Are you sure it’s safe, Susanna? A woman shouldn’t make calls alone…. It isn’t respectable….
Maybe not, but Susanna didn’t care a whit about what people thought. She had a gift and she’d been born to use it. She’d never say it to Tim, but she might have saved Bethany and their newborn son. At the very least a Cesarean section would have given them a fighting chance.
Spurred by her convictions, Susanna sat straighter in the seat. Tim hadn’t defended her against his sister, but she could overlook that lapse. Like most men, he didn’t understand her vocation. On the other hand, he was hardworking and honorable.
She couldn’t say the same for Rafe LaCroix. With his smart mouth and wandering eyes, he was all spark and no substance. Of the two men, she knew whom she preferred.
Chapter Five
In spite of a limp and a blind eye, Garrett Albright had spent the past five years tracking Rafe LaCroix. All along the Santa Fe Railroad, station managers had received posters offering a sizable reward for information concerning his whereabouts. The photograph was old—a graduation portrait taken before that night in St. Louis—but Rafe couldn’t change his most distinctive feature. Anyone who saw his pale eyes remembered them.
Garrett did, and the memories weren’t good.
Each time he received a wire telling him that a man resembling Rafe had been spotted, he traveled west in his private railcar, gathering information and making notes in a journal. That’s how he’d learned of Rafe’s friendship with Lemuel Scott and his recent pursuit of Frank Benton.
Until last month, the man Garrett called “the boss” had been satisfied with a knowledge of Rafe’s travels, but the news of his connection to the Bentons had driven the old man to midnight vigils on the stone portico overlooking the Mississippi. Garrett knew how it felt to breathe in the night and smell the past. Some scores in life could be forgotten, but others gnawed at a man’s heart and had to be settled.
Because of that understanding, he couldn’t say no when the boss asked him to bring Rafe to St. Louis. Garrett had read his notes, determined that Rafe was in southern Colorado and left the next day. For three days he had done nothing but indulge in scenery and cigars, but the blast of the whistle signaled the train’s approach to Green River and the end of his respite.
A valet knocked on the door. “Mr. Albright?”
“Come in, Roberts.”
“We’ll be arriving in Green River, Colorado in five minutes. The stationmaster is waiting with the clerk who spotted Mr. LaCroix.”
Garrett snuffed out his cigar. “Thank you. I’ll make my own way to his office.”
After the valet departed, Garrett put on his coat and checked his billfold for the silver certificate he’d offered as a reward. Money was power in the boss’s world, and Garrett had plenty of it at his disposal. The paper was worth a hundred dollars—a small fortune to a working man.
As the brakes squealed, the momentum of the train threw Garrett off balance. While bracing against the wall, he reached for his cane. It had been a gift from the boss and Garrett treasured it. The brass handle sported three rubies, but what pleased him most was the sword hidden by the cane’s length. With his poor vision, he didn’t trust himself with a gun.
After putting on his low-topped derby, he braced for the final lurch. Within seconds, Roberts knocked and opened the door, revealing a baggage handler with a small cart.
“The hotel is expecting you, Mr. Albright,” the valet said. “I’ll see that your baggage is delivered.”
“Thank you.”
In addition to hunting for Rafe, Garrett had a business obligation in Green River. The man he hoped to hire as the stationmaster for the new Midas depot would be arriving any day for an interview.
Gripping his cane, he ambled into the depot where he spotted Jason Monroe. The young stationmaster offered his hand but then lowered it when he realized Garrett couldn’t return the grip without letting go of the cane.
Unconcerned with the awkwardness, Garrett extended his left hand in greeting. Of all the losses from his injury, not being able to properly shake a man’s hand was the most humbling. Instead he deepened his voice. “It’s nice to see you, Jason. Is the clerk waiting in your office?”
“Yes, sir. Follow me.”
The two men walked down a hallway and into a room where a balding man with spectacles pushed to his feet. After introducing Garrett to Harlan Biggs, Jason excused himself. Garrett sat in a chair in front of the desk, motioned for Mr. Biggs to do the same and withdrew the photograph of Rafe from his coat pocket.
