by Caroline Lee
Beside her, Papa let out a breath at the same time she did.
“Come on,” he muttered. “If we start now, Burton should hang back.”
He tugged her towards the livery, and Regina was happy to hurry along. “I hate that man,” she confessed in a whisper.
Papa hummed in agreement. “I’m sorry about yesterday evening. I think he suspects I might try something, which is why he came for a visit. You did well.”
She’d spent most of the evening sewing quietly, pretending there’s nothing she’d rather do than make tiny neat stitches and listen to the men discuss eastern theater, while inside she was seething at the delay. Which is why it was after midnight before she was able to sneak out.
Her father continued in a low voice, “And I’m so sorry you had to go out so late.”
Over breakfast this morning, she’d told her father everything that had happened last night, mainly to explain why she kept yawning hugely and had to use powder to conceal the dark circles under her eyes. He’d been fascinated by her meeting with the Black Ace, and had asked for every detail.
Which is why she now grinned. “I’m not. I had quite the adventure.”
“And you got to help young Josiah.”
“I hope the Ace got him the quinine in time. I made sure the written instructions were clear so his parents wouldn’t have any trouble dosing him.”
Papa hummed again as they turned the corner for Blind Avenue. “I’m more than a little jealous you got to meet him, you know. There’s plenty of people in this town who’d love to shake his hand for what he’s done for us.”
“Yes. He was quite” —warm. Hard. Delicious-sounding. Kind—“interesting,” she finished instead. “And very polite.”
“A gentleman, eh?” Papa mused. “I’m not the only one who has wondered who he might be, you know. But I think there’s also a feeling of let sleeping dogs lie, if you know what I mean.”
She frowned slightly and tugged her heavy reticule higher, wishing they could do away with this subterfuge and she could just carry a doctor’s bag. “I don’t.”
He shrugged, the movement causing the dark brown wool of his overcoat to ripple. “I just mean that if one person knew his real identity, it wouldn’t be long until someone else knew it too, and once King found out, he’d be as good as dead.”
Regina glanced at her father in surprise. “So if someone were to guess his identity, the safest route for him would be if that person just kept his or her mouth shut on the subject?”
Papa stopped long enough to look her square in the eyes, then glanced over her shoulder at Burton, who was still following, before simply saying, “Exactly.” Then pulled her into motion once more.
Exactly?
Did Papa think she might have guessed the Black Ace’s identity?
Well, she had sat on the man’s lap, so maybe that had made her more of an expert than most. And she had had an entire conversation with him, although he’d been speaking in low tones. If she'd gotten the chance to have heard him speak normally, maybe then she’d have been able to recognize him.
As far as his looks, it’d been just dark enough, she hadn't seen much more about his appearance than what most people already knew: He was a well-built man in his prime, who wore a black duster, black clothing, a bandana covering his face, and whose dark hair could be seen under the black cowboy hat firmly placed on his head. And that's it.
So no, she hadn’t guessed the Black Ace’s identity, but Papa seemed to be telling her that if she did, she shouldn’t tell anyone. Even him? Did he suspect she was going to guess the man’s real identity? What made him think that?
Pushing the Black Ace to the back of her mind, she switched her thoughts to her to-do list for the day, and Papa seemed to have been on the same track.
“You have your list?” he asked her, loud enough only she could hear.
Her arm was tucked through his, but her hands were shoved into her muff, and the list of patients on the outlying ranches and farms who needed medical advice was safe inside.
“Yes. I’m going to the Carter place, then the Hartwell ranch, and lastly, I'll stop by to check on Mr. Ferguson’s gout. I just wish I could go to the Stuebens’.”
Papa grunted a denial. “It’s too dangerous. King is having them watched because of what Jed Stueben said at church last month.”
There were townspeople who lived outside of King’s influence who disapproved of what was going on in Black Aces. But as long as they still needed the town—the stores, the church, and now the doctor—King had a hold over them all.
