Cinnamon and Roses

by Heidi Betts

  Caleb watched as the doctor packed up his medical bag and put on his jacket. He thanked the physician stiffly, still upset that there was nothing the man could do for Rebecca. He felt helpless enough; he didn't need to hear that a medical professional didn't know what to do, either.

  After the doctor's departure, Caleb pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and lifted Rebecca's limp hand in his own. He had an overwhelming urge to tell her about his revelation, to confess his love. But he held back, deciding that when he told Rebecca how much he loved her, she would be wide awake. He would never give her cause to suspect that his words had been only a dream.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Soft voices drifted through her consciousness. She blinked several times and tried to clear her vision. A moan passed her parched lips, and the voices grew silent.

  Rebecca opened her eyes and saw Caleb's handsome countenance before her. A dark shadow across his chin hinted for a much-needed shave, but she couldn't help finding him attractive. His thumb was rubbing her hand in the most delicate, delightful, circular pattern. A dull pounding started in her head as she drifted back toward darkness.

  "How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

  She groaned, hoping that would suffice as an answer to his question.

  "You gave us quite a scare, young lady."

  Rebecca opened one eye and focused on the source of the other masculine voice. Holbrook stood behind his son, looking on with a small smile. She tried to smile back before letting her eyes drift closed.

  "Rebecca,” Caleb called, shaking her hand. “Sweetheart, wake up."

  She shook her head, wanting to relax on the soft cushion of blackness surrounding her.

  "Come on, darling, stay with me. You've slept long enough."

  Oh, but they couldn't know. They couldn't know how very comfortable the darkness was. How free of worry and pain.

  At the thought of pain, the throbbing in her head began again.

  "Megan, could you get some tea for her, please? You have to wake up now, Rebecca."

  She opened her eyes and looked around the room, only to find that she and Caleb were alone. She tried to speak, but the words came out garbled. Her lips and throat felt dry and sore.

  "Here, take a sip of this."

  Caleb helped her to sit up, and she took several swallows of tepid water. He fluffed the pillows behind her and propped her into an upright position.

  "What happened?” she asked, searching her mind but recalling nothing. The last thing she remembered was walking downstairs for dinner. Only they had met in the parlor first, and ... oh, yes, it was a special dinner for Megan, to celebrate her mother's allowing her to stay in Leavenworth until fall.

  "You don't remember?"

  She shook her head. “We were having a special dinner for your sister."

  "That's right. But you got jealous and decided to become the guest of honor."

  Her eyes widened. She hadn't. Oh, Lord, she was feeling dizzy again. “I—"

  "You didn't mean to, actually. You fainted."

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I hadn't been feeling very well, but I never expected to pass out."

  "You were sick, and you didn't tell me?” His voice held an edge of anger.

  Rebecca looked at him and shrugged. “I didn't think much of it. I thought it was just the heat—and my condition."

  Caleb stormed to his feet, nearly toppling the armchair, pacing to the opposite side of the room. “You didn't even bother to tell me you weren't feeling well? How stupid could you be?"

  She watched him with astonishment. His movements were sleek, like those of a stalking panther. The muscles rippled beneath his wrinkled white shirt. A flame of passion leapt within her, and she wondered at the desires he could evoke from her even now.

  "Remind me never to ask you to sit at my deathbed. Your compassion would surely kill me right off."

  He turned to her and stood perfectly still. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?"

  "Caleb—"

  He returned to her side, dropping into the armchair. “I thought you were going to die. And when I saw the blood, I thought you were going to lose the baby."

  Rebecca's breath caught, her hands going automatically to her belly.

  "No.” He took both her hands in his own. “The doctor was just here and said you and the baby seem to be fine. But we're to send for him if anything changes. That means you're to tell me if you don't feel well. No matter what. Do you understand?"

  "Of course,” she answered quickly. “Caleb, you have to know that I would have told you if I'd thought something was really wrong. I just thought it was the weather. I thought it was normal to feel out-of-sorts in my condition. I don't know much about bearing children, but I would never take a chance with our baby, Caleb. You have to believe me."

