Читать книгу Scanlin's Law - Susan Amarillas - Страница 6

Rebecca took the front steps in five firm strides. She was angry, and it wasn’t until the rain splattered against her cheeks that she realized she’d forgotten to take an umbrella. Clenched-jawed and angry, she kept going. She’d drown before she’d go back in there. She’d had enough of him for now. She’d had enough of him for good.

Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, and she swiped them away with the back of her gloved hand, then yanked her hood farther forward—not that it did much good. It was raining like hell. By the time she turned through the gate, her coat was soaked and the wet had penetrated through to her dress. Goose bumps were prickling across her shoulders, and a shiver was inching down her spine.

She made a sharp left turn that would have been the envy of any military cadet. Thunder rumbled, but failed to silence the steady click-clack of her heels on the concrete sidewalk. Her coat flopped open with each step, further drenching her dress. Nothing and no one was cooperating—not the police, not the weather, and not even the good Lord, it seemed. She cast her eyes upward. “How could you do this to me? Luke? You sent me Luke?”

With a sigh of resignation, she increased her pace, and promptly stepped in an ankle-deep puddle for her trouble.

“Thanks,” she muttered, and kept going.

She passed the Johnson mansion, four colors of clapboard and geegaws in the latest style. Circus tent was the thought that flashed in her mind as she paused long enough to scan the yard and porch for the third time since Andrew had disappeared. The Hogans’, next door, was more sedate—plain, white siding and blue trim, the usually pale green roof shingles now forest-dark from the rain.

A delivery wagon rumbled past, splashing her with more water. “Hey!” she hollered, but the driver kept going. So did she, scanning the yard yet again.

All the while, she kept thinking that Andrew was out here and Luke was back there. She wished it was the other way around. She wished Luke was gone—back to Texas or Wyoming or Timbuktu, anywhere but here. Part of her wanted to deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, pretend that Luke Scanlin, the man who had changed her life forever, the one man who unknowingly had the power to ruin her life, wasn’t sitting in her parlor.

She stopped still. He’d be there tonight. He’d be sleeping down the hall. He’d talk to Ruth. Oh, no! Oh, no, this wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to take this kind of risk, not again.

When she got home, she was going to send him packing. That was all there was to it. She didn’t have to explain or justify herself to him. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more she thought she didn’t even need him.

Brody’s going to find Andrew, right?

Sure. “I’ll have the men keep an eye out,” he had said. Yes, that would go a long way toward finding Andrew, she thought, her heart sinking as she faced reality.

Okay, so Brody was unreliable. Luke’s take-charge attitude obviously was going to get the job done, she admitted—only to herself, and only because she was alone.

Since she was admitting things, she’d also admit she should have stayed at the house, should have waited for the search parties he was organizing. And yes, dammit, she was grateful for his help.

A smile tickled her lips. It had been something to see, watching Luke put that pompous Brody in his place. One side of her mouth actually curved upward in a sort of smile—not a real one, though. She wouldn’t give Luke that much.

Water splashed and soaked up her stockings as she stepped off the curb and crossed the street. What are you getting all worked up about? she asked herself. You can handle Luke Scanlin. You’re not affected by him anymore, remember?

Not affected by Luke Scanlin anymore? Yes, she remembered. That first year, she’d said it to herself more often than a nun would say the rosary.

She was entirely different from the way she had been at eighteen, a young girl whose head was full of adventure and romance. A young girl waiting for her knight in shining armor to whisk her away to his castle.

There were darned few knights in San Francisco, but a real Texas cowboy had come awfully close. She’d met Luke Scanlin at a party. He’d been a guest of Lucy Pemberton’s brother, Tom. The rumor had quickly circulated that Luke was a war hero, on his way to join the Texas Rangers.

He had been tall, dark and handsome—and forbidden. At least by her mother, who had reminded her that he didn’t have any social position, any name. In short, he wasn’t somebody.

Luke hadn’t seemed to know or care about such things, and that had made him all the more exciting. He’d been the stuff of Miss Pennybrook’s romantic novels—the ones respectable young ladies were not supposed to read.

