by Heidi Betts
"Then you don't know anything about the poisoning?” Caleb asked.
"Poisoning! Oh, no! Nothing! I swear it on a stack of Holy Bibles. Is she all right?"
"Far as we know,” Caleb said. “I hope you're being truthful with us, Anabelle."
"I am. Oh, I am, Mr. Adams."
"Good enough. But if we find out you lied—"
"No, no. I would never do that again. I'm real sorry about how I acted before.” Her face flushed in embarrassment. “It wasn't very grown-up of me."
Caleb inclined his head. “Then if you hear anything, you'll let us know?"
"Yes, sir. I'll tell Ma and Pa, too."
"I didn't think she had anything to do with it,” Caleb said as they rode away.
"You understand why I had to be sure, don't you? I mean, I can't very well go chasing after some imaginary murderer if there's the chance it's just a childish prank."
"Well, now that you know, I hope you'll help me find the woman Chloe described."
"You know I will, Caleb. Just tell me what she looks like, and I'll get the word out."
"Good. And I want you to look for our housekeeper. Dolores, too. She was the one giving Rebecca the herbs in her tea. She may be able to lead us to the other woman."
It was after dark when Caleb finally made his way wearily into the house. He left his coat on a hook inside the front door and headed immediately up the stairs.
His father and sister were crowded around Rebecca, each offering to do some good deed to aid in her recovery.
"You might think of letting her rest,” Caleb suggested from the doorway.
"Oh, Caleb, you're home.” Megan rose from the chair beside the bed. “We were beginning to worry."
"No need."
"Well, now that you're here, we'll leave you and Rebecca alone. Supper will be ready whenever you are."
"I'll be down in a while,” he said.
On their way out, Megan stopped beside him and stood on tiptoe. “She's doing much better.” she whispered in his ear. “She'll be up and around in no time."
"Is Megan right?” he asked once his sister and Holbrook had left the room. “Are you feeling better?"
"Oh, much,” Rebecca said. “I've been awake almost all evening. Where were you?"
"I had some business in town."
"Important business, I hope. Otherwise I would feel terribly neglected."
He went to her side, balanced on the edge of the mattress, and cupped her cheek in his palm. “It was very important.” He lightly touched her lips with his own. “And I would never dream of neglecting you."
"I should think not,” she said with a slight smile. “I hear you took excellent care of me while I was sick."
"And where did you hear that, my dear?"
"From your father and your sister and Doc Meade..."
"Liars, every last one of them."
"I doubt it,” she said quietly. “Your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. That meant a lot to me."
"Did it?” His voice was just as soft.
She only nodded.
Caleb swallowed and moved closer, taking her hands in his own. “There's something I've been meaning to tell you. I just never found the right time."
"What's that?” she asked.
"I love you,” he said without hesitation.
Caleb thought for a moment that her eyes would pop out of her head. Then he realized she wasn't breathing. and he became concerned. “Rebecca? Rebecca?” he said, giving her hands a little shake.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me.” He brought her fingers to his mouth. He couldn't help but smile. “I love you."
"You're just saying that because—"
He gripped her hands tightly. “I am not just saying it. When you were unconscious and the doctor sent me out while he examined you, I spent a lot of time thinking. And trying to pray."
"You? Pray?” she asked incredulously.
"Yes, me,” he said with a chuckle. “I know it's not an everyday occurrence—at least it wasn't—but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't help you, and I was going crazy with worry. I didn't see any harm in trying my hand at prayer."
His voice lowered. “I don't think I did a very good job, though. All I could think was that I didn't want to lose you.” His hold on her hands loosened while he threaded his fingers between her own. “I love you, Rebecca. I love holding you in my arms at night and waking up beside you in the morning. I love your spirit, your intelligence—even your stubbornness. My whole life has turned brighter since the day you blew into the Express office in a flurry of peach skirts and petticoats, with a tongue as sharp as a razor."
