The Midwife's Secret (14 page)

“Quaid, get out of my dream,” said Tom.

“You’re not dreaming,” said Amanda, sliding off his hard body and adjusting her skirts. “You’ve been in a coma for days. Do you remember our train ride?”

He went pale again, likely from the overexertion. “No, I don’t.”

“We went to see Frank Finnigan, then…then you started perspiring and rubbing your jaw. You collapsed in the train with lockjaw.”

“Hell, now I remember.”

Did he recall everything? Did he recall their discussion about Sharon Rose?

He looked at her with inquisitive eyes, but she sensed his withdrawal. He remembered something.

Did he remember asking her to the ball?

The thought of being asked, of being wanted… It was a dream that seemed to be beyond her grasp, but even if she could never have Tom Murdock, she was utterly grateful he was alive and someone else would.

“You look like hell,” Tom said to her.

“I do?” she said, adjusting the kerchief over her head. “Just what every woman likes to hear.”

He cleared his rough throat. “You haven’t been sleeping. Were you worried about me?”

She couldn’t deny it and so nodded in agreement. The tension and exhaustion she’d felt for the past five days
came rushing to the surface. It felt good to finally let it ease.

Tom’s arms suddenly stiffened with a spasm. Amanda winced and placed a soothing hand on his waist until he recovered.

“What on earth was that?” he asked.

“The spasms will subside in the next two to four weeks,” Quaid answered. “Hopefully they won’t be frequent. They were very bad during the first two days. I had to sedate you with chloroform so you could sleep. Your age got you through this, you know. If you’d been very young or very old, you wouldn’t have made it.”

“Well, thanks to the two of you, I did.” He pulled back from Amanda in alarm. “Can I spread this to you?”

“Lockjaw isn’t contagious.”

His body eased.

Amanda glanced down at the floor to avoid his gaze and Quaid busied himself with the chicken soup she’d brought. He took it from the jar she’d brought it in and dumped it into a pot, then threw another log into the stove. Amanda knew Tom would be angered if she told him Quaid hadn’t allowed her in until today, and she didn’t see the point of telling him.

Tom swung his long legs over the bed and for the next hour they helped him slowly wash up, brush his hair, then helped him to a bit of soup. They left his shirt off so not to disturb the poultice. Amanda tried not to admire his physique, tried not to flush every time her eye caught his.

Wolf took a biscuit from Tom’s fingers and she was thrilled to see the dog eating.

Quaid grew restless in his chair. “Cripes, man, why didn’t you tell us you were in so deep?”

“What do you mean?” Tom said, bringing the spoon to his lips. Amanda sat there and watched him, enjoying
every movement. The way his arm flexed as he lifted the spoon to his lips, the unshaven, dark aura of his face, his bulky presence, the kindness in his voice when he talked to Wolf.

“The bloody banker was here yesterday,” Quaid said.

Tom set his spoon down with a clang. “The banker? What did he want?” He looked to Amanda for answers, but she wasn’t sure what Quaid was getting at.

“He took the house—”

“What?”

“The house. This house. He took it for payment.”

Tom swore beneath his breath. “Why did you let him do that?”

“There was nothing me or Pa—”

“Pa knows about this?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How could you tell him—”

“He was here when Thimbleton arrived.”

“While I was in a coma?” Tom asked incredulously. “Thimbleton took my house while I was in a coma?”

Amanda couldn’t believe the news. She had no idea Tom had financial problems. Why, she thought his life ran as smooth as silver. And didn’t she once tell him so? The heat from that argument rushed to her cheeks now.

Quaid shrugged.

Tom picked up his spoon again, thinking carefully. Slowly, his dimples appeared, then his cheekbones went up, the corner of his lips rose, and he stifled a deep laugh. When Quaid joined in the laughter, Amanda thought they were both mad. Tom had just lost his house!

“He must be awfully scared of you when you’re awake,” said Quaid, sending them into another round.

Amanda reeled away from Tom. “You laugh too much.”

Tom settled down and peered at her across the table. He reached out and traced a pale finger down her cheekline, sending shivers down her arms. “You frown too much.”

“But you’ve lost your house,” she added.

He sobered. Tom was in deep financial problems and she hadn’t known it? He was struggling, and yet he’d kept it hidden?

“So he took it?” Tom asked his brother. “I no longer own it?”

Quaid nodded.

