Lassoing a Bride

by Gail L Jenner et al.

  Tracy Garrett

  Love always finds a way…

  Chapter 1

  River’s Bend, Missouri, March 1854

  Doctor Franz Bittner rushed down the stairs to answer the pounding at his front door. He knew by the urgency the news wasn’t good. As he reached the entryway, he heard his sister, Martha, hurrying to ready his surgery.

  Pulling open the heavy front door, he registered the presence of Deputy Owens and Samuel Cartwright, but his attention was entirely for the young woman the deputy carried. Though she looked small in the man’s arms, the length of her pale blond hair and the curves of her willow-thin body said she was not a child.

  “Bring her inside,” he ordered, not bothering to wait. He heard the door close quietly, but the boots following him never paused. Evidently, Old Sam had decided not to stick around. “What happened?”

  “Not sure,” the young deputy puffed. “Old Sam, here, found her half in the river.” He paused, waiting for the man to fill in the blanks. When nobody spoke up, Owens turned in a full circle to look behind him, nearly knocking the woman against a doorframe.

  “Never mind. Bring her in here. Martha!”

  “Everything is ready. Ach. The poor lamb. What happened?” She quickly applied pressure to a deep gash on the woman’s left cheekbone.

  “Turn your back, Dwight,” he snapped, then bent over his patient. With Martha’s help, he removed her dress and shoes. Though a bit gaudy, the clothes were of excellent quality. She was not without some means.

  “Her left hip lies at a slight angle,” Martha pointed out.

  “An old injury, though she probably has some difficulty walking because of it.” He did a quick evaluation of his patient. The young woman was having trouble breathing, even after they’d slashed through the ribbons securing her corset. “Water in the lungs. A laceration on her shoulder…” He didn’t finish the thought since Martha was already reaching to roll her over. Then, he spotted the evidence of beatings that had been hidden. “Gott in himmel,” he cursed. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Here, too,” Martha whispered. “And here. She is bleeding too much.”

  “Whoever did this didn’t want her to tell anyone what happened. Deputy Owens, fetch the sheriff. And tell him to hurry.” The young man ran from the room, boots slapping the floor with a desperate rhythm. He and Martha continued to work, cleaning and stitching the deeper cuts, applying bandages; but still, the woman didn’t awaken.

  When Sheriff Matthew Tate stepped into the room, Franz wasn’t certain his patient would live long enough to tell him anything. He filled in what he knew from his examination. “She was hit multiple times with a large, flat object. Something that has an edge, but not a sharp one. Based on the filth beneath her fingernails, she dragged herself through dirt or mud. The skin on her back and legs shows evidence that she was in water for some time, maybe more than an hour.” He paused to let Martha snip the thread he was using to carefully stitch the woman’s cheek.

  “Doc?”

  He knew Matthew wanted to know if she would live. Franz Bittner uttered nearly every curse in German, Latin and English that he knew. “I don’t know,” he snapped, leaning over his patient again. “Leave me alone to try.”

  The lawman left the surgery with his deputy. Franz heard him order Owens to find Old Sam.

  “That won’t be difficult.” Martha’s voice was sharp with disapproval. “Look in the nearest saloon.”

  Just before the front door closed behind the men, Franz heard the sheriff say he was going to swear in a U.S. Marshal. That meant he would ask Jericho Hawken to assist.

  The sheriff wanted to find the one responsible as much as Franz.

  Chapter 2

  It was close to midnight when Franz straightened from his patient to stretch his back. On nights like this he felt like an old man, though he’d just celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday. She’d become restless about an hour earlier, filling him with relief. She slept now because of the small amount of ether he’d administered to calm her until he finished his work.

  “She will survive now, ja?” Martha took off the stained apron and set it aside to clean.

  “Ja, she will live.” He scrubbed his hands and splashed water on his face. “She needs rest and care, but she will be able to tell Sheriff Tate who did this.”

