The Midwife's Secret (20 page)

“Three months…” Amanda’s shattered voice dwindled into silence.

Tom’s enthusiasm faded.

Amanda flopped onto the bench and rubbed her temples. “Maybe I should take your payment and leave Banff. I’ve got my grandmother to think about, and the children.”

“No.”
Tom ignored the startled looks of the others as he nearly shouted the word.

“Why not?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t want you to.” To hell with whatever anyone else thought, he was saying his piece. He didn’t want Amanda to leave, not when she’d just arrived into his life. And, blazes, he remembered again—he damn well couldn’t afford to pay her.

Her face stilled, and he could barely handle the despair he saw there. His muscles hardened with anger, thinking of what he’d like to do to Finnigan.

“Let’s go home, all of us.” Amanda rose, leading her grandmother toward the door. “Let us give you a lift this time, Grandma, you’re in no condition to pedal home. Tom can throw your bicycle into the back of the wagon, can’t you, Tom?”

“Sure,” he rumbled, pacing behind the others, making his way out into the sunshine. He marveled at Amanda’s ability to get back to the practicalities, when he felt like putting his fist through something. He and Pa shared a look of disgust at today’s ruling. “Where did you leave the bicycle?”

“Under that big fir.” Miss Clementine pointed across the road.

Tom ignored the curious glances of the scattered crowd
as they crossed the square. He wasn’t about to give up. Something. There had to be
something
they could do.

“It’s right over here.” Miss Clementine led them to the shade. She stopped in front of him and Tom nearly toppled over her smaller figure. Staring through the trees, she gave a startled cry of anguish.

Amanda peered in the same direction, then turned white. “Good heavens.”

“What’s wrong?” Tom pushed his way past the women, afraid of what he’d see.

Someone had destroyed the bicycle.

It was lying on its side, in the grass. The rims had been kicked in. The spokes were busted. The handle bars were twisted, and the seat had been yanked off, flung to the other side of the tree.

“Uh-hh,” Tom groaned, feeling as if someone had punched him.
“Who could do this?”
His voice was a low, dangerous whisper.

Miss Clementine wept. Amanda fell against the tree for support.

Pa knelt in the grass beside the bicycle, his old bones looking stooped and broken. “They took the bell.”

Tom’s frustrations rushed to the surface and he reacted without thinking. His arteries pounded with fury. Racing into the street, he shouted, “Who did this?”

His voice pierced the sunny morning, bouncing off the walls of buildings. Women turned and stared. Men raised protective arms around their wives.

Tom went wild, pummeling the air. “Who in bloody hell could do such a thing? You coward! Whoever you are! You bloody coward! Come out and face me!”

Her cherished bicycle, the one that harbored her freedom and independence, was smashed to smithereens.

A
terse silence enveloped Amanda and her Grandma as they watched the horrible scene unfold. People fled out of Tom’s path as he leaped down the street hollering at the top of his roaring voice, his pa behind him carrying the wounded bicycle for all to see.

Against a backdrop of white-capped mountains, dozens of folks disappeared into their wagons, hiked up to the boardwalk, or squeezed between the log buildings, all escaping the madman.

Hadn’t anyone seen anything? How could someone get away with smashing her bicycle without being seen?

Lacing her arm through Amanda’s, Grandma pulled out a hanky from beneath her long sleeve. “They don’t like us in this town, Amanda. Let’s go home to Calgary. I’m too old for this. I want to live out the rest of my days in peace, among neighbors I can call my friends.”

A storm of emotions battled in Amanda as she watched Tom stalk through the square, demanding answers on her behalf. Her mind swirled with disbelief that someone could do such a loathsome thing, at the same time watching her valiant Tom defend her. “
They’re
our friends, Grandma, those two warriors out in the street. Look at them.”

Grandma’s sobs quieted. Amanda rocked her gently, feeling such…
love for Tom,
she realized with a start, at his defense.

After fifteen prolonged minutes Tom’s demand for the perpetrator was futile. No one owned up to the dirty deed.

Who could have done it? Who, of the dozens of people who’d commented on her bicycle since she’d arrived in Banff, disliked her so much they’d destroy it? Names flew through her mind. James Jefferson. Mrs. Hawthorne. Lorne Wilson. Even perhaps Clarissa?

A woman wouldn’t do such a thing, would she? With a weary hand, Amanda comforted her grandmother.

Tom came back to rest the bicycle at Amanda’s feet. He straightened himself and gazed down at her, his swollen lips parted with heavy panting.

His shoulders blocked the sun, his dark eyes welled with sentiment, his powerful jaw trembled with sorrow, and she felt her own heart crack with the ache of his.

“Thank you,” she said. “To you, and to John, as well.”

Tom looked so very ashamed for what had happened, but she reached out and placed her firm palm over his, letting him know how much she appreciated what he’d tried to do. “Now, we’ve still got some supplies to buy. Perhaps your pa could take Grandma home in the wagon, then come back for us later in the day.”

