A Convenient Wife (17 page)

And if Win knew she'd signed that blasted piece of paper, he'd probably wash his hands of her. Not for anything in the world would she have that happen.

The blanket was warm, and she carried it, rather than wrapping it around her shoulders. Time enough for that once she got away from the shack. Her shoes were sturdy, her dress heavy, and her heavily knit shawl would keep her head and shoulders warm.

Her final trek to the bushes before dark had made her more than aware of the cold wind, and she shivered as she thought of the discomfort she faced. There was no help for it. She'd die before she put herself in Pa's hands again. And with that thought, she gathered her meager belongings and worked at opening the door.

It swung wide with barely a creak, and she stood framed in the doorway, watching as Al's motionless form gave assurance that he slept soundly. Pulling the door closed, she stepped from the shack, careful to stay on the course she'd plotted earlier, before the sinking sun had cast the ground into deep shadow.

She stepped cautiously, avoiding a windfall of leaves, detouring past a fallen tree limb, then gliding into the darkness beneath the stand of trees. Barren limbs overhead offered little protection, but the pines to the south would give her shelter once she crossed the next open area. Shivering, more from fear of discovery than cold, she set off, careful to walk where the ground seemed clear, pausing only to untangle herself from an occasional bush that snatched at her skirt.

Her breath became puffs of vapor as she hurried into the grove of pine trees and she cast a look over her shoulder to where the glow of Al's fire cast crimson shadows on the rough walls she'd escaped. He'd be angry with her, once he woke to find her gone, and she knew he'd set off in pursuit. His horse
was staked near the creek, and she wished fervently that she'd been brave enough to make a circuit of his camp and steal the animal.

There was no use in regrets. Now she must try her best to head toward town, and to that end, she focused on the range of mountains whose peaks gleamed white in the moonlight. To the west, clouds gathered, and she ignored their portent, trudging forward, keeping the highest peak directly before her as she made her way.

With the blanket in place around her shoulders, covering her coat and with the shawl over her head, she was warm. She walked at a steady pace, sighting a herd of cattle to the west, following the contours of the land, over dried grass and around clumps of underbrush. The moon sank below the horizon and still she walked, stumbling over rocks, falling twice before she could catch herself.

Her hands stung from the second fall, when she'd landed on scrubby, rough ground, and she forced her aching legs into a regular rhythm, counting out the paces in her head. The glow of a small fire caught her eye, and she detoured a bit to the east, lest she be seen against the horizon, should a cowhand be on watch and cast an eye in her direction. The men were on the open range, and she knew her chances were less than zero if they should discover her.

Perhaps she should find a place to rest. Once the sun came up, the cold would abate. Only walking at a steady pace had kept her from falling prey to the freezing temperatures, and even at that, she could barely feel her fingers, so intent were they on holding the blanket closed over her coat.

Beneath a tree, she found a windfall of leaves, and she gathered them around herself, curling on the ground, covering her body as much as she was able. She buried her face within the warmth of the blanket and drew her legs up. Beneath her the ground was cold, but she huddled next to the wide trunk
and felt her eyes close, unable to hold off the deep weariness that seized her.

“Win.” She breathed his name softly, taking comfort from the single syllable, and then repeated it in a sighing whisper.

“Win.”

 

“George's in town.” James strode up the path to Win's front door, halting at the foot of the front steps. “I'm glad I caught you before you left. I just saw him ride up in front of the hotel.”

“I've got a woman in labor, clear the other side of Caleb's place,” Win said. “Her husband just left.” His jaw clenched as he drew in a deep breath. “I'll send Ethel Talbert out there. She can hold the fort. It's Mary Beth's third baby. I doubt she even needs me, as quick as she told me she delivered the last one.”

He opened the door and carried his black bag into the inner office, then returned to where James waited. “Give me a minute to talk to Ethel, and I'll be with you.”

“I'm on my way to the hotel,” James said. “I just wanted to catch you, in case you were heading out this morning. Come on over and wait in the lobby. I'll find out what's going on.”

