A Convenient Wife (16 page)

“The coffee is beginning to boil,” she told him. “I'll open a couple of cans and see what I can heat up.”

He ducked his head, pulling the door shut behind himself. And she was alone.

W
in's fingers held the stethoscope against Birdie Watkins's chest and he closed his eyes, determined to listen intently to the sound of a heart beating in an irregular rhythm. And succeeded only in remembering the first time he'd seen Ellie, when he'd pressed the bell just where the swell of her breast began.

Ellie.
Her face swam before his closed eyelids and he blinked, erasing the vision.

“What do you think, Doc?” Birdie was peering up at him, her wrinkled cheeks and rheumy eyes giving away the advanced age she attempted to conceal with powder and touches of rouge. She was a dear, and he made no attempt to conceal the affection he felt for her.

“I think you're pretty spry for a forty-year-old woman, ma'am,” he said dryly, and then waited for her cackle of laughter.

She didn't disappoint him, her eyes squinting nearly shut as she swatted at his hand. “Never mind the shenanigans, Doc,” she chortled. “You know as well as I do that I'll never see eighty again.”

“Would you want to?” he asked, grinning at her cheerful
countenance. “You're not in any worse shape than most women your age, Miss Birdie. And a lot better off than a good share of them.”

“Still gettin' around,” she bragged. “Don't even use the cane some days.”

“You need to get your feet up, several times a day,” he admonished her. “Elevating them will relieve the swelling. And don't forget to take your medicine.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Makes me run to the outhouse.”

“That's the idea,” he said, patting her shoulder.

“Doc?” Birdie looked up at him, her good humor held in abeyance for a moment. “I heard your new wife's come up missin'. Is that the truth?”

“Bad news travels fast, doesn't it?” He folded the stethoscope and placed it in its case. “Since night before last,” he admitted.

“She's a good girl, that Ellie. I knew her ma. Old George's a hard man, Doc. I wouldn't be surprised if he had somethin' to do with it.” Birdie lifted herself from the chair, and grasped her cane with both hands. Her jaw firmed as she met Win's gaze. “That Jamison woman came back to town, didn't she?”

Win nodded, then turned aside, unwilling to bare his pain. Marie Jamison had ridden down the road in a buggy only an hour ago, with James not far behind.

“She's a conniver, that one,” Birdie said. “And that boy of hers ain't fit for hog slop.”

A grin twisted Win's mouth as Birdie spewed her opinion. He turned back to face his patient and rested his palm on her narrow shoulder. “We'll find Ellie,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Birdie.”

She nodded and turned to the door. Win held it open for her and watched as her grandson lent an arm, helping her from the office and leading her down the path to the road.

Frustration rode him hard, and he slammed his fist against
the doorjamb.
“Damn.”
Folks needed him, and in all good conscience he couldn't close his office. Yet, working at the job of doctoring while Ellie might be in dire straits was almost more than he could tolerate.

A flash of color caught his eye, and he watched as a woman entered his gate and walked with a stilted gait toward his front door. Through the glass her appearance was blurred, but he recognized the untamed curls and voluptuous form. Cilla, the woman he'd tended at the Double Deuce saloon, come to call.

The knob turned and she entered the wide hallway, blinking as her gaze encountered him, there in the office door. “Hey, Doc,” she said, her words overlaid with a seductive tone.

“Good morning, Cilla,” he answered. “Problems?”

She hesitated, peering past him into the waiting room. “You got patients in there?” she asked.

He shook his head. What Cilla wanted was a puzzle he wasn't willing to explore this morning. He'd done all he could for her, and she'd be fine if she steered clear of the man who'd misused her.

“Can I talk to you?” Her laugh was low, a husky sound, and Win caught a glimpse of feminine beauty beneath the carefully applied powder and paint she used. “There's something you oughta know about.”

“Sure. Come on in,” he said, resigning himself to her confidences. He led the way into the waiting room and waved at a chair. “Sit down, Cilla. What can I do for you?”

“I owe you, Doc. That's why I'm here.”