Regina sighed. “I’m just glad Mr. Hartwell brought his grandfather into town for you to set his leg. I don’t think I could’ve managed that.”
Papa patted her arm with his gloved hand. “You could. I believe you’re more than capable, my dear. But yes, I’m glad you didn’t have to do it as well. Luckily, Mr. Hartwell managed to get old Pony to me before King realized it. I’m sure he would’ve had something to say about me treating an Indian.”
“He really is a terrible person, isn’t he?”
Papa didn’t answer—she knew what he’d say anyhow—because they’d arrived at the livery. Over the large door was the new sign Matthias had posted that year, “Blake and Daughter Livery.” Regina smiled to see it, glad that Matthias had managed to find such happiness.
Two years ago, the man had been badly injured in a fight between two gunmen—the fight where Regina’s friend, Shannon Ryan, had been kidnapped—and had spent a while at the Vickers’ home recuperating. In fact, Shannon’s sister, Cora, had been the one to bring Matthias to them.
Regina had helped care for the wounded man during his long recovery, and they’d become friends of a sort. He’d been interested in matrimony, but she’d been too young for him at the time, and probably still was. But last year, he’d sent away for a mail-order bride and had fallen deeply in love with her and her two children. Young Joshua helped his mother Abigail, teach school in the brand-new school building—which had been constructed this last summer outside of town, and outside of King’s influence, since the old one had been burned in one of his mysterious fires—while wild little Maggie worked with her father in the livery.
In fact, it was Maggie who skipped over to them when Regina and her father stepped through the main doors. “Good morning! Are you here for your cariole?”
Regina smiled down at the girl’s polite greeting even as Papa led her further into the warm building, since Burton also entered. “Yes, please. Could you ask your father to bring it out?” she asked the little girl.
Like many businessmen in town, Papa paid to keep his vehicle at the livery, then just rented a horse from Matthias whenever he needed to go somewhere his legs couldn’t carry him. Or for his flighty daughter to use to visit her friends, as far as Burton and King were concerned.
Maggie had fetched her father, who met them in the rear of the building and kept up a steady stream of conversation while he hooked up the cariole.
“You’re going to check on Pony today?” he asked in a low voice.
Regina nodded. “Among others. We need to make sure the leg is healing properly. Breaks at his age are dangerous.”
“And a shame too. He was such a big part of Hart’s ranch. Half the horses we sell here were trained by Pony, and he needs to be back on his feet by the spring. I know he’s taught Hart all he knows, but it's just not the same if you have to watch and not be part of the success of your trade.” Matthias said knowingly as he hooked a horse into the traces. “And Pony cares about the ranch’s success as much as Hart does.”
Regina knew they shouldn’t talk too much about any one person where Burton might be listening, but she couldn’t contain her curiosity. “You sound as if you admire him.”
“I do!” Matthias stepped back, checking his handiwork. “Hart is my business partner, but also my friend. I consider him and his family my own, and old Pony is a good man. I know lots of people don’t think much of him because he�
�s Indian, but he’s raised Hart, pretty much all on his own, to be a good man too. Neither of them put up with much nonsense.”
Regina hummed thoughtfully. She’d met Mr. Hartwell more than a few times, and had also been to his ranch several times to check on his grandfather. Hart had always struck her as quiet and affable. He seemed to always agree with the greater opinion of things and never made any trouble. But now that she thought of it, thought of all the times she’d watched him at church, for instance, while others spoke out about King and his heavy-handed ways, he never nodded in agreement, nor had he ever appeared angry over the situation. He’d always just sat there, quietly, seeming to just be taking it all in.
Was it because he was dense and didn’t understand the situation well enough to have an opinion? Or was it because he did have an opinion, but just kept it hidden, showing the world only what he wanted them to see?
She was frowning thoughtfully as she accepted Papa’s help up into the driver’s seat and placed her heavy bag beside her. She decided she’d visit the Carters and Mr. Ferguson first so she could linger a bit longer at the Hartwell ranch.