  Together, they moved the woman to the examining room where he kept a small bed on tall legs. The mattress was more comfortable for the patient and the added height was easier on him. He watched Martha tuck another blanket around their patient before returning to his surgery to place his instruments in a metal pan. Later, she would cover them in water and lye, then boil them to be sure they were clean. She stripped the sheets from the surgery table. Those, too, would be boiled.

  After years of working together, they made an efficient team. He’d been the one their parents had sent for a medical education, but Martha had studied along with him and knew nearly as much as he did.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  He smiled his appreciation. “Nein. Coffee, though, would be welcome.”

  “I want to put the young fraulein’s dress in to soak. Then I will bring your coffee to you.”

  “No need. I’ll join you in a little while.” Once Martha was gone, Franz turned to study the woman lying on the small bed in his examining room. With her hair mostly clean and her filthy clothes removed, he realized she was quite pretty. Though she would have scars from the attack, if he’d done his job well, they would not detract from what God had given her.

  The front door opened and closed; then, soft treads started down the hallway in his direction. “Doc?”

  “Come in, Matthew. The news is good, at least for the time being.”

  “Good. That’s good to hear. Can she answer questions?”

  “She should wake up soon. I didn’t want to give her laudanum until she can tell me how she feels. You should wait. Martha has made coffee. I’ll sit with the woman for a while, then my sister can take my place while we talk.”

  With a last, long study of the young woman, Matt left Franz alone with his patient. After checking her temperature and smoothing a bandage, he went to the window to study the night.

  The kitchen garden was bathed in the light of the moon, softening the lines of the stalks and stems of last year’s crop. He and his sister had been so fortunate to find River’s Bend. He had learned much in his three years in New York, but the city was not for him. Here, in this place that reminded him of the old country, they were welcome, had many good friends, and he was able to practice the vocation he loved. He knew many of his German kinsmen were not as lucky. Settlers were often hounded and harassed, even attacked, simply because they spoke with the rich, thick accent of the home they’d left behind.

  Franz turned back to study his patient. That could have been Martha, he realized. Had the people of this town not accepted them, it might have been he and his sister being chased away. Or worse.

  But they were at home in River’s Bend, for which he daily thanked God. “You will be safe here, too, little one,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of it.” After one last check of his patient, he headed toward the sound of voices. When he heard Matthew mention the spring dance, he hesitated. Nothing would make him happier than for Martha to finally win the attention of their friend, the sheriff. When the conversation quieted, he called out rather than interrupt what might be happening. “Gut, Matthew. You are still here.” Franz shuffled into the kitchen. “Martha, come, bitte. Sit with the girl so I can speak with Matthew.”

  When his sister handed him a cup of coffee he thought he saw tears, but that couldn’t be right. She was going to the dance with this man she cared so much for. Deciding he was too exhausted to puzzle it out now, he motioned for Matthew to join him in the study. “It will not take long, what I have to say.” Franz hated that his English went away when he was tired, but he could not change where he’d been born. “Did you learn anything?”

&nb
sp; “Not enough to help. We found where she pulled herself from the water, but there’s no evidence of someone with her.”

  “He dumped her from a boat?”

  “Are you sure it was a man?” Matthew lounged in a leather armchair, but his gaze was sharp and interested.

  “The blows came downward at her, but not from so far that she was already in the water. I think the hit to her face might have thrown her out of the boat.”

  “She’s damned lucky it didn’t knock her unconscious and she drowned.”

  “It stunned her, I think. It was a deep cut, a hard blow, swung with enough force to kill her if the point of impact had been just right. But I can only guess at this time, Matthew. She will have to tell you.” Voices from across the hall caught his attention. “I believe she is coming around.”

  “No. Please.”

