“No.”
There lay some hope. “Then surely, even after the shock of your news, he’ll be relieved to know you are unharmed.”
“I did write him. The letters were returned. Unopened.”
Joel pinched sweat from his upper lip, the journey and the throbbing limb taking their toll. What kind of a man was her father? He didn’t read her letters. How could he not wonder about his daughter? He sounded more like a prideful man than an honorable one. Still, pride could be undone at the sight of a daughter gone so long, especially one as beautiful as Miss Fairbanks. A crisp breeze stirred and wispy strands of auburn hair drifted across her delicate cheekbones.
The urge to tuck the wayward silk behind her ear surprised Joel and he moved back an inch. He couldn’t imagine the fear the young lady was experiencing, neither could he believe her father would be so unfeeling as to turn her out. “Your father will most likely surprise you. After all, a grandchild is a blessing, not a curse. He’ll be glad you’ve come home.”
She worried her bottom lip, her refined, delicate features pinched with worry. “No. I’m quite sure he won’t welcome me with open arms, but for the sake of my child,” she stood and raised her chin. “I have to try.”
He joined her and offered his elbow. “And it is my honor to escort you into battle.” He waited and she rewarded him with a weak smile. She did not, however, take his arm.
They headed off toward Evergreen at a slow, miserable pace. Joel wasn’t sure if he was the one setting the speed or she with her trudging steps. Regardless, he was appreciative, but each footfall compounded the pain in his leg to the point he fought the desire to clench his jaw. The young lady needed a strong escort, not a whimpering fool.
“Tell me, Captain, what brings you to Evergreen?”
Echoes of an argument. His wife screeching about dreamers, men who couldn’t get their heads out of the clouds. Just how did he think he was going to provide for her? Especially now. He had to figure it out, she’d demanded. He had to find a job. Pan for gold. Do something.
And screeching. Always screeching.
“I am debating a job offer in Cheyenne, but I may go on to the gold fields in Deadwood.”
He didn’t wish to discuss it, but the young lady persisted, perhaps as a distraction. “The position. What is it?”
“An acquaintance of mine owns a dry goods store. He’s agreed to hire me as a clerk, if I want.”
She cut her eyes quickly at him. “Hard to imagine a captain in the cavalry clerking in a mercantile. Or panning for gold, for that matter.”
Surprised she recognized his rank, Joel’s eyebrows shot up. Of course, with Custer’s massacre not even a year past, the cavalry had received quite a lot of national attention.
“The army bought horses from my father,” she said. “I recognize the emblem on your hat and your shoulder boards.” They trudged on a few more yards before she spoke again. “What would you rather do? I don’t think it’s either one of those.”
Memories assailed him. Riding at a full gallop on his favorite mount, Hercules. Bounding through the Kentucky hills, leaping logs, jumping creeks.
In the cavalry, charging after Indians, good men at his side, a strong, fast horse beneath him. The power, the speed, the control. Horses had always made him feel invincible… until one, well-placed arrow had shattered that illusion. He’d once thought himself a man among men. Now, he felt like half a man. Ruth agreed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked sweat from his eyes. God, forgive me, but I wanted to leave her, too. The way she looked at me… with pity and repulsion.
The pain in his leg spiked, as if to remind him of what he’d lost, what he’d never have again, of the doubts that would plague him the rest of his life.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Fairbanks cleared her throat. “None of my business.”
Joel realized he’d drifted down a road of bitter thoughts and had nearly forgotten her question. To be polite, he tried to answer. “I would rather work with horses again, but…” He trailed off, unwilling to speak aloud the dream he’d lost.
“Your injury?” He didn’t respond and she nodded. “You’re walking. I would imagine there’s not much you can’t do.”
“I can’t ride again.” The road before him swam and he wondered at the waves of heat coming off the dirt. The weather was cool. Why was he sweating? He stumbled and she clutched his arm. “I… I feel…” He touched his head. So light, he wondered if it was still attached to his shoulders.
