Swept Away (20 page)

“Where’s Simon? I wish he’d stay at my side like you do.” The sobbing from Lana was the same as always. Lots of noise and drama, no tears.

“When did you say you were . . . ?” Dare had been at doctoring too long to let a personal question embarrass him. But he hadn’t treated women much, and certainly not in a private manner.

She grabbed the lapels of his shirt. “You have to save me, Dr. Riker.”

Too bad he couldn’t figure out from what.

“How long gone are you with this baby?” Dare thought that was a safe question.

“I know when I missed my monthly. A woman in my profession knows. I’m about six months along. Simon!” Lana’s voice rose to a scream. “You get in here, you low-down, belly-dragging sidewinder!”

Lana had blue eyes that went soft when they beseeched
Dare for help and lit with fury enough to shoot lightning bolts when she shouted at Simon. “I want my husband. He made me belly full, and he should be here when I need him.”

“Lana, please forget Simon for now.” Forever probably, but Dare knew better than to give Lana that piece of news. “Simon was drinking. I’m sure he fell asleep somewhere. He’ll be of no use to you for a while.”

“Get me off this table. I’ll find that man. He’ll be useful or I’ll know the reason why.” Lana struggled to get up. She showed no sign of any pain.

She also showed no sign of any pregnancy. Dare hadn’t had much practice, but he’d read a lot and he knew the symptoms of a woman bearing a child. Lana Bullard had only one of them—granted it was a big one.

“Lana!” Dare got so close she couldn’t look at anything else.

Finally she quit shouting for Simon and settled back on the table, turning adoring eyes on Dare.

“Lana, stop worrying about your husband and listen to me.” Dare stared into her eyes, searching for a connection. He thought she was finally seeing him.

She nodded.

“How old are you, Mrs. Bullard?”

“I’m forty-five years old, if it’s any of your business.” She said it with vanity, of all the unimportant things at the moment.

Dare upped her age by three years, maybe five. “Mrs. Bullard, I don’t see a single sign that you’re in the family way. You are not expecting. You are getting older. If your . . . your monthly time stopped, it may be because of the . . . the . . .” Dare felt himself blushing. He could not believe he had to talk with a woman about this. “Because
of the change of life an older woman goes through. You would be showing some by six months and you’re not, not a bit. There’s no movement, and a baby should be moving inside you by now.”

He’d read that plain as day in one of his medical books. “And your belly should be round by now.” Lana’s belly was round but that had nothing to do with a baby and everything to do with overeating for fifty years. “You’re not going to have a baby.” Dare didn’t think he could say it any more clearly.

Lana’s arms trembled.

Dare said more quietly, “I’m sorry. It’s clear that you wanted this baby.” It wasn’t clear at all, but nothing about Lana Bullard made much sense. “But you’re not going to have one.”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m going to have a son.” She sounded distraught.

Dare wondered if he’d done wrong. Maybe he should have let her spew her bile over Bullard’s disappearance. By forcing her to admit there was no child, he was layering terrible disappointment on an already explosive situation.

“We’re going to call him Simon. Simon Bullard Junior. Little Simon.” Lana smiled and began to hum. She lifted the little pillow from under her head and hugged it as if it were a baby. She pressed the pillow against her cheek while she crooned.

Dare didn’t know what to do. “Lana?”

She didn’t respond.

“Lana, you understand me, don’t you?”

The humming grew louder as if to stop him from speaking.

“There won’t be a child. I’m very sorry, but—”

“‘Sleep serenely, baby, slumber.’” Her voice rose. She showed no sign of hearing Dare. “‘Lovely baby, gently sleep.’”

Dare recognized the old lullaby. His mother had sung it to him. He had to say the words. Say them now before she fell any deeper into whatever confused place she was sinking. “Lana, I’m sorry—”

“‘Tell me wherefore art thou smiling, smiling sweetly in thy sleep?’”

Dare glanced up as Vince poked his head in the door. Dare looked at Lana, then arched his brows at Vince, hoping for some help.