He handed it to Biggs. “Is this the man you saw?”
“Yes, sir. Except he’s older and his hair’s long.”
“Did you get a look at his eyes?”
“Not up close. But I can tell you he’s got a boy with him. The kid’s ma died awhile ago.”
Garrett took back the photograph. “Then he wasn’t LaCroix.”
“But I’m sure of it, sir. I saw them having breakfast at Madeline’s place. She’s from New Orleans and makes fancy things for her bakery.”
A coincidence? Garrett doubted it. “Go on.”
“They were making jokes about crepes. The boy called ’em crey-pees and the man started talking in French. That’s why I remember him.”
It was also how Garrett knew he’d picked up Rafe’s trail. He opened his billfold and handed the silver certificate to the clerk. “You’ve convinced me, Biggs.”
“Thank you, sir. The missus and I—”
Garrett didn’t have time for gratitude. “Did LaCroix mention where he was headed?”
“He said something about going to Mexico. I believe it, too. He rode with the Bentons for a while, at least that’s the rumor.”
At the mention of the outlaw gang, Garrett held back a frown. If Rafe had been tarred as one of them, he’d be in danger all the way to the border. Until now, Garrett had limited his search to Colorado, but that was no longer wise. It was time to travel south. Aware that his job had become more urgent, he pushed to his feet. “If you think of anything else, I’ll be at the Imperial Hotel.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the clerk left the office, Garrett motioned for the stationmaster to step back inside. “What can I do for you, Mr. Albright?”
Garrett gave the man a large envelope. It held a second photograph of Rafe, a terse description of his appearance and information about the reward. “Take this to the local newspaper. Have him turn it into a poster and see that copies are delivered to every train station between here and Mexico.”
“I’ll take care of it today.”
Garrett thought for a moment. “One more thing. Up the reward to a thousand dollars in gold and add these words, ‘Must be found alive.’”
Young Jason’s eyes flared wide. “He must be important to you.”
“He is, but he’s even more important to the boss.”
As he followed the surrey into Timothy Duke’s yard, Rafe looked around the small ranch. With curtains in the windows and a swing on the front porch, the log house had a homey feel to it. The outbuildings included a good-size barn, a chicken coop and a two-man bunkhouse. Knowing how the Bentons worked, Rafe held in a curse. The Duke place was a prime target for a midnight raid.
Next to the house he saw Timothy Duke chopping wood. The rancher had just raised the ax when he noticed his visitors. The blade came down with a crack and shredded the pine. Glaring at Rafe, he leaned the ax against the stump, took off his gloves and strode across the yard.
Rafe didn’t care for the man’s expression. They hadn’t exchanged a word, but Duke had already sized him up as trail trash. Rafe had been judged before—back in St. Louis and in a Boston prep school where he’d learned to defend himself. When words didn’t do the trick, he’d been glad to swing his fists.
As Dr. Leaf halted the surrey, he slid off Punkin and watched as she waved a greeting to Duke. Even in the duster, she looked pretty this morning. Her cheeks had a glow, and the braid brushing betwee
n her shoulder blades was loose enough to give a man ideas. If she liked Timothy Duke as much as Rafe guessed, the rancher was a fortunate man. Someday he’d be untangling that hair with his fingers, a picture that annoyed Rafe as much as Duke’s scowl. What she saw in the rancher, he didn’t know. The man walked like a constipated buffalo.
Rafe tied his horse and went to check Nick, who hadn’t made a peep in the past hour. Glancing at the boy, he saw that he’d fallen asleep with the blanket over his head. “How’s he doing?” he said to Dr. Leaf.
She leaned over the seat and rested her hand on Nick’s forehead. “We need to get started.”
Before Rafe could ask if he felt hotter, Duke reached the surrey. He glanced at the blanket in the back seat, then at Susanna. “What’s going on?”
Refusing to be intimidated, Rafe stuck out his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Duke. My name’s LaCroix. My friend and I had a run-in with the Bentons. He took a bullet in the leg and it’s got to come out.”
The rancher shook Rafe’s hand but his grip was lackluster. “When did it happen?” he asked.
