Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  Chapter 13

  What Nate discovered during the three weeks they were gone ridding a Louisiana village of rabble shocked him. He could not stomach violence without a belly of alcohol. He could shoot and hit whatever he desired, but he didn't want to. The mayhem sickened him. He was desperate for a drink.

  Terrified that if he started imbibing again he would be unable to stop, and then be no good to Cash at all, Nate was able to keep himself from slipping back into his old ways.

  Until they rode into Rock Creek.

  He went directly to Rogue's Palace, and he didn't bother with a glass. By the time Cash returned from stabling their horses, Nate was halfway to forgetting what had bothered him in the first place.

  His friend took the chair that put his back to the wall, his face to the door. Gunfighters always did. "Next time start with the whiskey instead of ending with it."

  "Hear, hear." Nate lifted the bottle and took another sip. Warmth soothed his belly; a sense of rightness filled his empty soul. Why on earth had he ever stopped drinking?

  He ignored the niggling voice that reminded him how hard it had been to keep from imbibing over the past several weeks. Why was he ruining it now? A sense of failure and hopelessness washed over him, and he took another gulp to drown them.

  What did it matter? He could stop again tomorrow if he wanted to. In fact, he would, just to prove that he could. But right now he needed a drink, or ten, to forget the blood and smoke and death.

  "I earned this," he muttered.

  "You did," Cash agreed.

  "You're a good friend."

  Nate glanced up, but Cash wasn't looking at him. Instead he frowned as he stared at the door. The sound of hurried feminine footsteps clipped along the boardwalk.

  "I doubt Miss Clancy will agree."

  "Jo?" Nate turned, at once joyous at the thought of seeing her and shamed at the thought of her seeing him.

  But Jo did not walk through the batwing doors of the Palace. Mary Reese did.

  "Nate!" she cried. "Thank God, you're back."

  Cash stood, nearly knocking the table over in his haste. Nate grabbed for the bottle.

  "Reese?" Cash demanded.

  Confusion dropped over her face. "What?"

  "Did something happen to Reese?"

  "No. He's with Georgia."

  Cash and Nate sighed with relief. However, Nate's relief was short lived.

  "It's Jo."

  The slight fuzziness he had just achieved dissipated like a snowflake on the tip of the tongue.

  "She's been sick, Nate. I've never seen her this sick. No one knows what to do. I was afraid you'd get back too late."

  The last time he'd heard those words, he had been too late. A wave of thirst hit him so hard he clutched the bottle tighter and fought the urge to raise it to his lips.

  Mary's gaze dipped to his hands, then back to his face, a challenge in her eyes. "She needs you."

  Nate nodded, set the bottle on the table, and swallowed. "I'm here." The hardest words he'd ever said.

  "I'm sure she's fine," Cash said. "Let the women tend her."

  "Can't hurt to take a look."

  "How many times have I heard that before?"

  Nate left Cash mumbling and followed Mary from Rogue's Palace. All the way to the rectory, he battled his sense of inadequacy. Jo needed him. He would do whatever he could and hope it would be enough. He knew better than to pray.

  Once inside, Nate halted Mary with a hand on the arm. "What are her symptoms?"

  Mary glanced at the closed door of Jo's room, obviously torn between running in there to check on her friend and answering Nate's question.

  "Mary, I need to know what's wrong before I can help."

  "Of course." She drew in a breath that seemed to focus her thoughts. "She can't keep any food down. Sometimes even water comes back up."

  "For how long?"

  "Days."

  Nate frowned. Jo had little extra fat to lose to a wasting disease. She could fade away before he figured out what was wrong with her. "What else?"

  "Dizzy. Headaches. Tired."

  "Those would follow the other. Has she been nursing anyone with similar symptoms?"

  "No one else is sick. And she doesn't have a fever." Frustration laced Mary's voice and lined her face. "It's downright odd, if you ask me."

  A muffled sob made Nate turn toward Jo's closed door. "What was that?"

  "That is the oddest thing of all. She cries all the time."

  "Jo doesn't cry."