“Captain, are you all right?”
Pain flowed up his leg like a river of lava, twisting its way to his gut. Nausea swelled, bloomed like a poison, filling his head with darkness…
3
Fear, white-hot, acidic, seeped into every inch of Angela’s being when she heard her father’s booming voice rising up the hotel’s steps. She clenched her jaw and shrunk deeper into the room’s only chair.
Doc Sinclair pulled back from his patient and nodded at Angela. “I’ll see if I can calm him a smidgen before he comes bustin’ in here.”
“Thanks, Doc.” She barely managed to croak. Her throat felt astonishingly dry.
He pulled his stethoscope from his neck and crossed to the door. Running a hand through his silver hair, he exhaled. “Boy, this is gonna set him off.” With that he slipped out the door and Angela listened intently.
“Jess, good news. Angela’s back—”
“Angela?” Her father growled. “Angela? I got word one of my hands was gettin’ tended to.”
“Well, in a manner of speakin’—”
“Never mind.” Jess’s voice and footsteps faded, as if he was headed away.
“Dang it, Jess,” Doc snapped. “Your daughter is in there with her husband…”
Angela gasped. Oh, no, Doc wasn’t supposed—
The retreating footsteps stopped abruptly. “Husband?” She could hear the shock in her father’s voice, but she couldn’t determine if that was all. Still, she braced for an eruption.
“Husband. He’s dehydrated. Near as I can tell, possibly suffering from some malnutrition.”
“Malnutrition?” A snort of disgust. “That girl never could cook. Didn’t even learn for a husband. Disgraceful little trollop.”
“Might be a little more to it than that, you old coot.” Doc’s own voice rose to reveal his impatience. “Everything isn’t her fault. He’s an amputee. Fairly recent. Sometime in the last eight months or so. You know those boys deal with depression. Loss of appetite is a common problem.”
Thwack.
Angela imagined her father striking the banister. “Disappears on me, gone a whole year, and comes back with half a husband.” More derisive chuckling. “And I suppose she just expects me to take them in.”
“She is your daughter. He’s your son-in-law now.”
Silence.
It dragged on and Angela folded her arms over her head, writhing with remorse, wishing she’d gone anywhere but here. Wishing she’d never met the soldier lying in the bed. Wishing she’d never disobeyed her father.
“When can they travel?”
She lifted her head. Would he let her come home?
“Give him a day or two. Gotta get some liquids and decent food in him.”
Her father did not respond and after a moment, she heard the fading of his boots headed down the stairs. An instant later, Doc slipped back in. Good humor sparkled in his light brown eyes. “I think that went better than expected. What do you think?”
Angela rose and laced her fingers over her stomach. “Why did you tell him he’s my husband?”
“Honestly, Angela, I thought that father of yours would control himself better if the news came from someone other than you.”
She couldn’t argue with the logic, only she hadn’t planned on telling that particular lie to her father. She’d merely meant for Doc Sinclair to believe it. So he would tend to Joel.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive… the
child’s poem wouldn’t leave her mind.
Doc thrust his stethoscope into the bag beside the bed and latched it shut. “When he comes to, try to get eight glasses of water in him over several hours. I’ll order some chicken soup for tonight. And we’ll build from there. He’s young and strong. He’ll recover pretty quickly.” The prosthetic, a wooden leg with a corset-like sling for the thigh, caught his attention. “Angela, a man when he loses a limb…” Doc rubbed his neck, then turned to her. “Well, he has to find his way again, so to speak. If you can do everything in your power to help him…” He cocked his head and lifted a shoulder, “feel like a man, well, that would go a long way in pushing him toward a full recovery… physically and mentally.”
He stared at her with compassion, and Angela had to fight to keep her mouth from falling open. This was going horribly, horribly wrong.
Doc chuckled. “Don’t look so terrified. If you love him, just stand beside him. It’ll be all right.”
