The Midwife's Secret (9 page)

“The kitten’s name is Awggie?” asked Tom.

“No, it’s Sunset,” said Margaux. “Because she’s orange and red like the sunset.”

“Awggie,” the boy repeated, staring at the mercantile across the darkened street.

Amanda turned her head, her wavy black hair cascading like a waterfall down her back, and looked to where he was pointing. Tom followed her gaze. They stared at the laundry, then the bank, and then the log saloon.

Margaux squinted past the luggage that the stage driver began tossing down to Tom. “Usually, I can understand most of what Josh’s tryin’ to say, but…”

“I told you,” whispered Mrs. Hawthorne, loud enough for everyone to know she had a condescending secret. “I told you what they said about him.”

Mrs. Hawthorne was pressing her luck. Amanda might seem like a woman who’d back down, but from what he knew of her, she’d only take so much. She ignored the old woman’s comment and kept searching. When she spotted Tom’s wagon, she smiled.

“Why, you’re saying ‘doggie,’ aren’t you?” Amanda said. “Across the road, tied to the tree, he’s wagging his tail at us. The big white husky.
Doggie.
”

The boy’s face brightened. He dove behind his sister’s dress, then slowly peered at Amanda with one chocolate-brown eye. Amanda beamed with pleasure.

Tom bent and yanked playfully on Josh’s wool cap. The boy let him, without pulling away. “Do you know whose doggie that is? That’s my dog. His name is Wolf. He’s not a real wolf, I just liked that name. Would you like to meet him?”

The boy looked up in awe. He gave a whisper of a smile, but no verbal response. Tom could see the comprehension in the boy’s eyes. Was he slow, as some had labeled him? If he wasn’t, why did he talk the way he did? “Wolf’s pretty friendly, but you have to watch out because he might try to lick your face.”

This sent Margaux into a fit of giggles.

With a serious glance at Mrs. Hawthorne, Amanda placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders and trailed her fingers along a braid. “Before we meet Wolf, can we talk for a spell? Did I tell you children that I’m a midwife?”

They shook their heads.

“That means I help deliver babies when they come into the world. And I also tend to sick children. I help them get better when they don’t feel well.”

“We’re not sick,” Margaux was quick to point out.

“I know. You look very healthy. I didn’t realize you children would be so lovely. You’re a very pretty girl, Margaux. I especially like your spectacles. They make you look all grown up, like a young woman.”

Mrs. Hawthorne clamped her lips together. But with a squirm of delight and a blushing smile, the girl inched a little taller. And Tom silently commended Amanda.

“I live alone with my grandma, up over that hill. Right now we live in a small shack, but we’re building a brand-new cabin. Mr. Murdock here is the builder. When it’s all done, I’m opening a small orphanage. I’m wondering if you’d like to stay with me. Instead of going to Calgary, I mean. You could stay with me in this town, until we find someone to…”

Tom watched her struggle with the word adopt, and his admiration for her grew. As a single woman supporting herself, living in a leaky shack, she was offering what no one else in this town—single or married—would. What he himself didn’t have the courage to. What she was offering was priceless.

“For how long?” Margaux asked.

“Until someone adopts you.”

“Or you could come with me, as planned,” interrupted Mrs. Hawthorne. “Sometimes it’s better not to upset the
plans that others have carefully laid out,” she said pointedly to Amanda.

The children peered from Mrs. Hawthorne to Amanda. How were they supposed to choose between strangers? thought Tom.

Unfazed, Amanda brushed a hand along her skirt. “Margaux, I’ve got a bicycle and if you like I can teach you how to ride. Why, every girl’s got to teach herself how to be independent,” she said in Mrs. Hawthorne’s direction.

“You’ve got a dog,” the young girl said to Tom, then turned to Amanda, “and you’ve got a bicycle?” Her eyes widened momentarily, then a frown furrowed her brow. “Do you think, ma’am, we c-could try it out at your place, but if we don’t like—” She halted, as if weighing her words, trying not to insult anyone. “C-can we give it a try for a week and see?”

“I think that’s a very sensible solution. I’m glad you thought of it. I’ll send a letter on the train tomorrow for the orphanage, explaining that you’re visiting with me for a week. If you decide to make it permanent, we’ll let them know then.” Amanda angled her shoulders and spun toward Mrs. Hawthorne. “Would that be all right with you, ma’am?”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips thinned. “Fine. But when I get home and tell my husband, if he disagrees with this, we’ll come bangin’ on your door. At least for now, I won’t have to contend with a cat.” She nodded goodbye, then slipped into the crowd.

Margaux gave a huge sigh of satisfaction. She squeezed her brother’s shoulders again. This time, Tom noted, the girl’s fragile hand didn’t tremble.

