The Midwife's Secret (23 page)

“I know. You have to go. People depend on you.”

With a grumbling look of determination, she wove her
slender hips past his side, then out the door to the black, crisp night. He watched her mount the mare, lifting her leg high over the saddle with ease.

With a murmured goodbye, she disappeared into the night.

It still bothered him that she was riding home alone, and his horse was still saddled, so he took the opportunity to follow behind her at a distance, making sure she made it home safely. When she reined her horse onto her dirt path, he pulled around and galloped back. She was one stubborn woman. There had to be a way for her to protect herself. If she were
his
wife, he’d make sure someone accompanied her on all her night calls.

“Wolf, come back inside,” he said, after he’d slipped his horse back into the barn.

The dog obeyed. Tom closed the door, but Wolf began to bark.

“Shh,” said Tom. “You’ll wake the neighbors. I miss her, too. She’ll be back.”

Wolf pranced to the office, barking louder at the interior door this time.

“You better stop that,” Tom reprimanded. Lifting his arm, he turned and leaned over to blow out the lantern.

“Hello, Tom,” called a familiar voice from behind him.

Blazes, his heart jumped! Spinning around, instinctively ducking in self-defense, he recoiled at the sight of Zeb Finnigan, slowly stepping out of the office doorway.

A
manda was three minutes at her shack when she realized she’d forgotten the kerosene. Standing beside the horse, she stopped unbuckling the saddle, then remounted. The horse snorted in the stillness, its massive muscles flexing beneath her legs.

“We forgot something,” she said, patting the sleek brown neck. “I got distracted by the bicycle.”

Peering down the forested road, she gave the mare a nudge and headed back toward the sawmill. There’d been less than half a candle left last night when Amanda had gone to town. This morning when they arose, they wouldn’t be able to see in the dark. They had chores to do inside, and people might drop by with unexpected medical calls. She had to be able to see!

It wasn’t likely Tom was asleep already. Although she might catch him in bed…. The vision of Tom in bed held her captivated. She’d never tire of thinking about him. Never.

If he’d made one move toward her tonight, she might never have left. It was a good thing
he
had so much will-power, for it was almost impossible to keep her fingers from trailing his forehead, and lower down his body….

She approached the sawmill. It was nestled against the looming black wall that would turn into a mountain in the morning. The drone of the rushing water dam filled her ears. When she turned into the yard, she saw a horse she didn’t recognize tied to a tree almost hidden in the corner. Was that horse there when she’d been here earlier? Did it belong to the tourists in Tom’s cabin, or someone else? Why wasn’t it unsaddled and resting in the barn? Sometimes city folks didn’t know how to handle their animals, needing more than a bit of instruction.

A lantern glowed in the sawmill’s back room. Wolf was barking. Why? A nervous flutter rose in her stomach. Sliding off her mount, she glanced into the darkened window and noticed the shadows of two men, facing each other in a threatening stance.

The hairs at the back of her neck bristled.

Who was that?

Her heart began to pump. With a mad whirl, she hit the dirt and ran. Dashing through the tall reeds to Tom’s cabin, tripping over her skirts and legs, she banged on the neighbor’s door as hard and loud as she could. “Help…! Please help, we need the Mounties!”

Zeb Finnigan didn’t have a gun visible, but Tom knew he usually carried his favorite derringer, an ivory-and-silver one-of-a-kind inside his wool jacket, on the left side where Finnigan’s hairy hand was trailing. In his other hand, the bastard was holding something much more threatening than a gun.

A burning cigar.

The threat of fire had Tom’s stomach churning. If he lost this place, dammit, he’d bloody well lose it all. He cursed the fact that his guns were in the back room, hanging above his dresser. He’d never used a gun on anyone
before, but as did most men in town, he kept them handy in case he needed them. Who would have thought he’d need one against his own business partner?

Finnigan used to be well-dressed and groomed. What had happened to him? Scruffy dark hair dangled in his eyes. He brushed it back with a sweep of pudgy fingers. His gray wool suit, well-worn in the shoulders and elbows, looked as if he’d been wearing it for days. Standing at the office door, stocky and pompous, he took a drag of his cigar and blew the smoke at Wolf’s face. “Hi, boy. Remember me?”

Wolf barked in delight, and before Tom could stop him, Finnigan spun around and trapped Wolf inside the office, closing the solid wood door with a loud thump.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tom lunged forward, but Zeb motioned him to stop. If Tom could get close enough, he’d aim for the man’s neck.

“Your dumb dog will be fine in there.”

Jumping up on his hind legs, Wolf barked happily through the square panes of glass, in recognition of his supposed friend, Finnigan.

Tom remembered it was payday tomorrow, and the wad of cash he picked up from the bank was normally kept in the vault. Was that why Finnigan was here?

