by Amanda Cabot
He took a deep breath before unfolding the telegram. A moment later he grinned, for the hotel staff confirmed Oliver’s tale. The bellboy had heard him retching and had offered to call a physician. Even better, the maître d’ remembered the blonde woman who had ordered Oliver’s dinner, specifying that the green beans be cooked in mushroom broth.
Oliver had not lied. That was good news. Excellent news. Unfortunately, it did not bring Ethan any closer to finding the outlaws’ leader.
Abigail smiled as she warmed the water for Puddles’s bath. The pup wouldn’t enjoy it. Much as he seemed to find delight in rolling in mud puddles, he protested each time she bathed him. Unfortunately for Puddles, if he was going to continue to live inside the house, he had to be cleaner. Even Charlotte, who rarely complained, had wrinkled her nose at the smell emanating from his fur. Part of the cause was undoubtedly the medicine he’d been given, but some of the stench was due to the dog’s continued fascination with anything that smelled awful. If he lived in Wesley, Abigail had no doubt he would have joined the skunk family’s nightly parade across the town square, with predictable consequences. As it was, his curiosity had almost killed him. The morning Ethan had brought Puddles back, he and Abigail had found a partially eaten dead squirrel in the backyard. It appeared the Puddles could not tolerate squirrel meat any more than Oliver could mushrooms.
“All right, boy. It’s time.” Abigail reached for the dog, who had attempted to hide under the bench, and hoisted him into the makeshift tub. As she soaped his back, she smiled again. The two weeks that had passed since the night of Puddles’s ordeal had been the busiest she could recall, and the happiest.
Part of what kept her so busy was Puddles’s training. When it became obvious that Charlotte was having no success, Abigail had assumed full responsibility for teaching the dog to obey simple commands. He now understood “fetch,” as well as “come,” “sit,” and “lie down.”
Puddles was making good progress. Abigail was thankful for that. She was even more thankful that he had recovered completely from his squirrel dinner, but the greatest cause of her happiness was Ethan’s newfound faith. The change was remarkable. Ethan’s walk was jauntier, as if he had cast off a tremendous weight. He laughed more often, and the faint lines between his eyes had disappeared, replaced by an expression of peace. Ethan was a new man. Though Abigail knew he was still troubled by his inability to prove who was behind the stagecoach robberies, he no longer seemed haunted by the lack of progress. Instead he was confident that he would capture the gang . . . in God’s time.
“He’s teaching me patience,” Ethan confided one day before he began Abigail’s shooting lessons.
Patience was a lesson she had yet to learn, for she chafed over her slow progress. It was true that she could now hit the target consistently, but it was a very large target. Still, Ethan seemed to think that was good enough. Even though she had never hit the bull’s-eye, he had announced that next week they would use a smaller target. Abigail was not looking forward to that.
She did look forward to their nightly walks. Each evening they took Puddles out for exercise, and while the puppy gamboled beside them, she and Ethan would talk. Sometimes they spoke of significant things like Ethan’s reading of the Bible. Other times they spoke of nothing more important than whether the dark clouds that filled the sky would bring hail along with thunderstorms. The subjects didn’t matter. What did matter was that their conversations gave Abigail a new understanding of Ethan. Each day brought her closer to him, and though she had known him only a few months, she could deny it no longer. Ethan meant more to her than anyone else, even her sisters. She loved him.
“Yes, Puddles, it’s true,” Abigail said softly, admitting her love as she hauled the puppy out of the tub and began to towel him dry.
Charlotte had been right when she had said that Abigail would know when she met the man God intended for her. Unlike Charlotte’s love for Jeffrey, which had happened practically at first sight, Abigail’s had taken longer to blossom. At first she hadn’t recognized the depth of her feelings, because they were so different from what she felt for Woodrow. Now she knew the truth. The love she had for Woodrow was sisterly love. She cared for him as she did for Charlotte and Elizabeth. Abigail’s feelings for Ethan were far different. When she was with Ethan, she felt complete. Though she had not been aware that there was an empty spot deep inside her, when she was with Ethan, that spot was filled.
