Only My Love

by Jo Goodman

  "Always."

  The doctor grinned. "So's mine." He got up from the bed, drew the tie backs off the curtains at the French doors and let them fall. Shadows fell across the room.

  "You don't like the sunshine?" Ethan asked.

  "Love it. But I want to see something."

  Making the room dark seemed an odd way to go about seeing something, but Ethan kept his comment to himself.

  Scott leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest. "I enjoy Michael's work for the Chronicle. So does Susan. That's my wife. She was very happy when she learned Logan was hiring a woman for his staff."

  "You know Logan Marshall?"

  "We're good friends. I've known his brother Christian a lot longer, but Logan and I have had our share of adventures together. Susan is close to their wives. In fact, Logan's the reason Michael became my patient. When she suspected she was pregnant she went to him to resign. He wouldn't accept it. Gave her my name instead and told her to stay healthy." Scott pushed away from the doors and sat back on the bed. He told Ethan to look straight ahead while he lifted each lid in turn and examined his eyes closely. When he was done he closed his bag, set it on the floor, and moved to the rocker.

  "I like your wife a lot, Mr. Stone, so I don't want you to think badly of me for asking this, but you're my patient and I have to consider every possibility."

  Ethan grimaced as a light contraction gripped his middle. He slipped under the covers again, raising his head by doubling the pillow under him. "I can't imagine what you want to know."

  Scott took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He rubbed the bottom of his chin with his forefinger, his handsome features set solemnly. "Is there any reason you can think of that Michael might want to poison you?"

  "A hundred of them," Ethan drawled, amused for the first time in more than a week. "I abducted her, forced her to work in a saloon, got her drugged, trapped in a mine, dragged her into court, let her leave Denver when she was carrying my child, and completely disrupted her sister's wedding. That's some that come easily to mind. Ask Michael, she'll give you the others."

  "I know a little of your unusual courtship with Michael. What I didn't read in the papers, Michael's shared with me herself. I can see you're not taking this very seriously."

  "You're damn right."

  "All right, Mr. Stone," Scott said, "but there's some evidence to suggest that is what's happening to you. Your pupils, for instance, are still constricted, even in this darkened room. Your color is ashen. The painful stomach spasms, your inability to keep down much food, and your accelerated heart rate, could all point toward a particular poison. I wouldn't have thought it at all until Michael had similar symptoms a few days ago. I asked her what she had had to eat or drink. She mentioned you had shared some chamomile tea. Then she asked me if I thought smoking would be harmful to the baby. It seems she had a powerful craving for a cigarette."

  "Michael gave up smoking months ago. She wouldn't go back on her bargain, not that one."

  Scott shrugged. "She was coming awfully close."

  Ethan reached for a glass of water on the nightstand and sipped it. It seemed he could never get rid of the slightly bitter, acrid taste in his mouth. "I'm not sure I understand your point. If Michael were poisoning me then why would she drink from the same pot of tea?"

  "Nicotine. That's the drug I suspect."

  Putting the glass aside, Ethan raised himself on an elbow. He waited for a spasm to pass, his mouth flattening at the corners. Dr. Turner had his full attention now. "Drug? You said poison. You didn't mention drugs."

  "Didn't I? I suppose that's because almost anything can meet the definition of a poison. I know of a case where a man died from ingesting thirteen ounces of table salt. So, you see, it's all relative. Vary the amount and the innocuous becomes life-threatening."

  Scott hadn't thought what he might expect in the way of a reaction to his information, but he knew he wouldn't have anticipated Ethan's laughter.

  Pained with laughter and another spasm, Ethan's call to Michael was weak. She appeared at the door within seconds anyway and when she saw Ethan convulsed on the bed she rushed to his side. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded of Scott. "Isn't there something you can give him?"

  Ethan took her hand. "It's all right," he said shakily, letting her see his smile for the first time. "It's just that Dr. Turner thinks you're trying to poison me."

  Michael withdrew her hand. "I hardly think that's amusing," she snapped. "That's the sort of thing Dee would try, not me."