Well, wouldn’t he be surprised? Tom had paid his men earlier today. With all the troubles he’d had lately, he didn’t like leaving the money in his vault overnight.

Tom dropped his hands, trying not to threaten Finnigan. There was no telling how desperate he was. “Did you come for my last dollar?”

Finnigan sneered. “I don’t need your lousy dollar.”

Judging by his dirty appearance, he did. A man on the run with nowhere left to hide, he was like a cornered animal.

“I want you to clear my name.”

“Huh!” Tom stumbled back and leaned against the counter. “You’re worried about your reputation? That’s laughable.”

Finnigan took another drag and deliberately tapped the ashes over a stack of lumber, watching Tom’s reaction.

Tom clenched his fingers into the counter behind him, holding back his desire to pummel the son of a bitch.

“If you burn down this place, I
will
kill you.”

Finnigan chortled, then spotted the bicycle. He took a deliberate, slow stride toward it. “The crazy madman ranting again. First about his broken bicycle, now about his sawmill.”

“How did you know that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

To Tom, it meant Finnigan had been in town at least long enough to talk to someone. Who would he have talked to that wouldn’t have turned him in? Tom couldn’t think of a single name. Maybe Finnigan had witnessed the courthouse scene himself. “Were you there?”

“At the courthouse?”

Tom nodded.

“Hell, no! But I’ve still got friends in this town. One of the Coover brothers—Dean, the fur trader—we used to play a lot of cards together, and he knows I don’t renege on my bets. He knows I’m going to replace your money.”

Tom shook his head in disbelief.

The lantern flickered over Finnigan’s brow as he patted the bicycle seat. Something felt different in the room. Tom looked around. Wolf had stopped barking. That was it. The dog was looking in another direction, toward Tom’s bedroom. In a flash, Tom caught the edge of a green skirt moving behind his door.

Amanda! No!

Every fiber in Tom’s body tightened in response. His pulse shot forward. What was she doing here? She was going to get hurt!

Tom’s gaze whirled back to Finnigan, who didn’t appear to noticed Amanda’s presence.

The freckles deepened across Finnigan’s wide brow. He scowled. “Why did you have to go to the Mounties? You should have known I’d be back to return that money. With twice as much.”

“Why did you steal it?” Tom kept his face a mask of indifference, but he was bracing himself against the counter to keep from looking in Amanda’s direction.

Hell.
Had she seen the guns hanging over the dresser? Would she take them?

No, he commanded. She might get hurt.

“The money was half mine,” Finnigan responded.

“Then where’s the other half?”

Finnigan laughed, but the hollow ring contained no humor.

“Who are you? I thought I knew Zeb Finnigan. I thought he was a man of his word.”

“I’m still a man of my word! And that’s what I’m here for. You’re going help me get my reputation back.”

“Is that right? How am I supposed to do that?” Dammit, Tom had to make a move before Amanda did. He was willing to risk himself, but never her.

Finnigan’s eyes narrowed. “If I give you back seven thousand, would you drop the charges?”

“What about all the other people you stole from?”

“Those are fabrications.”

“How about the property you sold twice over? Amanda Ryan’s?”

“I can’t help it if people are stupid.”

“What about your brother?”

Finnigan’s jaw contorted.

“Do you consider your brother stupid for helping you out?”

“Shut up.”

“How could you do that to Frank? He’s got a wife and five kids, for cripe’s sake.”

“I’m not here to talk about that!”

“All right. Then tell me…why the hell did you get involved with Clarissa?”

The man circled the bicycle and took a puff on his cigar. “She wanted me to.”

It wasn’t what Tom wanted to hear. He could feel the blood rushing to his limbs, ready to punch anything within punching distance.

“She wanted me to kiss her. She wanted me to carry her off to a fancy place more exciting than this.”

Tom’s voice dropped to a threatening hush. “How could you hit a woman?”

“Last week, her complaints about the lack of fancy hotels we were staying at started getting on my nerves.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

“I’m here to persuade you to clear my name.”

“You ruined it, you clear it.”

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw Amanda inching toward the office. What was she doing?

Finnigan’s nostrils flared at Tom’s comment. With a simmering rage, he slid the derringer from his jacket and lifted it to Wolf’s direction. “It’d be a shame if something happened to your dog.”

“Don’t!”

In one swift move Amanda pulled the door handle and Wolf came running out. He leaped at Finnigan, wagging his tail and jumping up on Finnigan’s legs.

“Get the hell off me!” Finnigan shouted, spotting
Amanda at the same time. He bellowed a curse, swung the gun toward her and hurled the red-hot cigar into the air.

Tom jumped on the man, knocking them both to the floor. “This,” he said, driving his fist into Finnigan’s gut, “is for beating up on a woman.”