  "Exactly. But it's as if she can't stop." Mary looked away and her lip trembled. "She breaks my heart."

  Nate crossed to the door in two strides, opened, then shut it on Mary's surprised face. "Hey!" She slammed her fist against the wood.

  "I'll take care of her now," Nate called, and flicked the lock.

  "Nate?" Jo's voice was so weak and wobbly his heart would have broken—if it hadn't been broken already.

  He turned. The small single bed seemed to swallow her. The shade of her skin matched the white of the sheets as the tracks of her tears shone in the swaying light of the lantern. Her short, dark hair stuck up in sweaty spikes, and the jut of her cheekbones created dark hollows both above and below them.

  Though her eyes had always appeared too large for her tiny face, they'd snapped with vitality. Now they were dull and brimming with sadness. The sight of her shocked him, but he fought not to let his fear show. "I hear you're sick, Just Jo."

  She tried to smile, but she couldn't quite manage it. Instead, she sniffled, and he feared she would burst out sobbing. He wasn't sure he could bear that.

  To stave off such a possibility and any lingering fuzziness, Nate crossed to the wash basin and plunged his hands into the water. Lukewarm, the liquid did little to erase the alcohol rush, until he splashed his face. Since that helped, he did it again. He did not want Jo to know he'd failed. At least not right now.

  He crossed to the bed. "Let me see what's what, hmm?"

  She yanked the sheet to her chin. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "I do." He pulled on the cover one way, she pulled the other. Exasperated, he growled, "Jo, I'm the closest thing to a doctor this town has. Let me examine you."

  She shook her head.

  He could drag the sheet down by sheer force, but he didn't want to do that unless he had to. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

  Her cheeks flamed, the color too bright against the unnatural pallor of her skin. "It's not very gentlemanly of you to remind me."

  "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant..." He cursed and ran a hand over his steadily lengthening hair. "I've examined sick women before. I'm not going to be overcome with lust. I swear."

  If she wasn't ill, he wouldn't be able to keep such a promise. Thoughts of Jo had found their way into his dreams, and while they weren't exactly dreams of mad, passionate sex, more of gentle, sweet couplings, they had still disturbed him mightily. Another reason his thirst had become unmanageable.

  She stared at him as if considering his argument, then opened her mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out. With a sigh of defeat, she lifted her hands, and the sheet pooled at her waist. "Fine."

  Nate sat on the side of the bed. "Lie flat."

  Gently he probed her abdomen. He could find no terrifying lumps that would signify a tumor. But something wasn't right. A tickle began at the back of his head. He'd felt a belly like this before, but when? And what had been the diagnosis? Silently he cursed his foggy, alcohol-sotted mind.

  Thinking of one thing and doing another made Nate clumsy, and when he raised his hand intent on feeling her forehead to ascertain if Mary's tale of no fever was true, he accidentally brushed one of her breasts.

  Her sharp hiss of pain made him narrow his eyes on her chest, which appeared a bit larger than he remembered. Why would a woman who was wasting away suddenly have larger breasts, and what illness would make them ache?

  The pieces fell into place with a near audible
snap and Nate flinched. He raised his gaze from Jo's chest to her face. Though he couldn't have imagined it possible, she appeared worse.

  "Jo?" he murmured, hoping against hope that what he already knew was true was not.

  Her sigh sounded as defeated as he felt. "I'm not sick, Nate. I'm pregnant."

  * * *

  Nate leaped off the bed as if Jo had told him she had smallpox. Why did that hurt so much? She certainly hadn't expected him to shout with joy, throw his hat into the air, and announce the news to the world as Reese had.

  No, she hadn't expected that, but she didn't expect him to stare at her as if she'd just confessed to murder then walk out of the room without a word.

  Nausea rolled over Jo in an oily wave, and she retched. She didn't bother to lean over the chamber pot on the floor. There was nothing left inside of her to lose, save the one thing she wanted more than anything else, even Nate.

  Their baby.

  Tears leaked down her cheeks and dampened her hair then the pillow. She couldn't stop crying. She tried not to when her friends were here. The uncharacteristic weeping only scared them more.

