“I noticed.” He dragged the words from his throat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought the detective.”
Jo’s expression softened, and she touched his arm. “No, you were right.”
When the hotel staff had let him know the detective wanted to speak to Anna, he’d vetted the man first. “I’ll ask Anna if she wants me to fetch the doctor.”
“She’ll say no,” Jo said. “You know she will. She doesn’t want to be a bother. I can tell.”
“Then I won’t give her a choice.”
Jo didn’t hide her triumphant expression fast enough.
“It won’t make a lick of difference,” he said. “If she refuses our help, we can’t force her.”
“We can show her we care.”
Some of the steam went out of him. “Sure.”
“I’ll check the train station for times. We can give her the information. She can make her own decision after that. We’re doing the right thing.” Jo insisted.
Were they? Were they truly? Anna was in danger, and he was a country veterinarian. Were they really the best choice for her protection? He did know one thing—after seeing her that first day, the blood pooling beneath her, something primal inside him had broken free. He’d do anything to protect her, he knew that much for certain.
Jo rubbed her thumbnail on her bottom teeth once more. “I’ll try and be back by the time the doctor comes. No promises, though.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Franklin will be available if you’re not.”
At least fetching the doctor gave him something to do, something besides thinking of how Anna had looked at him when Jo had suggested the engagement. The look was the same one Mary Louise had given him when he’d asked to court her.
She’d looked at him with shock and derision.
At least this time his heart hadn’t been involved. Not yet, anyway. He didn’t plan on staying around long enough for any more damage to be done.
He’d go to the grave before he let anyone know he’d been playing her fiancé behind her back.
* * *
After a fitful nap that left her no more rested and no closer to a solution, Anna awoke more determined than ever. Her path ahead was clear. Her best hope at ending this turmoil was finding the person who wanted her dead or proving the whole thing was a mistake. Then she could go home.
There was every chance the police would discover that someone had accidentally shot out their parlor window like her inept neighbor, nearly killing Anna in the process. Either way, she’d go back home. Back to traveling during the week and corresponding with other suffragists over the weekends. Back to a future that looked remarkably like her past.
There was nothing unsatisfying about her life, was there? And yet her mind rebelled at the notion. The nagging feeling lingered. A sense that something was missing.
A knock sounded at the door and Anna groaned.
Was it really too much to ask for a moment’s peace? The guard at her door announced Mr. McCoy, and her agitation intensified. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Her thoughts and feelings were too jumbled, too confusing.
She considered refusing him entrance, then dismissed the idea as churlish. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Mr. McCoy entered with another, shorter, gentleman in his later years with a smooth-shaven face, a bulbous nose and prominent ears.
The second man tipped his hat. “I’m Dr. Smith. You probably don’t remember me, but I checked in on you a few days ago.”
Anna glared at Mr. McCoy. “As I stated earlier, I’m fine. I simply need rest.”
“I’m quite sure you do,” Dr. Smith said. “I recommend several weeks of light activity. A visit to the country would do you good.”
Anna huffed. She was usually quite reasonable, but this constant interference was unacceptable. “Did Mr. McCoy put you up to this?”
The doctor washed his hands in the basin. “No. Can’t say that he did. It’s simply a treatment course recommended for my gunshot victims. I must say, my gunshot victims are usually men, but the convalescence procedure is the same. These are modern times, I suppose. Not sure I like all the change. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Deciding it was easier to concede than argue, Anna lifted her arm and tugged her shirt loose, exposing her bandaged side.
She glanced across the room to where Mr. McCoy had suddenly discovered an intense fascination for the flocked wallpaper. Staying annoyed with the man was impossible. Which annoyed her even more.
Dr. Smith perched on a chair near the bed, peeled away the bandage and squinted. “You’re excellent with a needle, Mr. McCoy. Your talents are wasted on livestock. Sorry I missed the excitement firsthand but I was paying a house call on another patient when they came to fetch me after the accident.” He reached for his bag. “While I hate to unravel all your fine work, it’s time we take out the stitches. Might hurt a bit. Can I send for someone?”
Caleb glanced around as though searching for help. “Jo had an errand. Can I fetch Izetta to sit with you?”
“No. She’s home. She’s been running herself ragged.”
“I should leave,” he said brusquely.
“Stay,” she blurted, immediately regretting her outburst. “Talk with me,” she added quickly, covering her embarrassment. “Tell me a story. I’ve read Jo’s letters, the McCoys must be excellent storytellers.”
What on earth was she blubbering about? A little pain was nothing. She didn’t need her hand held like a child.
“I’ll stay,” he said, a wealth of reluctance in his voice.
Though she’d had plenty of visitors, she’d also had too much time alone. She clung to him because he was the one constant in all her confusion, which was understandable.
That wasn’t exactly true. He and Jo and Izetta had become her salvation.
All the logic in the world failed to ease her fear. She didn’t want her independence right then. She wanted someone to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be all right.
The doctor clipped the first stitch, and Anna hissed a breath, closing her eyes. Caleb’s hesitation said everything. She’d pushed their relationship beyond the boundaries he’d established. A forgivable mistake.