“All right, Puddles. We’re done.” Abigail drew the brush through Puddles’s fur one last time before letting the dog go. As he raced in circles to chase his tail, she smiled.
A mere two weeks, but so much had changed. It wasn’t only Ethan who had changed; Abigail had too. Ethan’s faith had strengthened hers and made her realize that he was the man she wanted to marry, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Though they had never spoken of their feelings, there were times when Abigail believed Ethan shared her longings. There were times when she caught a wistful look, and other times when his smile seemed particularly warm. Was that love? Though she hoped it was, Abigail knew it was possible that Ethan regarded her as she did Woodrow, as a sibling or a friend.
Puddles whined and scratched the door, reminding Abigail that he was ready to go outside. She ran her fingers through his fur, smiling at the way the dog responded to a gentle touch. Woodrow had never wanted a dog, claiming they were too much work.
Woodrow. Abigail’s smile faded at the thought of the man she had once planned to marry. She now knew that, no matter what happened with Ethan, she could not marry Woodrow. The orderly life he offered was no longer the one she wanted, for what had once seemed comfortable now appeared boring. Abigail bit her lip, thinking of how she had described Wyoming as boring. It wasn’t. It was beautiful and alive, and being here had changed her in ways she had not dreamt possible. No matter what the future held, Abigail knew she would never forget this summer, for it had shown her what true love was. That was why she could not marry Woodrow. He deserved a wife who would love him the way she did Ethan.
The problem was how to tell him. Should she send him a letter or wait until she returned to Vermont to pack her belongings? Either way, Woodrow would be disappointed, possibly hurt, and knowing that wrenched Abigail’s heart. Though Woodrow was a good man who deserved nothing but happiness, she was not the one to give him that happiness. Her hand on the doorknob, Abigail closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Dear Lord, you know what is in my heart. Show me the way. Give me the words I need.”
When she’d tied Puddles to his favorite tree, Abigail frowned. The apron she’d worn hadn’t protected her skirt from the dog’s exuberant shaking, and it bore unmistakable water stains. There was nothing to be done but change her skirt and hope that a good soaking would remove the stains.
As she climbed the stairs, the sound of soft sobbing came from Charlotte’s room, setting Abigail’s heart to pounding. Her sister was supposed to be having tea with the sewing committee this afternoon. Why hadn’t she heard her return?
After a perfunctory knock, Abigail turned the knob and entered her sister’s room. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Charlotte lay face down on the bed, her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs. “Is the baby all right?”
For a moment there was no sound save Charlotte’s crying.
“Charlotte, please. You’re scaring me.” Never before had Abigail seen her sister like this. Even when their mother had died, Charlotte’s grief had seemed muted compared to this.
Her sister turned, revealing a face blotched with tears. “Oh, Abigail, I don’t know how much longer I can continue. I feel as if I’m living a lie.”
Abigail crossed the room in a few swift strides and sank onto the bed next to Charlotte. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she drew Charlotte to a sitting position. “Sometimes it helps to talk,” Abigail said as she handed her sister a folded handkerchief. “You know I’m a good listener.”
Charlotte dabbed at her eyes. “I
didn’t want anyone to know. Today when Mrs. Montgomery was telling us how her husband dotes on her, I couldn’t bear it. If I’d stayed, I would have cried like this, and I couldn’t let anyone know.”
“Know what?”
Charlotte’s face crumpled again as she said, “My marriage was a mistake.”
Abigail tried not to wince as she remembered the strange perfume. Though she had worried about her sister and Jeffrey for months, she had hoped she was mistaken in her fears, that there was an innocent reason for Jeffrey to smell of another woman’s perfume.
“Why do you think that?” Abigail asked, tightening her grip on her sister’s shoulders. “I know you love Jeffrey, and he loves you. I see it in his eyes when he’s with you.”
“He doesn’t love me. Not anymore.” Sobs wracked Charlotte’s shoulders, and she covered her face with her hands. “I’m so ashamed. I thought I could be a good wife, but I’ve failed.”
Poor Charlotte! If she truly believed that, it was no wonder her nerves were fragile. “You haven’t failed. You’re a good wife, and you will be a wonderful mother.”