  "I know," he said, smiling broadly now. "I know. Isn't it wonderful?" His attention shifted to Dr. Turner. "I am going to be all right, aren't I, now that you know what it is?"

  The doctor nodded, bewildered.

  "You see, Michael?" The white line of pain around Ethan's mouth eased slightly. "Detra's found us. It has to be Dee."

  Michael sat down slowly, her mouth gaping slightly, struck by the perfect insanity of the idea and the inescapable possibility of it. "My God," she said softly. "But how... how could she possibly?"

  Scott Turner's glance darted between Michael and Ethan. "Are you both saying it is poison? And you know who's doing it?"

  Ethan nodded. "Why are you so surprised? You're the one who proposed the idea."

  "Yes... but I didn't suppose you'd both take it so well."

  "Well?" Michael asked, incredulous. "I'm not taking this well at all." Her tapered nails scored her own palms as she clenched her fists. The light in her eyes was feral. "I swear it, Ethan. She's going to pay for doing this to you."

  He held Michael's hand as she started to rise. "Come. Sit here and think for a moment. The worst thing we could do is let her know we've caught on." He looked at Scott. "We need to know what to do now."

  "If we can assure that everything you eat and drink is untainted then it's a safe wager that you'll be much stronger in a week. Don't push yourself, Ethan. What's happened to you is serious. I didn't want to believe Michael was responsible but I hoped she was."

  "Dr. Turner!" Michael said, appalled.

  "Don't misunderstand, Michael. At least when I thought it might be nicotine poisoning I knew I could save your husband. Otherwise..." He let them finish his thought themselves. He saw Michael squeeze her husband's hand. "Very well, this is what we'll do." He leaned forward in the rocker, his forearms resting on his knees, and outlined the plan.

  When the doctor was gone Michael joined Ethan in the bedroom. He was struggling into a pair of jeans. He looked as if he had already done battle with a clean shirt and the shirt had gotten the better of him.

  She sighed. "Ethan, Dr. Turner just said not to push yourself. What do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm dressing myself," he said patiently, paying her no mind. "Then I'm going to go out on the balcony—without help—and I'm going to sit in the sunshine and decide how I'm going to draw Detra Kelly out."

  "We," she said, following right behind him, prepared to catch him if he stumbled. It didn't occur to her that she couldn't have done it. "How we are going to draw Dee out."

  Ethan wouldn't let himself be baited. He sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs on the balcony and raised his feet against the railing, pushing back so he tipped the chair on its rear legs. Watching him, Michael could almost be convinced that he was recovering before her eyes. What he was doing, she knew, was only ignoring the pain in his gut. The bruises beneath his eyes hadn't miraculously disappeared, nor had his drawn face suddenly filled out.

  She sat down, her back to the wrought iron railing. "It was good of Dr. Turner to make arrangements for our food and drink. I'm sure his wife will see to everything we need."

  "It was good of him," Ethan said, "but it's only one part of the problem. I don't think we can assume that I'm Dee's target."

  "What do you mean? You're the one who's been sick."

  "But that first night, Michael, I ate most of your meal. I drank your wine. We can't be sure it wasn't your food that was tainted. Dee must
be an employee here, it's the only possible way she would have access to our food. After I became sick, and you started ordering the broth and tea for me, it would have been easy for her to know where to put the drug. Sometimes I would became more ill after a meal and sometimes not. That's because she doesn't have any method of poisoning all the meals. She's in and out of here."

  Ethan's conclusion made sense to Michael. "I haven't been out since you got sick," she said thoughtfully. "She may well believe I am the one who is ill. Do you think Houston's with her?"

  "It seems likely, but this is Dee's way of working." He chuckled. "I'm beginning to believe those stories about Mr. Kelly are true."

  His black humor made Michael wince. "How do we find her? Should I talk to Mr. Covington?"

  "No, he may become suspicious and say something to her. If we tell him too much he'd be well within his rights to fire her. We want to keep her close, Michael, but on our terms."

  "So what's the answer?"

