Читать книгу Whirlwind Reunion - Debra Cowan - Страница 11

Being irritated drained the last of Matt’s energy. He drifted in and out of sleep, time moving in a slow murky haze.

When he finally came fully awake, he was on his stomach and lamplight filled the dark room. The spring night was cool, making the interior of the two-story house a comfortable temperature. He vaguely remembered Pa leaving to have supper with Cora Wilkes and promising to bring a meal back for Matt.

“Mr. Matt?” Andrew Donnelly appeared in front of him. “You want some water?”

Matt gingerly rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow, sharp pain ripping through him. The dark-haired boy offered him a full glass and hovered as he drank a little more than half of it.

When he returned the glass to Andrew, he became aware of the stillness. “We the only two here?”

“Yes, sir.”

Where was Annalise? He wasn’t asking.

“Dr. Annalise went to check on Miz Josie. She’ll be back directly.”

Matt nodded. If he’d been able, he would’ve taken advantage of her absence and gotten the hell out of there, but he couldn’t even pull off his own hat, much less make it to the door. All he could do was stay in this bed, in this clinic, with this woman.

Knowing he was in no shape to leave didn’t stop the resentment simmering inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was directed more at Annalise or the fact that he couldn’t help search for his attackers.

His back still burned with a razor-edged pain as if he’d been skinned. He sure would like to know what those injuries looked like. Staring at the glass gave him an idea.

“Hey, Andrew, does the doc have a mirror anywhere?”

The boy searched the examination room where Matt lay, then the front room. “I don’t see one. I could go upstairs and look in her rooms,” he said eagerly.

A little too eagerly, Matt thought. “No need for that. How about you run over to the Fontaine and ask Miz Lydia for a couple of mirrors? I want to get a look at my back and I think I can do it using those.”

“Well…” Andrew hesitated.

“If you’re worried the doctor will chew on you for leaving me alone, I’ll take responsibility. Besides, you won’t be gone even five minutes. I promise to stay just like this until you get back.”

“Get back from where?” A whoosh of air accompanied Annalise’s words as she opened the door and stepped inside.

The boy’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of her. “I was going to the Fontaine to ask Miz Lydia for a couple of mirrors.”

“For what?” She straightened her bodice, which was the same deep green as her eyes.

“Mr. Matt wants to look at his back.” Andrew’s smile grew brighter, if that were possible. “Need me to do anything for you while I’m out, ma’am?”

“No, thank you. You don’t need to run after those mirrors either.”

At her authoritative tone, Matt’s voice sharpened. “I want to look at my injuries.”

“I can help you with that.” She glanced at Andrew. “You’d best get on home for supper.”

“Are you sure? I can stay if you need me to.”

“I’m sure.” She smiled. “You did a good job today, just as you do every day.”

The boy flushed with pleasure and Matt huffed out a breath. She had that kid wrapped around her little finger.

“Well, good night then, ma’am,” the boy said. “Mr. Matt.”

“Good night, Andrew.”

Fuming, Matt pushed up on one elbow, biting back a moan at the agony slicing through him. “Why didn’t you let the kid get those mirrors? I want to see what those bastards did to my back.”

“I might have an idea,” she said coolly.

“You’re going to draw me a picture?”

“No.”

When she didn’t explain further, he ground out, “Well, what is it?”

“You know I’ve been putting honey on your wounds?”

“So, that’s what I smelled,” he murmured. “Why did you do that?” He knew why he would’ve put honey on her, and he knew what he would’ve done with it.

“It protects the wounds from dirt and helps with inflammation,” she said briskly. “Back to your wounds, I think I can make an impression of them.”

“An impression?”

“Yes, a likeness.”

“I know what an impression is,” he snapped.

“The idea is similar to tracing a pattern.”

“I’ll allow my head’s fuzzy, so how would that work?”

“In effect, I’ll make a paste to form to the injuries—it won’t penetrate beneath the honey—then cover the wounds with a cloth soaked in a cornstarch solution. Once the mixture sets up, I can peel off the cloth and we’ll see the pattern.”

“What the hell kind of idea is that?” Resentment threaded his words. “That something you learned back east?”

