Blake shook his head. When they reached the room, Blake unlocked the door and placed her suitcase inside. “Keep the door locked.”
Before he could leave, Meredith put her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him but he set her away from him with strong hands. “I’d rather take my chances with a girl from Gristle’s saloon. At least I know I’ll get no more than I bargained for.”
She stood looking after him as he turned on his heel and strode away. Her composure fell away as soon as she had the door locked behind her. She dissolved to the floor in tears.
Hours later, she awoke from her exhausted slumber, still on the floor of the dark room. She made her way to the bed, took off her outer clothing then climbed beneath the covers. Images of Blake sharing a bed at Gristle’s saloon plagued her sleep, making it fitful at best.
7
Meredith opened the door to her room. She hoped to find some warm water with which to wash before Blake came for her – if he came for her, she cautioned herself, prepared for the worst. To her surprise she found Blake sitting on the floor of the corridor across from her door. His long legs were drawn up supporting his arms on which his head was cradled.
He lifted his head, “Good morning.”
She gave him an icy countenance with a brisk, “Good morning, Mr. Warner. Have you been waiting long?”
“Since about six-thirty.”
“Did your hoity-toity girl kick you out of bed early this morning?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
She batted her lashes at him and said with a sarcastic drawl, “Insanely, sir.” Then she made an unladylike snort.
“After that, I’m almost tempted to let you believe I spent the night with a barmaid.”
“You didn’t?” Her voice softened only a little.
“I spent a very unpleasant night in the livery. There. That should please you this morning. All the horses were restless.”
“I guess they didn’t like the company,” she murmured.
He ignored her. “Then the stable kid came in at six and started slamming every door and banging every can and rattling every chain he could find.”
“Well, I slept like a baby,” she lied though she felt she’d barely slept. “I was just going to find a little warm water so I’ll be ready to go when you were. Are you ready?”
“Feel free to go about your morning routine. I was hoping for a shave and to wash up a little myself – perhaps use your mirror….”
Blake didn’t wait for an invitation to enter the room. Once inside, he could see that Meredith’s face had gone unwashed of the dust from the yesterday’s travel. Streaks ran down her cheeks from the tears she had shed the night before. Blake had a moment of regret over the chilled way he’d been treating her. He knew he held as much blame for their circumstance as she but also knew he could not risk getting close to her and held her safely at bay with his coolness.
Unaware of the sight she presented, Meredith put her hands on her hips, and tapped her foot on the ground but he stretched his back and eyed the bed longingly, ignoring her. Meredith scowled at him then turned on her heel and left to find warm water.
When she returned to the room, Blake lay on his side quietly snoring. He faced the wall giving her a small sense of the privacy she needed to complete her morning ablutions. She washed her face at the basin never realizing it was tear-stained.
When she was dressed and ready to leave, she stood at the foot of the bed wondering if she should wake him. Her husband. For now. If he had spent the night with a saloon girl, she admitted, she wouldn’t have let him sleep this long. But knowing he had spent an uncomfortable night in a barn yielded her softer side and she found she wanted to let him sleep.
She sat down on the far corner of the bed. After a few minutes she reclined and soon joined him in sleep.
8
Blake kept up a hard-driving pace. Each morning he knocked on her hotel door as the sun began to streak the morning sky and within half an hour they were on their horses heading south. Breakfast, consisting of whatever the desk clerk could scrounge up for them, was eaten in the saddle. Most days ended past the summer’s late sunset not because Blake had intentionally planned it that way but because he was unfamiliar with the area and didn’t know when they would reach the next town. They were still in Indian country and Blake wouldn’t risk sleeping by a campfire until they had left the state of Minnesota. When they arrived in Iowa, the days only seemed to grow longer. The care of the horses was no longer delegated to a stable hand but given to Meredith as Blake set up camp and fixed the meal. There were days where she barely kept her eyes open as they ate their evening meal.
Meredith would not allow herself to voice a complaint about her exhaustion. It seemed more important to gain his respect if possible. Although they had agreed to divorce, something deep inside her wanted him to like her.
They didn’t talk much the first few days. Blake was polite to her, coolly so. The matter was resolved as far as he was concerned; it was just a matter of the deed being done. Meredith sensed his feelings and didn’t try to engage him in inane chatter to pass the time.
“We’ll be in Des Moines sometime today,” he said shortly after breaking camp. “This afternoon, I think. We’ve been making good time.”
“A veritable speech,” she observed pleasantly.
He graced her with a lopsided smile which sent her stomach into her toes. Never could she remember a smile so engaging. What was wrong with her? She harbored a crush for him as big as the sky and didn’t even understand why she liked him. It was more than just his physical attractiveness, surely. Yes, he had defended her to Reverend Michelson but what she felt was not gratitude either. They had both felt it before he realized it was her parents who died. They had made love and he had held her in his arms and he had held her until she slept after he broke the terrible news. She felt cherished but now it was obvious he regretted it all. Perhaps in her grief, she had turned to the person she was with to find comfort. But he did not feel the same.