The situation had forced them into a false intimacy, and that state was temporary. She’d do well to remember the distinction. Except she’d lost all of her usual soft landing places. Normally when she was feeling alone or out of sorts, her work filled in the desolate spots. Here there were only four walls decorated with that abysmal olive-colored flocked wallpaper. She much preferred looking at a pair of kind, forest-green eyes. That was her downfall. Those infernal eyes.
Once she was home, certainly she’d forget all about him. Here there was too much time for thinking, too much temptation to read more into a kind gesture or a caring word.
Too much time for realizing that she’d almost died.
Chapter Five
She’d asked the wrong McCoy for a story, but he’d do his best. She’d been through a rough time, and Caleb wanted to infuse her with some of his own strength.
The bed depressed beneath his weight. “I’ll tell you about the time my cousin nearly got himself killed at the husking bee.”
He watched as the doctor lifted the first stitch free, then adjusted his position on the edge of the bed. The doctor studied the wound, humming softly, ignoring their exchange. With the doctor claiming the only chair, Caleb was left with a sliver of the bed for sitting on the opposite side. He plumped one pillow against the headboard and pushed up straighter, his right leg stretched out on the coverlet, his left knee bent and his foot braced against the floor so that he didn’t take up too much room.
“What’s a husking bee?” Anna asked, her head turned toward him, her expression curious and devoid of the fright he�
�d seen earlier.
Despite the pain and the forced confinement, she’d not complained, not once that he’d heard. She’d soldiered on through the worst of conditions. Caught in her trusting gaze, the last of his reluctance melted away.
He might not be the storyteller in the family, but for Anna, he’d give his best effort. “Back in the day, a farmer put up his corn in the barn before winter came and husked it at his leisure during the cold months. But old farmer Bainum had a better idea. He figured if all the ladies gathered every Saturday for a quilting bee, then all the fellows could hold a husking bee. He figured if he disguised the work as a party, he’d get a lot of help. That first year, he rolled out a barrel of his best hard apple cider, and every able-bodied man in the county showed up. Except Bainum cider is strong stuff. Only half the husking was finished before the boys decided they were having more fun drinking than husking.”
The doctor muttered something unintelligible.
The groan that came from Anna’s lips died in a hiss. His heart clenched at the sight of her distress. He’d never felt so helpless, so utterly inadequate.
Her grimace eased and she said, “Liquor has never been conducive to work.”
“Not even in the country,” Caleb babbled, desperate to keep her mind off her hurts. “Old Mr. Bainum was stuck husking the rest of the corn himself, and he’d given up a whole barrel of apple cider for his trouble. The next year he had an even better idea. He’d invite the ladies. Even though he’d been widowed longer than he’d been married, he knew enough from family gatherings and church picnics to realize a thing or two about ladies. A wife never showed up at an event without a covered dish, and they always kept an eye on how much cider the men drank.”
“Sounds like more work for the women.” Anna hoisted a disapproving eyebrow.
“He thought of that, as well. Once all the corn was husked, old farmer Bainum decided to throw a barn dance. Around Cimarron Springs, the ladies always like a good dance. Mr. Bainum made a game of the husking, too. He threw in a couple of ears of red corn. When a young man discovered an ear of red corn, he was allowed one kiss with the lady of his choice.”
The doctor lifted another stitch free.
For a brief moment, Anna’s face contorted in pain. “What if a lady found the red ear?”
“Then she made certain that red ear made its way into the stack of the fellow she was sweet on.”
“Did you ever find the red ear?” she asked, then winced.
The doctor murmured an apology.
Maintaining his perch on the opposite side of Anna, Caleb touched her shoulder. “Don’t get ahead of the story.” Though she was clearly uncomfortable, his tale was distracting her, and for that he was grateful. “This is about my cousin Gus. You see, one particularly memorable husking bee, we were all sitting around on stools, shucking the corn and throwing the ears onto the floor in the center, when my cousin Gus found the first red ear and asked Becky Bainum for a kiss.”
“Mr. Bainum’s daughter?”
“The one and only.”
“How outrageous. What did Mr. Bainum think?”
“Old farmer Bainum was not happy about Gus’s selection. You see, the Bainums fought for the Confederate Army during the War Between the States. The McCoys, being of good, strong Irish stock and having arrived at the Castle Garden Depot as fast as the County Cork could send them, lived in the North and fought for the North. Sometimes voluntarily, sometimes by order of President Lincoln. One thing you have to know around these parts, the war never really ended for some folks, especially old farmer Bainum.”
“Poor Gus.”
“Don’t feel bad for him just yet. Gus found three more red ears in less than an hour.”
Anna grimaced. “How did Becky feel about all those kisses? Could she refuse if she wanted?”
“She didn’t mind a bit.” Caleb grinned. “Old Mr. Bainum was another story. A man who’d gotten his neighbors to husk his corn and bring all the food for the party afterward is no fool. He knew well enough the McCoys didn’t have that kind of luck. No Irishman does. That’s when Mr. Bainum decided to fire up the pot-bellied stove.”