“Five days ago, but they’re still in this area,” Rafe explained.
Duke frowned. “Does the sheriff know?”
“Not yet,” Susanna answered. “That’s the second reason we’re here—to warn you. Maybe Chester can go to town and spread the word.”
Rafe figured Chester lived in the bunkhouse. He didn’t want a lawman visiting the Duke ranch, but he couldn’t argue without looking suspicious.
“He should be back this afternoon.” Duke looked down at the blanket just as Nick swatted it away from his face. The rancher whipped his eyes back to Rafe. “He’s just a kid.”
“And he’s hurt,” Susanna interrupted. “I’d like to use your kitchen for a surgery.”
“That’s fine.” Duke had answered Dr. Leaf, but his focus stayed on Rafe. “You say your name’s LaCroix?”
“That’s right.”
Rafe didn’t like being eyeballed, especially by a man with kingly airs. With his barrel chest, scrawny beard and cropped hair, Timothy Duke bore a striking resemblance to Henry VIII. Rafe had seen the famous picture in a history book and had loathed the man on sight. He felt that way about all kings. If Nick hadn’t been burning with fever, he would have told Duke where to stuff his crown. Instead he blanked his face.
The rancher hooked his thumbs in his belt and tried to look intelligent as he quizzed Rafe. “I’m wondering why you didn’t take the boy to town and notify the sheriff yourself.”
Dr. Leaf interrupted. “Nick can’t ride. Mr. LaCroix fetched me last night and I suggested we come here. We’re wasting time.”
She had one foot out of the surrey when Duke cut in front of Rafe to offer his hand. “Go on inside. I want a word with Mr. LaCroix.”
Susanna gave him a look of disgust. “Can’t it wait?”
“No, but it won’t take long. He can bring the boy in a minute.”
If the rancher was going to ask questions, Rafe preferred to answer them in private. He handed Dr. Leaf her medical bag, waited until she was out of earshot and struck a casual pose. “What’s on your mind?”
The rancher lowered his chin. “I don’t know who you are, mister. But I don’t like those guns lashed to your saddle or the blood on your coat.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “It’s Nick’s.”
“Nonetheless, Dr. Leaf and the boy are welcome to stay in the house, but you’ll have to bed down in the barn.”
Most men would have offered him a cot in the bunkhouse, but the rancher was making a point. Judging by the snorts coming from the outbuilding, Rafe would be sleeping with a family of pigs. He gave Duke his best impression of a Boston Brahmin. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your fine hospitality.”
Duke heard the sarcasm and glared. “Like I said, the boy and Miss Leaf are welcome in the house.”
The way he’d said Miss Leaf made Rafe wonder how cozy they really were. He could understand not using her first name, but she liked being called Doctor and had earned the title. Rafe barely knew her, but he understood that respect mattered to her. He also knew that she’d killed a man this morning and would need a friend tonight. Would Duke understand? Rafe doubted it.
Irritated by everything, he lifted Nick from the surrey and followed Dr. Leaf’s path to the back of the cabin. She had left the door ajar, so he nudged it with his knee and stepped inside. Judging by the steamy air and the vegetables on the counter, the oldest Duke girl had been fixing a stew when Dr. Leaf had recruited her to scrub the kitchen table.
The lady doctor had taken off her coat and was jabbing pins in the braid she’d looped around her head. “Can you hold him until the table’s ready?”
“Sure.”
Satisfied that her hair wouldn’t fall, she opened her medical bag and removed the bone saw, a knife and an assortment of devices Rafe didn’t recognize. She was putting the instruments in the boiling water when Duke walked into the kitchen.
“I’ve asked Emily to help,” she said. “Do you mind?”
“That’s fine.”
“I also need Mr. LaCroix. Would you see to his horses, please.”
King Henry didn’t look pleased, but he mumbled “sure” and left the room. Dr. Leaf took a last swipe at the table and faced Rafe. “You can set him down now.”
For the next few minutes, she gave orders and he followed them. He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands with carbolic like she did. As she arranged her instruments on a towel, he took his place at Nick’s feet.