Never mind that she had been practically engaged to Nathan Tinsdale. Never mind that she had been expected to marry and settle down to a respectable life that had been all planned out for her since the day she was born.

Nathan had been older than she by nearly twenty years, a man who had chosen to forgo marriage in order to pursue business. He hadn’t been nearly so appealing to a young girl as a cowboy who enticed her with word and touch until she surrendered to him.

Her hands shook, and it was from the memory, not the cold rain. She stopped still as feelings that were both deep and delicious washed over her. She remembered being in his arms. Her fingers brushed her lips as she remembered the sensation of his mouth on hers.

Excitement exploded in her like a shot. Despite the rain, her mouth was desert-dry. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Luke.

As quickly as the feelings had come, they were gone, replaced by guilt, gut-wrenching guilt. Dear God, what was the matter with her? How...how could she even think of anyone or anything else when her son, her baby, was missing?

She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs, send the ghosts back to their graves. What she and Luke had shared had been over a long time ago. Nathan was gone, but she had Andrew, and that was all she needed, would ever need.

It had been a fearful thing when she learned she was expecting. But somehow things had worked out, and from the first moment she set eyes on her baby, she’d thanked the good Lord for giving her this child. Andrew was a joy in her life, sometimes the only joy. Her world was built around him. Without him, there was a giant emptiness where her heart should be.

You’ll find him. You’ll get him back.

With a great sigh, she started walking again, startling a blackbird perched on a nearby picket fence. She watched as the bird took flight, and wished she could fly away from her troubles as easily.

Light gray clouds warred with darker ones, and it didn’t take an expert to know this storm wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon. She skirted a parked carriage whose shiny blue wheels were dulled by mud and crossed the street, turning left on Taylor.

She scanned the area, but she already knew Andrew wasn’t there. She had covered this whole section twice yesterday. Still, she called out. “Andrew! Andrew, are you there?”

No answer.

She focused on the narrow houses that lined the street like ornately painted dollhouses. Straining to look between them, she clung to the faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps...

A mother’s instinct told her that he wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere she’d searched already. Brody’s admonition about Andrew being kidnapped circled in the shadows of her mind, and she held it off with the bright light of hope.

They needed a methodical search of the area, not some ragtag hit-or-miss stroll through the neighborhoods. And yes, Luke was right.

He’d been here less than an hour and already he was taking over. Luke had a way of taking over, she thought, remembering how it had been with them.

He’d taken over her life back then. She’d wanted to be with him every minute, and when she wasn’t she’d been thinking about him, planning how to slip away to be with him. Then, two days after they made love, Luke Scanlin had gotten on his horse and ridden away. Just like that. A brief note saying he was off to Texas. He hadn’t even come by in person to tell her.

Her heart lurched as she remember the devastation, the hurt. She’d feigned illness and locked herself in her room for a day. It had seemed that most of that time she spent crying, or cursing his name, or praying it was a mistake and he’d return for her.

A month later, she’d given up on that idea. She’d known the truth then, about Luke, about trusting him.

Well, she thought, her chin coming up a notch in a defiant gesture, she’d done a lot of growing up that month, and she’d made some difficult choices.

Thunder rumbled, and a single bolt of lightning slashed across the sky, seeming to dive into the bay.

It had rained the day she married Nathan. What a dear, sweet man he’d been. Even if theirs had not been a marriage of passion, it had been a good marriage. She’d cared for and respected Nathan. She was eternally grateful to him.

She could still remember how frightened she’d been when she told him...everything. He’d been so understanding, telling her that he was not so free of sin that he could judge her. At that moment, Rebecca had felt her life was beginning anew, and she’d been grateful to Nathan for giving her that chance.

They had spent their honeymoon in Europe, and it had been a wonderful time, spent visiting wondrous museums in England, dining at romantic sidewalk caf;aaes in Paris, going to the opera in Italy. Then they’d returned to San Francisco, and she’d moved into the home he shared with his mother, Ruth. A warmth came over her at the thought of Ruth. She was the dearest person Rebecca had ever known. She’d welcomed Rebecca to the family with a love and affection that had never failed through all the years since.

