A Touch of Flame

by Jo Goodman

  • • •

  Ben stripped off his woolen socks and leapt into bed before his feet turned into blocks of ice. He kept promising himself to move the rug out of Doc’s old room, but it never happened. Ridley, though, had presented him with a pair of fine leather slippers lined with sheepskin that morning, so moving the rug was unlikely ever to occur. He leaned over the bed to make sure they were where he wanted them. When he got up later to tend the stove, they would be perfectly situated so he could slide his feet right into them.

  “You are a strange man,” Ridley told him when he flopped on his back beside her.

  “You’ve known a lot of men, have you, to make comparisons?”

  Ridley was still sitting up, resting against the headboard. She plumped a pillow and stuffed it behind her. “Strange is strange. I know what that looks like.”

  “So says the woman wearing a stethoscope to bed.”

  “It’s a lovely instrument.” She fingered the tubing as though it were a string of pearls. “How did you know?”

  “You mentioned wanting a new one when you were with Phoebe. She told me.”

  “It’s what I would have ordered for myself if I’d ever gotten around to it.” She stopped admiring the stethoscope and smoothed the delicately ruffled neckline of her nightgown instead. “Phoebe was too generous. Half a dozen nightgowns is twice as many as I gave her when she was here.”

  “She has her own ideas about that. In her mind she hasn’t repaid you half as much. If it helps, consider how happy she made Mrs. Fish when she asked for the gowns to be done before Christmas.”

  “It does help.” She placed the stethoscope’s ear tips in her ears and leaned toward Ben until she could reach his chest with the bell. She rested it over his heart. “Shh,” she said. “I want to listen.”

  Ben fell silent, watching her face as she concentrated on his heartbeat. Her mouth curved into a faint smile, but her eyes were unfathomable. “Well?” he asked when she finally withdrew. “What did you hear?”

  “I love you.”

  His eyebrows puckered. “Is it you saying that or is that what you’re telling me you heard?”

  “Hmm,” she said, removing the stethoscope and putting it on the bedside table. “Imagine that. What might have been a romantic moment is now paradise lost.”

  “Wait! I can do better. I didn’t understand.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ridley slid down, pulled the covers up over her shoulders, and shifted the pillow under her head. She turned on her side away from him.

  “Don’t you want to take off Phoebe’s gift and wear mine?” He also turned on his side, but toward her, and made himself comfortable against her curves. Although she yawned deeply, it was encouraging when she didn’t move away.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” she said, snuggling her backside against his groin. “Holster your weapon.”

  But he didn’t, and it wasn’t all that long before paradise was regained.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Brought you a paper,” said Mrs. Rushton, placing it on the table in front of Ridley. “Mr. Abernathy must have worked himself to the bone yesterday to get it out this morning. And yesterday being Sunday and Christmas Day, he’s probably going to hell.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “No, but someone will.”

  Ridley examined the broadsheet’s headline, which referenced the trial. It felt like old news now, coming as it did five days after the event. Mr. Abernathy’s press broke and he had to wait on the delivery of a part to make repairs. She’d heard he had asked Jeremiah Salt if he could make something that would work so he could put out the edition, but it seemed that Jeremiah had already gotten wind of the proposed law and had excuses that would delay publishing it.

  Ridley skimmed the information about the trial and turned the page to find a summary of the town council’s meeting. She read it in its entirety and then reread it. She pointed it out to the housekeeper, who was standing by. “Did you see it?”

  “Indeed I did. There’s already a stir, you know. Heard some of it at church yesterday. You’ll be properly shocked to learn that not all women are in favor of it.”

  “More disappointed than shocked, I’m afraid.” Ridley turned the paper back toward her as Mrs. Rushton began her workday by firing up the stove. “Did you see Lily Salt in church?”

  “No. Not her, not Jeremiah, not any of the children. And I made a point of looking for them. Not the usual thing for them to stay away. I suppose it could be on account of Lizzie’s measles.”

  “She’d be well over them by now.”