Charlotte looked up, her eyes filled with pain. “I know you love me and want me to feel good, but it won’t work. I can’t escape the truth. If Jeffrey was happy with me, he wouldn’t be with another woman almost every night. I’m not as dumb as he thinks. I can smell the cheap perfume on his clothes.”
“Perhaps there’s a good explanation.” Abigail was grasping at straws, but she had to do something to comfort her sister.
“What could it be? The only explanations I can find are that Jeffrey’s either tired of me or he’s upset because I’ve been ill so often. The result is the same: he’s spending time with one of those women at Peg’s Place.”
As much as she wanted to disagree, Abigail could not. “I hope you’re wrong.”
Charlotte shook her head again. “I’m not. The only question is whether I can continue to live like this.” She touched her abdomen. “My baby needs a father, but he needs a good one. I don’t know if Jeffrey can be that kind of father.”
“What would you do?” Surely Charlotte wasn’t thinking of leaving Jeffrey. Though she had more skills and money than Leah, living alone would be difficult. And there was the baby to consider.
Tears welling in her eyes, Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t go on living like this. I need to know the truth, but . . .” The tears began to fall. “Oh, Abigail, I’m such a coward. I’m afraid to ask him. I don’t want Jeffrey to know I don’t trust him.” Charlotte dabbed at her eyes. “Isn’t that silly? I’m worried sick, but I don’t want to do anything that might hurt him.”
“You love him.” And Charlotte was a peacemaker. She would never willingly confront anyone, much less someone she loved as much as she did Jeffrey.
“I do. I just wish I were as strong as you. Then I could ask him.”
Abigail closed her eyes for a second, not liking the direction the conversation was heading. “Do you want me to ask him?” Though she did not want to interfere in her sister’s marriage, if there was something she could do to ease Charlotte’s pain, she would.
Charlotte shook her head vehemently. “No. That would be wrong, but could you . . .” She hesitated before completing the sentence. “Would you see where he goes?”
Slowly, Abigail nodded. “You know I’d do anything for you, sister of mine.”
A weak smile was Charlotte’s only response.
By suppertime, Charlotte’s face bore no trace of tears, and if she was quieter than normal, neither Ethan nor Jeffrey seemed to notice. The men spoke of the upcoming baseball game, and when his team won, Jeffrey was in visibly good spirits. But when the game ended, he did not return home. He stayed on the parade ground long enough to enjoy the basket of cakes that Charlotte had brought, then left without an explanation. Though Charlotte said nothing, Abigail saw the anguish in her eyes and knew that she had no choice. She had to do what she had promised: learn where Jeffrey had gone.
When she and Ethan took Puddles for his walk, Abigail looked closely at the Officers’ Club. That was where Jeffrey claimed he was spending most evenings. Fortunately, the night was unusually warm for mid-September and the door stood open, allowing her to see the occupants. The tables were filled with men playing cards and drinking spirits, but Jeffrey was not one of them. Abigail’s heart plummeted at the realization that her sister’s fears had been confirmed. In all likelihood, Jeffrey was at the hog ranch.
Abigail had no memory of what she and Ethan discussed as they continued their walk. She must have sounded coherent, and that was a small miracle in itself, for her mind kept shrieking, No, Jeffrey, no! When she returned to the house, Charlotte was already in bed, exhausted by the day’s events. Locking Puddles in the back hallway, Abigail slipped out the front and headed for the stables. Though the soldier guarding the horses looked askance, he did not refuse to saddle Sally for her, seeming to accept Abigail’s explanation that she was helping her sister. That much was true, even though the help she was providing was not simply exercising the mare.
She had emerged from the stables and was headed for the bridge when she heard the call. “Abigail! Where are you going?”
She frowned. Though ordinarily her heart would have beat faster at the sound of Ethan’s voice, this was one time when she did not welcome his presence. He must have been visiting the cavalry barracks for some reason, and now he was coming toward her at double-time. “Where are you going?” he repeated.
“I’d rather not say. It’s a family matter.” Whether or not she and Charlotte were mistaken, it was better that no one—not even Ethan—knew of their suspicions.