Then a slick street, a steep hill, a horse that lost its footing, and Nathan’s carriage had turned over, killing Nathan, the driver, and two pedestrians. It had been an awful, tragic time. This only a year after her father’s death. When it seemed things couldn’t get worse, her mother, too, had passed away, only six months later.

It had been more than she could bear. Confused, overwhelmed by it all, she’d withdrawn into herself, refusing to leave her room, refusing to see anyone, refusing to eat or sleep.

It had been Ruth who had stood by her, forced her to eat, sat with her while she slept, cared for Andrew when Rebecca wasn’t up to the task. It had been Ruth who gave her hope and love and slowly brought her back and, yes, it had even been Ruth who insisted that Rebecca keep and run the small newspaper that was part of Nathan’s estate.

Somehow Ruth had known that working would give Rebecca the focus, the purpose, she needed. With that purpose, she’d recovered, devoting her life to Andrew and Ruth and the paper.

They were her world, and they’d been there for her through it all, good and bad.

She owed Ruth her life, and the debt was more than she could ever repay.

She pushed a lock of water-soaked hair back from her face and stopped, staring hard at the dark silhouette of a woman standing near the corner on the opposite side of the street. Dressed in a black coat and holding an equally black umbrella, she was a dark form against the gray-black sky. Rebecca took another step and saw the woman sway, then clutch an oak tree for support.

“Ruth!” she yelled. Hitching up her skirt, Rebecca ran flat out to help. Jumping over the rivulet of water near the curb, she grabbed Ruth by both arms. “Are you all right?”

Ruth looked up. She was cold, soaked to the skin, and her whole body seemed to be shaking with the force of a small earthquake. It was the painful, frantic beating of her heart that was scaring the devil out of her. At seventy, a body had to expect such things, she supposed. At least that was what that quack Doc Tilson kept telling her. Trouble was, she kept forgetting that she was old. In her mind, she was still twenty, and she had a lot to live for, like her grandson and Rebecca.

So, gulping in a couple of deep breaths, she forced a shaky smile and said, “I’m fine. Just a little winded.”

“Sure you are!” Rebecca obviously didn’t believe her for a minute. “Stay here. I’m getting the buggy.”

Rain trickled down from the oak tree, spattering on the walk.

“No.” Ruth shook her head. “I’m fine, or I will be. I need a minute to catch my breath.” She straightened to prove her point, and was rewarded with a sharp pain that started in the center of her chest and shot down her left arm, making her fingers tingle. She clenched her teeth, refusing to reveal the pain. Rebecca had enough to worry about.

“Come on,” she said firmly, reaching out. “I’ll just take your arm.”

“No chance. I’m getting that buggy, then we’re calling the doctor.” She made a half turn to leave.

“I’m not helpless.” Ruth started walking. Her steps were slow and measured, but she was determined to keep going. Rebecca had no choice but to snatch up the umbrella and fall in step with her.

“At least let me help you,” she chided gently. “You’re more hardheaded than...than...”

“A mule,” Ruth put in with a smile that was forced. She took Rebecca’s offered arm.

“Than a mule,” Rebecca returned. Holding up the umbrella, she managed to give them both a little protection from the steady downpour. They stepped off the curb and crossed Taylor Street. “If anything happened to you, I—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Ruth told her, knowing what Rebecca was going through. She loved Rebecca like a daughter. Rebecca had been exactly the right one for Nathan. She’d been patient and kind and loving to Ruth’s only son. Since Nathan had died, they’d been through a lot together. “Believe me. Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m too old and too cantankerous to die.”

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Rebecca chided gently. Wet leaves, stirred by the breeze, clung to their shoes and the hems of their dresses. “You know the doctor said you should rest and—”

“Dr. Tilson’s an old worrywart.” She didn’t have the strength to smile this time. “Besides, you can’t think I’d sit at home when Andrew is—” pain clenched in her chest like a vise, and her step faltered, but she recovered and continued on “—out here lost.” She gulped some air. That pain was increasing. Maybe she really had overdone it this time.

