A Convenient Wife

by Carolyn Davidson

  It was small, with a potbellied stove, a wide set of bunks and a table with three mismatched chairs. She remembered it from her childhood, when, as an adventure, she’d ridden out to play house in it, during a hot summer afternoon. And then been severely berated by her father for making him search for her. Now, it was even more dilapidated, the furnishings ragtag and worn by years of hard use by a series of cowhands during roundup time.

  She slid from Al’s arms, aware that he treated her with unaccustomed care. “You gonna be all right?” he asked, standing in the doorway, watching as she slumped onto a chair. “I’ll get some water from the stream for you.”

  He snatched up a bucket from the corner and stepped out the door, then turned back. “Don’t try to leave, Miss Ellie,” he said, his voice reeking with apology. “It’ll be worth my scalp if you run off. I don’t want to tie you up, but I will if I have to.”

  She couldn’t run anywhere right now if her very life depended on it, Ellie thought glumly. Her arms and legs ached from the harsh treatment at her father’s hands last night. And now she’d survived a ride behind Al’s saddle, and her thighs were sore, abrasions burning where her bare skin had rubbed the sides of the horse.

  Yet, all of that paled next to the pain she bore in knowing that Win might think she’d left him on her own hook. I think I need to leave for a while. She’d spoken the words to Kate, voicing aloud the fear of bringing shame to Win. And Kate, being the honest soul she was, would no doubt repeat those words, maybe gentling them for Win’s hearing. But nothing could buffer the pain such a statement would bring him.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be looking for her, Ellie thought, her head lifting as fear settled deep. Maybe he’d think it was good riddance. And she couldn’t blame him if he was angry with her. She probably appeared to be ungrateful, after him being so good to her. The fact that he’d even taken her to his bed must be making him feel like he’d made a terrible mistake, claiming her as his wife. No doubt his pride was stung….

  Surely it must be. The whole town would know she was gone by now. And Win must meet and greet them with full knowledge that his wife had left him.

  “Here you go, Miss Ellie.” Al toted the bucket of water inside, placing it on the floor near the table. “If you want to wash up, I got a towel in my pack.”

  His feeble attempt at comfort did not go amiss, and Ellie nodded her thanks, grateful for the man’s eagerness to please.

  “Just don’t try to leave, ma’am.” Al stood in the doorway, hesitating as if he must gain some small measure of assurance from his captive. “Your pa holds a tight rein, you know that.”

  “I know.” Ellie spoke the words dully, unwilling to antagonize the man who had at least offered her a small amount of kindness. Al cast her a last glance before he went outside, and she looked around the small room. A supply of firewood stacked against the wall assured her of warmth against the coming hours when the winds from the mountains blew across the acres of open range.

  Surely there was food here. Even her father would not expect a woman to survive with no sustenance, she decided. Rising, she opened a heavy chest, built from rough wood and equipped with the necessities of life for whatever stray cowhand might require its contents.

  A small kettle and a chipped coffeepot comprised the cooking supplies. A tin of coffee and an assortment of cans assured her she would not starve over the course of the next day or so. Several plates and cups nestled in one corner of the box and spoons were scattered amid the supplies. A large knife had been left to open the cans with, and Ellie wiped it off on her skirt before she placed it on the table.

  “I’m gonna see if I can roust up a rabbit for you, ma’am,” Al said, entering with a dingy towel and a bedroll from his pack. “I brought you some matches, in case there’s none here. We ain’t used this shack all summer, but there’s enough stuff to do you for now.”

  “Thank you,” Ellie said, limping to take Al’s offerings. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee if you’d like some.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said agreeably. “I’d appreciate that.” He turned away, and then spoke quietly, as though the confidence he shared was better said without peering into her face. “I won’t be sleeping in the shack, ma’am. I’ll bunk outside.”

  He stepped from the building and Ellie watched him go, aware that she could have done worse with several others of her father’s hands. Al was the best of the bunch, and it was pure dumb luck that he’d been the one forced into bringing her here. With no warning, he’d been presented with an unwilling woman, and told to get her as far from the house as he could.

