Marry Me (4 page)

Judah slowly extended his hand. His grasp was firm, Cole noted, and the palm was dry. Not unexpectedly, the older man showed some stiffness when he released his grip, and his thickening knuckles looked as though they might cause him pain from time to time. The index finger of his right hand was missing down to the first joint. It was an old injury, and the skin around the knobby digit was smooth and pink.

“I can’t say that the pleasure’s mutual, Doctor,” said Judah. “Not at this juncture. Under the circumstances, it’s appropriate to reserve judgment.”

“As you wish.”

Judah absently stroked his iron gray beard and set his chair to rocking slowly. His wintry gaze swiveled to that no-account Beatty boy. “Didn’t you say something about rhubarb tarts?”

“Right here.” Will held up the parcel.

“Well, put them in the jar by the stove.” He jerked his chin in that direction. “Then hide the jar behind the molasses in the larder.”

“Keeping them from Ryan?” asked Will. “I don’t know if Mrs. Easter would approve.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

Shrugging, Will did as he was asked.

Cole took advantage of Judah’s inattention to continue his visual examination. His new patient’s color was good, suggesting he did not spend all of his time indoors, although his lightly callused hands appeared to indicate he no longer did the hard labor. His long-sleeved chambray shirt and leather vest covered too much for Cole to make an evaluation. His eyes were clear, not rheumy, and while his facial hair concealed the true shape of jaw, Cole saw nothing that made him suspect Judah was hiding an extra chin. Cole had also seen enough past the man’s tight-lipped smile to know that he still had most of his teeth.

Judah’s physical presentation came as something of a surprise. During their journey, while Cole had been listening to Will talk about the man, he’d formed a picture in his mind. Except for the coldly suspicious nature of Judah’s glance, he’d gotten nothing else right. Cole had been expecting a robust figure, a man with fists like cured hams and a chest as wide as a wine cask. He’d anticipated a man who had little sense of his own appearance and would be disheveled, if not slovenly. Cole realized he hadn’t given enough thought to Judah’s days as a performer.

There was a resonance to Judah’s speech that Cole thought he must have used to great advantage in his Shakespearean roles. Even an actor whose audience probably first gathered in a tent would want to project his voice for better effect. Cole could imagine now that Judah had had little difficulty keeping attention on him.

Judah’s clothes were faded from repeated washing and his boots showed evidence of a recent spit shine. On closer inspection, Cole saw the cane that Judah had used to wave them into the house was more properly a walking stick. It was a polished work of art; a column of chess pieces carved into ebony from the pawn tip to the crown knob, and would have been coveted by any New York gentleman for a turn in Central Park.

The interior of the cabin was clean and tidy, completely at odds with the disrepair and neglect that was the appearance from the outside. The thin film of grime on the windows added to the illusion, but on the inside those windows were framed by lace curtains, yellow with age, but nonetheless clean.

Cole did not know what to make of it, so he continued simply to gather information for sorting out later.

Will returned from the pantry and pointed to one of the chairs at the table. “Mind if I sit?”

“As you like,” said Judah. He glanced at Cole. “You, too, Doctor.”

“Thank you, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to begin the examination.”

Will held up one hand as he dropped into his chair. “First things first, Doc.” He regarded Judah levelly. “Where’s Ryan?”

“Out.”

“I know that, but where does he go? I couldn’t make out the direction of his shot.”

“Upstream a piece, I expect. He usually walks that way when his tolerance for my company is at its nadir. I send him out when my tolerance for him has reached the same low point.”

“Which was it today?” asked Will.

“The latter.”

Will nodded. “All right,” he said, coming to his feet again. “I’ll leave you two here and go find Ryan. Maybe I can convince him to come back long enough to meet the doc and have a go at conversation.”

Cole thought Judah looked as though he wanted to object. There was just enough hesitation in his manner to suggest he was searching for a reason to keep Will in the house. He tried to set Judah’s mind at ease. “The examination is painless,” he said. “And I’ll be asking you to answer some questions about your medical history that you may not want the deputy to hear.”

“I may not want you to hear the answers either,” Judah said.

“That’s certainly your prerogative.”

Judah’s eyes followed Will as he crossed the cabin. They lingered on the doorway after he ducked out.

