Susan Amarillas (4 page)

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.