  She’d shed her coat and her shawl lent a certain amount of warmth as she pulled the door closed, keeping the chill air outside the shack. The stove door swung open readily, and she piled kindling atop the ashes, then added small sticks of wood before lighting a match. It caught, flaring up and she watched for a minute, then added larger pieces, thankful that the wood was dry and plentiful. The damper was open, and the fire drew well as she closed the door on the blazing warmth.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too cold once the sun went down. Perhaps Al had an extra bedroll to keep him warm. If not, she’d invite him in by the fire. The beds were stacked atop one another, and she spread Al’s bedding on the bottom shelf. It left a lot to be desired, she thought, remembering the lovely quilt and the clean, crisp sheets she’d slept on in Win’s house.

  Win. Her heart ached as she whispered his name, and she closed her eyes, wishing she could send a message, let him know she had not left of her own accord. He was a city man, although he’d said he could ride a horse. Surely James would begin a search, but on his own, Win would have no way of searching out her whereabouts, no knowledge of the countryside. And perhaps not even the urge to seek her out. A shaft of pain struck deep inside as that thought entered her mind.

  “Ma’am? I didn’t see any sign of game nearby, but there ought to be enough provisions in that box to keep you fed till tomorrow.” Al stood in the doorway huddled within his coat, and a draft of cold air swept past him. “I’m gonna make a fire and set up camp out front. If you have anything extra to eat, I wouldn’t mind a bite.”

  “The coffee is beginning to boil,” she told him. “I’ll open a couple of cans and see what I can heat up.”

  He ducked his head, pulling the door shut behind himself. And she was alone.

  Chapter Ten

  Win’s fingers held the stethoscope against Birdie Watkins’s chest and he closed his eyes, determined to listen intently to the sound of a heart beating in an irregular rhythm. And succeeded only in remembering the first time he’d seen Ellie, when he’d pressed the bell just where the swell of her breast began.

  Ellie. Her face swam before his closed eyelids and he blinked, erasing the vision.

  “What do you think, Doc?” Birdie was peering up at him, her wrinkled cheeks and rheumy eyes giving away the advanced age she attempted to conceal with powder and touches of rouge. She was a dear, and he made no attempt to conceal the affection he felt for her.

  “I think you’re pretty spry for a forty-year-old woman, ma’am,” he said dryly, and then waited for her cackle of laughter.

  She didn’t disappoint him, her eyes squinting nearly shut as she swatted at his hand. “Never mind the shenanigans, Doc,” she chortled. “You know as well as I do that I’ll never see eighty again.”

  “Would you want to?” he asked, grinning at her cheerful countenance. “You’re not in any worse shape than most women your age, Miss Birdie. And a lot better off than a good share of them.”

  “Still gettin’ around,” she bragged. “Don’t even use the cane some days.”

  “You need to get your feet up, several times a day,” he admonished her. “Elevating them will relieve the swelling. And don’t forget to take your medicine.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Makes me run to the outhouse.”

  “That’s the idea,” he said, patting her shoulder.

  “Doc?” Birdie looked up at
him, her good humor held in abeyance for a moment. “I heard your new wife’s come up missin’. Is that the truth?”

  “Bad news travels fast, doesn’t it?” He folded the stethoscope and placed it in its case. “Since night before last,” he admitted.

  “She’s a good girl, that Ellie. I knew her ma. Old George’s a hard man, Doc. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had somethin’ to do with it.” Birdie lifted herself from the chair, and grasped her cane with both hands. Her jaw firmed as she met Win’s gaze. “That Jamison woman came back to town, didn’t she?”

  Win nodded, then turned aside, unwilling to bare his pain. Marie Jamison had ridden down the road in a buggy only an hour ago, with James not far behind.

  “She’s a conniver, that one,” Birdie said. “And that boy of hers ain’t fit for hog slop.”

