by Diana Palmer
She chuckled weakly and closed her eyes. "Isn't he lucky…that I was on the ground and helpless?" she asked wearily. "I still remember how to throw people. You taught me, remember?" She murmured softly in Sioux and Matt smiled.
"There she goes, babbling again," Mrs. Hayes said with a sigh, having failed to recognize that Tess was speaking another language.
Tess had reminded Matt that he'd once taught her how to throw him, unbeknownst to her father, who would have thought the close physical contact between them indecent.
"I never babble," Tess denied with a sleepy chuckle. "Do I, Cousin Matt?"
"Only when you're recovering from sword wounds," he said dryly. He pulled out his watch, checked the time, and slid it back into the watch pocket of his silk vest. "I'd better get back to work. I've used up my lunch break," he added, leading the women away from the real reason for his presence. "I'll check on you later, Tess. Take care."
He smiled at Mrs. Hayes, put his hat back on, and closed the door behind him.
"He's a fine figure of a man," Mrs. Hayes remarked as she began to cast on stitches for the woolly cap she was knitting. "Good to have around in an emergency, and that's for sure."
"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Tess was still feeling the heat of that look he'd given her, and even in retrospect it was exciting. Matt was like a volcano. Only a very little fire escaped until an eruption was imminent. She wondered what violent passions he hid behind that calm face, and colored as she realized the track of her errant thoughts.
Mrs. Hayes glanced at her patient, put her wool aside, and stood up. "You're flushed again.I'llwet some more cloths. Poor child, you've had a terrible time of it."
"Ifeel more fit, though," Tess assured her companion. "Tomorrow, if the fever goes down, I'd like to get up a little, so that I won't be so weak." She smiled ruefully. "After all, I have to earn my living."
Mrs. Hayes put another cool cloth on Tess's forehead. "May I ask you something?"
"Ofcourse," Tess murmured.
"Why have you never married? Surely you'vehadmany chances."
"I've had one, but from a man for whom I had no respect, none at all," she added, recalling the cavalryman inMontanawith his studied arrogance and persistence. "I should have stayed single forever rather than marry such a bounder."
"Wise girl. I married for love, but I was one of the lucky ones. My husband and I have three children living, out of the ten that I birthed." She sat back down and concentrated on her knitting. "We've had hard times, but we always had each other when things got bad." She smiled at Tess. "I don't suppose you and Mr. Davis…?"
"Matt is my cousin," Tess said evasively, and closed her eyes. She didn't like remembering Matt's views on marriage, as well as the mixing of races.
Allthe same, it was hard to put out of her mind the look in Matt's black eyes when he came close to her. He was attracted to her; she knew that. But a man could be attracted and still not love. Physical attraction alone was never enough. She loved him. Nothing short of a love as powerful as her own being reciprocated would be enough. Tess closed her eyes. She might as well try to sleep. Lamenting the future was fruitless.
She concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. Minutes later she drifted off into a restless sleep.
* * *
Matt visited five telegraph offices before he found one with a clerk named Collier. He wrote a telegraph to one of his operatives whom he'd dispatched to an outlying town, mentioning that his cousin Tess Meredith had been wounded by an unknown assailant and that he wouldn't be in the office for two days, and instructing the man to contact Senior Agent Riley Blair if he needed assistance before Thursday. Then he signed his name.
He handed the message to the clerk and watched closely as Collier read it and noted Tess's name. There wasn't much response. Only a mere twitching of the muscles in the man's hands and an almost imperceptible flutter of his eyelids. But it was enough. The man had recognized Tess's name—and now he knew her "cousin" was a detective.
Matt covertly scanned the office. First he spotted a fancy cane in the umbrella stand, along with an expensive topcoat on the rack. Matt was willing to bet that there was a sword in that cane. He had to fight down an impulse to go right over the counter after the man who'd wounded Tess. But he controlled himself. Not yet. Not until he had enough evidence to have the man arrested. He had to be able to prove that Collier had deliberately attacked her, and why.
Collier finished tallying the cost of the telegraph and told Matt. He handed the man a bank note and waited for him to make change. Collier botched it—a sure sign of nerves—and had to count out the change again.
He smiled wanly at Matt. "It will go off immediately, Mr. Davis."
"Thank you," Matt said. As he started to put the change in his pocket, he made sure that his jacket opened enough to give the man a look at the knife.
Collier's eyes widened like saucers.
Matt's chin lifted. His eyes narrowed. "Haven't you ever seen a bowie knife?" he asked coldly. "I find it much handier than a pistol in my line of work."
The younger man couldn't seem to stop staring. "Ever use it on anybody?"
Matt's thin lips tugged up a cool smile. "Yes."
Collier averted his eyes. "Thank you for your business, sir."
"Not at all. I like to patronize friends of my cousin."
The man froze in place. "Friends?"
"Well, not you, of course, Collier," he added pleasantly. "But I believe your wife,Nan, is a friend of my cousin Tess."