He shook his head. “No, I was paid for my services when I tended you. You don't owe me anything.”

She looked at him, her mouth crooked, her smile restrained. “You were nice to me. Even knowing… Well, you know what I mean. I'm not fit company for decent folks in this town. But you treated me like a lady, and I appreciate it.”

“I believe all women should be treated fairly,” Win said. “You're a woman.”

“Well, nevertheless, I heard about your wife takin' a hike, and I thought you ought to know that she had some help.”

Win jerked, as if a branding iron had seared his flesh. “How do you know that?”

“A fella told me.” Her mouth compressed. “I can't say any more about it. But I thought you oughta know that she didn't run off on her own.”

“Who?” Win demanded. His heartbeat was rapid as he stalked across the room, reaching to jerk Cilla from the chair. “Who spoke to you about Ellie?”

She shook her head. “It's worth my neck if I tell you that,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she beheld his fury. “I can't say, Doc. I shouldn't even have come here, but I wanted you to know that she's all right. Nobody's hurtin' her.”

Win loosened his grip on Cilla's arm. “Did her father take her?”

“I don't know.” Stubbornly, her chin jutted out. “And that's the God's truth.”

He looked down at his hand, and deliberately opened his fingers. “I'm sorry. I hope I didn't bruise you.”

“That's nothin', Doc.” She bit at her lip. “I wish, just once in my life, somebody would've cared about me the way you do about that girl.” With a flourish of skirts, she rose and turned to the door. “I've got things to do. I just wanted you to know—”

“Thanks, Cilla,” Win said quickly. “I appreciate you coming by.”

He watched her leave. James needed to hear about this. Whether it would do any good or not, every scrap of information needed to be funneled in the sheriff's direction.

 

“Marie Jamison went out to the Mitchum place to see George,” James said bluntly. “I watched and waited till she
left, and it didn't take long, only about ten minutes. She was madder than a wet hen when she climbed back in that buggy. Hollered at that boy of hers, and that buggy shot out of George's place like a bat outta hell.”

“Then what?” Win asked.

“I just stayed in that grove of trees about halfway up his lane and watched him ride off.”

“You didn't follow him?”

James shook his head. “He had a couple of his men with him, and I had nothing to go on, Doc. I don't think he'll hurt Ellie with that many men looking on. And if he's got her hidden somewhere on his ranch, we could look all day and half the night and not come up with any answers.”

“So now what?”

“Now,” James said, adjusting his gun belt, “I go talk to Marie.” Grimly, he pointed a finger at Win. “And you stay put, Doc.”

“Do you think Cilla knows what she's talking about?” Win asked.

“Those women hear most everything that's going on. You'd be surprised what secrets they know.”

 

“They're gettin' real antsy,” George said, watching Ellie with a malicious grin. “I want you to sign this here paper, daughter,” he said, approaching the table, slapping an envelope before her.

“I'm not signing anything, Pa. I already told you that.” Today was the second day in this hellhole, and the misery and boredom of her stay had only served to stiffen her backbone. But Ellie knew the signs of George's anger well. She had only to deny him her obedience and he would attempt force.

Still, she could not betray Win or the vows she'd made before God and the minister in Whitehorn. Her mouth tightened, even as she clutched her hands together to still their trembling. “I'm not going to swear to a lie.”

Her father hooted with derision, his face reddening as he thumped a fist on the table. “That man wouldn't take you to his bed. He's not that desperate for a woman, not with half the females in town givin' him the eye.” George's voice was harsh and strident, and he bent closer, mocking her with jeering words. “You can't make me believe he'd take a second look at you.”

“He married me, Pa.” Ellie's whispered reply was a small measure of defiance. George had ever been capable of making her feel small and worthless, and today was no exception as he focused his hateful gaze on her. And yet, Win had thought her worthy of his attention, and she clasped that knowledge to her bosom like a talisman of hope.

“He just needed somebody to cook and clean,” George said shortly. “Now you got a chance to go to Philadelphia and live in a nice house and wear fancy clothes, and you're turnin' your back on it. What's the matter with you, girl?”

