips. “Tell me you gave Kin more than those thin blankets to sleep with in this drafty old place!”

  “Actually, he only gave me one. I had to fetch the second from the other cell, Miss Brindle.” He conjured the most pitiful tone he could muster. “Good thing I still had my fishing hook and line with me, else I might be nothing but a block of ice this morning.” Since Miss Brindle’s back was still to him, Kin grinned at the sheriff over her shoulder. He was sure feeling some better now that the stove was kicking out a wave of crackling warmth. Course, some of the warmth might have to do with Miss Brindle taking up for him the way she was.

  But in the next moment, he lost some of his smugness. Maybe he oughtn’t to have taunted the sheriff, because the man narrowed his eyes at him. “Sure would be a shame if I forgot to bring you breakfast this morning, son.”

  Miss Brindle gasped. “Reagan! You wouldn’t! He’s just a boy.”

  The sheriff took hold of Miss Brindle’s arm and led her from the room.

  Kin’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. He sure would have liked to have heard more of that conversation.

  In the next moment, however, he forgot all about Miss Brindle and the sheriff, because the door opened and Pa stepped into the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When Dixie’s alarm clock clanged on Monday morning, she turned over and shut it off with a groan. She had barely slept at all last night, and what sleep she had snatched had been fitful and guilt-ridden. It was as though the stolen bottle of laudanum which she had stored in her nightstand drawer the evening before had prodded her with sharp talons all night long.

  Oh my, was she truly going to go through with this? She had a very acute fear that she was about to become a murderer. And for real this time. All day yesterday, Flynn, true to his word, had sat either by Rose’s side or by Steven’s. And by the time he went home last night, the minister was comfortably ensconced in the room’s second bed. No matter how badly she’d wanted the deed done, she hadn’t b
een able to bring herself to do it with a man of the cloth in the room. But now her moment of opportunity may have arrived.

  Doctor Griffin had said he would be by to check on the patients first thing this morning but then he had to go out to the logging camps. And she’d heard Zeb ask the minister if he would have time this morning to talk over some plans for building a church come spring, and the man had agreed.

  Old Don Brass had insisted he had to get back to work this morning, so he would take off first thing. He’d already requested a traveling breakfast from Dixie the evening before, and she’d packed biscuits and hardboiled eggs into his basket. All she needed to do was fix the parson breakfast and then wait for Flynn to check on the patients and then head to the camps, and for the parson to leave to talk to Zeb. Then she would sneak into the hospital room and make sure she got every last drop of stolen laudanum down Steven’s sorry throat. Perhaps the deed could be all done by this evening.

  She fumbled with her buttons, eyes fastened on the drawer that seemed to shout her culpability to the world, though it remained steadfastly closed.

  Her chest constricted with the guilt that had been plaguing her for hours, but she shook the feeling away. Opening the drawer, she tucked the apothecary bottle into her skirt pocket. Why should she feel guilty for doing the world a favor? It couldn’t be considered murder to do away with such a man, could it? No. It would be just like she was acting in self-defense. Just like the marshal had said the other day. Self-defense was an entirely different matter in the eyes of the law.

  As if the Almighty were showing his displeasure with her reasoning, an ill wind howled like a lone wolf around the eaves, and when she pulled back the curtains, she saw that a thick blanket of powdery snow had fallen sometime during the night. The wind whipped up mini dervishes that twirled down the street as though begging her to let go her plans and come dance with them instead. A moment of longing ended with a shiver. Dixie dropped the curtain back into place.