  She should have admitted what ailed her, but she hadn't been able to form the words. Not even when Nate showed up.

  Discovering she was going to have his baby when he was off trying to get himself killed again had probably not helped her state of health or of mind. However, when he'd walked in, safe and sound, she should have told him. But his rude comment, It's nothing I haven't seen before, had made her understand that the truth would be revealed without her having to say a word. So she'd taken the coward's way out and let him examine her.

  "Jo?" Mary ran in, took one look at Jo's tear-streaked face and cried, "What did he say?"

  Guilt washed over Jo. Her friend feared she was dying. Now that Nate knew, she had to tell Mary the truth.

  "He confirmed what I've been suspecting for a while now." Mary went white and swayed. "Mary! I'm not going to die."

  Mary sat in the chair next to Jo's bed and took her hand. "Nate ran right past me. He didn't answer when I asked what was wrong. He seemed sick himself. He's still standing on the back porch breathing as if he's run ten miles. What's the matter with him?"

  Jo hesitated, but there wasn't any easy way to say what had to be said. "It's not every day a man learns he's going to be a father."

  Mary's mouth fell open. "You're—"

  "Yes."

  "But how—"

  "The usual way."

  "But you said—"

  "I know."

  Mary stood. "I'm going to kill him."

  Jo pulled her back down. "No, you're not. This isn't his fault."

  "Oh, yes, it is. James will have to kill him."

  "No one's killing anyone, all right?" Jo jiggled Mary's hand. "Promise?"

  Mary shrugged and withdrew her hand from Jo's to place it on the new mound of her belly. "What's he going to do about it?"

  "He's done enough already."

  "My thoughts precisely. You can live with us. Georgie would love it."

  "Reese, too, I imagine." Jo's voice was dry.

  "He won't care."

  "I'm not going to live with you, Mary."

  Mary appeared as if she might argue, but a glance at Jo's face changed her mind. "Then what are you going to do?"

  Jo had no idea. She wouldn't be able to stay in the rectory much longer. The town needed a real preacher, and when they found one, she'd be out. Jo doubted an unwed, pregnant missionary would be welcomed, even in Indian Territory.

  "Jo? What will you do?" Mary repeated.

  "Have a baby."

  "Alone?"

  "Isn't that how it's done?"

  "It took two to make a baby; it'll take two to raise one."

  "My father raised me alone." Disdain washed over Mary's face. "I turned out all right."

  "Despite him, not because of him."

  Jo shrugged. She wouldn't speak ill of the dead, especially her father.

  "I suspect the baby will turn out all right despite Nate too."

  "There's nothing wrong with Nate, "Jo snapped.

  "Love is definitely blind."

  "Who said I loved him?"

  "You slept with him."

  "Sex isn't love."

  "For you it would be."

  True enough, and trust Mary to know her so well. Thank God Nate didn't.

  Jo glanced at the door. "He doesn't know."

  "Why not?"

  Jo fell silent. She did not want to explain to Mary how hard it was for her to say those words to any man because of her father. And she certainly wasn't going to share the embarrassment of discovering that Nate had been making love to his dead wife and not Jo. What a mess.

  "He needs a friend right now," Jo hedged. "Not more complications."

  "Having his baby is a lot more than friendly and a tad past complicated."

  "It was an accident."

  "Jo, you need to quit worrying about what Nate needs. What's important now is—"

  "The baby."

  "I was going to say you. You can't continue to take care of everyone else in the world and neglect yourself. Right now you're the most important person—what you need, what you want, what makes you feel safe and happy. You understand?"

  "Yes." Jo sighed. "But I'm not sure I can change that much."

  * * *

  I'm pregnant.

  He'd heard those words far too many times. Nate held on to the porch post, because if he didn't he just might pitch face first into the dirt. Wouldn't be the first time, but he had no doubt it would hurt a lot more sober than drunk.

  He'd lost the last pinch of blessed fuzziness in the face of Jo's announcement. Nothing could sober up a man faster than the news that he was going to be a daddy.