Cole set his bag on the table, opened it, and removed a small clothbound notebook and pencil. He held them up so Judah could see and didn’t miss the surprise in the man’s eyes. Cole’s tone was dry, the arch of his eyebrow ironic. “I don’t think I’ll be needing the bone saw just yet.”

Will chose to stretch his legs with a brisk walk rather than look for Runt on horseback. He knew his quarry couldn’t be too far upstream or he wouldn’t have been able to see his and Cole’s approach earlier. Every so often he turned, surveyed the point in the distance where he and Cole had been when they heard Runt’s shot, and figured as long as it was in sight Runt was still within a shout.

If he’d come alone to the cabin, Runt would have joined him, no matter how out of sorts he was with his pa. Escorting the doc, though, made Runt even more suspicious than Judah. And that was quite a feat since Judah didn’t trust his right hand with what his left hand was doing.

“Hey, Runt! Where the hell’d you get to?” Will waited a few beats, but except for his own soft echo, there was no reply. “Aww, c’mon, Runt. I had to bring the doc out. Sheriff’s orders. Wants him to meet everyone, including you outliers. He’s been to the Fabers, the Beauforts, and the Goodalls. He even went up to see Mrs. Minich on his own and managed to charm the old biddy. So far, you’re the only one that shot at him.”

Will sat down in the grass, stretched his legs out on the slope pointing toward the stream. He leaned back on his elbows and spoke conversationally to the trees at large. “The doc’s okay, even if he does have three names and doesn’t know much about anything ‘cept doctoring.” Will decided he wouldn’t mention that Coleridge Braxton Monroe had at least a passing familiarity with Shakespeare. That wouldn’t settle Runt’s nerves. “He actually thought you meant to kill him, if you can believe it. I didn’t have it in me to tell him that he’d be dead if that was your intention. I brought him up Colley’s trail just to feel him out, take measure of his mettle. It wasn’t right, I grant you, but he did okay. Stayed in his saddle and didn’t puke. Didn’t complain, come to think on it. Doc Diggins would have staked me out on the ridge and removed my entrails with a spoon for a trick like that.”

“Lord, but you’re grisly with your words.”

Will hadn’t heard Runt approach him from behind, but he had expected that would be the direction he’d choose. “Hey, Ryan.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded once in greeting. “I do paint a picture, don’t I?” “That’s a fact. You always did.”

“Have a seat.” Will patted the ground beside him. “Now that you’re here, there’s no hurry. Your pa’s being examined.”

“More likely, it’s the other way around.”

Will chuckled. “Don’t I know it.” He looked back again. “You’re not going to sit?”

“I don’t think so.”

Will’s easy smile faded as he regarded Runt more closely. “Are you all right, Ryan? You’re paler than the doc was on Colley’s trail.” Runt carried his prized Winchester rifle under his arm, but Will couldn’t help but notice that his hold on it wasn’t entirely steady. The barrel, while pointed downward, wobbled ever so slightly. So did Runt’s legs.

This was where Will knew it got as tricky as trying to balance a shot of whiskey on his nose. If he pointed out what he saw, Runt was sure to take exception. He might even take himself off. Then there’d be hell to pay, especially if something was really wrong with him like Wyatt suspected. Keeping quiet, though, didn’t seem like it had much to recommend it. Silence always suited Runt just fine.

Will decided that accusing Judah was the way out of his dilemma. “Your pa take his stick to you again?”

Runt hesitated. “How’d you know?”

“Thought I saw blood on it.”

“Could’ve been, I suppose. He walloped me pretty hard.”

Will saw Runt shrug. That, and the way he spoke, seemed to make his words more of a statement of fact than a complaint. “What’d you do?”

“Can’t say. Don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?” He waited while Runt lifted his hat brim a notch and wiped his brow with his forearm. The sleeve of his flannel shirt came away damp and streaked with dirt. Will always thought that even if Runt was held down in a tub of suds, he’d still emerge the worse for wear. Dust motes hung in the very air around him, suspended like cigar smoke in the Miner Key saloon. The corners of his eyes were creased black, and there was a muddy smear on his right cheek. He wore gloves, but it seemed possible the grime had worked its way through the leather a long time ago.

Squinting up at him, Will said, “You know you can leave, Runt. Like your brothers did. Judah would learn to manage the spread, or he’d come back to town. Maybe mine for a spell. Take his share of what he can bring up from the ground same as every other miner. I bet Abe Dishman would hire you to work on the spur. You could ride the rails between here and Denver for free.”