“I used to like the other banker a lot more than Thimbleton. He was fair.”

“Too bad he moved away,” Quaid agreed.

“Well, at least I’ve got my bed. And what kind of a guard dog are you?” Tom asked Wolf. “You’re not supposed to let the bad men in.”

Wolf tilted his head and whined. Tom patted the husky’s head and both man and dog sighed.

“When am I supposed to be out of the house?” Tom asked.

Quaid frowned. “Day after tomorrow, if you’re out of your coma or not.”

Tom smiled again. “What in blazes was Thimbleton going to do if I was still unconscious?”

“Wheel your body to the sanitorium, I suppose.”

The brothers thought this was funny again.

“How can you joke?” asked Amanda. But watching the two brothers, she began to wonder if William had been able to laugh more at life like Tom did, then maybe they could have survived the hard times of marriage.

“Because I woke up and I’m not dead,” Tom answered. “And I still have my sawmill. Don’t I?” he said to his brother.

Quaid threw his hands into the air, a gesture of frustration.

“They didn’t take that, too, did they?” Tom’s voice rose a notch.

“You still own it. But why don’t you give it up, Tom? What’s the use of going on? I don’t have a dime to spare right now, but I’ll be on my feet in another year. Then I can help you out, and Pa for whatever he needs, and Gabe, too. Come live with me and Beth in the meantime.”

“I’ll take my bed and sleep in the back room of the sawmill. Behind the office.”

“Why don’t you sell the sawmill?” Quaid continued. “Why keep torturing yourself, holding on to a lost cause?”

Tom flinched at the insult. “Because if I’ve got the sawmill, then goddammit, I can still get it all back. You’re done with your schooling but Gabe needs to finish law school.”

“What the hell are we going to do?” Quaid asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Thimbleton told me about the credit note for my instruments. That’s why he took the house. You missed two payments. I’ll give them back—”

“Don’t be silly. You need them. How can you practice without the proper tools?”

“That’s why Thimbleton took the house, goddammit. My instruments for your house. If my own home weren’t mortgaged, I’d—”

“Don’t panic, Quaid. Just don’t panic. Let’s take it slow and easy. I’m going to get it all back with the sawmill.”

It was then that Amanda realized just how strong and resilient Tom was. He was a complex man, the center of his family. He kept everyone together. He schooled his brothers, he looked out for his father, he employed a dozen
of the town’s men. She fought her overwhelming need to depend on him, too.

“How can you get goodwill back?” Quaid asked. “People in town trusted you and Finnigan. Now they don’t. How do you plan on regaining that after so many of them were overcharged? And it doesn’t look good, your house being repossessed. People will worry that if they hire you as a builder, they’ll lose money if the rest of your business goes under.”

“I’ll continue the way I always have. Working hard, talking to people, letting it be known that we’re looking for Finnigan and that it was him, not me, who stole their money.”

“It’ll take too long to build up that trust again.”

“Then I’ve got to do something fast.”

“Like what?”

“Like continue to seek their business at every turn. I’ve got to go to the ball and say my speech, as planned, and get as many people on my side as I can. I’ll look guilty if I cower here.”

“I’m not sure you’re still invited to speak, or if they’ll have you.”

“They’ll have me. I know Stanlowski at the big hotel. He’s the assistant to the CPR president and owes me more favors than I can count.”

Tom turned to Amanda, as if suddenly realizing she was still there and listening. “Is there any word on the magistrate? On your property?”

“He’ll be here the Monday after Saturday’s ball.”

Tom nodded and pushed away his empty soup bowl and faced Amanda. “You know, I’d still very much like to take you to the ball.”

Her stomach rolled at the question, at the intensity of his dark gaze. How could she say yes?

How could she say no?

Quaid sprang from his seat. “Tom—Amanda, no offense—Tom, think of what you’re doing. Amanda’s not exactly the first choice. She’s got some difficulties of her own in this town, and not everyone is happy to greet her. Sorry,” he said again to Amanda.

Tom ignored his brother, in the humorous way she’d come to admire. A muscle in his temple throbbed. “As I was saying, Amanda, I’d still very much like to escort you to the ball.”

“That’s very kind of you, but maybe you should listen to your brother—”

Tom placed a large hand over her small one, which was resting on the table. His heat seeped into her fingers. “I remember everything about our conversation on the train. Everything,” he said gently. “And you’re right. It’s complicated between us. But we’ll take it a step at a time. This is simply one night out. No commitment.”