  "Perhaps Dr. Turner and his wife would like to have dinner at the St. Mark a few evenings this week."

  Below them on Broadway an open carriage passed in front of the St. Mark. Neither Ethan nor Michael saw Dee point them out to Houston.

  * * *

  Scott and Susan Turner accepted Ethan's invitation to dine at the St. Mark the following evening. They had no difficulty identifying Dee Kelly from the description Ethan and Michael gave them. Trays of food were delivered to suite 305 as usual, but Michael and Ethan ate and drank only from the selection Susan brought. In twenty-four hours Ethan's contractions had almost stopped completely. He was still weak, though desperate as always not to show it. There were signs of withdrawal as the poison was flushed from his body and his ill-temper tried Michael's patience and his own.

  After four days Ethan decided he was well enough to take on Detra Kelly.

  Michael stood in the doorway to the bedroom watching Ethan dress, exasperated that he was going against Scott Turner's advice. "I don't see why you can't simply bring her here and ask her what you want to know."

  "Because Dee won't tell me anything, or rather what she tells me won't be the truth." He passed Michael as he skirted the bed and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he saw she was not mollified. "The simplest thing is to follow her when she leaves here today. If Houston's staying with her then she'll lead me directly to him."

  "The police could do this. You don't have to."

  "I wish I could be certain you're right. But there are plenty of places in New York where the police don't go without a partner and where they'd be noticed too quickly to be effective. I don't want to risk losing Houston because he sees them coming. Let me find where Dee's staying first then I'll get Jarret to help me."

  Michael's arms crossed in front of her, just below her breasts, making her pregnant state more noticeable. "I don't see why you can't have Jarret follow her now," she muttered under her breath. "I don't see why you have to do it."

  Ethan raked his hair, weary of arguing. "Because I have to."

  It was not what Michael wanted to hear. For a moment she blocked the exit from the bedroom as he attempted to leave. Sighing, she stepped aside. "When can I expect you back?" It was another way of asking when she could stop worrying.

  Ethan was already shrugging into his light traveling duster. He stepped away from the mantel and looked at himself in the mirror above it. His gun and gun belt were concealed. He made a swipe along the surface of the mantel, cupped the room key, and dropped it in his pocket. "As near as I can make it Dee will be done working at eight. I'll be in the lobby waiting for her to leave."

  "There's an employee's entrance. Dee will go that way."

  He shook his head. "Not Dee. You're forgetting how well I know her, Michael. She'll walk out of here as if she owns the place." He went on before Michael could find some other point of contention. "Depending on where she's staying, I should be back here in a few hours."

  "Eleven?" she asked.

  "Don't try to pin me down, Michael. Something could happen to delay me."

  "I know! That's why I'm worried."

  He took her by the shoulders, searched her face, willing her to believe him, believe in him. "This is my job. This is what I do. There's not going to be a confrontation tonight. I only want to see where she goes."

  Michael was stiff in Ethan's arms, unresponsive to the kiss he placed on her mouth. She was angry with him, angry with herself because she couldn't stop him. Then between them, the baby kicked, and she knew he felt it because his kiss softened, became more persuasive, more wanting, and she gave herself up to it because she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving with words between them instead of the baby.

  Once he was gone Michael sat on the sofa and stared at the door, prepared to wait.

  When she heard the knock some forty minutes later Michael's first thought was that Ethan had forgotten something. She unfolded stiff legs and hobbled to the door. Upon opening it, her second thought was that whatever he'd left behind, it couldn't have been the key. She'd seen him pocket that.

  "You!" she said. It seemed to her that she had screamed the word but in truth her voice was a mere whisper. Houston had pushed past her, his gun drawn, before she had a second chance.

  Michael backed into the room as Houston closed and bolted the door. Her knees caught the back of the sofa and she dropped abruptly. Instinctively her hands crossed protectively in front of her abdomen.