  The pure terror in the voice had Franz following Matthew into the examination room where Martha struggled to keep his patient from injuring herself further. Matthew stopped in the doorway and Franz stepped around him and into the room, watching for signs of an injury he might have missed. She told Martha her name was Rebekah Snow. A name as lovely as she was. He stiffened. What was the matter with him? She was his patient. Frowning, he focused on the women’s soft conversation. He was pleased that she could speak with no slurring, her whiskey-warm voice inviting him to join in. Then Martha softly called her liebschen, the woman smiled, and his world seemed to stop spinning.

  Franz leaned against the nearest wall, trying to regain his detachment in order to treat his patient, but he couldn’t find the control required. Something about her buried itself deep inside him, arrowed straight to his heart, and it felt—right. Like she belonged there, a part of him.

  Before he could analyze the feeling further, Matthew asked a question. In a heartbeat, her terror exploded. Franz shoved away from the wall, intending to order Matthew out of the room, but Martha handled the situation with gentle firmness.

  The name the woman uttered with such fear—Reginald Redmann—was enough to make his blood boil. She actually believed that the bastard owned her. Her resignation brought out a protective instinct so strong, he didn’t recognize himself. He was still puzzling over the unfamiliar emotion when Matthew turned to leave. Franz followed him from the room.

  “Can you find him?” Violence had never before seemed like a good alternative, but now the need to confront the man overwhelmed Franz’s normally calm demeanor.

  “Having his name will make it easier. But it will have to wait until tomorrow.” He consulted his pocket watch. “There’s no way across the river for another four or five hours.”

  Franz forced himself to calm. “Then I prescribe some rest for you, Sheriff.”

  Matthew’s grin was lopsided. Tired. “Will do, Doc. I’ll let myself out. Good night.”

  Franz returned to the examination room and moved to the side of the bed as Martha introduced him as her little brother. As if the eleven months’ difference in their ages mattered to anyone but her. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he lifted Rebekah’s hand. “Now then, Miss Snow. Tell me where you don’t hurt. I put so many bandages on you, I know it would take too long to tell me where you do hurt.” He tried to keep his smile gentle and the worry out of his eyes. “So, tell me where you don’t.”

  While Rebekah considered her answer, he studied her eyes for signs of further problems. But instead of assessing her condition, he found himself fascinated by the silvery ring around irises the color of a mountain lake. When she lifted her free hand to tell him her little finger was the only thing that didn’t hurt, the movement shocked him back to his duties.

  “Ach, poor dear. A little laudanum and you sleep until more things don’t hurt. All right?”

  He let Martha measure the medicine he’d prescribed. For the life of him, he couldn’t release Rebekah’s hand or look away from her lovely heart-shaped face. He didn’t know why he felt this way, but he never wanted the moment to end.

  Chapter 3

  Rebekah Snow Redmann watched the hint of light outside the window blossom into a new day. For the first time in nearly four years, she didn’t have to hurry from bed before Reginald woke. No matter how many times he forced her to lie down beside him, she couldn’t stand bathing and dressing where he could see.

  Smiling at the freedom, she stretched, only to cry out at the pain.

  “Miss Snow, what is it?”

  The doctor knocked once and strode into the room. His white shirt and dark blue vest looked fresh and clean, though she knew he’d been in and out of her room the whole night. The vest emphasized his broad shoulders and drew her eye to his trim waist. His dark brown hair was clean and combed away from his face, emphasizing his blade-straight nose and eyes the shade of chocolate. His mustache brushed his upper lip and curled around his mouth, making her wonder if it was a soft as it looked.

  Self-conscious of her own appearance, Rebekah tugged the covers up to her chin and looked away. “I stretched my legs and arms. I guess I moved too much.”

  Rebekah felt his hum of sympathy reverberate through her body. When was the last time anyone cared that she hurt?

  “I’m sorry I cannot take away the pain. With the blow you took to your head, I don’t dare give you more laudanum.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll be fine. I won’t make any more noise.”

