Each breath became more painful, more labored. She was crying—she could tell. Tears… tears hit her hands. But it was all right to cry now, for it wasn’t fair. Dying wasn’t fair. She coughed again, gasping for air that wasn’t there. Too stubborn to roll up and die, aren’t you? Yes, she thought. Too stubborn.
Willing herself to move into the far corner of the cabin, she pressed on, feeling her way along the hard wooden floor.
Jason strode into the cafe, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to warm them. He walked directly to the stove. Ivy was sitting at a table with Bram Justice, her face pinched with worry.
“Morning, Ivy, Bram. Something wrong?”
“Oh, Jason, I’m glad you’re here,” Ivy answered, getting up to meet him. “You seen Rachel lately?”
Memory of their volatile meeting the day before stirred him, but he kept his feelings hidden. “I saw her yesterday. Why?”
Clucking her tongue nervously, Ivy paced in front of him. “Well, she ain’t in her room, and it looks to me like she ain’t been there all night.”
“I suggested that perhaps she’d stayed at the Corinthian with Captain Weber,” Justice offered.
“Reasonable,” Jason answered, “but I stopped there on my way over here to check on one of the waiters. Weber was in the dining room, but he was alone.”
“Oh, merciful heaven,” Ivy murmured. “Where could that girl be?”
Jason frowned. “That’s odd. Are you sure she didn’t leave you a note or something?” For some unknown reason, fear germinated in his chest.
Ivy shook her head. “I’ve checked everywhere.” Shoving her hands into her apron pockets, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. She absently smoothed it out and glanced at it, moving it away from her face so she could read it. She shook her head.
“Jason,” she asked, “what does this say? I don’t have my spectacles on me.”
Jason plucked it from her fingers and read it aloud. “ ‘If you want to know who killed your husband, follow the boy.’ ” He glanced at Ivy, their eyes meeting over the top of the paper. She looked puzzled.
“That’s it? That’s all it says?”
Jason shook his head and glared down at the strong, boxy print. The germ of fear erupted in his chest. “It also says, ‘Come now, and—’ ”
“And? And what?” she almost shrieked.
“ ‘—and come alone.’ ”
“What? What?” Ivy paled and grabbed back the note, held it at arm’s length and tried to read it herself.
Jason raked his fingers through his hair. “She wouldn’t go off with someone she doesn’t even know, would she?”
Ivy shook her head violently. “No. No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t—would she?”
Jason thought back to their heated conversation the day before. She’d been so damned determined to discover who killed her blasted husband. Normally, he didn’t think she’d go off half-cocked, but after yesterday, after everything she’d said to him, he was no longer so sure. She just might jump at the chance to prove she meant what she’d said. His own words to her lashed his memory again, and the bitter, destructive taste of revenge filled him.
Taking the note back from Ivy, he reread it. “What boy is this?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice on the verge of hysteria. “I don’t know at all.” She gasped, looking toward the door. “Earl has to know. Maybe he can think. Oh, dadgumit, I just can’t think.”
Bram Justice shrugged into his coat. “Maybe I can help. I’ll check down at the stable. Isn’t there an orphan lad down there who can’t speak?”
Jason turned, surprised at the saloon keeper’s offer. “Yes, Willy. Thanks, Bram. That’s good of you. It would have been easy for someone to have him deliver such a note. Willy can’t talk and he doesn’t read or write. The perfect delivery boy.”
Nancy and Jessie came in, puzzled at the commotion until Ivy herded them into the kitchen, her voice worried as she tried to explain what had happened.
Jason paced in front of the stove. Dammit, he felt so useless. He stared outside, knowing he couldn’t just pace. If something had happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. He’d thrown so many angry words at her yesterday, heaping his hurt on her because she felt the need to stand by her father-in-law. He’d wanted to tell her why he hated the man. But he wanted her to discover it herself. He didn’t want her pity, and he didn’t want her disbelief. But he had wanted to hurt her for her loyalty to the bastard.