They turned onto California Street, and the house came blessedly into view.

Only half a block. Only half a block.

Ruth said the words over and over, counting the steps in her mind. Pretending she knew how many it was to the house made her feel better. All she needed was to sit down for a few minutes, maybe a cup of strong tea, and she’d be right as rain.

Poor choice of words, she thought, glancing up and getting a faceful of water for her trouble. Her dress was wet from the hem up and the shoulders down, the only dryness somewhere in the middle. She was cold clear through, and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

Rebecca paused. “Slow down, there’s no hurry.”

But there was. Ruth was afraid that if she stopped she might not get started again. All she wanted was to get home. Funny how home was the ultimate remedy. And yet, with the house in sight, she was anxious. “Let’s keep going. This rain is getting worse.” She pressed on. One foot in front of the other. The pain was a constant now. “Tell...me about...Andrew,” she managed, a little breathless.

“The police didn’t find anything.”

Ruth nodded her understanding. “We’ll find him.” She ground out the words firmly, needing to believe them as much as she needed Rebecca to believe them.

Rain cascaded off the tips of the umbrella in delicate rivulets. Rebecca covered Ruth’s hand with her own in a reassuring gesture. They turned through the gate and up the walk. Ruth took the stairs slowly, one step, then the next, then the last. It hurt to breathe.

“I think...I’ll lie down for a little while,” Ruth said as Rebecca tossed the umbrella aside and started helping her with her coat. “If you’ll help me up the stairs.”

At the sound of the door, Luke glanced up from the large hand-drawn map he had spread across one end of the long, narrow dining room table. He wasn’t alone. Three policemen had arrived about five minutes ago, with a less than friendly attitude, which he was ignoring. He’d also rounded up several of the neighbors, who were more than willing to help and had brought as many of their household staff with them as possible. All in all, there were nine of them.

Keeping an eye on the doorway, he said, “Now, gentlemen, what I want is a complete and thorough search of these areas.” He pointed to the map, his fingers tracing the outline of an area approximately ten blocks square.

The policemen glared. “We covered that area,” one of them snapped.

In a voice filled with concern, Luke said, “Did you cover it as though it was your son out there?”

The policemen all looked sheepish.

Luke turned to the others. “I want a complete search, under every porch, inside every stable loft, behind every outhouse. Look in chicken coops, doghouses and tree houses. Look anywhere big enough for a boy to hide. Remember, he could be hurt, could be unconscious and unable to call out. It’s up to us to find him.”

Everyone, including the policemen, nodded, and Luke felt confident that he’d get a thorough search this time.

They were finishing, and he kept expecting to see Rebecca appear in the doorway. He was still angry—well, annoyed, anyway—that she’d gone out, but he figured that now that she was back, she’d want in on this discussion. When she didn’t come in, he said, “Excuse me a moment,” and, edging sideways between the police and the mahogany table, he strode for the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the carpet.

One hand resting on the door frame, he paused to see Rebecca and another woman. Obviously someone she knew. The woman was short, barely over five feet, he guessed. Her black dress made her seem more so. Her white hair was pulled back in a knot at the base of her neck. She looked pale and shaky.

“Becky? Everything all right?”

Her head snapped around. “Luke, help me.” She was struggling to help the woman out of her drenched coat. “Ruth isn’t feeling well, and—”

“I’m—” Ruth swayed slightly, then collapsed like a rag doll.

“Ruth!” Rebecca screamed, making a grab for her.

Luke was there instantly and caught her. He lifted her limp body in his arms. At the sound of Rebecca’s scream, the other men came thundering into the tiny hallway.

“What’s happened?”

“What’s wrong?”

Luke was already moving toward the steep staircase. “Where’s her room?” he demanded.

“Top of the stairs, first door on the left.” Rebecca hitched up her skirt to follow, but she hesitated long enough to address the neighbor standing closest. “Mr. Neville, please send someone for Dr. Tilson.”

“Of course. Is Mrs. Tinsdale—”

“I’ll let you know. Please hurry.” She turned and took the stairs as fast as her confining skirt would let her.