“I don't want to go anywhere but home to my husband.” It was the cry of her heart, and Ellie felt tears well up as she gave it voice.

“I've been about as nice as I'm gonna be, girl. I'll tell you this. Either you sign that paper, or I'll see to it you don't have a baby. One good kick in the belly oughta get rid of the bastard for you.”

“What's in this for you?” she wailed. “How much money is Mrs. Jamison going to hand you if I sign her paper?” She wrapped her arms protectively around her unborn child and faced George with tears running down her face. “How can you be so ready to sell your own flesh and blood, Pa?”

“You're not worth anything to me, girl. You're about as useless as your ma. She couldn't even give me a son, the only time she ever carried to full term.” He stepped closer and Ellie cringed from the sight of his uplifted fist. “You'll sign that paper, or I'll settle your hash right now.”

From the doorway of the shack, Al Shrader's voice added
persuasion. “Go on and write your name, Miss Ellie. You don't want to stay out here, do you?”

She looked up at Al, whose face was troubled as he glanced back and forth from George to his daughter. “Miss Ellie?” He nudged her with a nod, and George looked back at his cowhand, dismissing him with a glare.

“Get on outta here, Shrader. This is none of your concern.” Shoving the envelope closer to Ellie's hands, George took a pencil from his pocket and slapped it atop the document. “Sign it…now,” he said softly.

The tone bore more threat than his shouts and curses, and Ellie picked up the pencil. With trembling fingers she opened the envelope and slid the folded sheet of paper to rest on the table. Holding it open, she scanned the carefully printed words. Simply, it stated that her marriage to Winston Gray had not been consummated, and even as she watched, George's thick index finger pointed at the bottom of the page.

“You sign it right there,” he ordered, then watched as she obeyed. Snatching it from her, he folded it and replaced it inside the envelope, then tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Now, just behave yourself, and you'll be outta here by tomorrow.”

Ellie watched him leave, heartsick at the thought of her own father hating her so much. Simply because she had not been the son he wanted. Her hands spread wide across the rounding of her belly, and she felt the movement of her child. No matter the outcome, she would love this babe. Of that she was certain. Whether boy or girl, it was her child.

And, God willing, she would find a way to outwit the man who'd forced her into this predicament.

 

The moon played tag with the clouds and Ellie watched from the single window the shack boasted. Al Shrader lay in his bedroll close before the campfire, and she focused on his long form, wondering how long she dared watch and wait. He'd been silent after her father left, gathering wood
for his own use, apparently satisfied that Ellie's supply was adequate.

She'd opened beans and watched as he heated them in the can, atop hot coals in the circle of his fire. Offering to share them with her, he'd only shrugged at her refusal and returned to sit cross-legged on his blanket. Now she wished for something warm in her stomach to ease the ache of hunger.

The wooden box offered another can of beans and she opened it with a knife, then ate the cold, congealed contents with the single fork the shack boasted. Tasteless in her mouth, they served to fill the void in her stomach, and she forced herself to eat the entire contents before shivering and setting aside the can.

A crust of bread was left, wrapped in a dingy towel, and she closed her mind to thoughts of where it had been and whose hands had touched it, biting into the stale chunk and chewing it into a wet paste in her mouth.

Still watching from the window, she calculated the distance to the small stand of woods just south of the shack. If she could open the door noiselessly, and if Al slept soundly, she could reach the trees within a minute. The cold wind was her only deterrent, and Al had reminded her quietly that a storm was coming on, with snow likely by morning.

“Don't try runnin' off, Miss Ellie,” he'd said, accepting the beans from her hand. “You'll only freeze out there tonight, and it's a long haul to town. Farther than you could walk in a day and a night.”

She'd nodded and looked aside, unwilling for him to read the thoughts that must certainly be rampant in her gaze. If there was any way that her signing that document of Marie Jamison's would put her in a bad spot, she'd take her chances with the cold and wet, rather than allow herself to be dragged across the country with Tommy. And how they'd manage that was something she didn't want to face.

If there was a way to force her into it, Tommy's mother would find it.