Angela couldn’t find her voice. On the verge of panic, she merely nodded.
Doc nodded back. “I’ll stop by in the morning to check on our young soldier.”
When the door closed, Angela drifted over to the bed. She ran a finger ever-so-lightly across the stays on the prosthetic. Prosthetic? It looked more like a torture device.
Compassion welling up in her, she turned her attention to Joel. She brushed a dark curl off his forehead. He was quite handsome.
When he had tried talking to her on the stage, she had immediately noticed the weathered lines around his intense, but kind, blue eyes. She knew the look of a man who’d spent much time outdoors. She had also noticed the small scar on his chin, about an inch long; it stopped just short of his bottom lip.
In physique, he was muscular, tall, with broad shoulders, and wore his wavy, dark hair cropped at the collar. Walking down the road, he had towered over her, but rather than making her feel subjugated, she’d felt… protected. He carried himself with a peaceful strength she found contagious.
The ring glinting in the early afternoon glare reminded her he had a wife. Had she done everything she could to make him feel like a man? Angela suspected such was not the case. He had called out to Ruth, said things like cripple, half a man, useless, how could he take care of her, especially now. No, it didn’t sound like Joel had a particularly supportive spouse at home. Angela might even say cruel.
She touched his cheek, sorry for his circumstances, sorry for the way she had dragged him into hers. This man had enough trouble and here she was loaning him more. She thought about leaving, just slipping out, and heading down to the Bar FB to face her father, tell him everything. Not only did the idea terrify her, it didn’t feel right, either. At least, not yet.
She decided to wait till Joel was on his feet again.
She had been abandoned in her darkest hour. She wouldn’t inflict the same hurt on someone who had merely tried to help her.
Besides, staying with him certainly didn’t feel like a chore. Not at all.
4
Joel flinched against the light streaming in at him. Groggy, he blinked and cleared his vision. A thin, flowered curtain hung in front of the window.
Was he home?
No, that didn’t seem right. He shifted and pushed a blanket from his face. Bed. He was in bed.
But, wait, he’d been on the road. With the young lady. Angela, was it?
Utterly perplexed, he pushed himself up on his elbows. Angela sat across the room, in a wide, over-stuffed chair, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand, eyes closed.
Sound asleep.
She looked so peaceful, he couldn’t help but smile at her.
Joel tried desperately to recall how—why—he was here. A clean, decent hotel room. Brass bed. Small stove in the corner. He looked to his left and saw his wooden leg leaning on the wall next to the bed. Had she been watching over him? Had she seen his leg?
“You’re awake.”
He started at her voice and swung his gaze back to her. “Yes. But how—where?”
Working through a long, apparently needed cat stretch, and releasing a giant yawn, she sniffled and trudged over to his bedside. She poured a glass of water from the crystal vase and handed it to him. “You need to drink this. The doctor says you’re dehydrated. And half-starved. How do you explain that?”
Doctor? Joel pulled himself up in the bed and leaned back on the pillow, supported by the brass headboard. He took the water and tried to slow his whirling thoughts as he sipped. It abruptly awakened his thirst and he guzzled the rest.
“Whoa, easy there.” She forced the glass down. “Take it slower. We got a little soup and a little water in you last night, but not much to speak of, so be easy.”
Joel grasped the glass with both hands and slowly finished the water. He had so many questions, but they could wait. The water was delicious. He nearly smacked his lips.
“That’s a good sign.” She took the glass and began refilling it.
“What happened? Where am I?”
“You fainted on the road. Fortunately, a freight wagon came along only minutes later and we got you into town.”
Yes, perhaps, he did remember something vaguely about a wagon. And being placed in a soft bed. The heavenly release of the laces loosening on his thigh and his prosthetic slipping away. The warm, salty taste of chicken broth… and the scent of a woman. Perfume and lilac soap. The warmth of her hand on his cheek.
