CECILIA TRUDGED UP the hill toward her office, grimacing with each step. The new padding and undergarments she wore nearly rubbed her skin raw. It was necessary to trade off once in a while, but she just wished her body would have become used to it by now. Other things more important weighed heavily on her mind, and she tried not to dwell on the abrasion.
She had struggled to take care of a feverish man, but only because of his strength. Even in his weakened condition, it took everything she had to help him.
Using the back of her sleeve, she wiped the moisture off her brow. Last night’s bout with his fever finally ended. Knife wounds had always been her worry because they festered so easily. Now confidence filled her. He would recover.
But would her emotions? During his fever-induced dream, he’d mumbled things she really didn’t want to know. He’d already branded her body with his heated touch and smoldering kiss the night before, and listening to him mutter bits and pieces about his childhood with his grandfather last evening tugged at her heart. From what she’d gather, Mr. Grayson had come from a wealthy family. And apparently, his grandfather had lost his home.
She sighed and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Yet that very thing could happen to her plantation. She mustn’t let it.
Cecilia lifted the sack of potatoes higher in her arms and shifted them for more comfort. She owed Mr. Grayson one last dinner. At least she could do that for him before sending him on his way. Maybe he’d want to return home—wherever that was. It was too dangerous for him to stay in Brazoria County. Not only couldn’t he ever find her brother, but her traitorous body couldn’t have him near.
She opened the door, and her gaze flew to the bed. Peter wasn’t there. Her heart sank. He couldn’t have left. Not yet. Not without saying goodbye.
The floor creaked as footsteps echoed in the kitchen, and she hurried inside.
“Doc? Is that you?”
The beat of her heart pounded against her ribs as she waited to see his rugged appearance. When his tall body emerged through the doorframe and into the sunlight, her heart leapt. She hadn’t seen him like this before, and his towering height made her breathless.
His chest seemed wider with a shirt covering it, and the lower half of him more slender. When he grinned in that crooked way of his, her knees buckled and her limbs weakened, which made her drop the potatoes.
“Dagnabbit.” She bent and scooped up the sack. How could she be so dove-eyed?
“Here, let me help.” Peter stepped up to her, grimacing with every other step.
“No, I can do it. You should go back to bed. You don’t look steady.”
He staggered to the bed and sat on the edge. His hands cupped his face for a brief second before he threaded his fingers through his unkempt hair—hair she’d like to touch herself.
Mentally, she shook away the thoughts and carried the potatoes into the kitchen. “I’m glad to see you up and about.” She raised her voice so he could hear from the other room.
“I was a little weak at first, but my strength is slowly coming back.”
“Would you like some stew?”
“Yessiree.”
The enthusiasm in his voice made her smile.
She peeled the potatoes and carrots, prepared the meat, and tossed everything into a pot. Once in a while, it sounded like he hummed a slow tune, but when she stopped to listen, the sound ceased.
What kind of man was he, really? From what the sheriff had said, Peter had won a grand amount of money, but there had to be more to Peter Grayson than that. Other than a gambler, what was he like? A family man? A hard worker? Or did he live life from day to day, enjoying the pleasures as they came?
He was certainly a ladies’ man. He knew just what to say, just how to stroke his finger across her cheek, and especially how to use his lips.
Delightful shivers ran over her skin from the indecent thought. She cursed the fact that she couldn’t control her own body’s response to such an irresistible man.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Grayson? Tell me a little more about where you are from.”
“Montana? You want to know about Montana?”
“Yes.”
The bed creaked then came the thud of his boots hitting the floor. “Why would you want to know about a place so boring?”
“Oh, I’m quite certain Montana is not as boring as you proclaim. I have heard the state is beautiful.”
His slow footsteps drew near, and she looked toward the door separating the kitchen and other room. He stopped just inside and leaned his shoulder against the wall. The stubble around his mouth and chin had thickened, and she could still feel the tingles she’d experienced when she had kissed him and felt it against her skin.
She tore her focus away from his tempting mouth and looked down at the food she swirled in the pot. “What did you do in Montana? I’m certain you weren’t a gambler that whole time.”
He chuckled. “Actually, I helped my pa and brothers on our family’s cattle ranch. I didn’t start gambling until approximately two years ago. My very religious family didn’t quite understand why I wanted to learn to gamble. I’m sure Ma wanted to box my ears until they were blue.”
She chuckled. “I think she probably wanted to do more than that.”
“True, she did. But I wanted a different life. I wanted to travel and see the world. And I wanted to be the best gambler I could be and make lots of money.”
“You mentioned the other day you’d won a large sum of money.”
“Yes, sir. Close to ten thousand.”
She gasped, stopping the wooden spoon from moving in the stew. Her gaze flew to his intoxicating eyes. “Ten thousand? All in one evening?”
“Well, actually, no. I won a good two-thousand that night, but I’d saved the rest over the years.”
She blinked and shook her head. “I cannot comprehend losing that much money.”
“That’s why I’m determined to get it back.”