The man hesitated and then turned around. He was noticeably paler. "Yes.Nanknows her. They go to those accursed women's meetings together. You might as well know, I've discovered thatNanwas sneaking out of the apartment on the two nights when I was at work, and I've forbidden her to attend any more meetings." Brazenly, to Matt's ear, he added, "There was a not Saturday night, and those women were right in the middle of it. Everybody was talking about it. I'm very thankful thatNanwas home with me when it happened, and that I didn't let her out of my sight."
It was a long speech, calculated, Matt thought, to make him believe that Collier had an alibi for the time when Tess was stabbed. Matt didn't buy it for a minute, but he wasn't in a position to challenge the other man yet.
"You're very lucky," Matt agreed. His face went hard. "The same can't be said for the man who wounded Tess. I'll find him. And when I do, I'll skin him alive."
Collier swallowed. "That wouldn't be legal."
"What he did to Tess wasn't legal, either. Only a coward attacks a woman."
Collier, visibly shaken now, said quickly, "I hope you'll convey my best wishes to your cousin. AndNan's best wishes, too, of course. I don't know your cousin, but I certainly wish her no harm."
Matt said nothing. He merely stared. "I'll tell Tess that she won't be seeingNanat any more meetings. She'll be sorry, I'm sure."
Collier shifted restlessly and his face was sullen. "Some women just use those meetings as an excuse to play around," he muttered. "Damned women. Always scheming."
Matt wasn't about to get into any argument on that score. But he was grateful for the insight into why Collier might have attacked Tess. He tipped his hat mockingly. "Good day, Mr. Collier."
"Good day."
Once out of the telegraph office and across the street, Matt looked at Collier. He wasn't sending the telegram. He was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He looked as if the world were sitting on him.
Good enough for him, Matt thought angrily. The damned coward, pretending that he knew nothing about Tess's attack. Odd, that last statement he'd made, about women using the meetings as an excuse to run around on their husbands. Could the young Mrs. Collier be duping Tess? Suppose she really was running around on her husband, and Collier thought that Tess was helping her? In fact, Tess had said thatNanwas allowed to come to only one meeting a week, but Collier had said that she was sneaking out two additional nights.
It put a whole new complexion on the business. He'd have to
look into the matter. Tess would be safe enough; Collier wouldn't dare risk arousing Matt's ire now that he knew he was up against a detective. But what about Collier's wife? If he wouldn't hesitate to brutally attack a stranger, what might he do to a wife he suspected of philandering? He wondered if Collier beat his wife, and if Tess knew anything personal about her. He made up his mind to ask her about it that night.
* * *
Tess was sitting propped up in bed in her lacy robe, which Mrs. Hayes had washed for her, with her hair tied back by a yellow ribbon. She looked very young, still pale and in some pain, but improving.
Her face lit up when he came into the room. "You're early tonight," she commented.
"Igave myself the evening off," he said, chuckling as he removed his hat and overcoat. "Let me put these in my room, and I'll be back."
He returned a minute later, frowning when he noted the absence of Mrs. Hayes.
"She went home to make supper for her husband. He's a tugboat skipper," she elaborated. "They move those big ships around when they come into port. He and two of his sons have their own business. They aren't rich, but they make a nice living."
"Who's the detective around here?" he asked.
"Icould learn to be one."
"Idon't doubt it for a minute. How do you feel?"
"Sore and mad," she told him. "Have you found out who did it?"
"Ihave a lead," he said evasively, and pulled up a chair. He'd left the door wide open for the sake of propriety. He crossed his long legs. "Tess, has Mrs. Collier ever said anything to you about a man other than her husband?"
Tess eyed him warily. "Now, why on earth would you ask me such a question?"
"Indulge me. This is important."
She sighed and sank back into the pillows. "I don't know if she's seeing anyone," she confessed after a minute. "Once or twice she's darted into a meeting just as it ended. A couple of nights she didn't share the carriage home with me. I assumed that she'd come with someone else and was leaving with her, too." She looked squarely into Matt's eyes. "If she's running around on her husband, I wouldn't blame her. He's a bully and a brute and I think he beats her. But I don't know for a fact that she's doing anything immoral."
Steps sounded outside the room, and Mrs. Mulhaney stopped, looked in, and smiled nervously.
"Oh, so you're visiting with your cousin, are you?" she asked Matt, pointedly noting the open door with approval. "Can I bring you anything, Miss Meredith?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Mulhaney, but Mrs. Hayes is coming back any second with some of her oyster stew. I've never had it before. It sounded quite interesting."
"I forget that you used to live far inland," Mrs. Mulhaney said. "What did your father do, dear?"
"He was a physician."
Mrs. Mulhaney smiled. "Why, how nice!"
Matt stared at her, unblinking. She shifted, smiled again, and excused herself, walking quickly on down the hall.
Tess muffled a giggle. "Wicked man," she taunted in a whisper. "What a chilling expression!"