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “I learned it from one of my professors.”

“What kind of medicine is that?”

“It’s not medicine. It’s an experiment he tried, a way to discover things like what kind of weapon might have been used on a victim.”

“It would be easier to just get me a couple of mirrors.”

“Yes, but this impression will be permanent. You’ll be able to keep it. If you do find the weapon, you can compare it to the pattern on the cloth.”

How damn smart was that? Matt was impressed in spite of himself. “And you’re sure it’ll be accurate?”

“If we do it now. If we wait for the wounds to start healing over, the pattern will change.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like this. It sounds crazy.”

“That’s what people said to Professor Quackenbush, but it worked. He was always trying things like this.”

Professor who? “Hmph.”

“It won’t hurt you or hinder your recovery.” He noticed she didn’t say she wouldn’t hurt him.

She shrugged. “You can think about it. Just remember what I said about the wounds healing over and changing the pattern.”

“Do it,” he decided.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then.”

For a few minutes, she bustled around gathering supplies. He watched her through half-slitted eyes, noticing how the golden lamplight made her skin glow like polished pearl. Something hard clutched at his chest.

She glanced at him. “Is your pain any better?”

“If it is, I can’t tell it.”

“I’ll be careful,” she murmured.

She gathered a large piece of cloth, the pint-sized crock he’d seen earlier, some bowls, a pitcher of water and a tin of cornstarch. Walking to him, she placed all the items on the small bedside table.

“First,” she said, “I’ll mix up the paste.”

As she poured a small amount of cornstarch and water into one of the bowls, he found himself staring at her slender, strong hands, remembering when they had been on him for reasons that had nothing to do with medicine or newfangled ideas. A time when he had looked at her with the same ignorant adoration as he’d seen in the Donnelly kid’s eyes.

“Does Andrew work for you every day?”

“Most days after school and sometimes on Saturday if I need him.”

“The boy’s smitten with you and you’re encouraging him.”

“I am not,” she dismissed, mixing a different amount of water and cornstarch in another bowl.

“If you don’t make it real clear that you’re only his friend, he won’t stop.”

Rather than reply, she dipped the cloth into one of the bowls then wrung it out.

“You say jump and he says how high.”

She sighed. “He wants to learn about medicine.”

“Maybe about anatomy.” Matt’s gaze slid over her. “Your anatomy.”

“He’s fourteen, Matt.”

“So was I, at one time. I know what I’m talking about. I remember…things.”

She flushed and he recalled how she had turned that pretty shade of pinky-peach all over the first time he’d gotten her naked. Despite his injury, his body tightened and he pushed the image away.

Being here with her in the shadows, teased by the scent of primroses, made it hard to remember how cold-blooded she had been.

When she moved to stand over him, he eased down to his stomach. She spread more honey on his wounds then picked up one of the bowls. “This is the paste. It may be cold.”

Her touch was gentle, but he still flinched.

As she worked, she said quietly, “Russ said you’d been beaten up a couple of months ago, maybe by these same men.

” He grunted.

“You’ve been chasing them for a while?”

He didn’t know why she cared, but her interest—and her enticing scent—distracted him from the pain.

“Been after them about eight months. With everything fenced now, it’s harder for them to steal the cattle, but they still manage to do it and rebrand them.”

“Is the Triple B the only ranch to suffer?”

“No,” he said in a grainy voice. “The Ross place, Riley’s, too. Also a new ranch started by a Mr. Julius from Chicago. And several places from here up through the Panhandle.”

“Now, I’ll place the cloth over your wounds. It will need a few minutes to set up.”

He nodded. Her questions hadn’t been personal, but that didn’t stop Matt wanting to ask her some that were. Starting with why had she returned? Was she planning to stay? Had she left a man in Philadelphia the way she’d left Matt?

But he kept his mouth shut.

As she cleaned up the supplies, he told himself to close his eyes, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. The dark sweep of her lashes, the velvet of her skin, the lush curve of her breasts. He remembered the sweet taste of her against his tongue.

Hell, he wished he could pass out. He was more aware of everything than he wanted to be—the pain in his back, Annalise, the emptiness he felt just being in the same room with her.