Her heart clenched. Hank. She couldn’t protect her brother forever, but she’d make certain he got a decent head start from Peter. “Then I wish you luck.”
Peter hooked his thumbs in his jeans and nodded. “Lady Luck had been on my side once, and I’m counting on her to be there again.”
“I’ve known a few gamblers, and I can’t understand why they go through their lives relying on chance.” Cecilia narrowed her gaze on him. “Don’t you want to make something out of yourself?”
His mouth stretched into a grin, and his chest shook with silent laughter. “I’m making something out of myself. I’m going to be the best darn gambler the South has ever seen.”
She couldn’t help it—his relaxed smile, the twinkle in his hazel eyes made her chuckle with him. He actually believed what he said.
“But what about taking on some responsibility?” She tilted her head. “You should be thinking about settling down, finding a wife, and having children.”
“I will, when the time comes. Right now, it’s time to earn money, and the only way I know how to do it is by gambling.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Of course, because of my injury, it’s probably the best way to earn money right now, don’t you agree, Doc?”
He bested her there. She grinned. “Yes. As a physician, I have to think of your healing process, and staying away from heavy labor is a good idea.”
She glanced down at the stew, leaned over, and took a big sniff. “I think it’s about done.”
“Good. I’m hungry.” He rubbed his stomach.
“Go back in and sit down. I’ll bring you a bowl.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He pushed away from the wall and took slow steps into the other room.
She grabbed a bowl, spooned him some stew, and carried it into him. His large fingers circled the dish and brushed against hers. She sucked in her breath, holding back the sigh threatening to come forth from his warm touch.
“So, Doc, why are you dead set against gamblers? Did you lose money to one?”
“No, noth
ing like that. I just watch the men in this town and see how it consumes them. It’s all they think about. It’s all they want to do, and they ignore their families and sometimes their jobs just to win a fistful of silver dollars. Or some would bet the last dollar they had, not caring if their family would go hungry or if they lose their home.”
“I know what you mean,” he mumbled around a mouthful of stew.
Since he sat in the cushioned chair, the only other place for her to sit was on the bed. She sat on the edge, not wanting to think about the handsome man she’d cared for and how he’d slept here.
“You know...” He swallowed. “Gambling is now in my blood, but a person has to have money to gamble money. So it looks like I’ll be getting a job after all. Besides, I have to think up some way to earn money for a place to stay.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? He had no money at all. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a wad of bills she’d just collected from her patients. She flipped four apart and handed them to Peter. “Here. Call it a loan.”
He’d had another spoonful almost to his mouth but stopped. His eyes widened on the money, then lifted to meet hers. “You’re giving me money? Are you pulling my leg, Doc?”
“No. I want you to have this. You don’t have any money to get home, and I want to help.”
He dropped the spoon back in the bowl then took the money. “Doggone it, Doc. Why’d you go and do something like that for?”
She chuckled. “Something like what?”
The humor in his eyes disappeared, replaced with the warmth from gratitude. The smile stretching across his mouth looked genuine.
“I’m just a stranger, and you’re helping me out regardless.”
Cecilia shrugged. “I like you, Mr. Grayson, and I help my friends when I can.”
He nodded. “Please call me Peter. Mr. Grayson is my father. But thanks for your kindness. I’ll pay you back as soon as possible.”
“There’s no hurry.” And she meant it. She hoped he used it to buy a train ticket back to Montana. Yet her chest tightened just thinking about never seeing him again. She clenched her jaw. This was the only way.
Chapter Five
The hotel clerk showed Peter to his room. A table with a washbasin and picture sat against the opposite wall, the bed and small dressers alongside the other. But at least he could afford this, thanks to Doctor Copeland.
Not too long after he ate, the doctor left again for another house call. Peter hadn’t waited for him to return before leaving. Of course, he did make use of the hip tub in the back room. Heaven only knew when he’d be able to afford the luxury of a nice bath again.
The muscles in his body screamed for him to lie on a soft bed. He sat on the mattress, making the rusted springs of the bed squeak. Peter shook his head in disgust. He hadn’t been this bad off since right after he left Montana. But once he started hitting the bigger gambling tables, Lady Luck had been with him. He made money quickly after that, but wasn’t foolish enough to spend it on luxurious things—like a nice inn with a soft bed.
Rolling his head on his neck, he stretched out the kinks then lifted his arms high to release the knots at his shoulder muscles. Pain shot through him, and he cringed, dropping his arms to his side. He gritted his teeth until the soreness subsided. It would be a while before he healed.
He resented having to be laid up for all this time, and he couldn’t stand having restrictions put on him until his stitches healed. He needed strength when collecting his money. It didn’t matter how he collected it. Even if it meant using his fists, that Hank would return every cent.
The sheriff hadn’t been at the jail when Peter dropped by, so he left a note to have the lawman call on him here. Now he just needed to sit and wait.
Inactivity drove him mad, and he hated even worse the lack of funds to do anything about his boredom. From his bag, he pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled through them. His mind wandered to the doctor and the secret the young man might be hiding. Peter grinned. The respectable doctor needed a little womanly care.