Rebecca flushed prettily and ducked her head. He tapped her under the chin with a knuckle until she was once again looking him in the eye. “I don't even think I realized it until you were nearly taken from me. I don't know how or when it happened, but you burrowed your way into my stone-cold heart and curled up just like you belonged there."
Rebecca threw her arms around his neck and held him close. At first she had thought herself delusional, imagining the words coming from Caleb's lips rather than actually hearing them. But the more he spoke, the more she believed. And the naked vulnerability that shone in his eyes couldn't be anything but real.
"Oh, Caleb,” she whispered. “I love you, too."
Caleb pulled away and gave her a giddy, astonished look. “Well, why the hell didn't you say so sooner?"
She wiped at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I couldn't. It would have hurt too much to have you laugh in my face."
"Sweetheart, you say a lot of things that amuse me, but ‘I love you’ could never be one of them."
"I can't believe it,” Rebecca said softly. “For so long, I thought you hated me for trapping you into this marriage. I never thought you would grow to even like me, let alone love me. And now you do. Or at least you say you do."
He brushed the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I do. I'll never give you reason to doubt it again. Besides, do you really believe someone could force me, Caleb Zachariah Adams, to do anything I didn't want to? Come now, Rebecca, I'm a bit more determined than that, aren't I?"
She nodded. “It's true that your stubbornness is about the size of Kansas itself."
"Don't be so eager to agree, sweetheart,” he said with a chuckle. “I could point out a few of your shortcomings, as well."
"Such as?” she asked, feigning defensiveness.
He closed one eye and pretended to concentrate. “Your temper. But I already said that, didn't I? Well, you're also stubborn, willful, mulish—"
"Those are all the same thing,” she pointed out.
"Oh. In that case, I guess you only have one character flaw. It just happens to be a very large one,” he teased.
She snorted. “And here I thought that's what you loved best about me."
"It is. If it hadn't been for your temper and bullheadedness, you never would have stormed into my office that afternoon. And if you hadn't bent my ear about that bill, I never would have noticed your pert breasts or sashaying hips. And if I hadn't noticed your figure, I never would have wanted you so badly. And if I hadn't wanted you so badly, we never would have made love. And if we hadn't made love, we never would have made this little one.” He put a hand on her belly. “And you never would have married me."
"So what you're saying is that my stubbornness is a good thing?"
"A very good thing. As long as you don't use it too often. At least not with me."
"Oh, well,” Rebecca said haughtily, “if you're going to tie my hands..."
A wicked light came to his eyes, and he gave her a conspiratorial wink. “We'll try that later. After the baby is born."
She flushed to the roots of her hair. “If anyone gets tied up, Caleb Adams, it will be you."
He gave a deep belly laugh. “A hellion, that's what you are. How did I ever end up with such a hellion for a wife?"
Rebec
ca opened her mouth to answer.
He held up a hand to stop her. “No, don't remind me. But rest assured, my dearest Rebecca, that I never hated you. Perhaps I wasn't the most gracious of husbands to start, but I never hated you. And even though I don't think I knew it then, I was glad to have the baby as an excuse to make you mine."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Now, wife,” he said, straightening, “tell me once more that you love me before I go downstairs for our meals."
"I love you,” Rebecca whispered, her heart completely light for the first time since she had met this infuriating man.
"You aren't leaving again, are you?” Rebecca asked, finally allowed out of bed. She sat in the comfortable green armchair, a book in her lap, watching Caleb adjust his tie.
"I shouldn't be long,” he answered. He came to her side and pressed a light kiss to her cheek.
"What will you be doing?” she asked. He had gone into town the past three evenings in a row, and she was beginning to suspect that something was not quite right.
"I have some business to take care of."
"That's what you said last night. And the night before that."
"Then it must be true."