Josh clung to his crate. “Sah…se,” he struggled to say.

Margaux looked up at Amanda. “Josh wants to know if Sunset can stay with us.”

“Of course she can,” Amanda replied. Tom noticed that even though Margaux spoke for Josh, Amanda was very deliberate in responding directly to the boy. “We need a little kitten. We’ve got a few pesky mice around, now that the snow has melted, and I have to keep all my food and supplies in tins.”

Tom lifted their two suitcases. “Come and meet my dog. I’ll put your bags in the wagon, then we’ll get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I know the owner of this dining house,” he said, motioning to the glass windows behind him. “Her name’s Ruby. She’ll let us keep the kitten under our table, as long as you keep her in her crate.”

“Sure sounds nice,” said Margaux. She licked her palm then patted the hairs over her brother’s ears, causing Tom to like her even more, as her brother’s tender keeper. “Josh, mind your manners.” She stooped down to her brother’s ear and Tom heard her whisper, “I’m feelin’ a bit hungry now, are you?”

Amanda must have heard, for she looked at Tom with open pleasure. His pulse quickened at the speculative glimmer in her blue eyes. Trying to ignore the strange aching in his limbs, he cleared his throat, glanced down at his own rough clothing—big mud boots and baggy work shirt—and wondered if he looked too sloppy for dining.

“You’re fine,” said Amanda with that shy, enticing smile, sailing by him in a wave of wonderful, feminine curves.

“W
here’s Clarissa this evening?”

It was one of the first things Ruby Gilbert said to Tom after the stout blond-haired woman had set them up at the corner window table, said her hellos, and distributed the menus. She had preferred to take the kitten to a spare back room to let her roam, and the children had agreed.

Tom almost groaned out loud at Ruby’s question, but stopped himself when he noticed Amanda watching him. A heat flared between them. Did she feel the tug, too? Did she know what it was? A passing interest? A mutual attraction?
Where could it lead them?

“Clarissa’s gone back to her family in Calgary.” He unfolded his cardboard menu and read the entrées, knowing them well by heart, considering how many times he’d eaten here with his former… What exactly had Clarissa been to him? His former fiancée who hadn’t known it? A familiar twinge of failure twisted in his gut.

Ruby leaned first on one foot, then the other, a habit she had, likely because her feet were sore from standing most of the day. “She’ll be back for the ball, won’t she?”

“Nope,” said Tom, not glancing up. “What’s your soup today?”

“Potato and barley. Oh, sure she will. She told me she wouldn’t miss it for the world. She was so excited about that fancy dress she had made—”

“Nope,” said Tom, more forcefully. “Would you children like to have a sarsaparilla?”

The distraction worked. The children glanced up from the red tablecloth, where they sat on either side of him, Amanda across the table. “What’s a sarsaparilla?” Margaux asked.

“It’s a special drink with soda bubbles.”

Amanda requested one, too, while he asked for an ale. After they’d placed their food orders, Ruby waltzed away. “Clarissa will be back,” she cooed good-naturedly, irking Tom again.

“Will she?” Amanda asked across the table. Her dark hair swung over proud shoulders, framing her oval face, trailing softly at her satiny throat, and lower still to the creamy sliver of skin above her cleavage.

His gaze was bold and honest. “If she comes back, it won’t be for me.”

Amanda’s color heightened. She faltered in the silence, or perhaps the directness of his reply. Then the intimate moment was lost as she attended to the children’s needs.

While they ate, Tom watched Amanda help the children first with their plate of potato salad and roast chicken, then her own. She patiently answered Margaux’s questions about the town, about herself, about the shack, and seemed to take great pleasure in their company. She’d make a good mother herself one day, Tom thought.

Did she often think of it herself? Gazing at her tender face, listening to her soft laughter, he had no doubt that one day she’d be asked again for her hand in marriage. And judging from how many men had looked in her di
rection tonight, she’d have plenty of choice. Why did that make his stomach churn—

“Tom!” hollered a man at the door.

Tom looked up to see the blacksmith, Bill Seger, approaching. The hefty man nodded hello to the group, then lowered his booming voice. “I gotta ask you somethin’ about the last bill you sent.”

Tom preferred to discuss business during business hours. Besides, he was with company and the interruption felt rude. “Could it wait till the morning?”

Bill shoved his rectangular hands into his pockets. “All right. I’ll be by around seven. I’d like to know why you and Finnigan are chargin’ me more for my lumber than my neighbor.”

Tom knew there was always an explanation about this sort of thing. “Sure,” he said with a friendly nod. “I’ll pull my receipts in the morning. Must be a different cut of lumber.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Did he buy a larger quantity maybe, so he got a lower price?”