“Sounds like you have my life figured out.”

Will offered up a sheepish grin. “It’s always easier to do with someone else’s.”

“You still married to Miss Rose?”

“I am.”

“Then I think you’re doing all right for yourself.”

Will had to agree. “Thank you. I reckon I am.” Runt had sidled closer so Will no longer had to look over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he could still see the slight waver in Runt’s stance. “How old are you, Runt?”

“Twenty-three.”

“That’s what I thought. You think much about gettin’

hitched?”

“Now and again.”

“There’s some new girls at Miss Adele’s. Could be there’s someone for you.”

“I’m not sure I want a whore. No offense meant.” “None taken. I made my peace with how Rose made her living before I started courting her. I can’t see that you saying it outright is giving offense. Hell, the hardest thing she ever did was turn the fancy house over to Miss Adele. She cried off and on for five of the worst days of my life. I never saw a woman use as many handkerchiefs as she did, and I had to keep a couple or three spares in my pocket every time we went out. It wasn’t the honeymoon I’d imagined.”

Will heard Runt chuckle but noted it was a weak effort. “You sure you won’t join me?”

“I’m sure.”

Will wondered if Judah had waled Runt on the ass. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to sit down. Will smoothly rose to his feet and brushed off his elbows. “Might as well go down then and meet the doc.”

“I don’t think so,” said Runt. “Maybe next time. You go on, though. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Will wondered what he could offer as enticement. Runt’s jaw was set stubbornly, and the look in his eyes didn’t exactly hint at surrender. Even though Runt stood slightly higher on the bank, Will still felt as if he was towering over him. Not that Runt would give ground. Unless his knees were cut out from under him, he’d stay right where he was out of sheer cussedness.

“You know the sheriff’s going to chew me out if you don’t come with me.”

“I sympathize but remain unmoved.”

“The doc will probably complain the whole way back to town.”

“And yet I am steadfast.”

Will couldn’t prevent his short shout of laughter at Runt’s dry response. “Dammit, Runt, you ought not to do that. I’m serious.”

“But I am constant as the northern star.”

That gave Will pause. “Those are somebody else’s words, aren’t they?”

Runt nodded. “Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I, by way of William Shakespeare.”

“I thought so. That man could sure strike a prose.”

This time it was Runt who gave up a chuckle. “Go on. Make some excuse for me.”

Will couldn’t see that he was getting anywhere, so he finally gave in. “Everyone knows there’s no excuse for you.” Confident that he’d at least had the last word, he walked away. By his measure, he’d gone about twenty-two yards before a sound at his back brought him up short. He turned, saw Runt stagger, slip on his heels, then try to use his Winchester as a crutch. The rifle went right out from under him, and it was a shock to see him let go of it. He fell hard on his ass, clutching his privates like he’d been mule-kicked. Even more surprising than Runt losing his rifle was the holler that followed. Will didn’t think he’d ever heard Runt cry out like that before, and he’d seen him take some pretty good wallops from his brothers. The Abbot boys hardly ever winced when they were in pain, let alone hollered like their hair was on fire.

Will Beatty’s loping stride swiftly carried him back up the hill. He hunkered down beside Runt and tried to get a look at what was wrong. Runt was curled tight, his hands still between his legs. “What the hell’s the matter, Runt? Let me see.” He put his hand on Runt’s shoulder and was immediately shaken off. He saw that Runt was biting down hard on his lower lip and still couldn’t silence the moaning. “Jesus,” Will whispered. “What did that bastard do to you?”

A deep shudder wracked Runt’s small, wiry frame. “Leave me.”

“Like hell.” He reached behind him for Runt’s Winchester, hauled it up, and stood. He stepped away from Runt and fired two shots in quick succession. The doc might not understand what he was hearing, but Judah would. Will was less certain if he’d come.

Will set the rifle down and knelt beside Runt. Without asking permission, he grabbed Runt’s wrists and yanked them away. Will was still surprised by the resistance that Runt gave him. The accompanying groan was something awful to hear, and he couldn’t stop Runt from jerking his knees all the way to his chest. It was a good attempt to hide the problem, but it came a hairsbreadth too late.