“I think it’s ready.” It took a few minutes for her to slowly peel off the cloth. When she finished, she laid it carefully on top of the glass-fronted cabinet, saying excitedly, “I think it’s going to work.”

“Really?” He had thought the idea was half-baked. “Let me see.”

“Hold your horses. I want it to set up a bit. While it’s doing that, I’ll clean off any remaining paste.”

She gingerly wiped his back. As she spread a little more honey on his wounds, he turned his head away from her.

His thoughts about her were entirely too soft. He didn’t want to feel anything soft for her. He wanted to ignore her, but as she began to bandage him, he knew it would be impossible.

Once his back was covered, she helped him sit up so she could secure the dressing by wrapping strips of cloth around him, under his arms and just above his hips.

The warm puff of her breath against his chest, his belly, had sweat breaking out across his face. His muscles tightened, sending a shaft of pain through him.

“There.” With her gaze averted, she appeared unaffected, but Matt knew better.

Her pulse tripped wildly in the hollow of her throat and though her breathing was controlled, he’d heard it hitch more than once. Right now, though, he was more concerned with not passing out and tumbling off this cot.

She finally looked at him, then frowned when she saw his face. “We overdid it.”

She helped him lie back down. Once she’d made sure he was comfortable, she left the room, returning a few minutes later to pick up the cloth gingerly and hold it up for his inspection. “The cornstarch mixture has set up enough now that you might be able to recognize the pattern.”

Matt concentrated, but couldn’t identify the jagged streaks. “Could you hold it farther away?”

She stepped back a few feet, keeping her hands beneath the cloth to support it. Distance didn’t help.

“I don’t recognize the likeness. Maybe Russ or one of the other men will.”

Disappointment chased across her features.

“It was a good idea.” Matt didn’t know why he was reassuring her.

Pleasure flashed in her eyes then was gone. “I can’t take credit for it.”

“Don’t know why not.” She had possibly given him a bonafide lead, using a technique he had never heard of. “The idea to take the impression of my wounds was your idea, not your teacher’s.”

She shrugged, turning away to return the cloth to its place atop the cabinet.

It didn’t escape him that Annalise had been able to help both with the weapon and with his injuries because she had left Whirlwind. Left him. And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

For the last three days, the walls had been slowly closing in on her. Annalise was painfully conscious of Matt and had been since she had bandaged his wounds after making the impression.

As she walked out of Haskell’s General Store after lunch, she admitted her pulse hadn’t settled down since. Faced with his wide, hair-dusted chest, she wasn’t sure how she had managed to keep a steady hand. His body was more tautly muscled than it had been when they had been betrothed, the plane of his stomach even more well-hewn. Looking at him, touching him, made her mouth go dry.

It was beyond vexing. It scared the daylights out of her. Why couldn’t she view him as just another patient? After what he’d done, how could she feel anything for him?

Sometimes, when she was too close to him, her skin stung with sensation. Andrew’s presence helped dull the awareness as did J.T.’s and Cora’s. But at night, it was just Annalise and Matt in quarters too close for her liking. She was upstairs and he was down, yet it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing could stop the memory of those work-roughened hands moving slowly over her bare skin or the hot press of his mouth on her breasts.

His presence, their history, the low-thrumming tension wore on her. As she had done the last three days, she forced her thoughts to something else. Neither she nor Matt had yet been able to identify the weapon used on him.

After comparing the marks on the impression with those left by pitchforks, rakes and even a circular saw blade, she still had nothing to tell Matt, his family or the sheriff. The weapon in question also didn’t match any blade pattern she’d checked on knives at Haskell’s or in his Montgomery Ward catalogue.

Davis Lee, Russ, Jericho and Bram Ross had returned to Whirlwind frustrated and empty-handed. The men had found nothing to identify Matt’s attackers or to indicate where they had gone. Matt had shown Russ and the others the impression she had made, but none of them could identify the pattern or the weapon either.

She walked past Cal Doyle’s law office then stepped inside her clinic.