“It’s just about dead even.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll have a careful look at it in the morning. Don’t worry. If a mistake’s been made, I’ll rectify it.”

With relief, Bill clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand. “Good man,” he said, walking away.

Someone tapped Tom on his other shoulder. When Tom whirled around, Sully Campbell, seated at the table next to theirs, was staring at him from across the bridge of his windburned nose.

“I heard that, Tom, and I’m glad Bill brought it up. Remember when my brother Slick and I came to you about buildin’ the hardware store? Well, I’ve been scratchin’ my
head for a month now over all the extras you charged me. Mind if I drop by in the mornin’, too?”

A month ago? Tom nodded with outward confidence, but was beginning to feel cornered. What was going on? He himself didn’t keep track of the receipts, one of his men did—and occasionally, Finnigan. Mistakes were sometimes made on both sides of the journal, but never anything major. But…hell, what if…what if Finnigan…?

Across the room, elderly Mr. Thimbleton, the banker, looked up from his roast beef and gravy pie, scrutinized Tom, then slowly nodded hello.

“Is everything all right, Tom?” Amanda asked from raised lashes. Concern radiated from her face.

“Sure,” he said, “everything’s fine.” He’d been in business for three years with never a complaint. Why should he worry now? Two people were coming by in the morning with simple questions, that’s all. Two honest, hardworking people Tom knew and trusted. No problem.

But dang it, he had no money in his account for any more problems. Payroll had to be met again tomorrow.

He was glad when they’d left the dining room and were settled back into the wagon. The children slipped to the back, lying on top of their suitcases with a blanket they’d pulled out of one, Wolf nuzzled down beside them and Amanda sunk comfortably in the front beside him, her long legs a foot away from his thigh.

Gazing up at the twinkling stars, he took a deep breath of chilly night air and decided not to concern himself with business tonight.
Don’t borrow worry,
his pa would always say,
it’ll find you when it needs to.
Pa’s gentle way was one of the many calming things Tom liked about his father.

Tom turned his ear toward Amanda, comforted by her easy, melodic tone as she explained the landmarks to the children. “And here’s the turn in the road where you head
for school. I’ll show you tomorrow, Margaux. But we’ll take it slow, and until you’ve made your decision about staying or going, we’ll hold off on school. And that cabin there is where the O’Haras live….”

When they reached her shack, a light flickered in the window, the curtain fell closed, then Grandma stepped through the door. “Amanda? Did you bring the children?”

“Yes I did, Grandma.”

Amanda waited for Tom to help her down. Her warm fingers heated his cool palm as she slid down his length. He liked the feeling of her hand tucked in his, but it didn’t last for long. Wolf and the children came tumbling out of the buckboard, followed by warm introductions made to Miss Clementine.

Lugging the suitcases inside the shack, Tom set them down inside the door. He’d forgotten how cramped it was inside. His shoulders barely fit through the opening, and he had to dip his head beneath the beam.

“I pushed the beds together. We can all sleep across the beds, instead of lengthwise.” Miss Clementine pointed to the six-foot bed that nearly spanned the eight-foot width of the shack. “It was the only thing I could think of in a pinch.”

It would do for now, Tom thought, but not for long.

“We’ll stuff pillows in between the children and ourselves,” Grandma explained to her granddaughter. “You and I have to curl up our legs because the bed won’t be long enough, but it’s better than sleepin’ on the floor.”

“It’ll do nicely,” Amanda said.

Why hadn’t Tom thought of something better? He’d had a few hours to think of it, but it hadn’t crossed his mind. He edged his body closer to Amanda. “Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can arrange something more comfortable.”

He was well aware that for whatever reason, Amanda
couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Flustered, she likely wasn’t used to men observing her bed, or discussing her sleeping arrangements.
Hmm…sleeping arrangements with Amanda Ryan.

“I best be going,” he said, interrupting his own train of thought.

“Wait, I’ll walk you out,” she said to his dismay.

As they left, the children were removing Sunset from the crate and introducing her to Grandma. Tom liked seeing the older woman with the orange kitten nestled at her heavy throat.

Outside, as Tom and Amanda wove along the forest, the wind had stilled. Crickets chirped and the soft call of mountain lions echoed in the distance. The fragrant scent of wild mountain orchids drifted through the air. When they reached his buckboard, Tom spun around to say good-night, but didn’t realize Amanda was following so close. His nostrils filled with a heady scent of her skin.

Her nearness kindled feelings of desire. The moonlight caught one side of her face and drifted over the curvy shapes, the delicate valleys, and the firm chin. She stared up at him, hugging her arms to her shawl. “Thank you for tonight. For helping me to pick up the children, and for dinner.”