  A grin twisted Win’s mouth as Birdie spewed her opinion. He turned back to face his patient and rested his palm on her narrow shoulder. “We’ll find Ellie,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Birdie.”

  She nodded and turned to the door. Win held it open for her and watched as her grandson lent an arm, helping her from the office and leading her down the path to the road.

  Frustration rode him hard, and he slammed his fist against the doorjamb. “Damn.” Folks needed him, and in all good conscience he couldn’t close his office. Yet, working at the job of doctoring while Ellie might be in dire straits was almost more than he could tolerate.

  A flash of color caught his eye, and he watched as a woman entered his gate and walked with a stilted gait toward his front door. Through the glass her appearance was blurred, but he recognized the untamed curls and voluptuous form. Cilla, the woman he’d tended at the Double Deuce saloon, come to call.

  The knob turned and she entered the wide hallway, blinking as her gaze encountered him, there in the office door. “Hey, Doc,” she said, her words overlaid with a seductive tone.

  “Good morning, Cilla,” he answered. “Problems?”

  She hesitated, peering past him into the waiting room. “You got patients in there?” she asked.

  He shook his head. What Cilla wanted was a puzzle he wasn’t willing to explore this morning. He’d done all he could for her, and she’d be fine if she steered clear of the man who’d misused her.

  “Can I talk to you?” Her laugh was low, a husky sound, and Win caught a glimpse of feminine beauty beneath the carefully applied powder and paint she used. “There’s something you oughta know about.”

  “Sure. Come on in,” he said, resigning himself to her confidences. He led the way into the waiting room and waved at a chair. “Sit down, Cilla. What can I do for you?”

  “I owe you, Doc. That’s why I’m here.”

  He shook his head. “No, I was paid for my services when I tended you. You don’t owe me anything.”

  She looked at him, her mouth crooked, her smile restrained. “You were nice to me. Even knowing… Well, you know what I mean. I’m not fit company for decent folks in this town. But you treated me like a lady, and I appreciate it.”

  “I believe all women should be treated fairly,” Win said. “You’re a woman.”

  “Well, nevertheless, I heard about your wife takin’ a hike, and I thought you ought to know that she had some help.”

  Win jerked, as if a branding iron had seared his flesh. “How do you know that?”

  “A fella told me.” Her mouth compressed. “I can’t say any more about it. But I thought you oughta know that she didn’t run off on her own.”

  “Who?” Win demanded. His heartbeat was rapid as he stalked across the room, reaching to jerk Cilla from the chair. “Who spoke to you about Ellie?”

  She shook her head. “It’s worth my neck if I tell you that,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she beheld his fury. “I can’t say, Doc. I shouldn’t even have come here, but I wanted you to know that she’s all right. Nobody’s hurtin’ her.”

  Win loosened his grip on Cilla’s arm. “Did her father take her?”

  “I don’t know.” Stubbornly, her chin jutted out. “And that’s the God’s truth.”

  He looked down at his hand, and deliberately opened his fingers. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t bruise you.”

  “That’s nothin’, Doc.” She bit at her lip. “I wish, just once in my life, somebody would’ve cared about me the way you do about that girl.” With a flourish of skirts, she rose and turned to the door. “I’ve got things to do. I just wanted you to know—”

  “Thanks, Cilla,” Win said quickly. “I appreciate you coming by.”

  He watched her leave. James needed to hear about this. Whether it would do any good or not, every scrap of information needed to be funneled in the sheriff’s direction.

  “Marie Jamison went out to the Mitchum place to see George,” James said bluntly. “I watched and waited till she left, and it didn’t take long, only about ten minutes. She was madder than a wet hen when she climbed back in that buggy. Hollered at that boy of hers, and that buggy shot out of George’s place like a bat outta hell.”

  “Then what?” Win asked.

  “I just stayed in that grove of trees about halfway up his lane and watched him ride off.”

  “You didn’t follow him?”