“I thought we could spend a day or two there resting before we head on to St. Joseph.”
“Why do we have to go there? Why not just get divorced in Des Moines?”
“I have… friends there. We can stay with them while we see to this unpleasantness. They also have standing in the community so I think a judge might be more willing to grant our divorce as a favor to my friends.”
“Of course,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage. She did not missed the way he had not once told her anything about where he lived or anything about himself other than he was wealthy. “You don’t think your friends will spill the beans about what happened to people back home?”
“They know how to keep a secret.”
Meredith could sense he didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to talk at all, more likely than not. Yet she felt compelled to ask, “If we can’t find a judge who will grant us a divorce, Mr. Warner, what will we do?”
He studied her for a long moment, his face like granite. “Agree to go our separate ways and never tell a soul we were ever married.”
“Oh.”
They didn’t speak much the rest of the day. He kept up a hard pace but Meredith knew they’d be in for a much needed rest once they reached Des Moines.
The sun blazed hotly upon them drawing beads of perspiration to their brows. Meredith closed her tired eyes feeling the breeze stroke her face in a feathery caress. The horse’s sway gently lulled her.
Turn around. The voice in his head was nearly audible. She had been trailing him rather than riding beside him since the second day. It annoyed him more than anything, really. It annoyed him because he could feel when her eyes studied him. And it annoyed him because he knew the moment her perusal ceased.
Perhaps he subconsciously sensed a change in Viper’s gait. But the voice nearly screamed, Turn around again.
Blake jerked his torso around in time to see her slumped sleeping form b
egin to fall to the ground.
Meredith’s eyes flew open wide in fear as the sensation of falling awoke her. Unsuccessfully, she grasped at the saddle.
Her name ripped from his throat too late for him to stop the fall already in progress. He could only watch as her body hit the rocky, hard-packed earth and her head thudded with a sickening crack against a stone about the size of his fist.
He vaulted off his horse and was at her side before Meredith could even formulate in her mind what just happened. She tried to sit up but he told her to lie still as he put her head in his lap. He cursed the fact that she had given his hat back when they felt they were out of danger. Perhaps the hat would have given her some protection.
Gingerly, she put her hand to the lump behind her ear and then held it in front of her face checking for blood. A slight moan escaped her lips as she touched the tender spot.
“I always wanted to have more hands,” she murmured looking past her unstained hand into an overlapping vision of Blake.
“You’re seeing double?”
“You’re not twice as handsome if that’s your next question, you conceited lout.” He looked deeply into her face, concern tightening his mouth and worrying his brow. She forced an impish smile. “Whatever you do, don’t tell me you love me. It’ll make me think I’m dying.”
He smiled at that, thinking if she was making jokes maybe she wasn’t hurt too badly. With care, he helped her sit up. She grasped his arm in a death grip as waves of nausea and dizziness smote her.
She closed her eyes fighting the sensation, willing it away. Blake waited, watching her as she recovered from the movement.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, her eyes momentarily fluttering open then snapping shut again.
“Take as much time as you need.”
Neither had any concept of how much time actually passed before she could sit up with her eyes open. “It wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t two of everything,” she said squinting at him as she tried to bring his double image into one.
“Meredith, do you think you can ride? I don’t think it’s much further.”
Meredith nodded with eyes closed and wished she hadn’t moved her head when another wave of queasiness hit her.
Blake picked himself up out of the dirt then eased her to her feet. She was about halfway up when she wrenched her arm free and dropped to her hands and knees and vomited violently. When she finished, she slowly tilted her head up at him. He held his handkerchief out to her but when she reached for the wrong twin image, he knelt down and cleaned the corners of her mouth for her. Blake knew the sickness and double vision indicated a serious injury.
Sitting back on her heels, she swallowed convulsively. “I think I must’ve hurt myself when I fell,” she said in a quiet, helpless voice that made Blake’s heart give a strange tug. “I feel so odd,” she whispered and fell over in a faint.
Blake cursed himself and then her. He should have known better than to push her so hard. He was accustomed to spending day after day in the saddle and knew how tiring it could be. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t told him she needed to rest.
Drawing a deep breath to tamp down the panic that edged his brain, Blake contemplated what would be his best course of action. At the last stagecoach way station, Blake learned it was the last one before Des Moines. Farm houses dotted the landscape with greater frequency leading him to believe Des Moines must be close. He could undoubtedly take her to one of the two farms he could see. Someone would have to be sent into town and the doctor brought out. Or he could just take her into town and hopefully save some time.
He scooped her up in his arms, her head lolling limply and her arms dangling cumbersomely. Shifting her weight, he knew mounting would be no easy task. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a coach and turned to find the stage cresting the hill. Blake flagged him down.
“What happened?” the coachman called hopping down from his perch. He opened the door before Blake could ask for assistance, earning Blake’s instant respect and gratitude. There was no question in the man’s mind whether he should help, no hesitation whatsoever.