He still wanted to take her. That alone sent her senses spinning. But Quaid was right. If she went with him, she might ruin his chances with the rest of the town.

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have anything appropriate to wear. And I can’t—
won’t
—spend that kind of money on a ball gown when Margaux may soon need new glasses. Her wire frames are bending.”

He grinned and his whole demeanor changed. “You are one woman in a million. Let me take care of everything—”

“But how—”

“Trust me,” he asked.

Trust was the one thing he desperately wanted from her, but she was unable to give. “I can’t,” she said, rising to leave.

He tugged her back by her hand. “You can.”

“I need some time to think about it,” she said, wrenching free, ignoring his moan of frustration. And with that, she strode out of the cabin, reeling for fresh air, more confused now about Tom than she’d ever been.

T
om had never bought clothing for a woman before, but he’d do his best for Amanda. After he took care of his pressing business affairs today, he’d visit the dressmaker. It had been three days since he regained consciousness, and he couldn’t lie around another day.

He threw his legs over the bed and sat up. A coughing spasm shook him. When it subsided, he tugged on his pants. How could he coax Amanda to the ball?

He hated what had happened to her. He hated the injustice of her losing her only infant. He hated that her husband had walked out on her, and he hated that she could never have any more children.
His
children.

But just because Amanda couldn’t bear children didn’t mean he could stop liking her. As a midwife, she put herself in the center of the most painful situations he could imagine, delivering babies in order to help other women.

If the situation were reversed, would he be able to do the same thing? If he were sterile, could he help other men to celebrate the birth of their children?

Not likely. He wasn’t as generous, or as tough.

With a groan, he got moving. After breakfast, he gave his men instructions to move his furniture into the sawmill,
then with Wolf at his side, he strode down the street toward the big hotel to speak to Stanlowski. Tom’s arms and legs felt stiff as he moved, but the soreness would ease as the day wore on. He allowed the morning sunshine to warm his skin, concentrating on the cool, easy feel of the invigorating spring air as it slid into his lungs, instead of his deep financial worries.

As for Amanda, did they have to think about the future? Couldn’t they just go to the ball and see how they felt about each other? Didn’t they owe themselves the pleasure of discovery?

He stumbled in the street. Wolf yelped. Leaning against a hitching post by Ruby’s Dining and Boarding House for support, Tom glanced through the dining window and spied Ruby. He saw an opportunity to create business. The place was jam-packed with tourists for lunch, and he knew from experience that business owners had less difficulty spending their money when it was pouring in.

An hour later, after he’d discussed Ruby’s extension—which they’d been discussing for half a year—and she finally agreed to start next week, he visited with Stanlowski. If there was something amiss, the well-groomed gentleman didn’t act like it, welcoming Tom with an arm around his shoulders and questions about his health.

Tom deliberately left his visit to the bank till the end of the day, to give his temper time to cool. Thimbleton, true to character, was miraculously unavailable to speak to him. Muttering a few choice words beneath his breath, Tom found him holed up in his office.

“I’ll move out of the house,” Tom snapped, “and give you the deed as payment for Quaid’s instruments, but I want you to agree you won’t sell it until the end of the summer. You can rent it out to tourists, but not sell.”

The creases on Thimbleton’s forehead grew deeper.

“That’ll give me some time to buy it back,” Tom insisted. “You know you won’t have any problem renting it out. Ruby told me she’s turning away boarders every day.”

“All right. August thirty-first, but not a day later.”

After another stop at Ruby’s for an early dinner, Tom felt rested enough to approach the dressmaker, Mrs. Hanna Warren, whose shop adjoined her husband’s laundry.

Last year when her husband had broken his leg and his laundry business had suffered, Tom had let the payments slide on the massive wooden laundry tubs he’d installed, insisting he’d take payment when times were better for them. Well, he hoped times were better now because he needed a favor.

Wolf waited outside while Tom picked up his laundered shirts—and his father’s while he was at it. When he walked across the hall and squeezed his tall frame into the dress shop, middle-aged Mrs. Warren poked her head through the back curtains. “Hello, Tom, what brings you here?”

He peered at the hanging dresses in the window and realized he had no idea how to go about this.

“My companion for the ball needs a gown.”