His eyes widened. Or had that been a dream? She handed him the water. “So how come a married man is malnourished? I thought I was the only terrible cook in the world.”
He took two sips, long and slow, but more to buy time than out of thirst. “I haven’t had much of an appetite since I got home.”
He’d been happy to get home initially, and his appetite had been quite healthy early on. However, as the days had passed he’d come to understand Ruth’s hesitation in having him there. That had affected his appetite for more than just food. His very spirit had dimmed. “I think I forgot to eat or drink much of anything in the last few days.” The explanation sounded thin.
She turned her head a touch, as if thinking that very thing, and Joel was again taken with how flawless her skin was; how her soft, pink lips begged for a kiss. A tendril of auburn hair hung in front of her shoulder, glistening, inviting.
She smiled tenderly, the expression warm but not quite hiding her sadness. “If my trip had been much longer, I may well have been the one fainting in the road. I haven’t eaten much of anything in a few days, either.”
Joel straightened up. “You have the baby to think of. You must eat.”
Perhaps it was the firmness in his voice that broadened her smile. “I’ve ordered breakfast for us.”
He relaxed a little and studied the room. The trouble she’d gone to get him here, rounding up a doctor, tending to him, had been no small thing. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have put you out.”
The joy left her face, replaced with a worried brow and tight lips. “Captain Chapman, I have to tell you something.” Biting her lip, she sat down on the edge of the bed. She shook her head and cast her glance about the room as if searching for courage. Finally, she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I told the doctor you were my husband. I thought he would tend to you faster that way, as he is familiar with my father.”
Joel shrugged, willing to make light of a seat-of-the-pants decision. The poor girl had more pressing matters. “The situation was urgent, I suppose. I can understand your desire for quick action. No harm done. We’ll tell him the truth and I’ll pay the bill.”
She pressed a dainty hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. “It’s worse than that. He told my father you’re my husband.”
“He told your—” He bit off the statement and whistled instead. “That’s a horse of a different color. What did your father say to that?”
Angela’s countenance lifted a little. “He seemed to expect us at the ranch.”
“You’re surprised?”
<
br /> “Stunned.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “Oh I’m sorry, I pulled you into this. We’ll get you on your feet and on your way, and then I’ll explain everything to my father. At least you’ll be out of the line of fire.”
Retreat, in other words.
No, of course not, he argued, surprised the idea had come to him. This affair was none of his business. He had an appointment to keep. He’d certainly been enough trouble to the young lady. But he felt he… shouldn’t leave. And the vague stirring of an idea toyed with the edge of his mind.
He wouldn’t mind a chance to spend a little more time with her. She…soothed him. He supposed that was the rejection talking again, yet her company brought him peace.
“Although, I’ll be honest,” she continued, “I don’t see the point in telling him anything. I should leave. He finds out I’m carrying a bastard child, he’ll just throw me out anyway.”
He studied her profile. High cheek bones. Pert nose he wanted to tap playfully. Sadness pulling at the corners of her mouth. Something pulled at him, too. Her misery. He hated seeing her so without hope. So scared. A sense of protectiveness that he attributed to honor rose up in him.
God, would a lie make things worse, or would it give her father a chance to get to know his daughter again? We’d better decide, before this gets any more out of hand.
“Miss Fairbanks—”
“Angela, please.”
“Angela, would it be,” Joel searched for the right word, “helpful if you had a husband?” Her eyes widened. “I mean, for a short time? A few days? Just long enough for you to ease into things.”
She tilted her head. “What are you saying?”
He quickly took another sip. What was he saying? He was saying it tore at him, seeing her so fearful. So undone. He wanted to help her. She had helped him. But was perpetuating a lie the best course of action? “I’m saying I could pretend to be your husband for a… a few days and then…”
“Abandon me?”
He liked that word about as much as he liked retreat. But he nodded. “Abandon you.”
The Brides of Evergreen Box Set Page 40