  He hadn't changed at all. There was a slight limp in his step but even with the cane, Houston retained a certain swagger. His weather worn Stetson had been replaced by a gentleman's derby and his clothes were fitting of New York fashion, but Houston was nothing if not a chameleon, she thought. Without principles or ideals he made himself at home anywhere. He dropped the derby in the chair at his side and replaced his gun, a Smith & Wesson pocket revolver, in the leather holster that fit snugly around his shoulder and under his jacket. Jerking back his head, the fringe of his light hair moved off his forehead. His sharp, handsome features were passive, his black eyes distant, and he leaned on his ebony walking stick as he subjected Michael to several long moments of consideration and scrutiny.

  "I admit I was surprised that you came to the door so quickly," he said. "Dee led me to expect you'd be bed-ridden. I thought I'd have to pick the lock."

  "Where's Ethan?"

  Houston shrugged. "Following Dee I suppose. That's what he planned to do, isn't it? I came around the hotel tonight to walk Dee home. I like to do that sometimes. It gives me the opportunity to see you and Ethan. On a nice evening like this it's quite possible that you'll be out on the balcony." He saw Michael shiver at the notion of being watched by him. It was a cold smile that touched his mouth. "Tonight I was going to surprise Detra. Imagine my surprise when I saw her leave and our friend Marshal Stone following a good twelve paces behind. She hailed a hack and so did he." His head tilted to one side as he studied her. "And here is another surprise. You. Looking quite healthy, and quite pregnant. Dee's drugs seemed to have failed again."

  "Again?" Michael asked casually, her fists clenching. She forced herself not to glance at the clock on the mantel to give any indication that she was playing for time. If Ethan took a hack then he wouldn't be gone long at all. "Oh, you mean before, when she kept me confined in Madison while you robbed the train. You've always been wrong about that, Houston, always believed the wrong person. I never left my room during that time. I damn well never left the hotel. The only people I talked to when I was coherent were Kitty and Dee. I can't find it in my heart to believe it was Kitty who betrayed you. You draw your own conclusion."

  Houston did not make Michael privy to the conclusion he reached. "How did you discover the drugs Dee's been using now?" he asked.

  "What drugs?"

  He shook his head. "No, it's too late for prevarication. You showed no confusion when I observed that you weren't bed-ridden. You know what I expected to find."

  "No, I'm not certain. Wa
s it Ethan you intended to kill? Or me and my baby?" She stood and went around the sofa to the oval walnut table ladened with food, bottled water, and wine. "Would you care for something to eat? A drink perhaps? I have red and white wine. I think there's a bottle of Scotch here somewhere. No beer, I'm afraid." She smiled coolly. "Oh, but you're hesitating. Really, Houston, there's no need. Everything here is quite safe. I wouldn't try something so devious as poison. I'm much more direct than that. Surely you've noticed."

  "I've noticed," he said. "It's one of the things I've admired about you."

  Michael's eyes dropped away beneath his steady regard.

  "I'll take some of that Scotch," he said.

  She found the bottle and poured him the drink, careful to avoid his touch when she handed him the tumbler.

  He moved his hat, sat down, and took a swallow of his drink. His cane rested against the arm of the chair. "I'd still like to hear how you avoided the poison. Dee assured me there was a doctor in and out of here."

  "There was." Michael poised herself on the broad arm of the sofa, resting her hip against the curve. "But he was here to see Ethan, not me. Another surprise, isn't it? I think Ethan got the first dose of Dee's drugs when he finished my meal one evening. After that it was always Ethan who received the tainted food."

  Houston nodded slowly. "I see. Then it seems Dee mistook some things she saw."

  "Oh?"

  "She said that she'd seen Ethan helping you onto the balcony one afternoon."

  "The other way around, I'm afraid. I was helping him."

  "He was fortunate to have you care for him."

  Michael ignored that. "You still haven't killed anyone, Houston. None of this can be laid clearly at your door. It intrigues me the way you manage to elude responsibility. At most you'll get a few more years as Dee's accomplice."

  "You're forgetting the escape. I'll get years for that."

  "It's not the same as hanging."

  "You've never been to prison or you'd know that hanging's preferable." Michael was not quick enough to hide her shock and Houston saw it. "You hadn't thought of that, had you?"