One of Mrs. Warren’s young assistants stood up from the corner, where she was stitching a hem. The pin cushion tied around her wrist slid lower. “But it’s less than a week away—”

“You’re too busy?” asked Tom, his hopes sinking.

“We’re busier than a henhouse and Madeline is working double time. But for you,” Mrs. Warren said with a smile, adjusting the buttons at her large bosom, “for you, anything. And,” she lowered her voice, “no charge, I insist.”

He grinned and tipped his hat. Goal accomplished.

Luckily, Mrs. Warren had seen Amanda only yesterday on her bicycle, so guessing her size was not a problem.

“How tall is she?”

“She comes to here.” He indicated his chin.

“How big are her heels? The shoes she’s wearing with the dress?”

Tom hadn’t thought of it. He’d only seen Amanda in boots. “I guess she’ll need new shoes, but I haven’t been to the shoemaker’s yet.”

“I’ll arrange for matching shoes if you tell me her size.”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know.” The first time they met, when he’d chased her around the sawmill and she fell off her bicycle, her insole had slipped out of her boot. “I have her insole. Could you use it as a pattern?” The dressmaker smiled coyly and he felt his neck flush. “This whole thing’s a surprise. You’ll keep it that way, won’t you?”

“My lips are sealed. My husband’s, too. We’re very discreet in our business. If you only knew who was picking up whose laundry in this town. The stories we could tell.” She took out her sketchpad. “Have you got a certain style in mind?”

Tom smiled with pleasure, imagining Amanda. The whole evening could be a lot of fun. “Something fancy. Something she’d never in a hundred years pick out herself—”

Mrs. Warren giggled. “I know just the thing. I’ll sketch it for you, and you can tell me what you think. And the color?”

“I’ll describe it to you when I come back with the insole.” He whirled around to leave.

Mrs. Warren tugged him back by his vest. “What about you? Do you have an evening suit?”

“I’ve already got one good suit, no need for another.”

“You can’t take the lady to the ball dressed in that faded thing you wore to Parson’s funeral last month. Heavens!
You need something suitable to match. Get in there behind that curtain, drop your drawers and let us take your measurements!”

“Why won’t you go with him?” asked Grandma.

Amanda pulled her lips together and kept sweeping the inside of the half-built log cabin. Sunshine bore down on them. Work had come to a frightening standstill since Lorne Wilson had arrived. The magistrate would be here in less than a week to decide her fate, and the furthest thing from her mind was Tom Murdock.

Well, maybe not the farthest, but she sure as heck wished he was. “I’m not going anywhere with him. I’ve got things to do here. The children need me. And who wants to go to a snobby ball where everyone will be comparing the size of their gold rings?”

Grandma swiped the broom from Amanda’s hands. “Me and John can look after the children for one night. And you
do
want to go the ball, especially with
him,
and no one will be comparin’ the size of your anything! You’re a midwife who helps lots of women with their problems, but you’re afraid to talk about your own.”

“My problems can’t be solved.”

“Maybe not the way you hope, but Tom Murdock is not the same man as William was. He knows your problems, but still wants to take you to the ball. Maybe you should trust him.”

There was that word again. Trust. “I’m…I’m not ready.”

Grandma sighed. Amanda took her broom back. She knew it was wrong of her to think so, and she knew she was blessed with so many good things in her life, but at this moment, she wished she weren’t Amanda Ryan. She wished she were anyone else in the whole world except
herself. Someone who was capable of having a full relationship with a man.
With Tom.

The sound of horse’s hooves caused her to glance up the path. Tom came riding in on his mare, his profile chiseled in the morning sunlight, his upper body flexing beneath his brilliant red shirt. The cherry color brought out the dark tone to his skin, and depth to his brows and eyes. Her body came alive. What now?

She leaned her broom against the corner and walked out to greet him. He dismounted. She noticed he was walking steadier and had regained a pound or two. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

Tom’s eyes swept over her. “And you look just as good.”

Grandma elbowed her in the back. So subtle, her grandma. Amanda bit down on her lip.

“Fine morning, isn’t it, Miss Clementine?” Tom said, removing his hat. His black hair glistened with warm tones of brown and rust. It had been almost two weeks since he’d taken ill, and he looked close to full recovery.

“Gettin’ finer by the minute,” said Grandma, leaving the area, ignoring Amanda’s look of alarm. “I’ll go see what the children are up to.”

