Robin Lee Hatcher (14 page)

She couldn’t tell what other injuries he had as long as he was covered in his mud-soaked clothes. Perhaps she should go for the doctor. No, Doc Wilton was with Mrs. Mackey. If her parents weren’t back yet, neither was the doctor.

She couldn’t afford to be missish. Not when Hawk needed her. She freed the buttons on his shirt and removed it without too much difficulty. Holding the lamp above him, she looked at his chest and stomach. Angry red splotches, the beginning of bruising, covered his torso. There were more on his upper arms.

“What happened?” she whispered. “Who did this to you?”

SIXTEEN

Am I dead?

When Hawk opened his eyes, he saw a bright light above him and an angel clothed in white hovering nearby. The angel had a dark reddish halo. Weren’t halos supposed to be golden? That’s how most artists painted them. And he hadn’t expected pain in heaven either. He’d thought it a place without hurt, sorrow, or tears. Maybe the Devil had taken his soul after all.

“Hawk?”

He blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision. It didn’t work, so he closed his eyes again and concentrated on ignoring the pain.

“Hawk, please look at me.”

He opened his eyes a second time. She leaned over him now, her hair falling over her shoulders. Ah, not an angel after all. “Bethany.”

Her smile was uncertain. “Yes.”

“How . . . did I . . . get here?”

“I don’t know.” She smoothed the side of his face with her fingertips. “I found you on the porch.”

He groaned, the pain in his head throbbing.

“What happened?” she asked.

Stay away from the Silverton girl
. “Somebody used me for a punching bag.”

“Who was it?”

He grunted. It hurt to talk, hurt to breathe. “Not sure. Too dark.” He gritted his teeth and tried to sit up.

Her arm was behind his back in an instant. “You shouldn’t move yet. You’re hurt. You need the doctor.”

“Well, I can’t stay on the floor of your entry forever.”

“Let me help you then.”

If he’d felt better, he would have laughed. She was a little thing. How much help could she be? But to his surprise, with his right arm draped over her shoulders, her left arm around his waist, she did get him to his feet. Only then did he realize he could feel the warmth of her hand on his skin. Where was his shirt?

Which must have been what the reverend and his wife thought when they opened the door at that precise moment.

Bethany felt awash in relief when she saw her parents. She didn’t notice Ingrid and Martha Eberlie right away. She only knew that help had arrived.

“Papa, you’re here.”

Her father turned to her mother. “Virginia, you and Ingrid see Martha home.” He stepped into the house.

In the moment before the door swung closed, Bethany caught a glimpse of Martha’s horrified expression. Then she was gone from view.

“What is the meaning of this?” her father demanded.

Hawk’s weight pressed on her shoulders, and she glanced up at him. His eyes had that glazed look again. She feared he was about to lose consciousness.

“Mr. Chandler, unhand my daughter. Bethany Rachel, cover yourself.”

Hawk lifted his head. “I’m sorry, sir.” He pitched forward, taking Bethany to the floor with him.

“Is he drunk? By heaven, if he’s harmed you, I’ll — ”

She rose to her knees, tears streaking her cheeks. “He’s not drunk, Papa. He’s hurt.”

“Hurt?” The anger left her father’s voice as he knelt on the other side of Hawk. “What happened?”

“He’s been badly beaten. He needs the doctor.”

“Where’s Griselda?”

“I don’t know. I called for her, but she never came.”

Her father looked at Hawk. “I’ll stay with him. You go upstairs and change out of that nightgown before your mother returns.”

She lowered her gaze. Her nightgown was wet from the rain, and the fabric clung to her like a second skin. In a flash, she pictured herself and Hawk as her parents, Ingrid, and Martha had seen them when they opened the front door. The heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

“Hurry, Bethany. Make yourself presentable.”

She dashed up the stairs to do her father’s bidding.

When Hawk came to, he found himself lying on the settee in the Silvertons’ parlor, his feet hanging over the armrest. Someone had covered him with a blanket. He slowly turned his head. No one else was in the room.

He tried to sit up, but pain made him think better of it. With his right hand, he touched the back of his head and found it sticky with congealed blood. The pillow beneath his head would be ruined for sure.

Raised voices reached him through the parlor doorway.

“Her reputation will be forever ruined.” Virginia Silverton.