  “Then maybe Ham came down with the sickness.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I saw Louella Fuller, though. Broke my heart to see her grieving so. Mrs. Springer took her to the side and talked to her real gentle-like. You could tell. Something’s come over that woman. Mrs. Springer, I mean. Can’t think what it could be except the hand of God. I don’t know if she’s had a change of heart, but she surely has had a change of disposition.”

  Ridley knew what had happened, but it wasn’t her place to tell, and the details of the transfer of the butcher shop into Amanda Springer’s name were not final. Preparation for the trial had slowed Chris Whitt’s progress on every other matter in front of him. Amanda showed remarkable patience in the face of the delay.

  She had confided this when Ridley sought her assistance with the proposal before the council. Jim had not breathed a word about it to her, which did not set well, but also had the effect of guaranteeing her support and, most likely, her husband’s affirmative vote.

  “What plans do you have for the day?” asked the housekeeper.

  “Well, now that this is in circulation, I think I’ll walk to the Songbird and have a look at Mr. Winegarten’s foot. No doubt it’s throbbing after all the rich food he ingested yesterday.”

  “All the alcohol, you mean. There’re folks who celebrate Christmas with rowdy drinking, and some of them will still be there. I don’t imagine Buzz has had the inclination to throw them out yet.”

  “That’s all right. If they’re there, I can take their temperature, so to speak. Learn if they come down on the side of the angels or dance with the devil.” She stood. “I’m going to get ready. Just tea and toast for me this morning. Do we have any of the elderberry jam left?”

  “We do.”

  “Then I’ll have that on my toast, please.” She looked the housekeeper over, trying to determine what was different about her this morning. Her cinnamon-colored hair was arranged in its usual neat bun and her smile was dimpling. “You’re wearing the seed pearl combs I gave you. Your hair makes them look handsome indeed.”

  “Go on with you. I’m sure it’s the other way around. It was a lovely gift to find on my doorstep after church. I had dinner with Miss Renquest yesterday and she was full of admiration for them.” She gave Ridley a knowing wink. “And wasn’t I just filled with equal admiration for the navy blue straw hat she produced, one with a prodigiously elaborate pink bow. A gift from the sheriff, she said, and I didn’t tell her I’d seen one like it before. I’m thinking the hatbox on top of your wardrobe is no longer there.”

  “The hat was never suited for doctoring. It was incongruent, the sheriff said, and he mentioned that Miss Renquest loved her hats, so I thought I’d give it a better home.”

  “Incongruent. Hmm. There’s a word. That sheriff surprises me sometimes, but I’ve been of a mind lately to surprise him. Just see if I don’t.”

  Ridley did not want to think long about that. She left the kitchen in what she hoped was not too much of a hurry.

  * * *

  • • •

  Dr. E. Ridley Woodhouse helped deliver two infants between the day after Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Ridley learned firsthand the influence the Frost name had on opinion. Neither woman had sought Ridley out before, but
upon hearing that she had attended Phoebe Frost at the birth of her daughter, they independently sent their husbands to get Ridley when their contractions began. One was an uncomplicated delivery with events moving rapidly as the woman’s fourth child came into the world. The other child presented in a breech position and required Ridley to turn the baby when it would not turn on its own. Ridley sent for Mary Cherry to assist her, and the woman arrived with all of her years of experience at Doc’s side to help. It was a successful collaboration and a turning point in their prickly relationship when Molly Anne Saunders was placed in her mother’s arms.

  On New Year’s Eve, standing at the sideboard in the hotel dining room, Ridley bore almost no resemblance to the physician who had attended those mothers. Her hair, lustrous with shades of autumn compliments of the candlelight, had been fashioned into a smooth coil at the back of her head and tamed by silver-plated filigree combs. She wore silver teardrop earrings that swung gently when she turned her head. Her stethoscope had been replaced for this special evening by a stiff lace collar that put the long, elegant line of her neck on display. Her gown was no fancier than any other woman’s because everyone in attendance was wearing her best, but the pale champagne color was unique among the ruby, sapphire, and emerald hues, and there wasn’t a person present who didn’t think she looked like a flute of the bubbly.