  Again.

  "Hey, Rev. You don't look so good."

  Nate opened one eye and discovered Cash had found him. "Whaddya want?"

  "Must I want something? I was curious as to what ailed your missionary friend. Nothing contagious, I hope."

  "Around here, it seems to be." Nate opened his other eye. He was going to have to face what he'd done, and there was no time like the present. "She's pregnant."

  If Nate hadn't wanted to cry, he might have laughed at the expression on his friend's face. He'd managed to shock Daniel Cash.

  Cash recovered quickly. A gunfighter had to. "You've been a bad boy, haven't you?"

  "So I hear."

  "You don't know?"

  "Let's just say I wasn't there in mind as well as body."

  "Sweet Miss Clancy took advantage?"

  "Hell, no. It was all me. My fault. My curse."

  "Curse?" Cash murmured. "How interesting. What curse might that be?"

  Nate clamped his mouth shut. His curse and his secret. One he wasn't going to share even with a friend, and especially not now.

  Cash shrugged. "My advice is to marry her quick, then come along with me."

  "What?"

  "You aren't planning to marry her? Shame on you."

  "You're confusing me," Nate said. "Wait a minute."

  "I don't have one to spare." It was then that Nate noticed Cash had his bags packed.

  "Where are you going?"

  "A telegraph came in. Seems my services are needed again. Yours too, if you're of a mind. Now would seem like a good time to disappear."

  Nate recalled Jo's pale, drawn face, how the sadness in her eyes had not been able to drown out the fear or the hope. Then he remembered another woman, another good-bye, another time that his services had been needed elsewhere, and he'd gone when he should have stayed.

  "I can't leave her."

  "Like I said, marry her first. It's the decent thing to do. But it doesn't mean you have to stick around with our other leg-shackled pals."

  Nate had once thought the same thing. But hearing the words now, he understood why Jo had sneered when she'd heard them then.

  "I can't leave," he repeated.

  "You're sure this is
what you want to do?" Cash asked. "We can disappear and never look back."

  "You'd leave your precious Rogue's Palace, give up all this"—Nate indicated the dusty street and faded plank buildings—"just for me?"

  Cash smirked. "It would be a sacrifice for sure. But hell, Rev, you're the last friend I got."

  "That's not true."

  "The last friend who hasn't been corrupted, then. Let's go. It'll be just you and me."

  Nate shook his head. "She deserves better than that."

  "She deserves better than you, but I can see that you is what she's going to get." Cash held out his hand. "Good luck."

  Nate shook then held on. "Be careful."

  "My middle name."

  "What is your middle name?"

  "None of your damn business."

  "Nice name. Fits you."

  Nate released Cash, and they stared at each other. For a second, Nate thought Cash was going to go misty on him. He should have known better.

  Without further ado, Cash spun on his heel and strode toward the stable. Soon after, hoofbeats faded into the west. Nate hoped this wasn't the last time he ever saw Daniel Cash.

  He braced himself for his next task—getting Jo to marry him. She'd refused before. That still rankled. But tonight there'd be no asking. The mother of his child was not going to carry the burden alone. Not this time.

  He returned to her room. Jo rested with her hand in Mary's. Nate wished he were the one holding her hand, and he could have been if he hadn't needed air so fast. For a moment he stood in the doorway and watched the two women, who were as close as he and Cash.

  When Mary had discovered herself pregnant and Reese was nowhere to be found, Jo had stood right next to her, sometimes bucking the ire of her father, who had been at the head of the committee to brand Mary a loose woman. Nate had no doubt Mary would do the same and much more for Jo.

  He cleared his throat softly, not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. But the gazes of both women turned his way.

  "Mary, I think I know a concoction that will help Jo keep food down. Would you boil a small handful of oats in water for a half hour?"

  "Certainly." She stood and moved toward the door. Nate stepped into the room so she could pass. His gaze on Jo, he didn't see the other woman pause. She punched him in the stomach. Not expecting it, he doubled over, gasping.