The Midwife's Secret (6 page)

She swallowed and nodded gently. Donald disappeared down the path that led to his home. Tom walked in the opposite direction to his wagon.

While the horse pulled out and clomped down the path, something made Tom turn to stare at the cabin window. She was watching him. A lantern glowed behind her, playing softly against her cheeks. When she pulled the curtain closed, his body sank with an unexpected feeling of…what?

Disappointment. He turned around and settled into the stiff wooden seat. So what if he was a little lonesome.

He certainly knew the cause. It had nothing to do with Amanda. With a weary sigh, he thought about what he’d lost with Clarissa.

During breakfast, Amanda found herself peeking down the path for signs of Donald and Tom more frequently than necessary. Their fourth day together, and they’d gotten into a rhythm.

“Is
he
here yet?” her grandma asked over porridge, scrutinizing Amanda.

“No sign of
them.
” Amanda knew what her Grandma was up to. What she’d been up to for the past year, trying to attach Amanda to every available, half-decent man who came calling.

“I’m just eager for the company of friends, Grandma. Good hard work, clear mountain air and sunshine is what both of us need after the year we’ve been through.”

“Why don’t you tell people the truth—”

“I think I hear a horse.” Amanda bolted out the door, happy to escape the unwanted questions.

Donald hadn’t arrived yet on foot, but Tom and Wolf were rolling in.

Tom’s breath could be seen in the chill air as he leaped off the wagon. Looking up as she approached, he swung his lean body over the back boards and in one fluid motion, lifted the heavy axes. The warmth of his smile echoed in his husky voice. “How’s everyone this morning?”

She stooped to pet Wolf’s head. “Very well.”

With powerful arms, Tom unhitched his horse. His shoulders filled the corners of his suede coat. He glanced at the stack of wood by the shack door. “I see you got
someone to help you chop those branches we cut yesterday. That’s a neat little pile of firewood.”

When she didn’t meet his gaze, he glanced down at her, then at her fidgeting hands. Why hadn’t she put on gloves before she’d come outside? She hid her arms behind her back.

With a calculating eye, he took a long step forward and slid out her hands, holding them in his. His head dipped so close to hers, she could barely think of anything else. He stared at her blisters. “Don’t tell me you chopped the firewood on your own? By
yourself?
”

She gulped hard. “Who else is there?”

The question brought a twinge of compassion to his features.

After a moment of stumped silence, he nodded quietly, turned slowly, and began sorting through his tools. “We should be finished clearing the trees today. Tomorrow, I’ll bring the mules to dig the stumps.”

“When do you think your pa will be coming?”

“I asked him to come this morning. He lives just up the road and around the corner.”

Amanda glanced through the trees. A red wool coat and a white horse flashed through the leaves. “Is that him now?”

Tom swung around. “Pa?”

Wearing an old straw hat, a lumbering old man slid off his horse onto the road, but didn’t head down her path.

She could see the resemblance. But where Tom was a thick, solid oak tree, his father was a fragile bending willow. Still, the handsome resemblance of dark features, square chin, and sauntering gait was striking.

“Pa!” Tom shouted. His voice grew edgy and she wondered why. “Over here!”

Old Mr. Murdock petted the husky dog circling around his work boots. “Wolf? Is that you?”

Tom smiled in relief and with Amanda a few steps behind, bounded to his father. “Mornin’, Pa. Did you bring your divining rods?”

Mr. Murdock gazed at him with a blank expression.

Tom’s tender smile faded. A rush of color infused his neck. He lowered his voice, but the wind had stilled and Amanda could hear. Tom’s normally confident voice quivered as he bent to his father’s level. “It’s me. It’s Tom.”

“Tom who?”

Tom swallowed. “Your son. Remember? The oldest one. You’ve got Gabe and Quaid, too.”

Amanda’s heart spiraled. Father didn’t recognize son? He recognized the dog but not Tom? Oh…she slumped against the wagon boards and closed her eyes for a moment. She could barely watch the heartache in Tom’s face as he tried to explain his existence to his father.

Tom’s voice fell to a whisper. “
Tom
… I own the sawmill,” he explained, raw with emotion. “Remember? You taught me how to chop my first tree. We built this shack together three years ago, remember?”