She was curious about the man, and couldn’t help but wonder where his loyalty lay. Maybe she’d tell him. Even without telling of her part in the adventure, a good man would see through King’s version of things and understand the Black Ace had been in town, not to kill anyone, but to help someone, and King's man's death hadn't been intentional. It would be interesting to see his reaction to the story either way.
She urged the horse into motion and headed for the large doors Maggie was pulling open. Waving cheerfully to her father, Regina kept up their ruse for Burton’s sake. “Goodbye, Papa! I’ll say hello to Shannon for you!”
He waved back, his words stilted. “Have a good time, dear!”
The poor man was terrible at this subterfuge, wasn’t he?
The thought had her smiling as she turned the horse northward out of town.
She, on the other hand, fancied herself rather good at it. She’d been fooling Mr. King well enough; the man thought she was some sort of ninny he could woo. Last night, she’d not only helped save young Josiah, but she’d also gotten to spend an inordinate amount of time on the lap of an intriguing man.
One who’d made her shiver in all sorts of interesting ways.
Three
The woman was good at what she did.
While Regina examined Pony’s leg, Hart watched them both from his spot at the kitchen table. He’d offered her coffee when she’d arrived, but she’d shaken her head, thanked him with a smile, and went straight to her work. She’d teased and cajoled Pony until the old man had been willing to prop his leg up on the woodpile in front of his rocker for her to examine.
Now she knelt at his feet—practically in the hearth, like she wasn’t a fine lady!—and ran her fingers over the knitting bones in Hart’s grandfather’s leg. Last month, the mare Pony had been working with fell on him, snapping both bones in his lower leg. Hart had managed to get him to Doc Vickers, but Regina had been the one seeing to Pony’s care since King had confined the doctor to town.
And Hart had looked forward to every visit.
Even if she hadn’t said more than a few words to him, Hart enjoyed watching her work.
She was graceful and caring. He’d once read that the name Regina meant “Queen,” and he could see it in the way she held herself.
He liked the way she teased Pony, and how she used her smiles on the old man to persuade him to do as she wanted. Hart’s grandfather had been mostly immobile since the accident, so he could usually be found sitting in front of the fire, wearing only a shirt and a lap blanket, and Hart knew he hated feeling like an invalid.
Hell, Hart couldn’t blame him; he’d hate it too, if he was in the same spot.
“You’ve been walking on this,” she chided gently.
The old man just frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I needed exercise.”
To Hart’s surprise, she nodded.
“The only way to make it stronger is to use it.” She sat back on her heels, one hand still resting on Pony’s bare leg. “But you have to promise me, Mr. Pony, that you’ll sit down just as soon as it starts aching. And not get up again until it stops.”
Pony shifted his attention to the fireplace. “I will not be useless.”
Hart winced, having heard his grandfather make that same statement more than once over the last month.
But Regina, bless her, handled it well.“I know, Mr. Pony, but from everything I’ve heard, you’re far from useless. However, if you don’t allow your body time to heal—and we both know you don’t heal as quickly as you used to—you won’t be able to be much help to Hart again in the spring,” she said gently.
Hart’s stomach gave a little lurch when he heard his name on her lips.
Had she used it before? Not that he could remember. He’d always been “Mr. Hartwell” to her. What had changed?
Something she said must’ve gotten through to Pony, because the old man turned towards the table with a shrewd look in his dark eyes. “My grandson River would be helpless without me,” he told her with a solemn tone.
Regina also glanced at Hart, and was it his imagination, or was there a twinkle in her bright blue eyes?
“Yes, I can imagine so,” she said with a straight face, her eyes telling him she was as close to smiling as he was.
But instead, he just nodded and gripped his coffee mug tighter. “Listen to what she says, old man. She’s as good a sawbones as her pa, and she’s right. You’ve gotta be up to form after the thaw, if not sooner. I need you.”
