Marry Me (32 page)

He put the book away. “Now, tell me why you came here. I would have gone to your home to do the examination. You suspected what I would find, so why not do it where you’d be more comfortable?”

“My husband doesn’t know yet. I didn’t want to hint at it until you confirmed it for me. If I’d asked you to the house, he would have guessed. Coming here, well, I can tell him I brought samples for Rhyne to look at.” She pointed to the swatches of fabric she’d placed on the unoccupied stool. “And I did, so it isn’t an untruth.”

“Well, he won’t learn about it from me, but you’ll tell him tonight, won’t you? He’s escorting me to Judah’s place tomorrow. It’d be hard to keep a secret like that the whole way.”

“I’m going to his office right after I show Rhyne the samples. I imagine you’ll know I spoke to him because he won’t be able to peel the grin off his face.”

Rhyne did not follow her usual routine after Whitley left for school. She ignored all the chores facing her for the day and set about attacking the one that couldn’t be put off. She was pleasant to the people she passed on her way to Joe Redmond’s livery in spite of the fact that she simply wanted to growl at them.

She managed small talk with Joe and paid up what she owed him for boarding her horse, then she walked Twist out of the stable and led him up the alley back to the house. After hitching the gelding to a post at the back porch, she went up to her room and took her rifle from under the bed.

She always tended to it, so it was cleaned and ready for her. She kept the cartridges in the bottom of the chest of drawers under some scented paper that Whitley gave her. Rhyne was never sure whom she was supposed to write, but she appreciated the gift, and it made her box of ammunition smell like lilacs.

She stripped off her skirt and tucked her tailored shirt into the brushed corduroy trousers that Rachel Cooper made for her. It didn’t take her much time to unlace her shoes and replace them with a pair of comfortable boots. She had to twist her hair into a knot and hold it at the back of her head with one hand while she jammed her hat on with the other. When had her hair gotten so long?

Hoisting the Winchester under her arm, Rhyne stood back from the vanity until she could see most of herself reflected in the mirror. She didn’t look exactly like Runt Abbot any longer, but she was confident she could still ride and shoot like him.

Cole’s first thought when he saw Judah Abbot again was that the man had aged considerably. His iron gray beard was growing in whiter and the creases at the corners of his eyes were more defined. His perpetually tight frown made the parenthetical crescents on either side of his mouth look like crevices. Cole noticed the most dramatic change when he examined Judah’s hands. The lightly callused palms were gone. These hands belonged to man who was laboring.

“Are you wearing gloves when you’re working, Mr. Abbot? This wound in the heel of your left hand doesn’t seem to be healing well.”

“Damn splinter felt as big as a railroad spike,” Judah said. “I thought it was going to go all the way through my hand.”

Wyatt drummed his fingers lightly against the tabletop. “So you weren’t wearing gloves.”

“Well, I’m getting to that. I’d just taken them off to set the fuse. There’s a stump I wanted gone and I–”

“You used explosives to get rid of a stump?” Cole glanced at Wyatt for confirmation that this could possibly be true. When Wyatt merely shrugged, Cole asked Judah,

“Had it offended you?”

“It was there. I didn’t want it to be. That’s offense enough.” He regarded Cole with eyes that had gone frosty. “And don’t step on my lines again.”

“He means you interrupted him,” said Wyatt.

Cole gave him a sardonic glance, but didn’t comment and set about cleansing the partially healed wound instead. He found three slivers still lodged in Judah’s flesh that he removed with tweezers. Pus oozed from deep inside. Cole squeezed it out until Judah’s blood ran clean and then he bandaged the hand.

When he finished, he went to the pump in the kitchen and washed his hands. He carried back the coffee pot and a cup and put them in front of Wyatt. “To give you something to do besides playing percussion.”

Wyatt looked down at his hand and caught his fingers in the act of more idle drumming. “Sorry. Didn’t realize.” He delivered the apology absently, and he was grinning while he said it.

Cole merely shook his head, but he couldn’t blame Wyatt for wanting to get back to town and his wife. Rachel had been right. Her husband was nearly stupid with the news that he was going to be a father.