Dazed, Mr. Murdock glanced to the shack and back, then to Amanda. Donald was strolling down the trail with Ellie and four children in tow, Willy with his scabbed-over blackfly bites, all approaching closer. Tom glanced frantically to them then back to his father, then back to them. He froze as Amanda watched.

Trying to spare Tom the anguish of Donald and Ellie’s witnessing the situation, Amanda sprang forward. “Mr. Murdock, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She shook Mr. Murdock’s hand, clasping her warmth over the wrinkles, desperately searching for words to help orient the man. “Tom told me you live up the road. That
makes us neighbors. He said you’re good at finding water, and that’s great because I need a well dug, you see.”

Mr. Murdock gazed to the partially cleared area and something twinkled in his eyes. “Digging a well, that’s what I’ve come for. Tom,” he said with recognition, “come help me get the stuff off my horse. Sorry, I, uh, the dog…the dog caught me off guard.”

While the old man straightened, Tom’s watery eyes turned to Amanda. She pretended she hadn’t seen what had happened, but by the grateful look in Tom’s eyes, he knew the truth.

“Ellie, Donald, howdy,” Amanda said, giving Tom time to recover. She crouched to the children’s eye level. “Willy, how are those blackfly bites? Is the calamine helping? I’ve got some of my own to show you.”

As they exchanged pleasantries, Donald hollered to Mr. Murdock, “Mornin’, John!”

John Murdock waved back.

What must it be like to have a father who didn’t recognize you? Poor Tom. A parent’s decline was a big heartache to endure alone. Did he have any other family members who could help him through it?

Was his father suffering from early dementia? Tom’s brother Quaid was a doctor, and surely John Murdock was getting the best care possible.

While the others went to work, Amanda made the gentleman sit with her and have coffee. When he got up to do his work, he held his wooden sticks parallel to the ground and slowly walked the site, waiting for them to twitch when they passed over underground water. Amanda wasn’t sure how the set-up worked, but folks swore by it.

Grandma looked up from hauling branches, eyeing John Murdock with something on her mind. “You don’t happen
to need a rag rug, do you? A pretty one for your cabin floor?”

Mr. Murdock put down his sticks. “I might. The floor’s awfully cold this time of year.”

“Well, I’ve got one for sale. Real cushiony. I made it myself from some of my prettiest scraps.”

The elderly man laughed, rich and warm, endearing him to Amanda. “Bring it out. Let’s see it.” He removed his straw hat, revealing a receding hairline, and squinted in the sunshine. “Just don’t make me lose my shirt on the price.”

Grandma chuckled. “Ten cents is what it costs.”

Amanda watched Tom noticing the exchange. Although he’d avoided glancing Amanda’s way while they worked, his rigid shoulders relaxed and the tenseness to his jaw dissolved. She wasn’t sure why he wasn’t looking her way, but it was just as well. She didn’t need any more complication in her life than she had already.

When the day was over, Ellie dropped by with the children to retrieve her husband. They offered to walk Mr. Murdock and his horse home. Grandma wanted to join them, eager to see how Mr. Murdock’s new rag rug would look in his house, so they all set out together.

Amanda gave Tom a curt nod. “Thank you for your hard work. Your father found two well locations for me to choose from, and I think we’re making good time.” She gazed up at the cloudy sky. “Hopefully, we won’t get any rain to slow us down.”

The red setting sun grazed the snowy mountain peaks, casting shadows on the rocky cliffs, and deepening the green timberline of pine trees.

The rays also shimmered off Tom’s dark hair. She thought he’d be quick to leave. But instead of harnessing his draft horse, he adjusted his leather gloves and picked up the ax.

“What are you doing?”

“You need someone to chop this wood.”

Stepping closer, she removed her apron. “Please don’t do that. You’ve worked hard all day.”

“So have you.”

“Please don’t make me say it.” Her voice lowered to a breeze. “I can’t
afford
to have you chop my wood.”

“There’s no charge.”

He was already chopping. With quiet dignity, she accepted his kind offer. She admired the gesture. Not many men had offered to do something like this for her. None at all, in the past eighteen months.

They worked side by side for an hour in the setting sun, she stacking wood, he pounding away. She grew warmer, feeling his proximity, every muscle that moved with every strike.

The air seemed hot and heavy. What was this thing between them? This ripe awareness that swelled and rolled, seeming as though it would burst?