Why had he come? The Saturday ball was—

“I’m here to see Margaux and Josh. I haven’t seen them since I took ill and wanted to see how they were.”

The tension in Amanda’s stance softened. “They’ve been asking every day, and you know how Margaux is, she’s concerned it was all her fault from the very beginning, with the fishhook.”

“That’s what I suspected.”

Three feet separated them, but it might as well have been an inch. Every movement in her body seemed to respond to his. The soft beating of his pulse, the flicker in his eyes,
the warm tilt to one side of his mouth that was neither a smile nor a question.

“Have you moved yourself into the sawmill?” Amanda asked.

“Yup.”

Her throat tightened with sympathy. It was unfair for him to lose his house when he only wished to help his brother. “After all the things you do for people, you deserve better.”

His green eyes shimmered with the compliment. “Sometimes people don’t always get what they deserve. Do they?” He furrowed his brows into that tender line of black that she’d come to know. She knew he was referring to her problem, and she quivered with anticipation that he’d speak of it. Not here, not now. She turned away in awkward silence to look for the children. They were coming up from the river with Grandma.

“When the magistrate comes to town on Monday,” Tom continued, “I’d like to be there with you.”

“Why? You don’t need to. Constable Robarts will be there. He’ll explain everything.”

“Would you mind, though, if I came? In case you need me? I can bring my wagon around and pick you up.”

It would be easier, she had to admit. Ellie had promised to look after the children, and it would be easier for her and Grandma to get a ride with Tom than to walk the mile to town. “You’re turning into a very dependable friend. All right, thank you.”

He smiled at her consent.

Josh and Margaux came running toward him, hugging him at the knees. He laughed and put out an arm to stabilize himself.

“Be careful, children,” Amanda said with breezy laughter in her voice. “He’s still recovering.”

“He looks fine to me,” said Margaux. The girl’s obvious joy at seeing Tom in the flesh, standing solid in one piece—
very solid,
Amanda might add—touched Amanda’s heart. She’d been worried about the girl for the past few days, so quiet and unresponsive except to ask about Tom.

Tom seemed to realize the significance of their embrace, for he glanced up at Amanda, grinned and nodded. Gooseflesh rose on her arms at the gentleness in his embrace.

He was so carefree and jovial with the children. How could she rob him of children of his own?

“I missed you kids,” said Tom, tossing Josh in the air. Now Amanda knew for certain he was feeling better, for he did it with ease.

“We missed you, too,” said Margaux.

Josh mumbled. “Mmm-hmm.”

Margaux cupped a hand over her spectacles to shield her eyes from the sun. “Want to come down to the river for a bit?”

“Sure,” he said, not stopping to ask for Amanda’s approval. Could she blame him for not looking in her direction? She’d only scowl and say no.

After they’d marched down to the Bow and settled themselves on the same rocks where he’d had the accident, the children began skimming stones off the river. Tom helped them collect the flat ones that were best for skimming, then eased back into the grass beside Amanda. She was sitting with her knees pulled up against her, and carefully made sure there was at least a foot between them.

Tom peered out at the horizon. “You know I’ll keep asking until you say yes, don’t you?”

And there it was, out in the open again. Her shyness crept up on her. “I know.”

“And will you?” He reached out and touched her calf, stroking the cloth of her skirt. Her breath caught at the
contact of his warm hand on her leg. At the impropriety of his touch. Tom Murdock never did anything the way other men did.

“You mustn’t do that…”

“I can’t stop myself.”

She couldn’t, either. It felt so good to be near him. It didn’t matter. She abruptly withdrew her leg.

He tugged her close again by the same leg.

A smile rose to her lips, and she pulled away again.

When he reached out the third time, she thought she’d outsmart him and dip her leg out of his grasp before he could reach it, but he surprised her and caught her by her arm instead.

“I win,” he said.

Laughter escaped her. “What do you win?”

“You. I win you.”

“Tom, how can we continue when you know—”

“All I know is how I feel. Can you deny you feel something for me?”

“I can deny it,” she said, pulling herself taller, looking straight ahead at the blue sky and ripples over the water.

“Look me in the eye and deny it.”

Cautiously, she swiveled her face toward his. His lips were partly open, his features riveted on hers. What she saw in his face was goodness. An aching. “I can…I can…”

“You can’t resist me.”

She laughed again. It might be true, but he didn’t need to know that. “You’ve got a big head.”