Tom ran a hand along his shirt. “You still want to stay in town to run your errands? After what happened?”

Her voice deepened with resolve. “Whoever thought that this would send me running in the other direction was wrong. This isn’t going to beat me,” she continued. “Grandma and I aren’t going to cry defeat.”

With a hoot and a holler, John Murdock laughed beside them. He removed his dusty straw hat and slapped his thigh with it. “You two women are tougher than two mules.”

Grandma wiped her face with her hanky and managed a jittery smile. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“Sure it is,” said John, old eyes twinkling.

Tom’s eyes hadn’t left Amanda’s face, and she was well aware of it.

Love,
she thought again. Was she
in love
with him? The thought made her shaky. “I still need kerosene from the mercantile, and a new tin pail from Jefferson’s.”

His dark eyes focused deeper. “Jefferson’s?”

“That’s right,” said Amanda, acknowledging the question in his perceptive gaze. If James Jefferson was responsible for this, she intended to seek him out. “I believe I need to talk to him. Would you care to join me? We’ll need to bring the bicycle.”

“How can you be so calm?” Tom asked Amanda as they strolled down the boardwalk, she holding her head high as she carried the new jug of oil, he dragging the twisted bicycle. If they were getting strange looks from passersby, he no longer cared. His heart was pumping faster as they approached the tinsmith’s, ready for battle, but she looked as if she were just making another call.

“I’m not calm on the inside.”

“Well, you sure hold your temper well.”

They reached Jefferson’s, and Amanda stopped beneath the sign. “Promise me you won’t fight with anyone.”

He felt his muscles tighten. “I can’t promise that.”

She shook her head. “Then promise me you’ll try.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to appease her. He held open the door for her in a civilized manner, even though it took extraordinary effort to walk through it himself, restrained.

Inside the store, another couple was talking to Jefferson. The man’s back was to the door as he showed them a stack of nestled baking tins. It seemed Amanda and Tom would
have to wait if they wanted to avoid a scene in front of the others. Tom tried to remind himself that maybe Jefferson wasn’t responsible. Maybe someone else had done it, and Tom should give the man a chance to defend himself.

The store was cluttered with wares, and normally, Tom liked visiting the place. Hip washtubs were displayed in the glass windows, buckets and pails hung from pegs on one wall, while kitchen utensils lined another. A tall pine counter ran the length and width of the store, forming a large square in the middle, where Mr. Jefferson and his wife—not here at the moment—usually stood to serve their customers.

Tom slid the bicycle to the floor planks and glanced around, trying to control the nervous kicking in his gut. Amanda stood straight as a rod as she waited for the owner to turn. Unable to control himself in showing his sympathy, Tom reached out and put a limber arm around her, pulling her close for a gentle squeeze.

Her mouth lifted in a warm smile, and it gave him the strength he sought but didn’t even know he needed. The thought that someone could take one of her possessions and kick the tar out of it got his fists going again.
He’d
take care of the culprit.

“Fine,” Tom heard the woman say, “we’ll take these.”

Tom and Amanda straightened. All he wanted was a good look at Jefferson’s eyes when he caught sight of them. Eyes didn’t lie, and whatever Jefferson knew about this, Tom was certain he’d see it.

Jefferson turned around to his cash drawer to make the transaction, glanced up to see who’d entered his store, and his eyes fell on Amanda and Tom.

The old, brown eyes widened in shock and his whole body snapped back in alarm. The wrinkled lips dropped
open at the sight of the bicycle. His cheeks and forehead flamed with red. Dammit, the bastard knew something.

Tom leaped forward. Amanda grabbed him by the arm. “Wait till he’s through. Don’t frighten anyone, please.”

Jefferson continued with the sale, but his hands were shaking. When the other couple left the store, Jefferson began to inch away, toward the back door.

“Hold on a minute, Jefferson,” said Tom, lurching forward. “What the hell do you know about this?” He held up the bicycle.

“Nothing.”

“You know something. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jefferson gulped. “How did it happen?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell us.”

“How should I know?”

“Because I think you had something to do with it.”

“I did not!”

“Graham Robarts might discover otherwise.”

The threat made the man’s color deepen.

Amanda stepped forward and placed her hands on his counter. “What is it that you have against me, Mr. Jefferson? What have I ever done to you?”

Jefferson stopped shuffling away. He rose taller and crossed his arms, clenching his jaw as he looked from Amanda to Tom. Was it a glimmer of guilt Tom saw in his eyes?

“Didn’t I help your daughter in the early stages of her confinement?”

Jefferson refused to answer. He shook his head as if he didn’t want to hear more.

“It was Fannie’s choice to move along to Dr. Murdock, but isn’t he Tom’s brother, and don’t you care about that?”

Jefferson seemed to weaken at that statement. He was struggling with something.

“We didn’t come here for a fight, James,” said Tom. “We came here to get some answers. And I stupidly believed that I might show Amanda that some folks in this great town of ours do care about her. When I demanded answers earlier in the square, and not one person stepped forward to help us, that fact shamed me more than what this culprit has achieved.”