Vince ducked back out of the room, the yellow-bellied coyote.

“There’s no baby, Lana.” Dare didn’t know how else to say it. He gripped her shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “There is no baby.”

Those blue eyes, so wide and so hurt, locked on his. “Are you telling me my baby is dead?”

“No, there was never a baby. You were mistaken. These things happen.”

“Do something, Dr. Riker. You’ve got to help me.”

“There’s nothing to be done. There was never a child.”

Lana shook her head as if she were dizzy and couldn’t focus. Slowly, her head still shaking, she swung her legs around and sat up, dropping the pillow to the floor. She looked around the room as if she’d never seen it before. Her eyes landed on Dare and sharpened. Her hands flexed into claws.

“You killed my son.” She’d always nearly worshiped him, which had made Dare very uncomfortable. Now she was blaming him with the same ferocious strength she’d
put into reverence. What did a person do when their God betrayed them?

“You killed my son!”

He backed up, expecting her to attack.

She jumped off the table, whirled, and made a dash for the door.

Glynna’s eyes shot open as her door clicked.

He’s here. Flint is here.

“Ma, wake up.”

Her whole body shuddered. She’d been coiled to fight, even though the pain in her arm and ribs, her battered face, and her aching, wrenched muscles made every move painful.

It was Paul. Her son. Her poor son. What had she brought him to?

“What is it?” She didn’t even bother trying to sit up. She could do it if necessary, but it hurt. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Loving her children, whose lives she was destroying, hurt.

The door closed silently. “That old cowpoke found a chance to talk to me earlier in the day.” Paul’s low whisper in the darkness spoke of the lessons he’d learned since moving into this house. “He says the doc’s going to get us out of here.”

Glynna hated hoping. It was too awful when the hope was crushed. But she felt it happening. Was it possible this nightmare could end? “Flint will kill him.”

“The doc’s got a plan. He needs a few more days, but the old guy, Dodger, said if we can see Flint working himself up to attack you, we’re to let him know and they’d come sooner.”

Sometimes Flint struck with no warning. But usually that was just a shove or a backhanded slap. As a rule they had a calm stretch after a bad episode, often a month or more before he blew up again. Glynna had the sick feeling that he liked seeing her bruised and hunched over with pain. Once the bruises started to heal, it would eat at him and his temper would start to erupt, shouting insults, shoving and slapping her. And it had been getting worse. He’d only really done damage these last two times.

“I know when he’s on edge and needs to take it out on you with his fists.” Paul’s voice was soaked with hate. He’d been such a good boy before they’d come out here. But hungry, always hungry. There’d been little to eat and even that bit was drying up fast. They’d lived in an area that was hunted out, and anyway Glynna was no hand at hunting if there had been game. The scandal attached to Glynna’s name had ruined any hope of a paying job.

“How can we help?” she asked. “Did Dodger want us to do anything to prepare?”

“We’ve got a signal arranged. One for if Flint starts into one of his rages, we’ll signal from the house. Another from Dodger when we need to be ready for the doc to come. And we—”

Heavy footsteps upstairs struck terror into Glynna’s heart. “Get out quick! Hide in the pantry.”

Paul gave her a look of such fury and hate and failure it nearly tore a hole in her heart. It was ruining her son not to be able to protect her.

“He won’t hit me.” Glynna fought down the need to scream at her son to run. “He might yell, but he’s never come after me when I was hurt.” Of course who could tell what a vicious brute might do? “Go, please. I can’t stand
thinking he might hurt you too, Paul. He won’t spare me even if he does take after you.”

Paul grabbed the doorknob, gave her one last agonized look, and slipped out. The boy had learned to be as silent as the tomb.

Flint’s tread hit the stairs, and Glynna braced herself to take whatever she had to, to distract Flint from finding Paul. The children weren’t supposed to leave their rooms at night. Flint liked making rules, then waiting to see if anyone would break one of them.