Having marginally settled Wyatt, Cole turned his attention back to Judah. “I want to know about the problem that brought me out here. Wyatt said you were favoring your left side and complaining of some weakness. I need you to get up and show me. You can use your stick if you like.”

Judah hesitated. It was Cole’s mildly skeptical gaze that finally brought him to his feet. “I can’t say that I approve of your manner, Dr. Monroe. You’re a mite arrogant for my tastes.”

“Walk over to the bookshelves and back.”

“Superior,” Judah muttered, but he did as directed.

Cole observed his gait carefully and noted the listing to the right and the drag and drop in Judah’s left foot. When Judah returned, Cole indicated that he should sit. Judah lifted his walking stick threateningly, but Cole seized it and Judah stumbled and fell awkwardly back in his rocker.

Wyatt left the table to take the stick from Cole and put it out of the reach of both men. “What are you thinking, Judah? Let Dr. Monroe do his work.”

“He’s not respectful.”

“And naturally your plan is to beat that into him.” Wyatt sighed heavily and set the stick on the table. “That makes about as much sense as using dynamite to get rid of a stump. Judah, sometimes I could beat you with this myself and call it a very good day.” He sat down and picked up his coffee cup. “Go on, Cole.”

Cole hunkered down in front of Judah and held up his right hand, palm out. “I want you to push against my hand as hard as you can. This is your opportunity to knock me on my ass.” He noted the gleam in Judah’s eye and knew that was exactly what the older man hoped would happen.

Judah leaned forward and put out his hand to meet Cole’s. He shoved hard while Cole pushed back. He was able to force Cole to shift his feet to keep his balance, but his strength wasn’t sufficient to make him topple.

“Good,” said Cole. “Now your other hand.”

When Cole raised his left hand, Judah applied himself again. This time, though, he couldn’t move Cole even a fraction of an inch, and it was Cole who pushed him back in his chair.

“All right. Now, let’s try it again, but this time use your right foot.” Cole lifted his hands and allowed Judah to place his heel in the cup of his palms. With this attempt, Judah’s strength and leverage was enough to set Cole on his backside. “That’s good, sir.” He rose back to his haunches and put out his hands again. “The left foot.”

Judah pushed, but Cole remained precisely where he was.

“Harder,” Cole said.

Judah’s grimace did not improve the outcome. His foot dropped heavily to the floor when Cole let it go.

Cole stood, brushed off his hands, and studied Judah’s face closely. “Recite something for me,” he said. “A favorite passage. Anything.”

Judah gave it a moment’s thought, then he spoke as if before an audience. “’For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; for when the noble Caesar saw him stab, ingratitude, more strong than traitors arms, quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart.’”

“Well chosen,” said Cole. The irony Judah hoped to affect was not lost on him, but he made no further comment about the passage. “Your speech is faintly impaired,” he said. “Is it better or worse than it has been?”

Judah offered a surly, tight-lipped smile. “What did they teach you at your fancy school, Doctor? I’d have to talk to myself to know that, and I haven’t jumped off that cliff yet.”

Wyatt said, “I didn’t notice it on my last visit. That’s been a little over a month now.”

Cole nodded and addressed Judah again. “Your arm and leg … were they better or worse when Wyatt was here?”

“That makes some sense, at least. They were better.”

“Memory loss?”

“Not that I remember.”

Wyatt gave him an ironic glance. “Very amusing, Judah.”

Cole ignored Judah’s chuckle. It was obvious that his patient enjoyed poking at them, with or without his stick. He slid out a chair at the table and sat, then he took the log out of his satchel and made a few notes.

Judah craned his neck. “What are you writing there?”

“I’m simply recording your symptoms and complaints so I can refer to them the next time I see you.”

“When’s that going to be?”

Cole looked up. “Let me be frank, Mr. Abbot, it appears you suffered a mild stroke. Your presentation is not entirely consistent with the diagnosis, but I am not familiar with another possibility to explain the unilateral weakness. Your memory appears to be intact, and you haven’t lost the facility to laugh at your own jokes. There is something to be said for humor, in whatever manner it presents itself.” “Is that right?”