Tully rushed into the cafe, his cheeks rosy above his oversized mustache. “Mornin’, Doc.”
He nodded absently and buttoned up his sheepskin jacket. “Rachel’s disappeared.”
Tully’s expression suddenly changed. “What? What do ya mean, she’s disappeared?”
Jason handed him the note. He watched Tully’s face change again.
“Jee-hoshaphat,” he muttered. “If you weren’t busy, I was gonna have you come with me to that empty shack out near the junction. It’s smokin’. Thought we’d take a look-see.” Shaking his head, his eyes still focused on the note, he gave a stunned whistle through his teeth.
“Bram Justice went over to the stable to find Willy. Hopefully he’s the one who delivered the note.”
Tully studied Jason. “You think Buck’s behind this?”
Jason went cold. That hadn’t occurred to him. “Does that sound like Buck to you?”
Tully uttered a huge sigh. “Nope, not really.” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Dammit, sometimes I think I’m too old for this job.”
“I can’t coddle you now, Earl. We’ve got to find Rachel,” he answered sharply as he strode to the door.
“Hell, I know it. If that father-in-law of hers gets wind of this, my ass is in a sling.”
Jason stopped. God, he hadn’t thought about Weber. He glanced outside as Bram Justice, his coat collar pulled up to cover his ears, hurried toward him.
“Anything?” Jason asked.
Justice shook his head. “The boy isn’t there. No one’s seen him since yesterday.”
Studying the new muddy ruts in the street because of the rain, Jason swore. He couldn’t concentrate; he couldn’t focus on where to begin. He sure as hell didn’t want to confront Weber. Somehow he had to get Rachel back before Weber even knew she’d been gone.
He watched a wagon clatter slowly down the wet brown street, turn and continue past the bank, out of sight. An idea, farfetched and desperate, began to form in his brain.
Justice cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Marshal, I might have an idea where the boy can be found.”
Earl straightened. “Well, get on it, man.”
Jason watched Bram Justice cross to the boarding house. He was surprised, but pleased that the saloon keeper was anxious to help. It was comforting to know that people always pulled together in a crisis. “Earl?”
Tully glanced over at him. “Yeah?”
“Let’s take a look at that shack.”
“What about Rachel?”
“If my hunch is right,” he answered, “we might find something. But we damned well better hurry.”
They crossed to the stable and saddled their own mounts, both noting that the boy who generally helped them wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Striking out from the stable, they headed out of town on the old Stimmler road. They stopped briefly at the junction of Stimmler and Grant.
Jason squinted into the wind and saw the smoke in the distance. Guiding his mount over the seldom-used road that led to the old supply shack, he stared at the pattern in the mud. His heart lifted.
“Earl, look at the road.”
Tully peered ahead of him. “Sure looks like buggy tracks.”
“And they’re fresh.” Jason refused to allow his hopes to soar. Nudging his mount’s ribs, they sped over the road, mud flying in their wake.
The shack was still smoking. It oozed out from around the window and the door.
Jason slid from his horse and went to the door. Quickly pulling back the latch, he flung the door open and stepped aside, allowing the smoke to billow out into the cold morning air. Both he and Tully squinted and coughed, fanning the steaming air in front of them.
“I’ll check around the back by the fireplace,” Tully announced, leaving Jason to enter the cabin alone.
Using his high sheepskin collar as a mask against the smoke, Jason stepped into the cabin. The room began to clear as the cloudy haze escaped through the open door. Next to the fireplace sat a once brightly covered easy chair. He strode to it, noting the dark blanket that hung over the back.
The second he touched the black fabric, he knew what it was. His insides grew cold again as he pulled Ivy’s cape off the chair and looked around the smoky, empty room. His frantic gaze fell on the table with the carafe and the cup and saucer. Sucking in a ragged breath, he reached for the carafe, brought it to his nose and sniffed.
