One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (17 page)

“He sold you a horse?”

“Yes, he did. He sold me an Arabian stallion a couple of months ago.”

“You're lying to me,” she cried out. “Parker would never have sold either one of my Arabians.”

He wasn't in the mood to argue with her. “I've got the papers to prove it. Just tell him, all right?”

“You purchased a horse you've never seen?”

“My brother saw him,” he explained. “And his judgment is as good as mine.”

She burst into tears. He took a step toward her before he realized he was actually thinking about comforting the woman, and abruptly stopped.

“I'm real sorry your husband didn't tell you about the horse.”

“Oh, God, please, not now.”

She started panting again. What in blazes was the matter with her? He knew something was wrong, and he had a feeling her husband was responsible for her tears. The man should have told his wife about the horse. Still, her reaction was a bit extreme.

Douglas thought he should say something to help her get past her misery.

“I'm sure all married couples go through spots of trouble now and then. Your husband must have had a good reason for selling the stallion, and he was probably so busy he forgot to tell you about it. That's all.”

The panting got louder before it stopped. Then she whimpered low in her throat. The sound reminded him of a wounded animal. He wanted to walk away but knew he couldn't leave her if she was in trouble . . . and just where was good old Parker anyway?

“This shouldn't be happening,” she cried out.

“What shouldn't be happening?” he asked.

“Go away,” she shouted.

He was stubborn enough to stay right where he was. “I'm not leaving until you tell me who Boyle is. Did he hurt you? You sound like you're in a lot of pain.”

Isabel instinctively responded to the concern she heard in his voice. “You aren't working for Boyle?”

“No.”

“Prove it to me.”

“I can't prove it to you without showing you the letter from your husband and the paper he signed.”

“Stay where you are.”

Since he hadn't moved an inch, he couldn't understand her need to shout at him. “If you want me to help you, you'll have to tell me what's wrong.”

“Everything's wrong.”

“You're going to have to be a little more specific.”

“He's coming, and it's much too early. Don't you understand? I must have done something wrong. Oh, God, please don't let him come yet.”

“Who is coming?” he demanded. He nervously glanced behind him and squinted out into the night. He thought she might be talking about Boyle, whoever in tarnation he was.

He was wrong about that.

“The baby,” she cried. “I can feel another contraction.”

Douglas felt as though he'd just been punched hard in the stomach. “You're having a baby?
Now?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, lady, don't do that.” He didn't realize how foolish his demand was until she told him so between whimpers. His head snapped back. “Are you having a pain now?”

“Yes.” She said the word with a long moan.

“For the love of God, take your finger off the trigger and put the rifle down.”

She couldn't understand what he was telling her. The contraction was cresting with such agonizing intensity she could barely stand up. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth together while she waited for the pain to stop.

She realized her mistake as soon as she opened her eyes again, but it was already too late. The stranger had vanished. He hadn't left the barn though. His horse was still standing by the door.

The rifle was suddenly snatched out of her hands. With a cry of terror, she backed further into the stall and waited for him to attack.

Everything began to happen in slow motion. The gate squeaked open, but, to her, the sound was a piercing, unending scream. The stranger, a tall, muscular man who seemed to swallow up all the space inside the stall, came toward her. His hair and eyes were dark, his expression was angry . . . and, oh, God, she didn't want him to kill her yet. The baby would die inside her.

Her mind simply couldn't take any more. She took a deep breath to scream, knowing that once she started, she would never be able to stop.
Please, God, understand. I can't do this any longer. I can't . . . I can't. . . .

He pulled her back from the edge of insanity without saying a word. He simply handed the rifle to her.

“Now, you listen to me,” he ordered. “I want you to stop having this baby right now.” After giving the harsh and thoroughly unreasonable command, he turned around and walked away.

“Are you leaving?”

“No, I'm not leaving. I'm moving the light so I can see what I'm doing. If you're this close to having a baby, what are you doing in a barn? Shouldn't you be in bed?”

She started panting again. The sound sent chills down his spine.

“I asked you to stop that. The baby can't come now, so just forget about it.”

She waited for the contraction to end before she told him he was an idiot.

He secretly agreed. “I just don't want you to do this until I find your husband.”

“I'm not doing it on purpose.”

“Where's Parker?”

“He's gone.”

He let out an expletive. “I had a feeling you were going to tell me that. He picked a fine time to go gallivanting.”

“Why are you so angry with me? I'm not going to shoot you.”

He wasn't angry; he was scared. He had helped a countless number of animals with their deliveries, but he hadn't helped any women with childbirth and he didn't want to help Isabel Grant now. Oh, yes, he was scared all right, but he was smart enough not to let her know it.

“I'm not angry,” he said. “You just took me by surprise. I'll help you back to the house, and then I'll go get the doctor.” He hoped to God she wouldn't tell him the town didn't have a physician.

“He can't come here.”

Douglas finally got the lamp hooked to the post connected to the stall. He turned around and saw Isabel clearly for the first time. She was an attractive woman, even with the frown on her face. She had freckles across the bridge of her nose, and he had always been partial to women with freckles. He'd always liked red hair too, and hers was a dark, vibrant red that glistened like fire in the light.

She was a married woman he reminded himself, and he shouldn't be noticing her appearance. Still, facts were facts. Isabel Grant was one fine-looking woman.

She was also as big as a house. Noticing that helped him regain his wits. “Why can't the doctor come here?”

