Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) (2 page)

“That’ll never happen, Lydia. Best you just forget that dream right now.”

Dusty tossed her head up and down, as if agreeing with me.

“Traitor,” I muttered.

It had been a secret dream of mine for years, but I tried not to take it out and examine it very often because without careful handling it always left a sore, painful spot, like a fresh bruise. I knew I’d never get that dream, so it seemed pointless to even consider it; and yet, I couldn’t help it every now and then.

“I must be a glutton for punishment. Father would surely have something to say about that, being Eve’s daughter, after all. Destined for sin and misery.”

Dusty had slowed, more interested in a rare clump of fresh grass than hurrying home. I nudged her with my heel again, and she moved along. I buried my hands in the coat pockets. For not the first time today, I cursed the fact I’d left my gloves at home.

I hummed a tune we’d sung in class today, trying to distract myself from maudlin thoughts. The children enjoyed music as a break between subjects, or at the end of the day while they put their books away or cleaned the chalkboard. It made the time and chores pass more pleasantly, and I’d found they were more willing to work together when they were singing. The curriculum didn’t strictly include singing, but I’d always enjoyed it; maybe not Father’s relentless hymns, but I shouldn’t allow him to ruin singing for me forever. He was dead, after all, but as was typical of him, he refused to be gone.

I opened my mouth and started singing lyrics, quiet at first, the volume just above a hum. But it felt so good, so free, I sang louder. The words tasted good the louder I sang them, as if they could swat away my blues; as if singing poured my misery out of me and refilled the space with hope. Maybe if I sang loud enough, even Father would hear as he sat at the Almighty’s side.

With nobody around, I lifted my voice to the heavens and belted the song into the empty air. Even Dusty seemed to perk up and pick up her pace.

“You have a lovely voice.”

The next lyrics out of my mouth turned into a choked scream as a man rode up beside me.

My hand flew to my chest on reflex, to calm my pounding heart.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He removed his glove and offered his hand. “I’m Emmett Wilder.”

“You’re the man from the stable,” I said. As my thundering heart slowed to a mere gallop, I considered him more closely than I had earlier. Clean suit, tailored, but not extravagant under a coat of the same quality. Short dark hair under his hat, a well-groomed goatee, eyes the color of a cornflower, aristocratic features—a very handsome man, indeed, and exactly the kind who always looked down their nose at me as mousy and plain.

I shook his hand once, then dropped the handshake quickly.

“How did you approach without my hearing?” I cleared my throat and hid my hand in my pocket, where the ghost of his touch still tingled.

“You were clearly intent on the song.” He smiled in a way that suggested humor. His eyes sparkled with it.

I glanced away. I didn’t need to see his jest. “You needn’t mock me. I didn’t intend for anyone else to hear it.”

“It was lovely, really. I’d never mock that kind of spirit.”

I peered at him again, to gauge his sincerity. His expression seemed in earnest.

“Well, thank you. I enjoy singing.”

“That was clear enough from the look on your face.”

I was horrified he’d been privy to such an unguarded moment. I loved to sing, but I rarely did it with such abandon, and certainly never in the company of others. “That was not meant for you, sir.”

He gave me a nod of acknowledgement, and placed his hand over his heart. “My sincerest apologies, miss.”

I straightened in my saddle a bit, allowing him to see I still had my dignity, or at least some shreds of it. “Thank you.”

“But it was quite beautiful.”

“Where are you headed?” I asked, wishing to change the subject to something other than my singing. “This trail leads to the
Lazy D
ranch. Are you lost?”

“No, ma’am. That’s exactly where I’m headed.”

The ranch house came into sight and Dusty picked up her pace, anxious to get back to her stable and supper—and Boreas.

“Follow me to the barn and one of the hands will take care of your horse, then come up to the house and we’ll set you a place at the table.”

“There’s no need to feed me, I’m just here on business.”

“Your reason for being here doesn’t matter. You’ll still be fed. Nobody’s turned away from my table hungry.”

The woman urged her horse to a trot and took off ahead of me toward the ranch’s stable. Frankly, she was adorable. I hadn’t met a woman like her in a while—shy, unassuming, vulnerable, but not in the affected way I often saw. This one was authentic. Yet, she seemed to have steel in her spine, too; a confident pride she didn’t want anyone to see.

I wondered what she did at the ranch. She obviously lived there, given the invitation to their table.

I gave my horse a kick in the ribs and followed her, watching more curls the color of prairie grass in the autumn escape from her bonnet and bounce in time with the horse’s trot. It had taken no small strength of will to keep from reaching across the space between us to push her spectacles up on her little nose.

A cool breeze hit me square in the face, a slap of reality from Mother Nature. What was I thinking? I was there on business. Granted it was unfortunate business I wished more than anything I could have avoided, but long ago I’d promised Randall Templeton a favor and he’d called it in. When I’d objected that the timing of his request interrupted my route, he’d reminded me of the secrets he knew about me. So there I was.

By the time I reached the stable, the woman had already spoken to the stable hand, and had headed to the house.

I handed over the reins of my rented horse and tipped my hat to the hand. “Thank you much.”

Crossing the space between the stable and the house, I patted my chest, just to verify the letter was still safe in the inside pocket of my coat. Knowing Randall, the contents of the letter would change his sister’s life.

I climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. A voluptuous redhead answered, then stood back to allow me to enter.

“Lydia said you’d be coming along. Welcome to the
Lazy D.
”

“Lydia Templeton? She was the woman I followed here to the ranch?”

The redhead closed the door behind me. “Yep. Can I take your coat?”

I unbuttoned the coat and slipped out of it. I didn’t want to be the one to deliver bad news to Lydia. In theory, it had seemed a simple enough job, but now that I’d met her she appeared fragile somehow, and the last thing I wanted to do was add to her burdens.