  Ben arrived late and stood at the edge of the lobby looking through the crowd to find Ridley. His eyes made only one pass before he saw her. How like her, he thought, the loveliest woman in the room, and perhaps the most accomplished, depending on the measure one used, and she was listening intently to Hank Ketchum as he gave her an earful. Hank’s wife was dancing dizzying circles on the minister’s arm, but Hank either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Ben had a fairly good idea what his scowl was in aid of. He dove into the crowd to rescue Ridley and get her to safety.

  It took him a while to reach her. People stopped him to ask about his journey to the Denver jail, but what they really wanted to know was if Michael Gordon had survived the trip.

  “Well?” asked Ridley when Ben managed to spirit her away from Hank’s side.

  Ben was not surprised that she wanted to know the same thing everyone else did, but she was the only one who asked the question out of compassion. “He made it. I don’t know how, but he did. I expect we’ll hear something soon. I asked the marshal to let me know. I knew you’d want that, and frankly, so do I.”

  She nodded. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it back in time to join the party.”

  “I got in about an hour ago. Had a word with Hitch first. He says he’d rather stay at the office tonight. Expects the Songbird might get rowdy. I didn’t argue with him because he’s probably right. I went home and got cleaned up.” He stepped back so she could look him over and was flattered by the approval in her eyes. “Bought this suit in Denver for the wedding, I guess both of them now. Notice the long tails.” She smiled, though he was aware it was restrained. “I know I’m overdressed for this shindig, but I asked myself how often would I have an opportunity to wear it, so here I am.”

  “And you are here very handsomely.”

  He believed she was sincere, but the smile was still restrained. “What is it?”

  “Have you spoken to your mother?” The fact that Ben had to look around to find her was answer enough for Ridley. “Do you see how happy she is? She can barely contain her excitement. She was waiting until you arrived to make the announcement. This is her night, Ben. I know that we planned to tell her about us this evening, but do we really want to do that?”

  Ben stared at her, his face devoid of expression. “Are you looking for a way out?”

  Ridley’s astonishment was real. “No!”

  “No?”

  “No!”

  Ben was aware of a few heads turning in their direction. “We’re attracting attention. Give me enough time to say hello to Ellie and Abe and then follow me to the lobby.”

  Ridley did as he asked and against her better judgment allowed him to pull her into a cupboard under the stairs when no one was looking. “You know you are behaving absurdly.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s coming from a place of complete rationality.” They were each bent at the waist because it was impossible to stand under the cupboard’s sloped ceiling. He still managed to corner her against some shelves and kiss her hard and breathless.

  “All right,” she said after a moment to recover. “Maybe you are rational.”

  “No question. Now, explain why we can’t tell my mother tonight.”

  “Because this is her night. She should not have to share the limelight. Whatever backslapping and glad-handing is going to happen this evening, it is going to happen to your mother and Mr. Butterworth. We’ll have our night, Ben, we will, but it shouldn’t be tonight.” She waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, she said, “You don’t look as if you’re convinced.”

  “I don’t want to be.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Ben sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Choose another night. I don’t have to be happy about it.”

  “I understand, but please don’t be miserable about it either.”

  “I have a crick in my neck. Can I be miserable about that?”

  Ridley chuckled. Ben’s petulance was so out of character that she could not help but be amused. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  “Well . . .”

  Ridley did not wait to hear more. She accepted that as a concession. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. She imagined that was how he had found her mouth earlier. She brushed his lips with hers. “Tell me how we are going to get out of here without being seen,” she whispered.

  “One at a time.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Jeremiah Salt raised a foamy beer at midnight and toasted the New Year along with everyone else in the Songbird. He was aware that Buzz Winegarten was watching him, counting the number of times his glass was refilled, but Jeremiah didn’t give a damn. It was a New Year, not yet a new century, but still a new beginning. He had some resolutions in mind and the beer he was holding up represented his resolve to uphold them. He liked the way that sounded and he was smiling to himself as he drained half the glass.