When they finished, he turned to look at her. Drops of moisture clung to his temples. His eyes glowed with life. She found herself extremely conscious of his sensuality. Nervous under his gaze, she went to take the ax, but she shouldn’t have stepped so close. Beneath their work gloves, their fingers pressed together. She heard his sharp intake of breath. He slid out of his gloves.

She set the ax along the shack wall, but he bent closer and grasped her hand. With one erotically smooth motion, he peeled off her one glove, then the other. Standing alone with this potent man, surrounded by the scent of damp ferns and his clean sweat, she felt as if with this one intimate gesture he was peeling off her clothing. She could barely breathe. At his feathery touch, she trembled right down to her toes.

“You’ve got such beautiful hands,” he murmured. “Yet they work too hard.”

Stroking his way over the tiny little calluses, he rubbed and kneaded and massaged. Everything about him felt hot. His hands, his breath, his touch. Long, loose strokes as if he were stroking her entire body. No man had caressed her like this. Never. Not her hand, nowhere on her body.

It made a woman yearn for his exploration. Imagining him dipping down her bare shoulders, over her languid arms, gently exploring her soft breasts and down her belly. And lower….

She closed her eyes and gasped when she felt his kiss along the back of her palm. Sweet, tender lips grazing her flesh, the heat of his mouth kissing along the openings. Her nipples went hard. If she let him go any further, she’d be sorry….

This was mad.

She knew what it was. It was a thank-you for today, for coming to his father’s aid. She could never let it be more. She’d given everything she had to William, her heart, her body, her beloved baby, and she had nothing left to offer. Not to a potent man like Tom Murdock.

And what about his other woman?

As silently as it started, it ended. Without looking at him, she withdrew her hand. “You’ve got Clarissa to think about.” Escaping into the dark shack, Amanda pressed the door closed behind her. Getting caught up with a man was just too wretchedly painful.

She was right, he had Clarissa to think about.

Tom swore softly under his breath as he found his way from his cabin door to the sawmill. The full moon glinted over his shoulder. With a jangle of keys, he unlocked the
side door and entered. He struck a match and lit the largest lantern.

What in heaven’s name had happened back there at the shack? Why had he completely lost himself in Amanda? Every time he looked into her heavy, blue eyes, he had to stifle his urge to touch her.

She didn’t have a father to watch out for her, no brother to ward off Tom’s advances. She had only herself to protect, and it wasn’t fair to take advantage of a lone woman if he wasn’t free to take it further. Was he free? Where did he stand with Clarissa? Where did he
want
to stand with Clarissa?

He dipped his brush in a pail of white paint, then swept it over a three-legged stool, more furniture designated for the big hotel.

“You in here, Tom?” Graham’s voice shattered the silence. “I’ve got some news for you.”

Tom rose. “What is it?”

Boots thudded across the floor. The fringes dangling from Graham’s coat swayed as he walked. “A warrant’s been put out for Finnigan’s arrest. Robbery, fraud and larceny. I’ve wired the information across the country. The last sighting of him was in the coal mines just east of here. He’s disappeared, but we’ll flush him out.”

Tom pulled in a long breath.

“I’ve had to ask some questions around town for Finnigan’s last whereabouts, but I don’t think anyone’s suspicious.”

“Good.”

“About Clarissa…”

“She’s not in Calgary, is she?”

Graham shook his head. “Can’t seem to locate her. She never showed up there. Bought a train ticket but never used it.”

Tom snorted in disgust. He started painting again, coating the stool’s legs.

Graham pulled out a chair, sat and scratched his curly blond sideburn. “Why aren’t you surprised?”

Tom’s spirits sank. “What would you say if I told you I think they disappeared together?”

“Aw, hell.”

Betrayed.
Tom swallowed past the hard lump in his throat. What was worse? Losing his business to Finnigan? Or losing his woman to the man? Tom had been betrayed by two of the people he trusted most.

Clarissa wasn’t the dignified woman he thought she was. How could he have been involved with a woman who tore off with his partner?

Amanda wasn’t like her. She was as far removed from the word conniving as one could get. Amanda didn’t have the easy life that Clarissa had. Amanda was a tender, widowed woman trying to survive on her own. She didn’t have anything to do with Finnigan’s scam, either, because he’d overcharged her.