Peter just couldn’t figure out why the young doctor kept the secret. Every man needed a woman from time to time. In fact, it’d been a while since Peter had been intimate with one. The redheaded queen at Deborah’s Delights looked tempting, but in the end, he refused her service. He could find better entertainment to spend his money on. Too bad he hadn’t come across his angelic night visitor while he’d been at the gaming table the other night.
His train of thoughts came to a halt, and he put down his cards. He didn’t remember any of Deborah’s Delights resembling the image of his mysterious angel. Maybe she wasn’t from there. Then perhaps she was the doctor’s mistress.
Letting out a growl, Peter pushed his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t think about her now. The memory of kissing her disturbed him greatly, especially when nothing could be done about it.
The sharp pounding on the door jerked him out of his thoughts. He jumped to a standing position. A small pain shot through his side. Cursing, he slowed his steps as he walked to the door and opened it.
Sheriff Hampton, a tall, reed-thin man, perhaps in his early forties, stood in front of him, his leather vest opened, his thumbs hooked on his suspenders as he rocked back on his booted heels. The silver star on his brown vest caught the rays from the sun streaking through the window, making the piece of tin shine. Peter didn’t remember this man from visiting his granddad when he was younger.
The sheriff nodded. “Mr. Grayson. I’m relieved to see you up and about, and doing so well.”
“Doc Copeland certainly has the healer’s touch.”
The sheriff chuckled. “I must agree. He’s the youngest doctor I know, but he’s been the best this town has ever had.”
In the sheriff’s hands he held Peter’s saddlebag and his satchel. “I believe these are yours.”
Peter took the bags a stepped back and opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in?”
After the man walked inside, Peter closed the door then quickly opened his saddlebag. Empty, just as he’d expected.
The sheriff shook his head. “I’m sorry, but there wasn’t any money in there when I found the bag after you’d been taken to Doctor Copeland’s office.”
Peter nodded. “I just hoped...” He shrugged. “I don’t have much to offer for something to quench your thirst, but would you like a seat?”
“No, but thanks. I just came by to ask you a few questions about the night you were stabbed.”
“Good because I’d like to find the person responsible. I’m also hoping to get back the money he stole from me.” Peter set the bags on the bed.
Sheriff Hampton tipped his black felt hat off his forehead. “How much money was stolen, Mr. Grayson?”
Peter fisted his hands at his side. “I had ten thousand in my saddlebag.”
The sheriff gasped, his eyes widening. “Ten thousand? That’s a lot of money.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Did anyone in this town know you had that much?”
“No. Only the people in the saloon that night knew I had won some money, but they didn’t know how much I actually had.”
The other man withdrew a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed his moist forehead. “Regretfully, Mr. Grayson, I don’t think you’ll see that money again.”
His chest tightened. “Figured.”
“But I’m certain we can find the culprit.” The sheriff scratched his chin. “Can you remember anything?”
“No. Nothing really.” Peter shrugged. “After winning, I went to my room, then decided to leave. I collected my things and headed out the door. I don’t even remember going down the stairs or out the back way.”
“So you didn’t see anyone watching you closely?” His eyebrows drew together. “Maybe following you?”
“No, but I can take a guess who’d want my money.”
“Who?”
“That cocky kid at the table with me that night. You called
him Hank.”
The sheriff sighed. “I know Hank’s got an explosive temper, and he was very drunk that night, but I don’t think he’d lower himself to commit a crime. Besides, he comes from a good family. He wouldn’t do something as terrible as to stab a man and take his money.”
“Oh, but he has the nerve to call a man a cheater during a card game?” Peter shook his head. “This kid doesn’t sound like he has much credibility to me.”
He turned sharply and marched to the single window in the room. Wagons and buggies crowded the busy street. Clenching his hands into fists, he stuffed them into his pockets to keep from driving them into something.
“I understand how upset you are, Mr. Grayson, and I promise to look into this,” the sheriff said.
“Do you plan on talking to Hank?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll speak with Hank Ashby today.”
The kid’s last name was like a slap across the face. “Ashby?” Peter swung around and faced the sheriff. “As in the family that owns Belle Grove?”
“Yessirree, that’s our Hank.”
Peter clenched his jaw. How had his luck changed so drastically? Where had his lucky card gone to now? And how in blue blazes would he be able to carry on a civil conversation with a man whom he believed stole his money?
The sheriff shook his head. “Hank and his sister are the only ones living at Belle Grove now. Their parents passed on not too long ago.”
Peter squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead. This wasn’t going as he’d planned. Nothing was. He still wanted to buy back his family’s home, but how when he had no money? He’d rather strangle the owner now than sooner look at him.
“Although...” The sheriff’s words trailed off as he scratched the back of his neck.
Peter raised his head, his full attention centered on the other man. “Although what?”
Sheriff Hampton shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll look into the problem.”
“What problem? Has it anything to do with my money being stolen?”
“I certainly hope not.”
“What worries you then?” Peter narrowed his eyes.
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