“Where is Gideon?” The question was so filled with distrust that Miriam wondered if this unnamed, fully-armed stranger suspected her of having done away with the good doctor.
“He is upstairs, with a patient.”
The woman spun on her heel, then strode from the room, heading upstairs without so much as a “Goodbye” or a “Pleased to meet you.” Miriam probably should have been offended, but found her reaction fell somewhere far nearer relief.
She returned to her scrubbing, but her eyes continually wandered to the bookshelf behind Gideon’s desk and the many nearby filing drawers. An idea had begun to form in the back of her mind that she couldn’t entirely shake. Gideon kept abreast of developments in medical science. Perhaps somewhere among his books and papers was a new, miraculous treatment for her particular condition. She had lived in fear of her own body for too long.
“If these episodes have no cause or physical explanation, then they must be the manifestation of an illness of the mind.” Though the doctor who had made the diagnosis hadn’t said anything she hadn’t already read, his words had been chilling.
No amount of arguing that her mind functioned properly or that she felt perfectly sound had made the slightest difference. He hadn’t listened, and Dr. Blackburn had wholeheartedly agreed. She had spent the next two years of her life as an inmate in Blackburn Asylum, fighting just to stay alive.
Plotting her escape had required the full two years and several failed attempts, the punishments for which had been excruciating. Even her current, brief moments of freedom came at the cost of near-constant fear. What if her condition were discovered? What if Dr. Blackburn found her?
And now she had to worry about Gideon. If he were to witness one of her “episodes,” he would know the accepted diagnosis. Tension twisted inside her every time she allowed herself to even think about the precariousness of her situation. She’d spent so many years running, and she was exhausted.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs beyond the parlor, more than one set of them, in fact. Gideon was returning, either with Mrs. Fletcher or with the gun-toting, badge-wearing woman who’d gone upstairs looking for him. Either way, Miriam meant to present a professional demeanor.
She finished wiping off the table and set the last of her used rags in the basket. She returned the gloves she’d borrowed to protect her hands from the harsh soap to the spot where Gideon kept them. She gave her work apron a quick smoothing and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear as Gideon and his guest stepped inside the parlor.
His nose scrunched up. “Strong, isn’t it?”
Miriam, seeing the question was directed at her, nodded.
“Rupert is resting,” he said. “Mrs. Fletcher means to stay with him until he can return home. I’ll move a cot in there for her before nightfall.”
There was little else to do but nod again. The woman with the gun and badge stood nearby, watching Miriam too closely for comfort.
“Miriam, this is Deputy US Marshal Paisley O’Brien.” Gideon glanced fondly at the lawwoman. “She’s married to our good sheriff and counts herself as a particular friend of mine, though she’s almost required to be. We are family, after all.”
Family. Gideon was related to a deputy US marshal, who was married to the town’s chief lawman. Two close associates with a great deal of power and influence. They had the authority to see to it she was returned to the nightmare she’d desperately fled. Which made keeping Gideon in the dark about her condition all the more important.
Gideon nudged Paisley with his elbow.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Bricks.” Paisley offered the greeting through tight lips. “Gideon says you are in need of a place to live, and we have empty rooms at our house.”
It was likely supposed to have been a friendly offer, but Miriam was not so thickheaded as to believe it was anything remotely resembling one. Gideon had, no doubt, somehow forced the begrudging show of support.
“Thank you for your generosity.” If Paisley could pretend it was a kindness, so could Miriam. “But I was hoping to find someone who takes in lodgers as a matter of course.” And she would prefer one not so closely associated with the law.
“Mrs. Allen takes in roomers,” Gideon said. “But she is full up.”
That was unfortunate. “Then I will have to remain at the hotel, I suppose.”
He stepped up beside her and lowered his voice. “I cannot pay you enough for you to live there long-term, especially since you have no means of cooking for yourself.”
An idea emerged, fully formed and ready to pounce on. “What if I took my meals here? I cooked breakfast this morning and ate lunch here as well. Adding dinner wouldn’t be so much to ask.” The audacity of the suggestion hit her, and her heart dropped to her feet. Two days on the job, a job she desperately needed, and she was already suggesting she be permitted such a luxury. “Forgive me, that was presumptuous—”
Gideon cut off her apology with a wave of his hand. “No, it’s a good idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. My original arrangement would have had you taking all of your meals here. Why should that change simply because we’re not married?”
Simply. Was there anything about this arrangement that was truly simple?
“You would still barely make enough to cover the cost of your room at the hotel,” he warned.
“I understand.” The purpose of this job had never been to grow wealthy. She was starting a new life and escaping her old one. Only those who had never known true oppression would value riches over freedom.
Gideon turned back to Paisley. “It appears your hospitality will not be necessary, after all.”
She raised an ebony eyebrow. “I offered a room, not hospitality.”
“Paisley,” he scolded under his breath.
“I know I’m being unkind.” Paisley directed the half-hearted admission to both of them. “But, at the moment, I am put out with you”—she pointed at Gideon—“I don’t yet know what to think of you”—she indicated Miriam—“and I haven’t seen my husband in weeks. So social niceties are not a priority.”