  "I know, I know,” he soothed her. “And there's no way you could have known that you were slowly being poisoned."

  "What?"

  "Dolores has been tainting your tea. For as long as she's been here, we suspect."

  "But why? With what?"

  "We don't know why. Not yet, anyway. But I intend to find out. It was pennyroyal. An herb used by—"

  "Prostitutes to prevent children,” she said softly.

  He gave her an odd look, and she explained. “Lilah at the Scarlet Garter used to serve it to her girls each month ... in hot tea. At first I didn't know exactly what it was. It was to clean them out, Lilah said. In case they'd gotten...” She cleared her throat. “Um, ‘knocked up.’”

  Caleb nodded. “Doc Meade thinks it may have come from the Dog Tick. He says the madam there uses it for the same purpose."

  "But why would Dolores want to give it to me? Especially when I'm already so far along?"

  Caleb's eyes narrowed. “I'm not so sure Dolores came up with the idea herself."

  "You think someone made her do it?"

  "Paid her to do it is more likely, yes."

  "But why?"

  "I don't know. Even Doc Meade didn't know what effect the herb would have on you. It's usually used very early in a pregnancy, not later. He wasn't sure what, if anything, would happen. We didn't know how much you'd been given or for how long."

  "But I'm all right now? And the baby is going to be okay?"

  Caleb cocked up his lips in a grin and squeezed her fingers. “You both seem to be fine. The doctor will stop by to check on you now and again, though, just to be sure."

  "Good.” Rebecca smiled and pressed back into the soft pillows. She felt exhausted even though she had just awakened. Yawning, she let her eyes fall closed.

  Caleb watched as Rebecca's eyelid's grew heavy. She snuggled into the pillows and fell back to sleep. A low, rhythmic snore began, and he smiled, knowing her sleep to be a comfortable, natural, safe rest.

  He sighed and tucked the covers more securely around her, then made his way quietly across the floor and closed the door with a soft click behind him. He had meant to tell Rebecca that he loved her. He was fairly bursting at the seams with his newfound knowledge of an emotion he'd thought too long buried to be resurrected.

  But she'd looked so tired. And the rest would do her good. It also gave him a chance to get out of the house and start searching for the answers to a few questions.

  He met Megan coming out of the dining room with a silver tray of tea and sugar cookies.

  "I thought Rebecca might like a little something to eat when she wakes up,” she said. “How is she feeling?"

  "Better. But she's asleep again. I'm sorry."

  "She needs the rest to build up her strength."

  "That's what I thought. I'm going into town for a while. I'll be back in time for supper."

  "What's in town?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  "None of your business,” he said, giving her nose a tweak. Then he bent and kissed her cheek. “Keep an eye on that wife of mine. She's liable to get herself into a heap of trouble while I'm gone."

&nbs
p; Caleb leaned an elbow on the scarred bar of the Dog Tick Saloon and waited for the barkeep to finish pouring drinks at the other end.

  "Whiskey, Mr. Adams?"

  "None today, Luther. I'm looking to talk to Chloe."

  The bartender's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “Chloe, sir?"

  Caleb wondered how long it would take for the rumor that he was cheating on Rebecca to run rampant through town. “That's right,” he said. “Is she around?"

  "She ought to be up by now. But her girls don't start working till later."

  "I'm not here to see one of the girls,” he said, straightening. “I'm here to see Chloe. Where is she?"

  Luther inclined his head. “Last door on the right."

  Caleb started toward the stairs in long, smooth strides. He could feel every eye in the room on his back as he climbed to the second story. Some of the cowboys put up a fuss and tried to follow, but a few wall-shaking bellows from the barrel-chested Luther settled them down.

  He rapped on the door and heard a muffled reply from within. He turned the knob and walked into the room.

  A half-dressed, shapely young brunette lay sprawled across a wide mattress. She rolled over and brushed tangles of hair away from her face. When she opened her eyes and saw Caleb standing inside the door, she gave a yelp of surprise.