  A frown drew his dark brows close together. “You may scream if it hurts you that much. Noise is not a problem in this house, as you will learn should I irritate my sister, Martha, beyond her endurance.” With a wink and a small smile, he went about checking the stitches on her cheek and laid the back of his hand on her forehead to check for fever. “Gut, gut. All is well. I will have Martha come and change the bandages now.”

  He was gone before she registered that he didn’t plan to watch. Reginald never left the room when a doctor came, gave her no privacy at all. Rebekah felt the sting of tears and fought not to let them fall. Crying always earned her a beating. It was the first lesson Reginald had taught her.

  “Does it hurt so much, liebschen?”

  “No, Martha, I’m fine.”

  “Fiddlesticks, as my friend, Mary, would say. You are badly injured. Of course you are not fine. But my brother, he is a good doctor. You will soon be better.”

  “Thank you.” The words felt so inadequate for everything they had done to help a stranger, but they were all she had. The few coins and locket the sheriff had returned to her would not take her very far.

  “If you feel up to it, Sheriff Tate has returned this morning to ask you some questions.”

  Martha said it so casually, as if talking to a lawman wasn’t dangerous. “Must I?”

  “Soon, little one, if we are to find and punish this Reginald Redmann.”

  “No! Don’t try to find him. Let him go.”

  “But, he nearly killed you,” Martha argued.

  Rebekah cringed from the memory of blow after blow, with fists and boots and, finally, the boat oar. “He wanted to.” Her voice broke and tears spilled over. “He wants me dead. He can’t find out I’m alive!”

  “Why did he want to kill you, Mrs. Redmann?” the sheriff asked from the doorway.

  “What did you call her?” Franz came up behind him.

  “Matthew!” Martha placed herself between him and Rebekah.

  The siblings spoke over each other as the sheriff and the doctor crowded into the room. The sheriff came close to the bed.

  “According to the folks at the hotel across the river, a Mr. and Mrs. Redmann checked out the afternoon you were attacked. Is Redmann your husband?”

  Panic made it hard to breathe. They were going to give her back to him. “Don’t tell him I’m alive. Please! I can’t go back.”

  “I’m not telling that piece of shi—” The sheriff bit off the curse and Rebekah watched in disbelief as he struggled to regain control of his emotions. It was almost as if he cared what happened to her. “You said last night Redmann ow
ned you. Was that true?”

  Wishing she could disappear into the bedclothes, or stand up and face the questions, Rebekah closed her eyes. “Yes. He won me from my father in a card game.”

  A warm hand lifted hers and felt for her pulse. “Easy, my little one. He will not get to you in my home.”

  She forced her eyes open and was instantly lost in the doctor’s gaze. “You can’t keep me safe from him. No one can.”

  “I plan to do just that,” the sheriff interjected. “How long ago was this card game?”

  “Four years. He said he wanted my little sister, but she was only twelve. I couldn’t let that happen. So I—I took her place.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Boston.”

  The sheriff stared at her in disbelief. “Boston? Who is your father?”

  “Archibald Snow.”

  “Judge Snow.”

  “You know my father.” Disbelief warred with relief that she wouldn’t have to talk about her parent.

  “And I’d wager you know mine. Are you aware that your father declared you dead?”

  Rebekah sat up straight. “What? When?”

  “Probably only a couple of weeks after he sold you into slavery. You had quite a lavish funeral, according to my mother.”

  “I’m not a slave,” she argued, though that was exactly how her life seemed. She couldn’t absorb what her father’s actions meant. And what had he done with her sister? A shiver went through her, rattling her to her core.

  “Easy, little one. I don’t want to have to redo any of your stitches. Matthew, you will stop this questioning now.”

  “Just one more, Doc. When and where were you and Redmann married?”

  “What difference does it make?” As long as they lived, she was legally bound to her husband.

  “Because I want to know how Redmann can be legally married to a woman who’s been declared dead.”

  Rebekah stared at Sheriff Tate. “I might not be married?”

  “I don’t know, but I plan to find out.”