Caleb heard her teeth click together and saw the sparks in her eyes. She probably thought he was up to no good, though he didn't know how she could even imagine such a thing after the intimate discussion they'd had. Hadn't he told her that he loved her? Didn't she believe him?
"All right,” he said. “I didn't want to tell you this because I thought it might upset you, but I've been out with Marshal Thompson the past few nights looking for Dolores and the woman who gave her the pennyroyal to give you."
"Oh, Caleb,” Rebecca cried, letting her book fall shut.
"Now don't fret. We've only been questioning some people in town, sweetheart. It's not like we're forming a posse to hunt them down."
"Still, it's so dangerous."
"Which is exactly why I didn't tell you. But I don't want you worrying, all right? I'll be fine.” He winked.
"I'm letting Thompson do all the dangerous work, anyway."
"You will be careful, won't you?"
"Of course I will. I'm not going to let myself get hurt now that I've got a woman at home who loves me."
Caleb found Marshal Thompson with his spurs on the desk, the same as every other night he'd come to town. This time, however, Thompson's face lit up at his arrival.
"'bout time you got here, son. I have something I think you'll like."
He waited while the marshal jingled a ring of keys and unlocked the door to the cells, leading him to the end of the row. On a small cot in the corner of the cell sat the big-boned Dolores. Her gray hair fell in greasy strands about her face.
"Someone here to see you, ma'am,” the marshal said.
Dolores lifted her head and looked at Caleb. When she realized who it was, she came to her feet, hurriedly trying to improve her appearance. “Mr. Adams, sir."
Caleb felt a twinge of pity for the old woman. Then he remembered that she had helped poison his wife, and he strengthened his resolve to get to the bottom of this.
"Dolores,” he said with a brief nod. “I think you know why you're here."
"Yes, sir. I did something I oughtn't. I feared it was wrong, but she said no real harm would come of it, and she paid me so much. I'm real sorry, sir."
"Who's she?” Caleb demanded.
"I don't know, sir. She was a stranger, and I—"
"There's going to be a trial,” Caleb said matter-of-factly. “You'll be charged with trying to murder Rebecca."
"But it weren't my idea, Mr. Adams! Honest to God, it weren't. She said she'd pay me good money if I could get a job at your place. Then she made me give that stuff to your wife. I worried at what it might do, but she said nothin’ serious, and she paid me so good. Enough to go back to Lansing and take care of my sister. She's real sick, she is, sir."
Caleb showed no sign that her words affected him. “I hope the woman paid you extremely well, and I hope you sent the money to your sister, because you won't be getting out of prison any time soon. Unless they hang you, of course."
"Oh, no, sir,” she said, wringing her hands. “You can't let them do that to me. It weren't my idea. I only did what I was told."
"You'll forgive me if your story doesn't tug at my heartstrings, but my wife and child nearly died. It certainly doesn't matter to me what they do to you."
"Get me out of this, sir, and I'll do anything to make it up to you and your family. Anything at all."
Caleb shared a glance with Marshal Thompson and shrugged his shoulders in an uncaring gesture. “Since it was my family you tried to murder"—he stressed the word—"I suppose the judge would listen to me. He might even go easy on you ... if I gave him good reason."
Dolores's eyes pleaded with him, but she made no sound.
"You would have to tell me quite a bit, though, to make it worth my while."
"Oh, yes, sir. I'll tell you anything you want to know."
"Good.” Caleb turned from uninterested bystander to a man intent on getting answers. “Let's start with who gave you the herb to hide in my wife's tea."
"Don't know her name, Mr. Adams, and that's the God's honest truth. I never seen her before she hired me. But she had the blackest hair I ever seen. Black as the bottom of my shoe, it was.” She lifted her foot and showed him the sole. “Cold woman, she was, too. Perty, I guess, for a woman gettin’ on a bit in years. She covered it real good with all that face paint and such. Dressed nice, too. Real fancy-like."
"What else?"
Her eyes darted from Caleb to the marshal. “You're gonna get me off, right?"