Careering through the doorway, she skidded to a halt as Luke put Ruth’s motionless body on the four-poster bed.

“I’ve sent for the doctor.” She started unbuttoning the tiny buttons down the front of Ruth’s high-necked dress. The foulard was wet and clingy, making the work difficult. “We’ve got to get her out of these wet things.”

He was already slipping one of Ruth’s shoes off. “Stockings?” he questioned.

She nodded and, lifting Ruth’s skirt slightly, he pulled off her silk stockings, then helped Rebecca remove Ruth’s dress and petticoats and corset. The woman was ill. This was no time to stand on formality. “What happened?”

“Bad heart.” She pulled up the coverlet and glanced frantically at the door. “Where’s that doctor?” It was a rhetorical question, born of desperation. She took Ruth’s hand in hers. “Ruth...” Rebecca rubbed her cold hand, trying to bring some warmth back. “Ruth? Can you hear me? Oh, Luke, she’s like ice. If anything happens to her, too...” She rubbed her other hand. “She isn’t moving.” Her voice rose. Wild-eyed, she turned on him. “Why isn’t she moving?” Terror welled up in her. “Oh, God! She isn’t—”

Luke touched the woman’s face, then checked for a pulse. “No, honey, she isn’t dead.”

Muscles relaxing, Rebecca swayed into him. “Thank God.” He held her, and she leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, feeling the hard muscles, feeling secure. “She can’t die,” she murmured, and felt his fingers tighten on her shoulder.

“She’ll be all right, honey,” he said, with such confidence that she believed him.

She angled him a look, seeing the sincerity of his expression, and she was tempted to stay here in his partial embrace. It felt so good, too good. It would be too easy to give in to it.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t trust him, or herself, evidently. Dragging in a couple of lungfuls of air, she straightened slightly, and he released his hold, leaving her feeling strangely alone.

“Okay?” he asked softly.

She forced her chin up a notch, shoved the wet hair back from her face and said, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said, and headed for the warming stove near the window. He made quick work of starting a fire.

Rebecca tucked the comforter more securely around Ruth and dragged a Windsor chair over to the bed.

“You oughta get out of those wet clothes yourself,” Luke said as he closed the stove door with a bang.

“As soon as the doctor comes.”

“You’ll catch your— You’ll catch a cold.”

“Soon,” she murmured, holding Ruth’s hand. “Where the devil is that doctor?”

Luke crossed back to stand at the foot of the bed. “I take it this isn’t a new problem.”

“It’s her heart. She’s had trouble the last couple of years, but nothing like this.” She craned toward the doorway. “Why doesn’t she open her eyes?”

“Well, I’m no doctor, but I do believe that the Almighty has a way of taking care of things. As long as she’s asleep, she’s not moving around and she’s not in pain.”

Rebecca nodded her understanding. “This is awful. I feel so responsible. She hasn’t slept since Andrew disappeared, and—”

“Neither have you I’ll wager, and you aren’t responsible for her, or for whatever has happened to Andrew,” he said firmly.

She was only half listening, her gaze focused on Ruth. “I should never have let her go out there. I should have insisted.”

“You take on a lot of responsibility. Seems to me the lady had something to say about things. You didn’t push her out the door, you know.”

She sighed. “I know you’re right, but...”

The crackle and pop of the fire seemed to warm the room as much as the actual burning log. The sweet scent of pine saturated the damp air.

“Where’s the extra blankets?” Luke broke the silence.

“Cedar chest.”

Luke retrieved a heavy blue quilt and covered Ruth with it.

Rebecca kept staring at her mother-in-law, rubbing first one hand, then the other. “Ruth. You’ll be fine.” She said it like an order, or perhaps a prayer.

Luke watched from the foot of the four-poster bed, one hand wrapped around the smooth, cool mahogany. “This is your mother-in-law, right?”

Rebecca nodded. “It was too much for her.” She turned to him with soulful eyes. “It’s Andrew. She loves him so. He’s her only grandson. They’re very close—best friends, I guess.”

Luke closed on her, rubbing her shoulder in a familiar way. “Don’t give up on her.”