Miriam far preferred Paisley’s candor to the rest of the town’s glares and often unspoken disapproval. “Although I know a great many people who would argue that social niceties ought never to be set aside, I, for one, find your directness refreshing.”
Paisley’s forehead lined with surprise and deep contemplation. “You must be from back East; you talk like Gid.”
Too many secrets were tucked in the corners of her past for personal discussions to be truly comfortable, but this part she could admit to. “I’m from New York.”
Paisley set her hands on her hips, though the posture was more curious than confrontational. “Are your family also whiskey barons who secretly run the country?”
Miriam’s face turned cold. She addressed her next question to Gideon. “Your family are politicians?” People with influence were dangerous, she knew that all too well.
Gideon grinned. “You know, it’s usually the ‘whiskey’ part that people find shocking.”
She didn’t care how they made their living, only what they were capable of accomplishing. “Paisley said they ‘run the country.’ She would know; you said you are family.”
Gideon shook his head. “She is exaggerating.”
“A little,” Paisley said.
Gideon’s shrug was more of a confirmation than a dismissal. Goodness gracious. His circle of acquaintances was broader and more influential than she could have imagined. She would have to be extremely careful.
“I see that having politicians on my family tree is a mark against me in your book,” Gideon said. “Perhaps if you told me about a skeleton in your closet, we could be even.”
How had this discussion gone so wrong so quickly? He was teasing about her spilling a secret, but how long would it be before he asked in ear
nest? How long could she keep those skeletons hidden?
“I’ll slip into the kitchen and see to dinner.” It was not an elegant departure speech, but desperation had robbed her of any semblance of grace.
She snatched her sketchbook off the corner of Gideon’s desk and escaped to the relative safety of the kitchen. She lowered herself into a chair at the table. Hers hadn’t been the quiet, unobtrusive arrival she’d depended on. And this isolated backwater was, apparently, filled with people of widespread influence.
She set her sketchbook on the table, rubbing her hand over the top of it. I need to stay calm. If I stay calm, no one will suspect anything.
She untied the leather strap and opened the notebook, pulling her sketching pencil from its loop. Careful not to dislodge any of the loose papers, she flipped to the first blank page. She began with broad strokes, forming the barest outline of a face. Rounded cheeks. A tiny upturned nose. She bent over the paper, focusing all her effort on the eyes. Pleading, worried eyes.
“Promise not to leave me while I’m sleeping?” he’d begged.
How like the desperate plea she’d made two years earlier to a fellow nurse when Dr. Blackburn had come to claim her. “Please don’t let them take me away.” She’d been ignored and abandoned and resigned to the cruel fate that awaited her at the asylum.
“I’ll look after you, Rupert,” she whispered. “And everyone else here who will let me.”
Chapter 7
“She’s hiding something.”
Gideon could have predicted that very declaration from Paisley. “Simply because she wasn’t keen to discuss her personal life with a gun-toting stranger and a man she met only three days ago doesn’t mean she’s hiding something.”
But Paisley shook her head firmly, eyeing Gideon thoughtfully. “I have spent the last six months traveling the length of this territory as a deputy marshal, and I have learned to tell when a person is being less than forthright.”
“You made her nervous,” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t keep a hand on your gun the whole time she was in here.”
Paisley’s gaze remained on the now-empty doorway. “She wasn’t afraid; I noticed that straight off. Quiet, yes. A little overwhelmed, perhaps. But not truly frightened.”
Gideon sensed there was a great deal of steel to Miriam Bricks. She would need it to survive the difficult life out West. He only hoped that life didn’t harden her too much; he worried it had done exactly that to Paisley.
“I think you are being unnecessarily suspicious,” he said. “Cade didn’t seem to think she was deceitful. He was the one who suggested I hire her even after she left me standing alone at the front of the church.”
Paisley didn’t seem impressed with that argument. “How much time did he actually spend with her?”
“Hardly any,” Gideon admitted. “I still don’t think he would agree with your suspicions.”
“And I am certain he would.”
Gideon caught a glimpse through the front windows of two men walking toward the house. “Shall we put that to a test? He and Hawk will be here in another moment.”
“Cade is coming?” Paisley seldom looked as happy as she did at the promise of Cade’s company.
Gideon stepped into the entryway and pulled the door open in time to see Cade and Hawk crossing the front porch. Even if he hadn’t known them personally, he would have pegged them as lawmen from a mile away. They had the same swagger, the same posture of calculating confidence. They both wore their gun belts and ammunition as easily as they did their hats and boots. Their badges fit them as naturally as birthmarks.
“A fine evening to you both,” he said. “To what, pray tell, do I owe the pleasure of your company, gentlemen?”
Hawk arched an eyebrow in dry disapproval. Cade ignored the remark. A show of impeccable manners never failed to irk the two of them. Heavens, but they were fun to goad.
“Mrs. Wilhite says you sent for puce ribbon.” Cade held Gideon’s gaze, waiting for an explanation.
“The Fletcher boy had a gangrenous sore on his leg,” Gideon explained. “Mrs. Fletcher wouldn’t have fared well watching me cut off bits of her son.”