Win made short work of alerting Ethel. “I know it's late in the day, Ethel, and I wouldn't ask you to make the trip if it wasn't important for me to stay here.”

“You go on, Doc,” Ethel said quickly. “Do whatever you have to. I'll use the buggy and head out there. Mary Beth won't take long, and I think her mama's there, anyway.” She grinned widely. “I'm not the best at the business, but I can still catch a baby, I guess. Driving the buggy at night isn't a problem for me. I can always leave a note and have Harry ride out there on his mare and wait for me.”

Her smile faded and her brow furrowed as she took a step closer. One hand touched his arm and she squeezed gently.
“You'll find her, Doc, and everything's going to be all right. I get feelings about such things once in a while, and I just know that Ellie is gonna be back here before you know it.”

Win attempted a smile, and knew he'd failed miserably as Ethel's eyes filled with tears. “If we knew where to look, it'd sure help,” he said quietly. “I feel like I'm fighting the wind, with nothing to go on and not a clue to work with.”

“I'll guarantee her pa's got her hidden someplace,” Ethel told him. “He's always been a hard nut to crack, that George. And tough to work for, they tell me. But I've never known him to be downright mean before this.” She shook her head. “I remember Ellie's mama. We grew up together, and Eleanor just kinda faded away after she married up with George. He took all the joy out of her.”

Win's mind filled with the image of Ellie, and as if she were beside him, he heard the words she'd spoken.
I think I'm dying….
It wasn't hard to understand what Ethel's memories consisted of. Ellie had lacked that vital ingredient, had been empty of the joy of living. Until she'd moved, bag and baggage, into his upstairs room.

Yet even those days of contentment waned beside the vision of her awakening to desire and the pleasure of their coming together in his big bed.

The thought of never loving Ellie again brought unexpected pain to dwell within his chest, and he was torn by the knowledge that he'd come to love her, only to regret that she was unaware of his discovery.

“You all right, Doc?” Ethel peered up at him, her gaze so full of sympathy he could hardly bear its warmth.

“Yes.” He drew back, forcing a smile to curve his lips, nodding a reinforcment of his affirmation. “I'm fine, Ethel. Tell Mary Beth I'll stop by to see her as soon as I can.”

He turned away, closing the gate behind him as he headed toward the hotel. The wind had turned sharp during the past hours, and he thought anew of Ellie, his mind dwelling on her
comfort, praying that she not be alone in the cold. Wherever she'd been stashed, surely there was a stove or fireplace for her comfort. The idea of Ellie in distress tore at him, and he ached, the pain sharp as he strode alongside the road.

Wagons and buggies were sparsely lined up along the boardwalk, their owners occupied with the late-day order of business. Most of the townsfolk were busy with the supper hour, but several men called out to him and lifted a hand in greeting as Win stalked almost the length of town. He barely noticed, aware only of the confrontation to come.

The Hotel Carlton wore its elegance well, with fresh paint outlining the windows on the second floor, and scalloped trim edging the roofline. It was wasted on Win, his eyes focused on the wide double doors that opened at his touch. Amos's head tilted and his eyes narrowed as he watched Win enter his lobby. “Good evening, Doc,” he said amiably, coming from behind the desk to halt Win's progress.

“Where'd the sheriff go?” Win asked tersely.

“He's in the dining room,” Amos told him. “Maybe you ought to wait here till he finishes talking to those folks.”

Win cast him a scornful look. “They're talking about my wife,” he said quietly.

Amos nodded. “I figured that, Doc. But it won't do any good for James to be worrying about you when he's in the midst of that mess.”

“Is George Mitchum in there, too?” Win's glance took in the archway beyond which white tablecloths covered with glass and china waited for diners to appear.

“Mrs. Jamison and her boy are having a late supper, and George just got here a while ago. Give James a few minutes, Doc.” Amos laid a hand on Win's coat sleeve, and his words were coaxing. “This whole thing is the talk of the town, and there isn't anybody gives two hoots and a holler about anything but getting your wife back where she belongs. I heard a
couple of men in here last night, talking about facing George down, but I don't think it's going to do any good.”