“Rafe?” The boy sounded terrified.
“I’m here, kid. So’s Dr. Sue.”
“Hello, Nick.” She aligned her face with the boy’s and looked into his eyes. “I’m going to put a piece of cotton on your nose so you’ll go to sleep. I want you to breathe deep, okay?”
After he nodded, she laid the cloth across his cheeks. Confident he was out, she snipped off the bandage, positioned the leg and looked at Rafe. “Your job is to hold him steady. Position your hands like this.”
After she demonstrated the grip, Rafe put his hands in place. Satisfied, she selected a scalpel and began to cut. Blood and pus erupted from the incision and filled Rafe’s nose with a foul odor.
He’d smelled infection once before. His mother had died in a room as hot and damp as this one. Only instead of a kitchen, she had been in her bed in their New Orleans apartment. A hurricane had been raging through the city, rattling windows and threatening to tear off the roof. At the time, he hadn’t understood why she’d sent him out in the storm to fetch a midwife. Now he realized she’d been with child, and something had gone terribly wrong. She’d bled out that day, and he’d vowed to never forget the man who’d been to blame.
His father…the king of St. Louis…a wealthy man with a real wife and a legitimate son.
Nick gave a soft moan, bringing Rafe back to the sight of Dr. Leaf probing the wound with a metal rod. She glanced at Nick’s face and then spoke to Emily.
“More chloroform, please.”
The girl upturned the bottle on the rag and applied it to Nick’s nose. When he settled down, Dr. Leaf blotted the blood with a piece of cotton and went back to probing. Rafe’s stomach twisted with worry. If she found the bullet fragment and the bone wasn’t shattered, Nick had a chance. He couldn’t bear to think about the other possibilities.
“Can you see anything?” he asked.
“No, but I work by sound,” she explained. “The probe has a porcelain tip that makes a different tone when I tap lead instead of bone.”
She could have been telling him how to bake bread—she was that calm. As she removed the probe from the wound and lifted the scalpel, Rafe fought the urge to look away. He’d caused this misery and felt compelled to share it, so he watched as she widened the incision. A sliver of white caught Rafe’s eye. “Do you know yet if the bone’s broken?”
“It’s a simple fracture,” she answered. “It’ll mend.”
“Tha
t’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but the infection has to be stopped. If I can’t find the cause, it would be best to—”
“Don’t say it,” he snapped. “Don’t even think about cutting off his leg!”
Ignoring him, Dr. Leaf lifted the probe and went back to work.
Rafe felt like a fool. While she was trying to save Nick’s life, he was pitching a fit. “I’m sorry, Doc. I’ve got no business talking to you like that.”
“I know it’s hard,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”
He didn’t doubt her for a minute. Perspiration had beaded on her forehead and her eyes were creased with worry. If anyone was more troubled than he was, it was the lady doctor. He couldn’t imagine her using the bone saw, but he knew that she’d do it—just as she’d shot Zeke Benton. He owed this woman far more than a few dollars for her time.
At the soft intake of her breath, Rafe looked up from the wound. “What is it?”
She ignored him again. “Emily, hand me the forceps.”
The girl passed the instrument to Dr. Leaf, who slid her fingers into the handles and proceeded to remove a piece of lead the size of a dried pea. She dropped it onto a tin plate with a plink.
Rafe stared at the metal with disbelief. How could something so small cause so much harm? But that’s how poison worked. He looked up at the lady doctor. “Does this mean you can save the leg?”
“I’m going to try, but I won’t lie, Mr. LaCroix. Nick would have a better chance at the clinic.”
“What do you need?” Rafe asked. “I’ll go get it.”
“Echinacea for a tea and chickweed for a poultice.”
Emily spoke up for the first time. “I have an herb garden. Would dandelion work?”
Dr. Leaf pinched the flaps of Nick’s skin to close the wound. “That would be a good start. Chester can bring what we need tomorrow.”
Rafe didn’t want to take that chance. He also saw an opportunity to keep the sheriff away from the Duke ranch. “I’ll go tonight.”
Midnight Marriage Page 6