"I'll do my best,” he said. And he would, if she gave him the information he needed.
"Don't know if she's still there, but she always had me come to the boardin’ house. After dark, o’ course, so's no one would see us talkin'. Sometimes she come out back, but other times I went to her room."
"Where is it?"
"Very back corner of the first floor. It's right easy to sneak in and out without being seen."
Caleb turned without another word and left the building. His boot heels echoed on the planks of the boardwalk as he made his way down the street to Alwilda Herring's boarding house.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Caleb and the marshal sneaked around the side of the boarding house, not wanting the woman they were after alerted to their presence. Though the sun had set, the curtains at the window of the corner room hadn't been drawn yet, and they could see lamplight glowing within.
A shapely figure crossed in front of the window, and both men crouched lower. The woman seemed agitated, quickly pacing back the way she had come. Caleb tried to get a look at the woman's face, but the angle of his view only allowed him to see a torso wrapped snugly in bright yellow material.
He waved a hand, signaling Marshal Thompson to follow him to the back of the building, where a door would gain them entrance. When he saw the crooked, rickety steps up to the door, he cautioned the marshal to move stealthily. Any sound might scare off their prey.
Thompson insisted on going in first, gun drawn. Caleb wanted to barrel past the older man; he believed his fury would be much more deadly than even a gun.
Thompson moved forward, and Caleb winced when the floorboards gave a loud creak. An instant later they heard a door open and close.
"Dammit!” Caleb yelled. “She heard us coming!"
He ran out of the building and around to the front in time to see a flutter of yellow disappear down the street. He raced after it but found only darkness. A lone horse tethered nearby snorted at being awakened from his nap. If only the animal could tell him where the woman had gone.
Caleb cursed as the marshal caught up to him.
"I lost her,” he said, smacking his fist against his thigh. “Dammit! She probably saw us, knows we're on to her. She'll never come back here now."
"Let's go back and search the room.
Maybe we'll find something that will tell us who she is and where else she might hide."
Caleb nodded and followed Thompson. He felt like a failure. The person he was after was a woman, for God's sake. How hard could it be to catch her? Then he remembered his sister—and his wife—and their single-minded determination, and he admitted that if a woman wanted to hide badly enough, she damn well might not be found until the turn of the millennium.
This time they knocked on the front door of the boarding house. Alwilda Herring took a long while to answer. She opened the door only a crack and squinted through her spectacles at Marshal Thompson, taking her time to confirm his identity. Finally she let him in, only grudgingly allowing Caleb to follow at the lawman's behest.
Thompson explained, without giving away any details, that they needed to speak with the woman who occupied the first-floor corner room. Both men feigned disappointment when no one answered Alwilda's knocks. Thompson smiled and said he'd need to take a look around the room.
The elderly Alwilda stood in the doorway while they searched, her hands propped on her hips as she tapped her foot impatiently. “That girl better not have taken off for good. She still owes me a month's rent. I never should have given her a room. Didn't trust her from the very start. Too bloody secretive, she was, insisting on her privacy. Hmph! Up to no good, I tell you. And she didn't think I knew about her late-night visitors. Caught her once, I did. Was about to throw her out, too, till I saw it was a woman. I won't have any lascivious business going on under my roof. No, sir."
Caleb clenched his jaw to help him endure Alwilda's long list of complaints against the black-haired woman, wishing she had something useful to offer. But Alwilda wasn't even sure of her mysterious boarder's name.
Thompson was rooting through the dresser drawers, so Caleb went to the closet and absently flipped through the dresses there.
He was about to turn away and look elsewhere when a fluff of scarlet fabric caught his attention. He pushed aside the other dresses and moved in for a better look, lifting the gown and bringing it out into the light of the room.
The material and style seemed familiar. He had seen this dress before. But where? What kind of woman would wear a gown this shade of red? With this outrageous cut? And then he remembered.