“Sam Boyle won't let him. Dr. Simpson came here once when I was too far along to go into town to see him, but Boyle told him he'd kill him if he ever tried to come to me again. He'd do it too,” she added in a whisper. “He's a terrible man. He owns the town and everyone in it. The people are decent, but they do whatever Boyle tells them to do because they're afraid of him. I can't blame them. I'm afraid of him too.”

“What's Boyle got against you and your husband?”

“His ranch is next to ours, and he wants to expand so his cattle will have more grazing land. He offered Parker money for the deed, but it was only a pittance compared to what my husband paid for it. He wouldn't have sold it for any amount of money though. This is our home and our dream.”

“Isabel, where is Parker now?” As soon as he saw the tears in her eyes, he had his answer. “He's dead, isn't he?”

“Yes. He's buried up on the hill behind the barn. Someone shot him in the back.”

“Boyle?”

“Of course.”

Douglas leaned back against the post, folded his arms across his chest, and waited for her to compose herself.

She sagged against the wall and lowered her head. She was suddenly so weary she could barely stand up.

He waited another minute before he started questioning her again. “Did the sheriff investigate?”

“Sweet Creek doesn't have a sheriff any longer. Boyle must have run him off before Parker and I moved here.”

“No one wants the job, I suppose.”

“Would you?” She wiped a tear from her cheek and looked up at him. “Dr. Simpson told me Sweet Creek used to be a quiet little town. He and his wife are my friends,” she added. “They're both trying to help.”

“How?”

“They've sent wires and written letters to all the surrounding towns asking for assistance. The last time I saw the doctor, he told me he had been hearing stories about a U.S. marshal in the area. He believed the lawman was the answer to our prayers. The doctor hadn't been able to locate him yet, but he was certain he would come if he knew how many laws Boyle had broken. I try not to lose hope,” she added. “Boyle has at least twenty men working for him, and I think it would take an army of marshals to defeat him.”

“I'm sure there's a way to . . .” He stopped in the middle of his sentence, for it had just occurred to him that she had gone several minutes without panting.

“Did the pain go away?”

She looked surprised. She put her hand on her swollen middle and smiled. “Yes, it did. It's gone now.”

Thank God.
he thought to himself. “You're really all alone here? Don't look at me like that, Isabel. You've got to know by now I don't work for Boyle.”

She slowly nodded. “I've learned to be very distrustful. I've been alone for a long time.”

He tried not to let her see how appalled he was. A woman in her last months of pregnancy should have been with people who cared about her.

Anger began to simmer inside him. “Has anyone from town looked in on you?”

“Mr. Clayborne, I . . .”

“Douglas,” he corrected.

“Douglas, I don't think you understand the severity of my situation. Boyle has the route cut off. No one gets in here without his approval.”

He grinned. “I did.”

The realization that he had indeed gotten through made her smile again. Odd, but she was also beginning to feel more in control too.

“Boyle's men must have gone home as soon as it started raining. I think they go back to his ranch every night when the light fades, but I can't be sure.”

She straightened away from the wall to brush the dust off her skirt, and suddenly felt her legs give out. She was horrified. She leaned back again so she wouldn't fall to her knees and turned her face away from him as she explained in a whisper what had just happened.

She sounded frightened and ashamed. Douglas immediately went to her side and put his hand on her shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort her. “It's all right. It's supposed to break.” He tried to sound like an authority on the subject. In reality, he had just summed up everything he knew about childbirth with that one simple statement.

“Something's wrong. The baby's not due for at least three to four more weeks. Oh, God, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have scrubbed the floors and done the wash yesterday, but everything was so dirty and I wanted to keep busy so I wouldn't think about having the baby alone. I never should have . . .”

“I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong,” he interrupted. “So stop blaming yourself. Some babies decide to come early. That's all.”

“Do you think . . .”

“You didn't cause this to happen,” he insisted. “The baby's got a mind of his own, and even if you'd been in bed, your water still would have broken. I'm sure of it.”

He seemed to know what he was talking about, and she stopped feeling guilty. “I think my baby's going to come tonight.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“It's odd. I'm not in any pain.”

They were both whispering now. He was trying to be considerate of her feelings. She was trying to get over her embarrassment. The man was a complete stranger, and, oh, God, she wished he were old and ugly. He wasn't though. He was young and extremely handsome. She knew she would probably die of mortification if she let him help her bring her baby into the world, because she would have to take her clothes off and he would see . . .

“Isabel, you about finished hiding from me? You've got to be practical about this. Come on,” he coaxed. “Look at me.”

It took her a full minute to summon up enough courage to do as he asked. Her face was burning with shame.

“You're going to be practical,” he repeated as he lifted her up into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you back to the house. Put your arms around me.”

They were eye to eye now. He stared at her freckles. She stared at the ceiling.

“This is awkward,” she whispered.

“I don't think the baby cares if his mother feels awkward or not.”

He carried her out of the stall, paused long enough to take the rifle away from her and prop it against the post, and then continued on toward the door.

“Be careful,” Isabel told him. “The rifle's loaded. It could have gone off when . . .”

“I unloaded it.”

She was so surprised she looked him in the eye. “When?”

“Before I gave it back to you. You aren't going to start fretting again, are you?”

“No, but you're going to have to put me down for a minute. I have to take care of Pegasus first.”

“Are you talking about the stallion?”

“Yes.”

“You're in no condition to get near him.”

“You don't understand. He cut his left hind leg, and I need to clean it before it becomes infected. It won't take long.”

“I'll take care of him.”

“Do you know what to do?”

“Oh, yes. I'm very good with horses.”

He felt her relax in his arms. “Douglas?”

“Yes?”

“You're good with women too. I was wondering . . .”