  “You got a resolution, Buzz?” he asked, setting his beer down on the bar. He wiped foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand.

  “Yeah. I’m resolved to kick my nephew’s ass to kingdom come and get some real help in here.” He wiped the bar in front of Jeremiah with a damp rag, including under Jeremiah’s glass. “How many is this for you now?”

  “You know. Been watching you count. When you tick them off on your fingers, it’s kinda obvious.”

  “Hmm.” Buzz moved away to refill another customer’s glass but returned when he was done. “I guess the number don’t really matter when I’m saying you’ve had enough.”

  Jeremiah used one arm to hug his beer. “You gonna let me finish this one, right?”

  “Not gonna fight you for it.”

  “Good.” He lifted his glass, saluted Buzz, and took a sip. “So what’s this I hear about you maybe giving Jim Springer a job?”

  Buzz shrugged. “All part of the kicking-ass plan.”

  Jeremiah looked around, didn’t see Jim. “I guess he’s hobnobbin’ at the Butterworth tonight. Him and his snooty, know-it-all wife.”

  “Probably better if you don’t talk out of turn about Amanda.”

  “Wasn’t out of turn. It was my turn to talk. You say something. I say something. That’s a conversation, Buzz. I was holdin’ up my end of the conversation.”

  Buzz pointed to Jeremiah’s glass. “Definitely your last.” He looked down the bar, saw one of the wranglers from the Double H set down two empty shot glasses, and went to refill them.

  Jeremiah followed, pushing hi
s glass along the length of the bar rather than carrying it. When the cowpoke took his shots and headed back to his table, Jeremiah said, “Do you want to hear my resolutions?”

  “Sure.”

  “I am resolved not to spend another night in jail.”

  “Yeah? Well, good for you.”

  “I am resolved to do unto others as they do unto me.”

  “You might want to rethink that one. It’s do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

  “I know what it is, but I’m more of an eye-for-an-eye fella. Understand?”

  “Well, if you’re resolved on revenge, then you got it right. You contemplating any other resolutions?”

  “I’m resolved that this is the year Clay’s gonna start as my apprentice. I was younger than he is when I started workin’ for my daddy. I’ve been watching him. He’s a good boy, but it’s time he was weaned from his ma. She’s going to strangle him with her apron strings, if you know what I mean. Better he should spend more time with me.”

  “Guess it’s never too early to learn a trade,” Buzz said carefully. “You know, the schoolmaster comes in here regular, and he’s been known to say that your son’s smart as a whip. You sure you want to take him out of school?”

  Jeremiah scowled, but his lips were too loose and rubbery to maintain it for long. “Now you sound like Lily.” He finished his beer and pushed the glass toward Buzz. “Another.”

  Buzz shook his head. “I know you heard me. That was your last.”

  “Dammit, Buzz. Ain’t you heard what I said about how others do unto me?”

  “I did. I was hoping I was an exception.”

  “There can’t be exceptions. Breaks my resolution otherwise.” He nudged the glass forward. “C’mon. One more. Promise I’ll leave after.”

  “I made promises, too.” He swept the glass away and put it on a shelf under the bar. “You’ve had your fill and then some. Go home, Jeremiah.”

  Jeremiah pushed back from the bar and straightened. He studied his reflection in the mirror behind Buzz. He looked like a man who had had his fill of a lot of things, but beer wasn’t one of them. “It’s the sheriff, right? You’re sayin’ I’ve had enough because of the sheriff, but I’m telling you, Buzz, what I’ve had enough of is our damn sheriff. I don’t care who his pa is or who his pa ain’t, or how long he was deputy before he got himself elected to the big job, he’s still wet behind the ears, and he has no business tellin’ folks how much they can drink or suggestin’ laws for this town that cut off a man’s balls in his own home.”