He grinned at her. "I practice in the mirror twice daily." He stood up. "I think she's trying to make the point that I shouldn't be in here alone with you."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "You're my cousin, aren't you? Do tell why you shouldn't be alone with me."
He actually moved close to the head of the bed, and, propping a long arm against the white iron rail, he leaned down to within inches of her face. "Because God only knows what a man might do with a helpless woman should she be left alone with him and at his mercy!" he whispered.
She chuckled. "How exciting!"
He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. "Excitement is the last thing you need, my girl. Close your eyes and rest until your companion returns. I have book work to do."
"Thank you," she said, momentarily solemn. "You must have been very firm with the doctor. He was quite thorough."
"Why didn't you tell me that he hadn't stitched that arm properly?"
"I kept going in and out," she replied. "I can't remember ever feeling quite so sick and helpless."
His jaw tautened. "You won't be hurt again, I promise you," he said curtly.
She looked up at him with soft, affectionate eyes. "You take very good care of me. It's strange for you, isn't it, having someone depend on you even in a small way?"
"Yes, it is, since I've been alone so long."
"And you like it. I know. I'll try not to let anything like this happen again. Normally I'm quite self-sufficient."
Her face was wan and drawn. He knew the pain of wounds from his own experience. "Try to get some rest. If you need me, sing out."
"I won't, but thanks." Her eyes searched his face. "You're tired, aren't you? I'm sorry I've costyou so much sleep…"
His fingers pressed back the words, lingering against her soft, warm mouth. "I don't want gratitude."
Her eyes lowered. His fingers made her lips tingle. She had to fight the urge to kiss them.
The already familiar sound of Mrs. Hayes's step on the staircase sent him away from the bed,so that he was standing by the door when the elderly woman appeared with a jar, bowl, spoon, and napkin on a wooden tray. "Borrowed from the kitchen here," she said with a grin. "Hello, Mr. Davis. Care for some of my oyster stew? I made it fresh this evening."
"Thank you, but no. I've eaten. Sleep well, Tess."
"You, too, Matt."
He went out, and this time he closed the door. Tess enjoyed the stew and Mrs. Hayes's conversation, but she was beginning to worry about the attitude of Mrs. Mulhaney. The woman obviously didn't approve of Tess—or anything about her. The landlady seemed to be looking for an excuse to toss her out. It was enough to keep her awake most of the night. She didn't know how she'd cope if she had to live away from Matt. Their relationship was so different that she tingled all over just thinking of the pleasure it gave her to be near Matt. She'd have to find some way to make friends with her disapproving landlady while there was still time.
«^»
By the end of the week, Tess was up and about and feeling almost as good as new. Except for a twinge now and again from the stitches, which were due to be taken out the following Wednesday, she felt very well indeed.
Matt took her to a nearby soda parlor on Saturday and bought her an ice cream sundae, which was served in a tulip glass with mounds of whipped cream and a cherry on top. It was the most magical concoction she'd ever seen, much less tasted, and Matt found himself enjoying her reaction to it. When she was excited about something, Tess looked young as a child.
He approved of her well-fitted black suit with its green trim, although he wasn't enamored of the huge wide-brimmed feather-covered hat that she wore with it. Women and their queer ideas of fashion, he thought. Every time the wind blew, the hat shed feathers worse than a shot quail.
He stirred his own chocolate malt soda and smiled at Tess's uninhibited pleasure in the sundae.
She was glancing around her with evident curiosity, and something in the intentness of her action puzzled him.
"Why the gawking, Tess?"
She met his eyes with a start. "Oh, it was just something one of the girls at the meetings said," she replied, laughing with faint embarrassment despite herself. "I don't know if I should tell you, especially in public."
His dark eyebrows lifted and he smiled sweetly. "Go ahead. Be a devil."
She leaned toward him, so that her lips were scant inches from his ear and she could smell the spicy shaving lotion he used. "They say that ice cream parlors, especially those run by foreigners, are dens of iniquity. The white slave trade operates out of their back rooms, and also in amusement parks and at skating rinks!"
He burst out laughing, and other people in the ice cream parlor looked over.
"Do stop," she muttered, tapping him lightly on the sleeve. "People are staring at us."
He leaned forward. "You forgot to mention railroad depots," he whispered.
She sighed. "Well, what do I know? I spent most
of my life in the wilderness"—she lowered her voice—"with uncivilized people!"
His black eyes twinkled. "Like me?"
She studied his handsome face. It was hard to forget the Raven Following of her very young womanhood, wearing a trailing war-bonnet—a visual statement of his bravery because each feather stood for an act of courage—and his face painted with his own mystical symbolism, like his war pony.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I was remembering," she corrected softly. "And you probably wouldn't like knowing what I was remembering, so you shouldn't ask."
He took a sip of his soda and then stirred it absentmindedly with a long spoon. "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" he murmured, and he looked up, catching her eyes. "We were different people then."