Jefferson said no more. Whatever it was that he knew or didn’t know, he wasn’t about to spill. Feeling defeated, Tom cupped Amanda’s arm, and they turned to leave.

“Wait,” Jefferson blurted. “It wasn’t me. I saw who did it.”

They searched the town. They notified Graham about the vandalism. They talked to anyone who might have been in contact with the man accused.

No one had seen Lorne Wilson since he’d stormed out of the courtroom earlier that morning.

“Where do you think he went?” Amanda asked, feeling that thread of anger wind its way through her chest again. She slipped another forkful of hot chicken pot pie into her mouth, seated in her favorite spot at Ruby’s—the window where she could watch people passing by. The taste was heavenly on Amanda’s tongue, especially since they’d forgotten to eat lunch in their haste to catch Lorne Wilson.

“I think he rode out of town on the same little pinto he rode in on, wrinkled pants and all.”

That image brought back her sense of humor, and she managed a laugh. What else could she do at this moment but laugh at the whole extreme situation? Wilson couldn’t have her property, so he’d smashed her bicycle.

Tom studied her. “You laugh too much.”

She crinkled her nose. “You frown too much.”

He grinned and took another sip of coffee. She realized
it was Tom who had that affect on her—to keep her going even when things looked hopeless.

Amanda watched him, the movement of his throat, down his neck to the matted hair that curled out from the top of his shirt. It was the first time in six hours that they’d had a moment to rest, and she was intrigued by him.

Was she in love with him?

How could she
not
be?

Her stomach tightened with an onslaught of butterflies.

He peered at her with an almost imperceptible grin tugging at his dimple. Lord, that look didn’t help her. Warm gooseflesh rose on her arms and she felt like cushioning herself in his embrace.

“I do believe you’re finally relaxed,” he said, his gaze working its way down her blouse and lingering to the tight buttons.

She blushed fiercely, remembering what his hands had done to her two nights ago. Was it only two nights ago that they’d made love? She felt as though she’d known him, been friends with him, forever. “There’s nothing more we can do about Lorne Wilson. We’ve looked everywhere.”

Tom’s profile stiffened. “Personally, I’d like to get my hands on him and even the score.”

It was an entirely new feeling, having someone fight on her behalf, and even though she would never admit it to anyone, she delighted in the security of having Tom defend her.

Amanda reached for her napkin to wipe her lips. “I think the score’s been evened by Mr. Jefferson coming forward.”

“That was something, wasn’t it?”

“You were right.” Pausing, she tried to keep herself from spilling what was in her heart. It was too soon to
speak of it. She wasn’t sure yet of what she felt for Tom, or what she planned on doing about it. “There
are
some people in this town who
do
care about me.” She was referring to more than Mr. Jefferson. She was referring to Tom.

He nodded slowly, his intense gaze causing her to look away.

Did she love him? Her heart beat rapidly beneath her corset. She drank from her water glass, hoping its coolness would also cool her heated palms. She wasn’t the young and foolish girl she’d been when she’d fallen for William. She wouldn’t make the same mistake of falling into the arms of the first man who’d said he cared for her.

“Too bad about your bicycle,” Tom said, cutting the slice of steak on his plate. “Your grandma will miss it, too.”

“Poor Grandma, she’s had a hard day.”

“She’s a strong woman. So are you.”

They continued eating.

“What are you going to do, Amanda?”

“I’m…not sure,” she answered truthfully.

“You know you can stay in the shack for as long as you need, and my offer to give you the proper deed still stands. You own that property, not me. I considered it a loss the day Finnigan stole it. And when they catch him,
he’ll
pay me back.”

“Money doesn’t mean a whole lot to you, does it?”

He shook his head and didn’t even need to stop to think about it. “Only as a means of support for the people I care about.”

He was so different than many of the men she’d encountered in her life. She nodded in agreement and sipped her water again.

“It’s a good thing your bicycle wasn’t worth a whole lot.”

The water pooled in her throat, and she nearly choked.

What would be the point of telling him how much the bicycle was really worth? It would only make him feel worse, and knowing Tom, he’d probably try to help pay for a replacement. He didn’t need another burden.

Recovering quickly, she played with the boiled carrots on her plate. Bicycles were rare, which kept the price high, and most were hand-built, one-of-a-kind contraptions made from special steel and solid rubber.

She could buy three excellent horses for the price of that bicycle. Luckily, her grandpa had left it to her so she hadn’t spent a penny. Once she’d received it, she realized how much cheaper it was to maintain than an animal, and in moving to Banff, how much money she’d be able to save by not having to build a barn, or buying feed or saddles.

Now that the contraption was gone, what would she do? Perhaps it
was
time to look for a horse, or a mule. She had a bigger brood to look after, with Josh and Margaux living with her. Should she take Tom up on his offer to let her stay on the property? Did she trust him at his word that he’d hand over the deed?

Looking into his honest face as he finished his supper, knowing how he’d fought for her today, she answered with a thundering, silent
yes.