“She was helping an injured man.” The reverend. “They’re innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“No one will care what really happened. Appearances matter. They were both in a state of undress, and Martha saw them. She’ll make certain others know what she saw.”

“You don’t know that, my dear. She may keep it to herself. I’m sure all will blow over soon. Once Dr. Wilton gets here — ”

“No, Nathaniel, it will not blow over. In this matter, I understand the nature of people much better than you. Mr. Chandler has forever compromised our daughter’s good name.”

The sound of knocking ended the couple’s discussion.

Hawk closed his eyes, a different sort of pain pounding in his head. His presence had compromised Bethany. He’d ruined her reputation by being here.

Stay away from the Silverton girl
.

The door to the parlor slid open. He rolled his head to the side and looked to see who was there. Doc Wilton was the first to enter the room, followed by Nathaniel Silverton.

“Ah, good. You’re conscious.” The doctor set his black bag on the floor near the settee. “Care to tell me what happened?” He lifted the blanket to have a look at Hawk’s torso. “I assume you lost the fight.”

He grimaced. “That’s a safe bet.”

The parlor door slid shut again. Hawk glanced beyond the doctor and saw that the reverend had left the room.

Doc pressed against Hawk’s abdomen with the fingers of one hand. “Does that hurt?”

Breathless with pain, he answered, “Only when I’m conscious.”

“Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

That’s what you think
.

Bethany wanted to know what the doctor had found. She wanted to ask him how serious Hawk’s injuries were, if he was in danger for his life. But she knew better than to leave the kitchen. Not until her mother or father summoned her.

“He was hurt,” she said to Ingrid, who sat nearby. “What else could I do?”

Her parents acted as if she’d broken half of the Ten Commandments in a single night.

All I did was try to help him. Can’t they see that?

SEVENTEEN

Hawk was moved that night from the Silverton parlor to a spare room in Doc Wilton’s home behind the apothecary shop. The doctor refused to let him leave until it was certain he’d suffered no internal injuries.

Two days later, after word reached the Circle Blue, Rand rode into town. “Who was it, Hawk? Me and the boys will — ”

“I don’t know who it was. It was too dark to see their faces.”

“What did they sound like? Maybe that’ll place ’em.”

Stay away from the Silverton girl
. He tried to see the man who’d spoken those words in a soft, raspy voice, but he drew a blank. “They did their talking with fists and boots.”

Finding the men who’d given him the beating wasn’t his first concern. What consumed his thoughts as he lay on the bed in the doctor’s house was Bethany. Folks were talking about her, demeaning her unjustly.

He’d pieced together how things had looked when they were found together. Even with his thoughts dulled by pain, he remembered that she’d worn a white nightgown with pink ribbon woven into the fabric. He remembered that her hair had been unbound, falling over her shoulders in a mass of curls. He knew she had removed his shirt to tend his wounds and, because of it, she was the object of cruel gossip.

Mr. Chandler has forever compromised our daughter’s good name
.

This was his fault, and he would have to fix it. Only one way he knew to do that.

“Rand, I need you to ask the reverend to come see me as soon as he can. There’s something I must say to him.”

“Sure, Hawk. I’ll go get him now.”

An hour later, Nathaniel closed himself in his study, knelt on the floor, and prayed. He begged God to show him what to do. Hawk Chandler’s offer had taken him by surprise. The young man had done nothing more than lose consciousness after being brutally set upon. And what better place for him to come for help than to the pastor’s home? It wasn’t his fault that no one was there except Bethany and a hard-of-hearing housekeeper.

Which was worse, he wondered — the gossip that had spread through town, damaging his daughter’s reputation or to allow her to be unequally yoked in marriage? The young man had a measure of faith, thanks to his Christian parents — that much Nathaniel knew — but Hawk Chandler wasn’t wholly surrendered to the Lord.

Father God, grant me wisdom
.

And what of Bethany?

Nathaniel leaned his head against his hands, folded on the chair. She loved the Lord, this child of his, but she didn’t always put God before all else. Too often she let her emotions lead the way. It seemed to him that from the first moment she met Hawk, she’d rushed toward scandal of one kind or another. Her foolish ride out to his ranch. Her boldness in asking him to dance. And then last night . . .

Lord, should I allow them to marry? What’s the right thing to do?