  "Who the hell are you?” she asked, sitting up. The twisted sheets slid over the mound of her breasts to gather at her waist. She didn't seem to notice. “What are you doing here? Luther never lets anybody upstairs this early."

  "Well, he did,” Caleb said.

  The woman licked her lips and shook the cascade of hair back from her shoulders. “You pay the right price, honey, and I'll forget it's only noon,” she drawled.

  Caleb withdrew his watch from his jacket pocket and flipped open the lid. “It's past three,” he said. “And I'm only here to talk."

  Chloe gave a snort. “That's a new one. What is it with you men, lately? The doc's already been here to talk. Talkin’ don't make money, so it'll cost ya."

  "Tell you what,” Caleb said, coming close enough to reach out and touch her. “I'll pay you your usual rate if you tell me what I want to know."

  "And if I don't?” She thrust her breasts forward and turned her lips down in a pout.

  "Then I'll make sure you're put in jail for trying to kill my wife."

  "Now, wait a minute,” she said in a panic, waving her hands in the air. “I've never done anything like that in my life. Ask Luther, he'll vouch for me. I don't even leave the Dog Tick but about once a month."

  "I know that,” Caleb said leisurely, leaning against a bedpost.

  She let out a long breath and relaxed. “Then what are ya burnin’ my butt for?"

  "My wife was poisoned this week—with pennyroyal.” He noticed a spark of recognition in the madam's eyes. “Now, as I understand it, you use that herb quite often on your girls."

  "That's common enough,” she replied, pulling the sheet farther up her body, trying to avoid looking directly at him.

  He gave a nod. “What I want to know is who, outside the saloon, you gave it to."

  She didn't answer and didn't look as if she was going to.

  "Come on,” he said. “You tell me who came to you to buy some pennyroyal, and I'll try to convince Marshal Thompson not to arrest you for attempted murder."

  "I don't know who she was."

  Caleb narrowed his eyes, fixing her with a determined stare.

  "I'm telling you the truth,” she hurried to explain. “Some woman came to the back door one night, and Luther sent her up to me. She started crying about how much trouble she would be in if her limp-cocked husband found out she was breeding. He would kill her and what not. I've heard the story before. So I gave her some pennyroyal to take care of the problem."

  Her brow wrinkled. “Come to think of it, she did ask an awful lot of questions. More than just how to take it. She wanted to know how much and how often would make it dangerous or even lethal. Said she didn't want to make herself sick. And she insisted I sell her a full bottle instead of the amount that would have taken care of things for her. She said it was in case she got in trouble again, ‘cause she knew she wouldn't be able to stay away from the guy who was giving it to her."

  "Did she tell you her name?"

  "Nope. Don't suppose she wanted me to know."

  "No, I don't suppose she did,” Caleb said, more than a little disgusted. “What did she look like?"

  "Real dark hair. Darker than yours, even. She looked to be getting up in years, but I couldn't be sure, she was wearing so much face powder. She looked like a lady. Held herself real proper-like. ‘Course she couldn't have been all that proper if she was spreading her legs for someone other than her husband, right?” Chloe laughed. “I think it's a real hoot how these ladies walk around with their noses up in the air, pretending to be so much better than me and my girls. Truth is, most of them are doing the same thing we are, they just ain't getting paid."

  Caleb brushed off her final comment, wanting to get more information about the mysterious woman. Chloe's description didn't bring anyone to mind, and he wanted to see if there was any other detail that might ring a bell.

  "What else can you tell me about her?"

  "That's it. Nice clothes, real proper speech. But I haven't seen her since, so I don't know where she is or what she's been doing. You ain't going to send the marshal over here, are you? We've been real good about keeping trouble to a minimum, and he hasn't made any rounds for the last couple months."

  Caleb dug in his jacket and handed her a couple of bills. “Don't worry. I appreciate your help."