“You think he's got her, don't you.” It was a statement of fact, and Win felt the helplessness wash over him again as he thought of Ellie being held against her will.

“If he has, James will have him up on charges, I'll guarantee you that,” Amos said bluntly. “Right now, I'm thinking he's treading light, lest Ellie get caught in the middle.”

Raised voices erupted as Amos spoke, and Win jerked from the older man's grasp, stepping to the archway, and turning his gaze across the dining room. James's hand was clenched in the front of George's shirt, and the man was half out of his chair, his face red, his voice booming.

“You got no right to demand anything of me, Sheriff. Ellie's my daughter, and I'm responsible for her welfare. She's signed that paper of her own free will, and I'm going to see to it that she marries the father of her baby.”

“The hell you are,” Win said, his voice quiet, yet strong enough to reach the four persons who were silenced by his words. James released his grip on George's clothing and spun to face Win.

“Take it easy, Doc,” he said quietly, but with no effect on the man who strode across the dining room, skirting the elegant table settings, his footsteps silent against the fine carpets. If Winston Gray looked the part of an avenging angel, that impression was nullified by the savage words he spoke, phrases a heavenly body would never utter.

Even James appeared taken aback by Win's outburst, and three ladies at a nearby table made a hasty exit within moments of his entry. Amos Carlton watched in dismay as Win shoved the sheriff to one side and flattened his hands on the table, bending to speak directly into George's startled face.

“If you've hurt my wife, I'll kill you, Mitchum. If I hang for it, I'll see you dead and burning in Hell for what you've
done. And you two…” He turned as if on a swivel, and his glare flattened Marie Jamison where she sat. Tommy scooted his chair back from the table and would have risen, but Win reached across to grasp his shoulder, shoving him back into his seat.

“Don't move. Not one inch,” he grated. “I don't care what kind of fancy lawyer you have. I don't give a damn how many documents George makes Ellie sign. The bottom line is still the same. She's my wife and she's gonna stay my wife. You two can get your butts back on the next train east out of Butte, and forget about making any more trouble here. I've got access to more lawyers than you can shake a stick at, Mrs. Jamison.”

Marie's face whitened at his words, but her bluster was undaunted. “You can't threaten me and get away with it. You're nothing but a two-bit, small-town quack.”

Win's smile was cold, and his eyes pierced beyond the woman's facade of elegance. “This two-bit, small-town quack has more influence than you have any concept of, madam. One telegram to Saint Louis will settle your hash in no time flat.”

Marie's nose tilted upward. “If you were so almighty influential, you'd have been in touch with your Saint Louis contacts before this,” she challenged.

Win's mouth twisted and his words were loaded with contempt. “I left this up to the law until now, but that's finished. Besides, I didn't think you were worth the effort. But you've gone too far. If George has forced Ellie to swear to a lie…”

He turned toward George, his gaze fastening to the envelope beneath the man's broad hand. Without hesitation, Win grasped George's arm, gripping it tightly and lifting it to snatch the envelope.

“Here, you can't do that,” George shouted, wrenching from Win's grasp.

“I just did.” Stuffing the paper into his pocket, Win turned to James. “That's it, Sheriff. You can do whatever you have
to. I'm going after my wife, and this bastard—” he pointed his index finger at George “—this bastard is going to tell me where she is.”

George's face turned ashen as Win pulled him from his chair. “You going to let this man break the law, Sheriff?” he blustered. His hand slapped against his side, and he looked down quickly as Win's fingers wrapped with cruel force across George's hand, and then peeled it from his holster, gaining possession of the weapon.

“You won't need this,” Win said, thrusting it into his pocket. “I have mine, and one's enough.”

“You're carrying a gun, Doc?” James asked mildly, his look disbelieving. “I never knew you to be a violent man.”

“I'm from a big city, Sheriff,” Win answered. “A man isn't safe in some parts of town at night, and the hospital where I learned my trade was smack-dab in the middle of hell, as Saint Louis knows it. Every man with any respect for his own skin carried a weapon.”