Her eyes softened at his compliment, and she did smile then. But it was sweet, not as if she were laughing at Pony. And that smile…it did something to him. Like the way she’d looked at the last Independence Day’s celebration, laughing with her father over something he was unaware of. The sight of it reached down into Hart’s belly and made him want to…
Want to…
Well, hell. He didn’t know what it made him want to do, but it involved something primitive and completely uncivilized. Like dragging her into his bedroom and kissing her senseless.
Kiss her like she’d been begging to be kissed last night.
Oh, she might not have done it on purpose, but the way she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d sounded when she’d stretched up on tiptoe, with her lips so close to his, had made it impossible for him to think about anything else. It had taken most of the ride out to the Stueben place for Hart to be comfortable sitting in his saddle again, and even after he’d hung the pouch with the medicine on their gate and headed home, he’d lain awake another chunk of time, tossing and turning and thinking about how nice it’d been to hold her.
He’d had a rough night.
He blinked when he realized he’d been staring at his coffee and she’d long since turned back to Pony, re-tying the straps they’d fashioned to keep his brace in place, and was now giving him additional instructions.
Knowing his grandfather, Hart guessed the old man was only minutes away from yanking his leg away and telling her to quit her fussing. So he set his coffee on the table and stood up, ready to offer to walk Regina out. But Pony beat him to it.
“I have survived much worse, including my son-in-law’s cooking. I will survive this. Go away.”
Regina smiled as she stood up and brushed off her skirt, obviously not offended. “And has Hart been cooking since your injury? How’s his dinners taste?”
She threw a teasing look Hart’s way, and he reeled back, surprised she was including him. She’d always been nothing but professional before. Disappointingly so.
“My grandson is a better cook than I am, probably better than you, lady doctor. He learned, because his father was so terrible.”
She chuckled. “My father has said my talents do not lie in the kitchen, but we make do.”
Pony grunted and waved one hand dismissively. “River will walk out with you and talk to you abou
t your talents, lacking or no.”
Hart almost choked on his tongue to hear his grandfather spout such rudeness. Still, he figured old people—no matter their race—could get away with more, because Regina just smiled sweetly and patted Pony’s arm. Then she scooped up her long coat and crossed to where Hart was standing, mouth agape like a trout, and handed it to him.
Just in time, Hart remembered what he was supposed to do with it and held it up by the shoulders for her to slip into. He couldn’t resist allowing his palms to rest on her shoulders for just a moment, once her arms were in.
But she stepped forward, away from his touch, as she did up the buttons along the front. Then, reaching for her bag, she offered Hart a small smile.
Behind them, Pony cleared his throat, so Hart turned long enough to send the man a hard glare, which Pony returned with a cheerful smile. The old man knew exactly what he was doing.
He’d just arranged for Hart to be alone with Regina. And while Hart didn’t appreciate the manipulation, he had to admit he was getting exactly what he wanted.
So he grabbed his coat off the hook, jammed his brown hat on his head, and followed her out the door.
Her cariole was sitting out front, but he’d taken the horse out of the traces. It was a pretty little filly he himself had trained two years before and had sold to Matthias Blake, so he’d allowed her to run in the corral with the other horses out enjoying the sunshine.
Regina was ambling towards the fence, not seeming as though she was in any hurry, and Hart hurried to catch up.
“So…where do your talents lie?” It was a stupid way to start a conversation with a woman he didn’t know, but very much wanted to know. Still, it was all he could think of, thanks to Pony.
She shrugged. “I’ve been my father’s assistant as long as I can remember. Even as a little girl he’d have me help him. My mother died when I was very young, and Papa raised me himself.”
“He’s done a good job,” Hart told her. “The way you treated Pony— I mean, not just medically, but as a person, when not everyone around here sees him as equal. I just mean, uh… You’re a good doctor. Doctoress? Nurse?” He mentally groaned because he realized he was making a mess of things.