  "No problem, honey,” she said, leaning over to stuff the money into the toe of an abandoned slipper on the floor. “You ever need more than just information, pay me a visit. And if I'm not the kind of gal who catches your fancy, I'm sure I can find one who will."

  "I'll remember that,” Caleb said as he moved to the door.

  Caleb stepped into the jailhouse and looked around the front office. Marshal Thompson was either out or in back with a prisoner. Caleb sat down in an available chair, balanced on two legs, and propped his boots on the desk, crossing them at the ankles.

  Within ten minutes, Thompson walked in the door. “Caleb,” he said, holding out his hand. “Hope you haven't been waiting long."

  "Not at all, Marshal,” he answered, shaking the man's hand.

  Thompson brushed down his mustache and went around to the other side of the desk. “What can I do for you?"

  "Have you heard about Rebecca?"

  "Sure have. I'm real sorry, Caleb. Doc says she's gonna be all right, though. Thank the good Lord for that."

  "Then you haven't heard the rest?"

  The marshal leaned forward in his chair. “Well, now, I have heard a thing or two, but you know how gossip runs rampant in this town. I don't pay it much nevermind anymore.” He took off his hat and set it on the desktop. “Rumor has it that Doc Meade was over at the Dog Tick after he left your place. The ladies are all in a lather, thinkin’ he's consorting with those kind of folks, but Doc swears he was only talking to Chloe. About a medical matter."

  "That's true,” Caleb said. “I just came from there myself."

  Thompson's bushy eyebrows rose.

  "To talk, Marshal. My wife is sick in bed. What kind of man do you think I am?"

  "I didn't say anything, Caleb. But I've seen better men than you go over there for an hour or so. ‘Specially when their wives are too far along to keep them happy."

  "I'm happy, Marshal. Except for the fact that someone is trying to murder my wife."

  "Murder! That's quite an accusation to be tossing around, don't you think? You want to be sure before you make those sorts of charges."

  "Oh, I'm sure. And I think the bullet that hit Megan was meant for Rebecca, too."

  "Now, Caleb—"

  "Marshal, my wife was poisoned with an herb called pennyroyal. She nearly died, and she al
most lost our child. I consider this very serious. If you talk to Chloe down at the Dog Tick, she can give you a description of the woman she sold a bottle of the herb to. I suspect that woman employed one of our housekeepers to put it in my wife's tea."

  "Can you prove it wasn't just another prank Anabelle Archer cooked up?"

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. Gossip traveled fast if the sheriff knew about that already. Only he, Rebecca, Anabelle, and her mother had been involved in that conversation about Anabella's mischief-making. “If this was a prank, it wasn't a very funny one. Rebecca almost died. Besides, Chloe said the woman was dark, not blond."

  "Still, everyone knows about Anabelle's confession in the churchyard. Her mother's been bawling around about it ever since. How do you know it's not just another one of her vengeful tricks?"

  "I don't,” Caleb said reluctantly. “So let's go ask her."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Caleb wasn't too happy about having to ride out to the Archer home and waste time better used looking for the real culprit, but if that was what it would take to convince Marshal Thompson that there was someone trying to kill Rebecca, so be it. They would find Anabelle, ask her some questions, and ease the marshal's mind, as well as his own. Then he would make sure Thompson got down to business tracking down the black-haired woman Chloe had told him about.

  They found Anabelle outside, shaking a rug over the front porch railing. She looked at them warily and glanced behind her, and Caleb suspected she didn't want her parents to know they had company.

  "Marshal Thompson. Mr. Adams,” she said softly, coming down the front steps and draping the small rag rug over the banister. “Can I help you?"

  Caleb didn't bother to dismount, and Thompson only shifted in his saddle.

  "Seems there's been more trouble with Rebecca Adams,” the marshal said.

  "What?” Anabelle exclaimed in a hushed voice. “I swear I haven't done anything to her. Honestly, Mr. Adams. Ma has punished me something fierce for mistreating Rebecca before. I haven't been allowed to leave the house since."