Her door crashed open. Flint, lantern in hand, filled the frame. She tried to stay calm.

Let him rage. Don’t say anything to give him an excuse to strike.

He looked more like a beast than a man. He’d been so tidy when he’d come to Little Rock. He’d insisted that she not travel alone. A thoughtful gentleman, or so it seemed. They’d married immediately, then traveled home. Glynna realized after long days of a rugged journey that Flint had to come and get her or she’d have never found Broken Wheel. But she’d wanted to leave her life behind so she hadn’t complained. They’d taken the stage back to Fort Worth, then in Flint’s buckboard they’d come the rest of the way, riding for days north to the Texas panhandle.

“Did I hear talking down here?”

“I might have been talking in my sleep.” She’d learned to keep her excuses short. He was mostly just waiting for her to speak so he could call her stupid. The man didn’t limit himself to stupid, though. He was also fond of scrawny, ugly, clumsy, weak, and lazy. Glynna had kept track at first, but she’d stopped paying attention a long time ago.

“I’m gonna check both of those kids’ rooms, and if one of ’em is out of bed, they’ll pay for it and so will you.”

Paul would hurry, but he’d have to go into the kitchen, come around the far side of the steps, and then creep up. The stairs weren’t squeaky, but even a tiny creak would give her son away.

“Why do you want me here, Flint?” She knew she was taking a terrible chance challenging him in any way. But she had to protect her son.

“You’re mine, that’s why.”

“But you hate me. You never stop saying I’m a lousy excuse for a wife. Why don’t you throw me out? Let me take my children and go. I make you so angry. Wouldn’t you be better off without me?”

Flint stepped into the room and slammed the door. Glynna flinched at the loud crash. He came toward the bed and set his lantern on the table. Glynna didn’t worry about him inflicting husbandly attentions on her. He’d shown no interest in such a thing almost from the beginning. She wondered if whatever stopped him from wanting her in the night was what kept him angry.

The first time he’d shoved her, she still had a backbone and so moved down to this bedroom in a huff, thinking to teach him a lesson. He’d never invited her back upstairs. And he hadn’t learned a thing. But she had.

“How’d I get myself stuck with such an ugly wife?” Flint grabbed her chin and turned her face one way, then the other. She didn’t have bruises on her face anymore, not often anyway. After she’d run off to town, marked by him, Flint had been more mindful to make sure clothing hid her bruises.

She thought she heard a muffled sound on the stairs and
knew Paul was near the top. Glynna held her breath and prayed Flint wouldn’t notice. Her husband’s attention stayed fixed on her.

Paul would be in his room now. She started breathing again. All that remained was to turn Flint’s attention away from her. His sneering had a light tone. His touch, though rough, wasn’t violent. If she could just keep from setting him off.

She didn’t speak further. Let Flint say his worst. She’d take it, and when he left, she’d pray. The possibility that the doctor might come gave her the first true hope she’d had since she ran away to town after the first time Flint had punched her. She’d put up with him at the beginning, the shoving, even a backhand. She’d made excuses for it all. She’d blamed herself and twisted herself into contortions trying to please him. But when he’d landed a punch, she’d waited and watched and bided her time. And the next time he was away from the ranch, she’d gone to the barn and politely requested three horses be saddled. She’d ridden for Broken Wheel with her children.

She’d arrived to find every door closed to her. The sheriff refused to listen to her plea for some type of sanctuary.

Flint had come and carried her home over his saddle, leading her horse, leaving her children behind for his men to bring back to the ranch.

Dropping his hand from her chin, he grimaced as if touching her disgusted him. Well, the feeling was mutual.

He turned for the door and swung it open. Looking back, the lantern swung in his grip and cast an almost demonic glow to his brutish features. Glynna knew she was looking at a true servant of the devil.

“I sent Bullard to have a talk with that meddling doctor,
and I’ve fired the cowpoke that went for help. Next time either of ’em shows their face on my land, they’ll die.”