Finnigan ground his fingernails into Tom’s face. Tom felt his skin peel and shouted in agony. Finnigan slammed his knee into Tom’s thigh.

Tom, unwilling to let go, punched again in Finnigan’s chest. “And this is for everything else.”

The cigar fell into a pile of splintered, dry pine. It ignited. Amanda yelled. Tom tried to punch him again, but didn’t dislodge the gun.

It was pointed in Wolf’s direction, and Finnigan pulled the trigger.

It missed and zinged by Wolf’s ear.

Tom swore.

Amanda raced to Finnigan and banged him hard over the head with Tom’s gun, which she’d obviously found.

“Get the hell away from me!” Finnigan yelled.

She banged again, with not quite so much strength, but it missed and hit his shoulder. With a mighty heave, Tom lifted the man by his collar, and drove his fist hard into the stubbly jaw. That knocked him out.

Drenched in sweat, Tom yanked himself off Finnigan’s body. Catching his breath, he pulled Amanda toward him for a brief moment before they both looked to the burning pine. Two Mounties crashed through the door, but one stack of lumber was already shooting flames.

The policemen lifted Finnigan outside. Through a window, Tom saw them drag him to a spot two hundred feet away. They handcuffed him to a tree then raced back to help with the fire. The Scottish neighbors guarded Finnigan.

“Get out of here!” Tom yelled to Amanda.

“I can’t find Wolf!”

“Leave! I’ll find him!”

From across the room, Tom nearly cried out with relief to see the police beside her, coaxing her out the door. Dammit, he’d find Wolf, as long as he knew Amanda was safe.

Tom leaped to the tabletops, jumping across the aisles from one to the other to systematically turn over the water pails that hung below the rafters. He raced to catch up with the fire, but it was too fast. He held his sleeve to his nose to mask the smoke. Where was Wolf?

In roughly two minutes, with the room engulfed with soot and flame, Tom heard the blessed church bells clanging, calling the volunteer fire brigade.

Sirens screeched down the middle of town, two red fire carts pulled by six men.

One hour later, with half the town watching from outside, the last of the firemen pulled out the hose from the pond and coiled it back onto the fire cart. “If it weren’t for those water pails you had hangin’ on the ceilin’, Tom, it would have spread a lot faster and I don’t think we could’a stopped it.”

Tom had lost one-quarter of his lumber, but it was hardly a loss considering the building was still intact.

Tom shook the man’s hand, as well as those of the six other volunteers. He wished he could shake everyone’s hand who’d helped tonight, but there were dozens of men who’d lined the pond to pass buckets and buckets of water. Exhausted from the ordeal, he turned to find Amanda.

Coming toward him in the crowd, her nose and face smudged with black soot, Amanda found his gaze.

Emerging from the fog, Wolf limped beside Amanda, his fur matted with dirt, and panting so hard his tongue hit the ground.

Sickened at the sight of a bloody paw, Tom dropped to his knees. “What is it, boy?”

Amanda crouched beside Tom and she began to sob, the first time he’d ever seen her cry. “I think he broke his foot. He must have tripped over something.”

“How’s Wolf doin’?” Margaux asked, peering over the breakfast table at Amanda, then Grandma. The kitten me-owed behind Margaux’s stool.

“He still has the splint on his paw, but he’s fine,” said Amanda. “It’s only been three days, Margaux, and you already know it has to stay on for at least four weeks.”

“I know, but I like hearing about it. Don’t you, Josh?”

Josh nodded and Amanda smiled at her grandmother while the older woman scraped the last remnants of egg off her plate.

“Who put the splint on?”

“You already know that, too. Dr. Quaid did.”

“Woof cwy?” asked Josh, struggling with the words, but already making noticeable strides in his speech.

“Dogs don’t cry,” his sister told him. “They bark, or they whimper. And Amanda already told us Dr. Quaid gave him medicine before he stitched up his paw, so he couldn’t have cried. Medicine like you got for your stitches.”

Josh kicked his feet beneath the table, apparently happy to be compared to the husky.

The ordeal was over, thought Amanda, clearing the table. Finnigan was behind bars and would remain so for five years. He was as broke as broke could be, and no one was getting back any of the money he’d taken from them.

At least Tom hadn’t lost his mill. His men had already cleared out the burned lumber and were fast on track cutting more. Everything was working out.

Wasn’t it?

She tried to rationalize the emptiness she felt. The only reason Tom hadn’t been able to drop by to speak to her was that he was cleaning up the mess Finnigan had made. And the only reason she hadn’t gone to him was that she was spending time with a new patient in town—Mr. and Mrs. Langston’s married daughter, three months along—as well as visiting with Beth. Why, Amanda had spent twenty minutes with her yesterday as Quaid tended to the baby, listening to her lovely descriptions of Winnipeg and funny observations of Quaid and Tom.