Handing my coat over, I introduced myself. “Thank you. I’m Emmett Wilder, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Daisy Meadows. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”

She hung my coat on a hook, then took my hand in hers and led me into the dining room where quite a few people surrounded a large table

“Everyone, this is Emmett Wilder. He’s the stray Lydia picked up on the way home.” Daisy pointed to a blond woman and the dark, brooding man standing next to her. They both wore the clothes of working ranch hands. “Emmett, this is Beth and Isaac Collins, the owners of the ranch. And that’s Nellie and her son Shiye.” She indicated a striking native woman and her infant son sitting in the corner. “These are Isaac’s brothers Wyatt—he’s our new sheriff—and Sammy.”

“Sam,” Sam said, standing to shake my hand. He cast a glance at Daisy that hinted he knew she was teasing him and that he’d corrected her a hundred times, but still liked the kidding between them.

Wyatt saluted with his glass, which looked to be half full of whiskey.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” I said.

Before I could elaborate on my reason for being there, a Mexican woman entered the room, followed closely by Lydia, both of them carrying serving dishes loaded with food.

“You’ve met Lydia,” Daisy continued. She waved in the direction of the other woman, “this is Juanita.”

Juanita glanced up at me, acknowledging me with the most indifferent of nods before heading back to the kitchen. Lydia had doffed her bonnet and coat, but added an apron. Her face glowed a soft pink, probably from the heat of the kitchen, loose curls danced around her profile, and her glasses had slid halfway down her nose again. She looked positively domestic, and content.

And I was there to crush all that.

She offered me a shy smile then followed Juanita.

“Lydia said you mentioned you’re here on business?” Isaac asked, removing his hat and smacking it on his thigh. A cloud of dust formed around him, then drifted to the floor.

“Isaac,” Beth said, waving the dust away from her face.

He grinned, softening his expression. “Sorry,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“Mr. Wilder, please have a seat,” Beth said. “And tell us what we can do for you.”

I pulled out the nearest chair and sat. “Actually, I’m here to speak with Lydia. I had no idea when I met her on the trail who she was. I introduced myself, but we never got so far as for her to introduce herself.”

Beth sat up straighter in her chair, and frowned. “What kind of business do you have with Lydia?”

Her face hardened and I had the sense of a mama bear getting ready to protect her cubs.

“It’s personal. Family business, actually.”

“You’re family?” Daisy asked.

“No. I’m just the messenger. Doing a favor for Lydia’s brother.”

“I didn’t even know she had a brother,” Beth said, hurt in her eyes, as if Lydia had betrayed her by not mentioning Randall. Ask me, it was a mercy.

“Maybe she didn’t think him worth mentioning,” Wyatt offered. He watched me over the rim of his glass as if he’d asked a question rather than made a statement.

Lydia had no shortage of people ready to defend her. I hoped they weren’t the type to kill the messenger, so to speak.

Juanita and Lydia made another trip into the dining room with more platters of food.

“Lydia,” Beth said. “Mr. Wilder is here to speak with you.”

“What?” Her eyes mirrored the surprise in her voice.

I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and brought out the letter her brother had given me to deliver. I had no idea what he’d written, but whatever it was would likely change her life. Of that I was certain. Randall had a way of doing that.

I stood and approached where she’d rooted herself to the floor. Looking down at the letter in my hands, I wished I didn’t have to give it to her, but I’d come this far and I had to go through with it if for no other reason than to discharge that blasted debt. I held a shred of hope he’d forget what he knew about me after that and leave me be—but only a shred.

I took one of her hands in mine and looked her in the eyes, which I noticed were a rich honey brown. Fear crouched there, ready to pounce as soon as I spoke again. “I’m sorry I have to tell you this news, but your mother has passed away.”

I expected tears, but instead she let go of the breath she’d been holding and the fear disappeared, replaced by relief. “Oh, well, I suppose it was bound to happen.”

“Are you all right, Lydia?” Beth asked.

“She looks like a rabbit ready to bolt,” Daisy said.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t close to Mother. I haven’t spoken with her in several years.” She glanced down at the letter in my hand, then back up at me. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yes, sorry.” I dropped her hand and gave her the letter. “It’s from your brother.”

She sucked in a little breath and the fear returned to her eyes. “I forgot the bread,” she said and scurried back to the kitchen, leaving the letter dangling from my hand.

“And there she goes,” Daisy said.

“Why’d her brother send you to deliver a letter?” Isaac asked. “He doesn’t trust mail delivery?”

“He could have sent a telegram,” Sam said.

“I have no idea what’s in this letter, but he asked me to let her know her mother had passed, and then I’m to escort her back to him in Omaha. I suspect he wants to reunite with her to deal with their mother’s passing.”

“I’ll go check on her,” Beth said and headed for the kitchen.

“How well do you know her brother?” Isaac asked.

A tricky question. I didn’t know any of these folks, and beyond their protectiveness of Lydia, I had no real way to gauge their character. Isaac and Wyatt struck me as tough customers, Sam as more relaxed. Daisy stood her ground. Nellie just watched me with sharp eyes.

“Not well. We’ve been acquainted for several years, but I owed him a favor, and this is how he asked me to repay it. He’s a Methodist minister. Lives in Omaha.”

I had no qualms telling them about Randall, but my association with him was more complicated and none of their business. Best to keep it as simple as possible.

Lydia appeared in the doorway. Beth gave her a little shove from behind until they’d both managed to make it into the room.

Lydia cleared her throat. “I apologize for my behavior, Mr. Wilder. You took me by surprise.”

I took a few steps closer and held the letter out, offering it to her. She kept her eyes on it as if she expected it to sprout teeth and bite her, and although she flinched a bit as I approached, she held her ground.