“Seems a lucky thing you had a nurse around,” Cade said. “I’d wager that proved helpful.”
“It did indeed.” He waved them inside and toward the parlor, closing the front door behind them. “Though, at the moment, I’m a little overrun with ‘helpful women,’ so if you could take this one with you”—he motioned to Paisley—“I’d be forever indebted.”
Cade headed directly to her. “You were gone entirely too long, love.” His arms slid around her, pulling her flush with him, before he pressed a kiss to her lips.
Hawk caught Gideon’s eye. “Do you ever wish the two of them remembered they have a place of their own to undertake this sort of business?”
“All the time, Marshal.”
Cade pulled Paisley with him over to his usual spot by the window, keeping a lookout on the town. Savage Wells didn’t appreciate enough how dedicated their sheriff was to his job.
Hawk dropped his black hat onto an end table and sat in a wingback chair. “I hear you’re still a bachelor.”
“I can’t seem to find anyone who’ll have me.”
“You said the bureau told you she was a nurse at a hospital before coming here?” Hawk laced his fingers together and set his hands casually on his lap as he slouched lower in his chair. A person might be excused for thinking he was a layabout when he assumed that particular posture, but one look at his sharp, calculating eyes would convince that person otherwise.
“That is what they said, yes, but apparently they aren’t the most reliable source of information.”
“I mean to look into this agency you used,” Hawk said. “Miss Bricks likely isn’t the only woman they’ve misled.”
“I telegrammed my brother about the bureau,” Gideon said. “As an attorney, he knows enough influential people in Washington to stir up a hornet’s nest in St. Louis.”
“But in the meantime, you have something of a mess on your hands,” Cade added from his spot at the window.
Gideon shook his head. “Not really. I may not have a wife, but I do have a nurse, and that was at least half of what I was hoping for.”
“If you ask me, her running out of that schoolhouse was a fine bit of luck for you, Gid,” Cade said. “Marrying a stranger was a risk from the beginning. At least this way, if you find you can’t bear her company, you can always fire her. It’s a great deal harder to fire a wife.”
Paisley tossed him a saucy look. “You’ve given this some thought, have you?”
Cade leaned against the window frame and crossed his booted feet at the ankles, folding his arms across his chest. “I might have.”
She slid up closer to him. “And what are your thoughts on a wife firing her husband?”
His hand snaked around her waist. “Ain’t gonna happen, love.”
Gideon turned to Hawk. “Are they like this at the jailhouse as well?”
“Every single day.” Hawk covered his mouth and pretended to vomit.
Gideon actually didn’t mind; he suspected Hawk didn’t either. Cade and Paisley had had a difficult courtship. That the ending had proven happy was a good thing, one worth celebrating.
Miriam stepped into the room. “Gideon, where is the—” Her words ended as her eyes settled on the gathering. “Forgive me. I didn’t know you had company.” She took a quick step back toward the door.
“A moment, please,” he said. “You haven’t officially met Cade O’Brien yet.” He motioned toward the window. “Or John Hawking, US marshal.” He tipped his head in Hawk’s direction.
“Sakes alive, Doc,” Hawk muttered, scrambling to his feet. “You didn’t say she was a beauty.”
“I’ve mostly been concentrating on her nursing skills,” he a
nswered dryly.
“For a doctor, you ain’t too bright.” Hawk sauntered to the doorway, where Miriam stood eyeing them all. “Good afternoon, Miss Bricks. I’m right pleased to meet you. I’m John Hawking, though most folks call me Hawk.”
“I’m pleased to meet you as well.” She was blushing deeply.
“Come rest your bones, miss,” Hawk said. “I imagine Dr. MacNamara has worked you hard today.”
“It has been an exhausting day,” Miriam replied quietly.
“Cade, over there, may be the law in this town,” Hawk said, “but I’ve a bit of say, myself. You come tell me if Doc gives you a lick of trouble.”
She smiled warmly at Hawk. “I will bear that in mind.”
“I hope you’ll come by and say howdy regardless of what MacNamara, here, does,” Hawk said. “I didn’t get to meet you when you first arrived, an unfortunate circumstance I’d like to remedy.”
Cade and Paisley eyed the two of them with much the same shocked interest Gideon felt. Hawk usually was so focused on his work that Gideon often wondered if the man noticed any woman who wasn’t behind bars. But he was showing himself surprisingly suave.
Miriam clasped her hands in front of her, the blush spreading down her neck. Redheads never did seem to blush prettily, and yet, there was something inarguably endearing in the sight of it.
The door squeaked open.
“It seems we have a patient.” He turned and faced the parlor door.
Andrew Gilbert, sporting his still-shiny deputy sheriff’s badge, stepped inside. But had he come to see Cade, his boss—or Gideon, his doctor?
Andrew stayed back near the door. Though his mind had begun to recover from the impact of soldiering at far too young an age, he still preferred to keep his distance from most people. The way his brows pulled low and the tightness in his lips, however, told Gideon something new was weighing on him.
“Somethin’ happen at the jail?” Cade asked.
Healing Hearts Page 5