“Never,” she said firmly, glancing up at his downturned face. “She’s my best friend, too.” Her voice cracked, and she swiped at the tear that suddenly slipped down her cheek. “I feel so helpless.”

“I know, honey. Why don’t you come over here and get warm, at least?” He gently led her the few steps to the stove.

The pale green drapes were pulled back, and she could see the storm continuing in all its fury outside. Lightning flashed across the morning sky, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it made her jump.

Her gaze swung back to Ruth, who didn’t move. “Does it look like her color is coming back?” she asked cautiously.

“A little,” he agreed.

She dragged in another deep breath, as though she hadn’t breathed at all since they’d walked into the house.

The warmth of the stove reached her skin through the water-stained fabric of her dress. She instinctively turned and rubbed her hands together, letting the warmth inch up her arms. When she glanced up, he was staring at her.

Their gazes locked. His was dark and knowing, as though he could see inside her mind, as though he could touch her soul. Feeling awkward, she asked, “Why are you here, Luke?”

“I told you. I came to see you.”

Absently she rubbed her hands together, this time refusing to look at him. “Why now?”

He seemed to consider her question, then said, “Truth?”

She stilled. “Truth.”

“Because I had to know if the reality was as good as the dream.”

“What dream?” She slanted him a look, not trusting herself to do more.

He crooked one finger under her chin and turned her face fully toward his. She looked into his eyes, eyes that were bottomless, soft, inviting. He brushed a wisp of hair back from her face, and her skin tingled from his touch. He was so close. Her control seemed to be slipping away.

His gaze rested on her lips. His voice was a husky whisper. “You, Princess. You haunt my dreams.”

His words were explicit. Tiny sparks of electricity skittered across her skin, warm, exciting, stirring a familiar longing much too quickly.

Stop this—now! The words ricocheted in her brain, but her body refused to move, somehow refusing to give up the nearness of him. The air was ripe with sudden anticipation.

His mouth pulled up in a slow, lazy smile. “I’ve missed you.”

Rebecca didn’t move, held as she was by his hypnotic gaze. Her breathing got a little ragged. At least she thought she was breathing. She wasn’t actually sure. He was too handsome, too charming, too dangerous. Oh, yes, he was very, very dangerous.

It was the danger that sparked her to say, “I haven’t missed you.”

If he took offense, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed amused.

“Never play poker, honey. You can’t bluff worth a darn.”

The man was too arrogant for words. But she was about to try anyway, when there was a knock at the door. Almost in the same instant, a voice, a male voice, called, “Mrs. Tinsdale?”

Her chin came up a notch and, with a little smile of her own, she turned and called, “Yes, Doctor, in here.” She went to meet him.

Luke introduced himself to the doctor and quickly left. She didn’t even bother to glance up. If he thought she was at all bothered by him, well, he was wrong.

Never mind that she was distracted enough that she had to ask the doctor to repeat a couple of questions. What was wrong with her? Guilt twisted knife-sharp in her stomach. Ruth was lying in a sickbed, and here she was thinking about Luke.

No, she wasn’t thinking about Luke. She was wishing he’d go to—well, to wherever it was marshals went to.

In the meantime, she had to get her mind back on the people who mattered.

Twenty minutes later, the doctor was ready to leave. He had prescribed bed rest, and laudanum for pain—which Ruth, who had awakened shortly after his arrival, adamantly refused to take.

“All right,” she finally said, in a tone that reminded Rebecca of Andrew when he had to take a bath. It was good to see her awake and snapping at the doctor. It was good to have her back.

Feeling much relieved, she walked the doctor to the door.

“Now try to keep her in bed,” he admonished quietly.

“I heard that,” Ruth called, and they both smiled. “She’s gonna be all right, Mrs. Tinsdale,” the doctor said, with a reassuring grin and a pat on the shoulder. “She’s gonna be fine.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Rebecca grinned. “Do you mind letting yourself out?”

“Not at all. Not at all.”

Still smiling, Rebecca turned to find Ruth sitting—not lying—in the bed. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” She crossed the room, pausing long enough to get Ruth’s nightdress from the closet.