Even in the dim moonlight, Abigail had no trouble seeing Ethan’s frown. “I cannot believe your family knows you’re out here.” When she said nothing, he continued. “I won’t ask why you think this is important, but you can’t leave the fort alone at night. It’s not safe. I’d worry every minute until you returned.”
Abigail’s heart warmed at the huskiness in his tone, for it told her that he cared for her . . . at least a little.
“Let me go with you,” Ethan said, placing his hand on Sally’s bridle. “I promise to keep whatever it is you’re doing confidential. I won’t even tell Jeffrey.”
Abigail shook her head at the unintentional irony. “Jeffrey will know soon enough. The reason I’m out is that I’m looking for him. I have reason to believe he may be at Peg’s Place.”
“Jeffrey?” Astonishment colored Ethan’s voice. “I know Oliver is a frequent visitor, but Jeffrey . . .”
“I’m afraid so. He’s not at home, and he’s not at the Officers’ Club. I don’t know where else he would be.” She wouldn’t mention the perfume. That detail was too damning.
Ethan hesitated for a moment before nodding. “All right. I’ll get Samson, and we’ll go to Peg’s.”
They rode in silence, and for the first time, the silence was not a companionable one. Abigail could not imagine what Ethan was thinking. For her part, she was praying her fears and Charlotte’s would be unfounded, and that Jeffrey had not broken his marriage vows.
Though moonlight hid many flaws, the hog ranch still looked as seedy as it had the other times Abigail had seen it. Light spilled through the open windows, raucous laughter drifted onto the still air, and the smells of cheroot smoke and cheap perfume made her wrinkle her nose.
Ethan reined his horse in front of the main door and dismounted. “This is no place for a lady,” he said, looking up at Abigail, “but I doubt I can dissuade you. Will you at least let me go in first?” When she shook her head, Ethan sighed. “You’re a stubborn woman.” But he helped her off the mare.
“Jeffrey’s my family,” Abigail said when her feet were on the ground. Though her legs were trembling at the thought of what she might find inside the smoky room, she knew she had no choice. “I need to find him.”
Ethan opened the door and allowed her to precede him. While everything inside
her shrank at the prospect of finding Jeffrey here, Abigail stood in the doorway and looked around, searching for her brother-in-law. A bar stretched the length of the far wall, the mirror hanging over it so covered with grime that it barely reflected her image and Ethan’s. A few equally dirty glasses and bottles decorated two shelves. Four small tables were clustered in one corner, while a battered pianoforte occupied the opposite corner.
Though two men stood at the bar, apparently arguing with the barkeeper, and another was seated at one of the small tables, his attention on the scantily clad blonde who perched on his knee, none of them was Jeffrey. That left the large table in the center of the room, where eight men were so engrossed in their card game that they had not noticed Abigail’s arrival.
Abigail took a step forward, grateful for Ethan’s presence at her side. Papa would have called it a den of iniquity, no place for his daughter. Mama would have swooned at the mere idea of Abigail setting foot inside. As the door closed behind her and Ethan, the saloon’s occupants looked around.
The woman who’d been entertaining the cowboy in the corner jumped to her feet. “Miss Harding,” Leah hissed as she covered the distance between them. “What are you doing here? This is no place for you.”
It was no place for Leah, either, but Jeffrey was Abigail’s primary worry now. “I’m looking for my brother-in-law,” she said. “Is Lieutenant Crowley here?” When the card players had turned around, she had confirmed that none of them was Jeffrey. That did not mean that he wasn’t on the premises, though, for he could be in any of the cabins. At least he was not with Leah. Somehow that thought comforted Abigail.
Leah bit her lip, her reluctance obvious. It was clear that she knew who Jeffrey was and that Abigail’s question bothered her. “No.” Leah shook her head, setting the golden curls to bouncing on her shoulders. She glanced at the man behind the bar, then turned slightly so he could not read her lips. “Yes, he is,” she said, her voice so low that Abigail could barely hear her. “He’s in the back room.” When Abigail raised an eyebrow rather than ask the question, Leah said, “The entrance is ’round back. That keeps it private like.”