The peppery odor was familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he had smelled it before. Damn, if he could only think…
“Rachel!” He tossed the carafe aside, listening to it clatter against the stone fireplace. “Rachel!”
He scanned the bare floor. His heart leaped with hope when he saw the round black ring lying flat against the wood. In a single stride he was standing over it. He tugged on the ring, pulling open the square wooden piece that covered the root cellar.
A blast of wet, musty air hit him in the face. “Rachel?” He slid into the cellar, his heart pounding so hard he could hear nothing else. And the cellar was black as pitch. He stood a moment, trying to adjust himself to the darkness.
“Rachel?” His voice was quieter, saner.
A ragged cough came from the corner.
His heart vaulted upward. He felt his way, stumbling over lumpy sacks. “Rachel? Rachel, it’s Jason.”
The ragged cough changed to a deep, bronchial sob.
He got to his knees. A foot. A small, delicate ankle. The hem of her skirt. “Rachel? Honey, it’s me.”
Her hands flew at him, touching him wildly until they came to his face. He pulled her into his lap and hugged her against him. She shivered uncontrollably and her skin was cold. “Ah, sweet thing,” he murmured into her smoke-filled hair. He rocked her back and forth against him. Her body shook with quiet, relieved sobs.
They sat in the darkness, not speaking. Jason continued to caress her back, her hair, her shoulders. The sting of tears pressed against his eyes and he felt the wetness on his cheeks.
“I… I couldn’t—” She coughed, a deep, bronchial sound that warned Jason she’d inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke.
“Shhh,” he answered. “Don’t talk. Later. You can tell me later, sweetheart.”
Tully’s head poked into the cellar. “Jason? The chimney was stopped up with rags.”
Swearing under his breath, he lifted Rachel into his arms and carried her to the opening. He would have handed her up to Tully, but she wouldn’t let go. Her arms were soldered around his neck.
Tully reached for her but Jason shook his head. “I’ll make it,” he said, finding the narrow steps that led up to the cabin floor.
He ordered Tully to get Ivy’s cape. Tully wrapped it around a shivering Rachel and they left the cabin, stepping gratefully into the clean, cold morning air.
Because Ivy insisted, Jason had allowed her to undress Rachel, clean her up a little, and put her to bed. Of course, she’d balked at putting Rachel in his bed, but he’d refused to leave her at the cafe. He wanted her close so he could watch her. Now, as he sat beside the bed and looked at her, he knew there was a deep, secret part of him that cared for her more than he wanted to admit. If he’d lost her, he would never have gotten over it.
“Jason?”
He turned at Tully’s whisper.
“She still sleepin’?”
He nodded, got up from the bed and followed Earl into the other room.
“What in the friggin’ hell is happening?”
Earl was clearly befuddled. Maybe he was getting too old for this job. “Someone must think Rachel knows something.”
“About Weber’s murder?”
Jason shrugged. “It has to be that.” He knew the coffee was important, and he should tell Earl about it, but until he could remember where he’d smelled or tasted it before, he didn’t want to say anything. Even so, he wouldn’t let Rachel out of his sight.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized Earl was slowing down. And as much as he detested Weber, he understood the bastard’s fury at the current status of his son’s murder. The investigation was at a standstill.
“Why don’t you go over to Ivy’s and have yourself a hot meal, Earl?”
A wave of relief washed over Tully’s features. “Well, I guess there ain’t much we can do right now, anyways.” Heaving a sigh, he stood up. “I deputized Ed Gruenwald this mornin’ after we found Rachel. He’s out at the shack gatherin’ up the clues.”
Jason thought about the coffee in the carafe—which was now undoubtedly absorbed into the porous wood floor. That clue would no longer be available—thanks to him. “Good. Let me know when he’s brought them in. I’d like to take a look.”
Tully nodded and shrugged into his jacket. “Hell, Jason. I just ain’t the tough piece of gristle I used to be. I’m so tired, I’m thinkin’ about hanging up my badge.” Shaking his head, he left, still limping slightly from the bullet wound he’d received over two months before.