“I’m getting up, of course.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Rebecca countered, with an emphatic shake of her index finger. “We’re going to finish getting you undressed and then get you back into bed.”

Ruth screwed up her face in protest, but she did put on the flannel nightdress. “What about finding Andrew?” She fumbled with the bone buttons, and Rebecca helped her.

“I’ve got help.” She pulled back the covers and coaxed Ruth to lie down.

“What help? You mean Brody? Bah!” She fussed with her pillows until she was propped up.

“No, not Brody.” Rebecca smoothed the covers. “Someone—”

“Can I come in?” a decidedly male voice said from behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know Luke was there, in the doorway. She sucked in a breath and mustered her best formal pose. She needed all her composure when it came to Luke.

“Come in, Marshal Scanlin.”

Rebecca was sitting in the Windsor chair and holding Ruth’s hand. She was still wearing her navy dress, and Luke could see that she was drier now, though he figured that she was soaked to the skin underneath.

She should have changed, but she was stubborn to the end.

“Why, thank you, Becky.” He used her familiar name, disregarding her formality. He saw the irritation flash in her eyes, and he had to fight the smile that tugged at his lips.

He stopped at the foot of the bed. “Ma’am,” he said politely. “I’m glad to see you are feeling better. I saw the doc downstairs, and he said you were doing better, so I thought it would be okay for me to stop by.”

For a long moment, Ruth didn’t speak, didn’t even move. She just stared at Luke. Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted his stance and raked one hand through his hair. “Ma’am, is something wrong?”

Ruth blinked, then blinked again. “No...Marshal, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Luke Scanlin. I’m the marshal for this region.” He gave her his best smile.

“Have we met before, Marshal?” She kept on studying him. “You look like someone...” She shook her head, and Rebecca stilled.

Luke arched one brow in question. “Who?” He shoved one hand through his hair again.

Ruth’s face drew up in a puzzled expression. “I...” Slowly her eyes widened. “So it’s you...” Her gaze shot to Rebecca, then back to Luke. The color drained from her face.

Rebecca surged from her chair. “Ruth? Are you all right? Shall I send for the doctor?”

Luke made a half turn, as if to do just that.

“No.” Ruth’s voice cracked. “No,” she repeated, holding up one hand. “I’m all right.”

“Maybe I’d better go,” Luke said.

“No, Marshall, stay,” Ruth countered, more firmly. She adjusted her position on the propped-up pillows behind her back. Rebecca helped her.

“So it’s me what, ma’am?” Luke asked.

“What? Oh, so, it’s you who helped me to my room,” Ruth answered quietly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The marshal is new in town,” Rebecca said, smoothing the covers before sitting down again.

“Well, that explains a great deal.” Ruth’s tone was thoughtful. “Under the circumstances, Marshal, I think you know me well enough to call me Ruth. `Ma’am’ sounds so old, and—”

“And old is twenty years older than you are...Ruth,” he filled in, grinning.

“Marshal, I think I like you. I always did have a weakness for charmers.”

“Not me. I’m telling the truth,” he teased innocently.

Ruth laughed. “So this must be the help you said you had.”

“Yes” was all Rebecca said.

“Well, Marshal, we are thankful for all the assistance we can get. Aren’t we, Rebecca?”

“Grateful. Yes.”

Luke came around to stand close to Rebecca. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances. I hope I can help find Becky’s boy. Actually, one of the reasons I came up here was to tell you that the search parties have gone out and I’m going myself, right now.” He touched her shoulder lightly in a familiar gesture. “They’ll come back here as soon as they’ve covered their assigned areas.”

Rebecca spared him a look that didn’t last as long as a heartbeat. “Thank you.”

He headed for the door.

Ruth’s voice stopped him. “Marshal Scanlin.”

“Yes.” He didn’t turn, only looked back over his left shoulder, one hand braced on the edge of the door frame.

Her expression and tone had turned serious. “It’s very important that you find Andrew.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know.”

“I wonder if you do,” Ruth said gently.