  James shook his head. “He had a couple of his men with him, and I had nothing to go on, Doc. I don’t think he’ll hurt Ellie with that many men looking on. And if he’s got her hidden somewhere on his ranch, we could look all day and half the night and not come up with any answers.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now,” James said, adjusting his gun belt, “I go talk to Marie.” Grimly, he pointed a finger at Win. “And you stay put, Doc.”

  “Do you think Cilla knows what she’s talking about?” Win asked.

  “Those women hear most everything that’s going on. You’d be surprised what secrets they know.”

  “They’re gettin’ real antsy,” George said, watching Ellie with a malicious grin. “I want you to sign this here paper, daughter,” he said, approaching the table, slapping an envelope before her.

  “I’m not signing anything, Pa. I already told you that.” Today was the second day in this hellhole, and the misery and boredom of her stay had only served to stiffen her backbone. But Ellie knew the signs of George’s anger well. She had only to deny him her obedience and he would attempt force.

  Still, she could not betray Win or the vows she’d made before God and the minister in Whitehorn. Her mouth tightened, even as she clutched her hands together to still their trembling. “I’m not going to swear to a lie.”

  Her father hooted with derision, his face reddening as he thumped a fist on the table. “That man wouldn’t take you to his bed. He’s not that desperate for a woman, not with half the females in town givin’ him the eye.” George’s voice was harsh and strident, and he bent closer, mocking her with jeering words. “You can’t make me believe he’d take a second look at you.”

  “He married me, Pa.” Ellie’s whispered reply was a small measure of defiance. George had ever been capable of making her feel small and worthless, and today was no exception as he focused his hateful gaze on her. And yet, Win had thought her worthy of his attention, and she clasped that knowledge to her bosom like a talisman of hope.

  “He just needed somebody to cook and clean,” George said shortly. “Now you got a chance to go to Philadelphia and live in a nice house and wear fancy clothes, and you’re turnin’ your back on it. What’s the matter with you, girl?”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere but home to my husband.” It was the cry of her heart, and Ellie felt tears well up as she gave it voice.

  “I’ve been about as nice as I’m gonna be, girl. I’ll tell you this. Either you sign that paper, or I’ll see to it you don’t have a baby. One good kick in the belly oughta get rid of the bastard for you.”

  “What’s in this for you?” she wailed. “How much money is Mrs. Jamison going to hand you if I sign her paper?” She wrapped
her arms protectively around her unborn child and faced George with tears running down her face. “How can you be so ready to sell your own flesh and blood, Pa?”

  “You’re not worth anything to me, girl. You’re about as useless as your ma. She couldn’t even give me a son, the only time she ever carried to full term.” He stepped closer and Ellie cringed from the sight of his uplifted fist. “You’ll sign that paper, or I’ll settle your hash right now.”

  From the doorway of the shack, Al Shrader’s voice added persuasion. “Go on and write your name, Miss Ellie. You don’t want to stay out here, do you?”

  She looked up at Al, whose face was troubled as he glanced back and forth from George to his daughter. “Miss Ellie?” He nudged her with a nod, and George looked back at his cowhand, dismissing him with a glare.

  “Get on outta here, Shrader. This is none of your concern.” Shoving the envelope closer to Ellie’s hands, George took a pencil from his pocket and slapped it atop the document. “Sign it…now,” he said softly.

  The tone bore more threat than his shouts and curses, and Ellie picked up the pencil. With trembling fingers she opened the envelope and slid the folded sheet of paper to rest on the table. Holding it open, she scanned the carefully printed words. Simply, it stated that her marriage to Winston Gray had not been consummated, and even as she watched, George’s thick index finger pointed at the bottom of the page.

  “You sign it right there,” he ordered, then watched as she obeyed. Snatching it from her, he folded it and replaced it inside the envelope, then tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Now, just behave yourself, and you’ll be outta here by tomorrow.”

  Ellie watched him leave, heartsick at the thought of her own father hating her so much. Simply because she had not been the son he wanted. Her hands spread wide across the rounding of her belly, and she felt the movement of her child. No matter the outcome, she would love this babe. Of that she was certain. Whether boy or girl, it was her child.