“It is.” He finished documenting his observations and closed the book. “If you lived in town, I would want to see you weekly to measure your progress, but that’s not going to happen with you being here. If the weather holds–and Wyatt says that’s not likely–I could come out again in a month. It’s possible it will be as long as six or eight weeks before I’ll see you again. You should arrange for Danny Beaufort to drop by more often, even if you don’t need him for chores. That’s just a precaution in the event you require assistance.”

“What’s Beaufort going to do? The boy can’t find his toes when he’s wearing socks.”

“I don’t know what he can do, Mr. Abbot, but at least you won’t be alone.” Cole snapped his satchel closed. “Is there anything else?”

Judah looked him over, his pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. “I reckon you think you’re better than me.”

“And I don’t suppose there’s anything I could say or do that would change your opinion, so I won’t lose any sleep over it.” He started to rise, but Judah gestured at him to sit back in his chair.

“What’s lit a fire under you?” asked Judah. He darted a glance at Wyatt. “You, too, Sheriff. Usually I can’t get rid of you, but today I can plainly see that I am persona non grata. Where’s the harm of sitting a spell? Don’t you always tell me what’s going on somewhere or other, even if I don’t I want to hear it? Well, today, I do.”

“There’s not much to tell, Judah. Everyone’s been–”

Judah held him off with a raised hand. “There’s some currant cake under a bowl in the kitchen. You and Dr. Monroe help yourselves to it. I should have offered it when I saw you didn’t have any biscuits or tarts for me.”

Wyatt and Cole exchanged baffled glances.

“Well, go on,” Judah said. “It isn’t proper to refuse now,

is it?”

“I’ll get it,” said Cole. He rose and went to the kitchen while Wyatt began relating what passed for news in Reidsville. When Cole uncovered the cake, he saw that a quarter of it was gone. Cole had to admit that it made Judah’s uncharacteristic offer a little more agreeable. He quickly cut and plated three slices and carried them back. He gave Judah a plate first and observed him eagerly taking his first bite.

“You’ve always had a sweet tooth?” asked Cole, passing a plate to Wyatt and then sitting down again.

“Born with it, I expect.” He stabbed his fork in Wyatt’s direction. “Can’t you eat and talk at the same time?” Wyatt cut off a bite and continued his recitation.

The dirty windows made it difficult to see into the cabin and forced Rhyne to walk right up to them. Even she was not so adept a tracker that she could cross the porch without being heard, so she ignored the windows at the front and went around to the small one at the back where she could look into the kitchen. It would have been surprising to see someone there, but she knew she could find an angle that would allow her to see farther into the cabin. By tilting her head this way and that, she was able to make out that it was Wyatt’s back she was seeing at the table and that Cole was sitting across from him. Because Judah’s chair was off to the side, he was not visible.

There was very little in the way of movement. Cole’s satchel was on the table and it looked as though it might be closed, which meant that either he’d completed his examination or that it had not yet begun. Given the time he and Wyatt had already been in the cabin, she suspected it was the former.

So why were they still sitting at the table? Judah tolerated Wyatt, but only just, and Rhyne couldn’t imagine that her father had anything but contempt for Coleridge Monroe. It didn’t make sense that they were overstaying a welcome that was never all that welcoming.

Pressing her face even closer, Rhyne saw Wyatt’s head turn toward Judah and realized the sheriff was talking to her father. She wished he would scoot his chair to the side so she could see what Cole was doing. It was impossible to know if he was contributing to the conversation.

Frustrated, Rhyne stepped back and considered what she might do. The window she had not yet tried was the one in Judah’s room, and she would only be able to see into the main part of the cabin if her father’s door was open. That seemed unlikely to her, but she had no other choice.

Staying close to the cabin’s walls, she skirted the perimeter until she was outside Judah’s room. She used the sleeve of her jacket to rub out a smear of dirt that was on her side of the window, then shaded her eyes from the sunlight and peered in.

The open door gave Rhyne her first glimpse of her father in more than six months. She had avoided thinking what it would be like to see him again so she was unprepared for how deeply it would affect her. What she understood about the kind of love that could exist between a parent and child she had gleaned from stories in the Old Testament and novels of Dickens and Alcott, and it had no relevance in the life she knew with Judah. Still, Rhyne allowed that it would be a lie to pretend there wasn’t a bond, and an even bigger lie to pretend it wasn’t twisting her insides now.