The doctor blotted the wound with an alcohol soaked pad, and Anna sucked in a breath. Her skin grew ashen. “Isn’t a fire in the barn, even in a stove, dangerous with all those dry husks lying around?”
“Old farmer Bainum took the risk.” Though he kept his voice even, Caleb battled the guilt swamping him. Seeing her in pain invoked a fury he’d never experienced before, along with a deep sense of tenderness. The two disparate emotions raged a battle within him. “Mr. Bainum stoked that stove until it burned hot. Soon enough, everybody took off their coats and rolled up their shirtsleeves. Everyone except Gus.”
A knowing smile stretched across her strained and pale face. “How long did he last with his coat on?”
Caleb’s stomach dipped. He shouldn’t be staring at her lips while talking about kisses. This was hardly the time or place for amorous thoughts. “Through two more kisses. Finally got too hot. Gus pulled off his coat, and six more red ears of corn fell out.”
Anna chuckled. The movement didn’t seem to bother her, an excellent sign for her continued healing. While he preferred leaving the stitches in for longer, the doctor was right, Anna was young and healthy and healing fast.
She brushed the hair from her forehead. “The McCoys don’t need any luck. They make their own.”
“That they do.”
Caleb sneaked a discreet glance at her side. The doctor had finished removing the row of stitches from the front of the wound. The skin was healthy, the scar puckered, with no sign of infection. He breathed a sigh of relief. A septic wound was often worse than the original injury.
The doctor motioned with one hand. “On your side and I’ll take a look at the exit site.”
Anna reached out her arm, and Caleb grasped her fingers; together they carefully rolled her toward him onto her left side, her left hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her fingers were icy cold, and he longed to infuse them with his own warmth. All too quickly she was settled, and he reluctantly released his hold.
The color deserted her cheeks, and her lips pinched together, a sure sign of pain. He touched her shoulder. “Should I stop?”
“No. I’m fine,” she said, although they both knew she was lying. “I want to hear how the story ends. What happened with Gus and Becky?”
“Gus borrowed a Confederate coat and a Union Jack from a fellow in town. He marched right up to Mr. Bainum’s door and told him he was there to enlist in the Confederate army.”
“He did not.”
“He might have.” Caleb shrugged. “A fellow will do odd things when he’s in love.”
“You almost had me fooled. What really happened?”
The exit wound was larger than the entrance wound, meaning Caleb better stretch out the ending of his story. A difficult task since his concentration kept slipping. He loathed the marring of her beautiful skin. He hated her suffering.
“Mr. Bainum kept them apart, even though everyone told him that he was a crotchety old fool for doing so. My uncle, Gus’s dad, even tried reasoning with him, but he wouldn’t listen. All the while Becky kept those six ears of red corn wrapped in an old flour sack. She didn’t hum when she gathered eggs in the morning, she didn’t whistle while she churned the butter. She didn’t take the long path around the pond and cut lilacs for the table.”
Sorrow darkened Anna’s brilliant blue eyes. “My mother always said love ruined a woman faster than rain ruined a parade.”
A deep tenderness welled within him. “Your mother is wrong.”
He’d seen the redeeming power of love lift even the most shattered soul from the darkness.
“Victoria Bishop is never wrong,” Anna stated matter-of-factly.
“Of course she is.
Nobody is right all the time.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
Another tick mark against the elder Miss Bishop. While Anna’s expression held no rancor, his own feelings were clear. How had such a rigid woman raised such a compassionate child? Did the elder Miss Bishop scorn all love or merely the love between a man and a woman? She’d certainly poisoned her daughter with her attitude.
What of Anna’s father? From what Caleb had read in the papers, Anna’s mother had never revealed his name. Had the man taken advantage of her? Was that what had shaped her attitude? He doubted Anna even knew. Her convictions were too innocently stated. Was her mother hiding something? Victoria Bishop didn’t seem the sort to protect a man, but what did he know? Seeds of hate were just like any other seeds; they started small and, with careful tending, grew into massive things.
Anna stared at him expectantly, and he forced his attention back on the story. “It wasn’t love that took the skip out of Becky’s step. It was keeping that love hidden away. Mr. Bainum had already lost his wife, and he realized soon enough that he was losing his daughter, as well. He could remain a stubborn old coot, or he could put the song back in his daughter’s heart.”
“I suppose they lived happily ever after?” Anna asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Isn’t that always the way?”
“You’ve read too many fairy tales. This is real life.”
“You’re wrong on that account. Fairy tales were strictly forbidden and considered frivolous except for educational purposes. I was allowed to read Peter Parley, but only because his adventures were deemed educational. Although I did smuggle a copy of Little Women. I still have the book.”
“What’s wrong with Little Women?”
Not that he’d read the book, he was simply curious of the reasoning behind the ban. Jo had a copy dog-eared from multiple readings.
Anna’s expression turned wistful. “Miss Alcott considered true love a necessary facet of a woman’s identity. My mother disagreed. Vehemently. Fairy tales and love were frivolous and unnecessary.”
The Engagement Bargain Page 6