And found four women gathered around her patient, who was sitting up. Catherine Blue and two of her sisters-in-law, Deborah and Jordan. And a lone blonde named Willow. Annalise remembered her from the night she and Matt had run into each other outside the Fontaine. The woman worked for Russ and Lydia at the hotel.

Surrounded by females, Matt was saying something that made them laugh. The smile on his face faded when he saw Annalise.

Even so, her heart thudded hard. She eyed him dispassionately. The last thing she wanted was for Matt Baldwin to know how much he still got under her skin. At first glance, he looked fit enough, but she saw strain around his eyes.

“Hi, Annalise.” Catherine, a trained nurse who had quickly become a friend, walked toward her.

“Hi, Doc.” The other three women chorused.

She greeted everyone, smiling at Catherine as the others took turns reading the latest edition of The Prairie Caller to Matt. Whirlwind’s newspaper had the news about Josie being ordered to bed for the duration of her pregnancy. There was also the announcement of the arrival of a man known only as Cosgrove, the manager for the Eight of Hearts Ranch, owned by new resident, Theodore Julius.

Squashing a sudden burst of irritation, Annalise caught sight of a pie on the bedside table next to Matt’s bed. She glanced at Catherine. “Cora’s been here?”

The raven-haired woman nodded. “Also May Haskell as well as Chesterene Eckert and Zoe Keeler.”

No wonder Matt looked tired, she thought crossly. “How’s Evie?”

At the mention of her one-month-old daughter, Catherine glowed. “She’s doing well, for as little sleep as she’s getting.”

“Is she colicky?” Annalise asked with a frown.

“No.” The other woman laughed. “Her father seems to think he has to hold her every minute he’s with her. When Jericho finally puts her to bed, she doesn’t stay asleep long.”

Despite the sharp pang of loss in her chest, Annalise smiled at the image of the former Texas Ranger being so enamored of the infant. She used to wonder what kind of father Matt would’ve been to their son, but it hurt too much to consider.

Hearing his deep chuckle, she shifted her attention back to him just as Catherine asked, “Have you seen good results with the honey you’ve been using on his wounds?”

“Yes, and there’s been no inflammation. Everything’s healing nicely.”

As she and the other woman talked, Annalise’s irritation with Matt grew. She had told him not to tire himself out, yet here he was, sitting up, laughing and flirting. Of course he hadn’t followed her orders. What had she expected?

Though he looked as if his energy was flagging, she knew he would never admit it. He would tire easily until he was fully recovered, but if his wounds still looked as good as they had yesterday, she planned to tell him he was free to leave. He was ready and so was she.

When her conversation with Catherine lulled, Annalise turned to the other women. “Ladies, I need to examine Mr. Baldwin, so maybe you could continue your visit later?”

“Yes, of course,” Deborah Blue said.

Willow shared a look with Matt that spoke clearly of sexual knowledge between them. “I’ll see you after awhile.”

Annalise knew from the blonde herself that she was a former prostitute. It appeared Matt knew the same from firsthand experience.

A few minutes later, Annalise was alone with him. “I guess you ignored my suggestion that you rest.”

“You didn’t suggest.” No charming smile for her. “You ordered.”

She didn’t respond, instead gathering fresh bandages and the crock of honey from the glass-fronted cabinet then moving behind his cot.

As she examined his dressing, he said, “Is this really why you ran them off?”

“I didn’t run them off. You look half-spent and I need to change your dressing. Why else would I ask them to leave?”

The smug knowing look he threw over his shoulder had her bristling. Before she thought better of it, she snapped, “Yes, I wanted you all to myself. Haven’t had nearly enough of that.”

“Ouch!” He flinched as she pulled at his dressing a little too hard.

“Do you want some help lying down?”

“If you’re changing my bandages, I’d like to sit up.”

“All right.”

As she peeled off the old strips of cloth, she wrestled with her aggravation. She wasn’t vexed because she was jealous, which was what Matt thought, the arrogant cuss. She just didn’t like him disregarding her medical advice.

During the last few days, it had been obvious he had moved on from their past. She wasn’t letting on that his actions from seven years ago still hurt her. She wanted to avoid any reference to their history. So her only conversations with him thus far had consisted of advice, treatment and asking what he might want for his meals.