“My pleasure,” he said. His gaze riveted to her vitality. The pride in her downy cheeks. Her full, rich lips. “Are you going to the ball?” The question surprised him, even as it left his mouth.

She was a bit startled, too, and stepped back. “No, Tom.”

He tingled as she said his name. Her mouth softened, perfect for kissing, he thought, and his body ached to touch hers. “What if someone asks you?”

She swallowed tightly, her eyes glistening in the golden
light. Was he about to ask her? He didn’t know himself.
Was he?

Looking back to the shack, she said, “I’ve got more important things to spend my money on than a stuffy old ball gown.”

He smiled at her assessment. “Yeah, I guess you do. And you see,” he murmured tenderly, referring to the children, “you were worried, but they like you.”

She laughed gently, barely audible, but her hushed moan rippled through him.

He couldn’t resist her. With one smooth step, he closed the gap between them, dipping his large calloused hand, caressing her satiny cheek. He heard her intake of breath, felt the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. With one hand at the back of her neck, pressing her silky hair, he lowered his head and pulled her tight.

Their lips met and his hunger exploded. He felt her shudder beneath him and his entire body quaked in response. Why did her touch upset his balance? Why did a mere glance in his direction send his pulse careening to the clouds?

What was it about Amanda Ryan that drugged him?

Their hearts beat faster together. She allowed her shawl to fall to the ground as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her breasts flattened against him and he moaned with the pleasure of her heated curves in his.

His arms encircled her and she was weightless as he lifted her. Swirling her around, he pressed her supple back into the wagon and their urgency doubled. His long, muscled legs crushed against her lean ones.

Her lips opened and their tongues met in delicious exploration.

He was drawn into a passion he’d never felt before. He
wanted to make love to her, right here and now, to cover every inch of her body with his urgent lips.

She was a beautiful, enthralling, selfless woman.

When their bodies shifted and his thigh brushed her hip, he felt a change in her. She wrested free of his grasp, struggling for air.

“Amanda—” he gasped, entwining his rough fingers in her mass of hair “—what is it about you? You send me spinning.”

“Tom, I don’t think—”

Faint voices from the cabin distracted them. They listened, but it was only laughter.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, taking her chin in his hand, feeling her relax, “they can’t see us.”

Her hair was tousled around her shoulders and her lips raw from his kiss, and when she smiled up at him, she was the most captivating vision he’d ever seen.

He wanted to prolong the moment, to say something to please her. “Margaux and Josh are lucky you found them. You’re a natural mother, and one day your own will also be blessed.”

Her face sobered so quickly it was as if someone had struck her. Her trembling lips fell open. She pulled away.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Stooping to pick up her shawl, she could barely speak. “I—I need to go in.”

He heard the dejection in her voice. The distress in his own escalated. “What’s wrong?” He reached out for her, but she’d already slipped through his fingers, running, escaping to the shack. “Amanda, what did I say?”

Even three days later, every time Amanda looked at Tom and his icy, rugged profile, her heart turned over.

Would she ever be able to accept herself the way she was?

What she yearned for most in the world, she would never have—a child of her own, a child to share with a husband. There, she said it, if only to herself.

She sighed in the late afternoon wind, feeling heavy with the burden of truth. Was she destined to be alone for the rest of her life? She knew there was more to
her
than her ability to bear children, but would a man see it that way?

Would Tom?

She glanced from beside the porch where she was helping Margaux climb onto the bicycle seat, to where Tom and Donald were laying another squared-off log onto the east wall of the emerging cabin. Such a stoic jaw and stubborn set to his lips.

“I think I can do it this time,” said Margaux.

With an emerging smile, Amanda steadied the bicycle. It was her good fortune to have a profession where she worked with children, even if they weren’t her own. Behind her, Josh’s mumbled laughter echoed off the trees as he played tag with Wolf, filling Amanda with pleasure. Tom and Donald looked up from their four-foot wall. Their workday would soon be over.

“Hold on tight,” Amanda said, trying to force thoughts of Tom from her mind. “Try to steer straight down the path.” She released the bicycle for the tenth run, and this time Margaux was able to hold her balance. “Good girl, keep going!”

If anything soothed Amanda’s spirits, it was that Margaux and Josh were taking to her. Her letter to the orphanage had been sent as planned and Mrs. Hawthorne hadn’t raised further objections. Thanks to Tom, who had his men build a tiered bed—similar to the ones they had in trains and ships—the children had their own sleeping
nook. Margaux’s was on top and Josh’s on the bottom. The children had regained color in their cheeks, Grandma was tickled to have tiny laundry to wash, and even their kitten, who was at first frightened of Wolf, had relaxed.