Jason frowned. That was another thing. Who in the hell had shot him? Now, with Rachel nearly dying in that cabin, he had to wonder if maybe the shot hadn’t been meant for her.
On his way to check on Rachel again, he heard the office door open behind him. Thinking Earl had forgotten something, he turned, ready to cajole him. The words froze on his lips.
“Where is she?”
Captain August Weber slammed the door and strode past Jason, barely acknowledging his existence.
Jason hid a smirk. “She’s asleep,” he answered, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel.
Weber finally looked at him. Recognition, not surprise, was evident in his eyes. “I want her out of here and taken to the hotel immediately.”
Jason casually strolled to the window and glanced outside. “I can’t do that.”
“It’s an order.”
Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, Jason turned and looked at him. “I’m a doctor and she’s my patient. She stays here.”
Frustration welled up in Weber’s eyes. His face and neck turned red. “Still the impudent half-breed. Haven’t learned anything the past fifteen years, have you?”
Jason’s right eyebrow shot up. How interesting that he could remember so clearly the number of years that had passed. How interesting that he hadn’t struck the incident from his memory as easily as one strikes a match. Jason was grateful he’d already exorcised the pain of his own memories.
“I’ll let you know when she’s well enough for visitors.”
Weber’s eyes narrowed. “Where do you get off, posing as a civilized human being?”
Revulsion and pity battled for space inside Jason. Revulsion won. “Where do you?”
They stood, toe to toe, glaring at one another. The tension in Weber’s body was palpable. He was strung tighter than a fiddle bow, and Jason sensed he would soon lose control. Jason didn’t move. He hardly breathed.
Abruptly, Weber stepped back, turned and marched to the door. “Better watch your back, half-breed. If I need a savage to pin this murder on, you’re as likely a candidate as anyone.”
Jason, remarkably calm, watched him leave. Threats. Childish responses invented by bullies. And Captain August Weber was a bully of the first order.
Chapter Fifteen
Rachel coughed, wincing at the soreness in her chest. She tried to open her eyes. They watered and stung, causing her to gasp softly.
&
nbsp; “What is it?”
At the sound of Jason’s voice, she smiled and squinted up at him, her eyes continuing to water. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, noting the concern on his face. “My eyes—” She motioned with her hand, shook her head and swallowed. “They sting, that’s all.” She swallowed again. “And, and my throat. It… it hurts.”
He took her hand. “Don’t talk. You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke. The less you say, the sooner you’ll start feeling better.” Reaching over to the table, he lifted off a heavy mug and whisked it past her nose. “Tea,” he said. “With honey. I want you to drink as much as you can.”
She pulled herself up on her elbow and took a few sips, trying very hard not to make a face as the liquid slid down her throat.
The familiarity of the room comforted her as she settled back against the pillow. This was the room where she’d learned to make love. The bed where she’d finally lost her virginity. Warmth continued to spread through her. She felt safe here.
Looking back at Jason, she gave him a warm smile. But he wasn’t smiling. His face was stern, serious. “What’s wrong?”
He caressed her arm, shaking his head at her. “I can’t believe you went off like that. Ivy was sick with worry.”
She wanted to smooth the furrows from his forehead. And you? Were you sick with worry? “But, I—”
He put his finger to his lips. “No talking. I’ll do the talking for a while.
“I’m going to ask you some questions that you can answer with a nod or a shake of your head. Okay?”
She nodded. Instinctively she knew that everything he’d said to her yesterday had been said in anger. He cared for her; she felt it.
“Do you have any idea who you were supposed to meet?”
Frowning, she shook her head.
“And you didn’t see anyone once you got to the cabin?”
She shook her head again, remembering the panic she’d felt when she couldn’t get away from the smoke. The sting of tears continued to press behind her eyes, from both the discomfort and the memory.
Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two Page 23