After applying a fresh layer of honey, she bandaged him as quickly as possible, not wanting to feel any of those flutters she had felt the other day. A sigh eased out of her and she stepped back. “All done.”

“Good. When can I get out of here?”

It was impossible not to take that personally. “Today.”

“Did Russ or Pa bring me any clothes?”

“Yes.” She went to the other bed, fetching a gray shirt and a pair of old boots his brother had brought from the Triple B.

Matt declined her offer to help him dress, for which Annalise was glad. Gathering up the soiled linens she would later boil, she stepped around his cot and into the front room to deposit them in a burlap bag.

“Why did you come back to Whirlwind, Annalise?”

She froze at the question as much as the bleakness in the words. Turning, she looked into his blue eyes, hard with scrutiny. She had to speak around the catch in her throat. “Because this is my home.”

“You sure didn’t mind leaving it seven years ago.”

He now wore the shirt and she couldn’t stop her gaze from going to the tuft of dark hair visible in the unbuttoned placket of the garment.

“My plan all along was to come back and you know it,” she said.

“Did you leave a man back there, like you did here?”

She stiffened. The hurt slicing through her quickly turned to anger, but she didn’t let him bait her. “You can have your bandages changed by whomever you prefer. No need to come back here unless there’s a problem.”

“All you ever cared about was medical school.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Well, it damn sure wasn’t me. Or what we had.”

“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Annalise wasn’t reminding him that the other thing she’d cared about was their life together. She curled her hands into fists. “Because I didn’t change my plans after you proposed.”

“No.” He didn’t hesitate, but she didn’t believe him.

“You knew I intended to come straight back to you—back here after medical school, but after you proposed, with my father already gone, you thought I would stay in Whirlwind and give up my dream of becoming a doctor.”

“I never said anything like that.”

“You didn’t have to say it. You made it abundantly clear once I was out of sight. You acted as though I didn’t exist.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw as he slowly got to his feet. “I cared for you,” he ground out. “And our baby.”

“Our baby!” She shook with outrage, disbelief. “You didn’t care enough even to acknowledge my letter about the miscarriage.”

“You’re a fine one to point the finger.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked hotly.

“If you’d cared about me or what we had, you wouldn’t have lied about the baby.”

“Lied? About what?” Incensed, she marched over to him. “You think I wasn’t expecting?”

“No, I believe you were.”

“Then what?” Her heart pounded hard in her chest.

“I think you knew before you left Whirlwind that you were carrying my baby and in your letter you tried to make me believe you didn’t.”

Her breath jammed painfully in her chest. “You think I knew and went to Philadelphia without telling you?”

“Yes.”

How could he believe such a thing? “Well, I didn’t know.”

“You’re the daughter of a doctor.” He took an aggressive step toward her.

She moved back, not out of fear, but from sheer reflex.

“You helped your pa from the time you were ten, and you knew more than most about medical things. How could you not realize?”

“I was distracted by my grief over my father’s death. If there were signs of a child at that time, I didn’t catch them.”

The skeptical, scornful look on his face set off her temper.

“You are a piece of work, Matt Baldwin! Why would I lie?”

“Because if you’d admitted back then that you knew, you would’ve had to stay.” His voice rose, too. “You wouldn’t have been able to traipse halfway across the country, putting our baby at risk.”

Pain and guilt knifed through her.

“If you hadn’t been so all-fired set to get to medical school, our baby would be alive. You as good as killed him.”

Before she even realized it, her hand flew up and she slapped him. Hard.

He grabbed her wrist, his expression stunned.

Tears blurred her vision. “How dare you.”

Her hand print glowed red on his jaw. The blame was already carved into her heart, but coming from Matt, who had never even acknowledged their child? How could he have said something so cruel? Was there nothing left of the man she’d loved? If so, she couldn’t see it in those steel-cold eyes, the rigid jaw.

She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. Very quietly, she said, “Get out.”

“You bet.” He released her with a curse.

She registered the heavy thud of his boots on the floor, the slam of the door as her entire body went numb.

He’d brought up the past and she hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut. She wished she had because now she was forced to admit what she had denied for seven years. She’d never gotten over him.