Blake lifted her into the coach. It was empty.
“She fell off her horse and hit her head,” Blake said laying her across the seat. “How far to Des Moines?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.”
“I’ll ride ahead and get the doctor,” Blake said picking up Wunner’s reins and mounting the mare.
Meredith moaned, her eyes fluttering but not opening. “Blake?” she uttered.
“Rest. The coach will take you into town.”
She made no acknowledgment that she had heard him.
9
Blake sat beside the bed looking into her heart-shaped face. Her skin which normally wore a healthy sun-glowed tan appeared pale against the white pillow and sheet. Her light red hair hung lifelessly in a braid that lay across her shoulder like a heavy rope. Blake stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand and ran his thumb across her lower lip. She had such a lovely face though not classically beautiful. Her skin was flawless, translucent. Her lips were by no means wide. Their delicate shape was sensual, inviting. The dark fringe of lashes contrasted against her pale cheek.
He silently pleaded with the Powers that Be to open her eyelids so he could drown in the depths of her large gray eyes. Her eyes were unnaturally expressive. He only had to look into her eyes to know what she thought.
“Open your eyes, my treasure. I know I didn’t want to be married but this was not the way I want out of it.” No marriage proposal would ever pass from his lips, he had sworn hundreds of times, so how did this woman manage to get under his skin? He didn’t love her. He would never love another woman. But there was no denying he felt an indefinable connection to her. He liked her, he reluctantly admitted that. She had enough sense to know when he wanted to be left alone to his own thoughts. Her silence was not misplaced fear of him. She was no wilted flower afraid to stand up for herself; in fact, he suspected she rather enjoyed their fights. He did. If she would only wake up and send a few well-placed barbs his way, he would feel an enormous sense of relief.
He picked up her hand and held it at his rough, unshaven cheek. His eyes closed as he drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Wake up and let me make love to you,” he whispered cursing himself for not making love to her every night since they married. Legally, he had every right but he had been so mad, truthfully more at himself than at her for his predicament, that he wouldn’t do it.
For a brief moment, he actually considered remaining married. Quickly, he dismissed the idea. The last thing he needed was a wife who always wanted him to account for his time; someone who expected him home every night for supper; someone who would expect to know every detail of his life.
Offhandedly, Blake wondered how long it had been since anyone had cared enough to ask him for an accounting of his time. Not since his childhood, he supposed. He released Meredith’s hand and rubbed his brow. Surely, that wasn’t true. Would it be so bad to have someone care enough to wonder about him when he was absent?
Meredith’s head jerked away from the pungent ammonia odor as the doctor held the smelling salts below her nose. A moan escaped her lips as she rolled to her side, both hands lifting to cradle her head. The doctor pulled one hand away and waved the vial under her nose again. Her head recoiled of its own volition. Meredith’s moans hiccupped like sobs. Again, he held it under her nose with the same results.
“Open your eyes if you want me to stop.”
“Mama…,” she mumbled groggily without opening her eyes. “My head hurts.”
Blake reached down and stroked her hair. “Wake up, Meredith.”
She didn’t respond at all.
Once more the doctor held the vial to her nose. She rolled onto her back, her eyes opening slightly before closing again.
“Is she always so stubborn?” Dr. Rick Henry asked Blake.
Blake smiled remembering how she stubborn
ly refused to say her vows the way they were written. He nodded his head. “Always.”
“I guess I have no choice but give her the salts again.”
Her hand reached out to guard her face. “You won’t if you want to keep your teeth.”
Blake chuckled softly. “She’s not as sweet as she looks.”
Meredith’s eyelids lifted to a hooded position. Her unsteady focus moved around the unfamiliar room. She pulled the duvet up to her neck when she realized she wore her nightgown.
“Hello, dear. How do you feel?” the doctor asked.
“Why couldn’t you leave me there? I was with my parents.”
The doctor didn’t comprehend why she would want to remain asleep to stay with her parents but Blake did. He felt a moment’s regret over going after the doctor when she began to stir this morning. She hadn’t moved since she fainted two days earlier.
“Let’s see if you can sit up so I can give you a little exam.”
The doctor and Blake helped her sit up, propping the pillows behind her.
“Tell me your name.”
“Meredith.”
“And your last name?” he asked.
Meredith cast a look of defiance at Blake before answering. “Vande Linde.”
“And who is this with me?”
“That’s Blake. He’s my….”
“Friend,” Blake provided.
Meredith turned her gaze to him, her head tilting slightly in question. “Friends? Is that what we are? Of the countless words in the English language, friend is not the one that pops into mind when I think of our… relationship.”
Dr. Henry cleared his throat. “In Mr. Warner’s defense, he has been quite worried about you.”
“Guilt, I’m sure. Does a friend tell you he wished he’d never met you?”
He raked his hands through his shaggy hair and scratched his scalp with a chagrinned countenance. “Not one of my finer moments, I admit.”
M. Donice Byrd - The Warner Saga Page 9