Whirlwind Reunion (19 page)

He hugged his stepmother. “You, too, Cora.”

“You're welcome.” She smacked him on the butt. “Now, go.”

Russ rode to Whirlwind with him. Matt pushed his horse hard and his brother kept pace. As they flew across the prairie, he practiced different ways to apologize, trying to choose the one that would work.

He brought his horse to a skidding halt in front of Annalise's clinic, spraying dirt and pebbles. He jumped down from the saddle onto the porch while his brother went on to his hotel.

Matt tried the door, but it was locked. He knocked. It wouldn't surprise him if she was upstairs, ignoring him. Hurting.

He pounded again on the door, but there was still no answer.

He didn't blame her for not wanting to see him, but he wasn't leaving until he'd had his say. Or begged, crawled or whatever she wanted.

He slipped around to the back and easily picked the lock and let himself in.

“Annalise!” He strode quickly through the hall and upstairs, taking the steps three at a time. “Annalise!”

He didn't really expect her to answer. He had never seen her so angry. But he didn't expect the bedroom to be empty either. Walking across the hall, he checked the parlor. She wasn't there.

He rushed down the stairs and to the examination room. Everything was tidy and in its place—cots, cabinet, medicines. No sign of her.

Where was she? He found himself standing in the hallway outside the kitchen. His gaze scanned the room for signs she'd been there.

The cupboard against this wall was open; a cloth-wrapped bundle sat on the table next to a plate of lemons. He checked the stove. Cold. Maybe she hadn't come here at all. Going out the same way he'd come in, Matt walked across to Davis Lee's house, but in answer to his question, Josie said she hadn't seen the doctor today.

Something nagged at him. He walked around to the front of her clinic. If he had to go into every business, knock on every house door, he would. Matt would never forget the deep, sharp pain in her green eyes. Pain he'd put there.

He started down the street, stopping first at Cal Doyle's law practice next door, then at Haskell's. No one had seen her.

Along with the gut-twisting fear that he had ruined everything, he became increasingly uneasy. “Baldwin?”

Matt turned from where he stood on the mercantile's porch and saw Quentin in the street.

He walked down to meet the man. “Have you seen Annalise?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“I was coming to talk to her.”

The flood of relief Matt felt was blocked with the newspaper man's next words. “She's not at the clinic. Where could she be?”

Quentin frowned. “We ate at the Pearl earlier. Or, rather, we went there to eat. She was hungry, but she didn't order any food.”

Only half listening, Matt's gaze moved up and down the street. “Mmm.”

“All she wanted was lemonade.”

Matt's head jerked toward Quentin. “What did you say?”

“She only wanted lemonade. She must've had a gallon of that stuff.”

“Lemonade?” The image of those lemons in her kitchen flashed through his mind.

She said she had craved lemons when—

Matt went completely still inside. For a heartbeat, his mind blanked, then questions rushed in. Was she
pregnant?
If so, why hadn't she told him about the baby? After the way he'd acted, why would she?

He gave himself a mental shake. He could ask all that later. First, he had to find her. The cemetery maybe? he wondered. If she
was
expecting, maybe she had gone to visit their son's marker.

Barely controlling his impatience, he asked, “Where did she go after y'all went to the Pearl?”

The other man shook his head. “I'm not exactly sure. I was coming to talk to her about my legs. Anyway, I saw her drive out of town with some man. Going west.” Matt stiffened.

“Before you get jealous, I think it was someone who needed help. She went freely. Drove her buggy.”

“Did you get a look at this guy?”

“Yeah. He was a scrawny fella. Looked like something was wrong with the left side of his face, but I didn't get a close look. His mount was a red roan.” He paused, as though remembering something. “A gelding. He had a patch of jagged scars on his left hindquarters. Like he'd gotten tangled in some barbed wire.”

Matt cursed, wanting to put his fist through something.

“What?” Alarm streaked across Quentin's features. “Do you know who that man is? Is Annalise in danger?”

“I'm afraid she may be.” Matt pivoted and headed for the jail, telling himself to narrow his focus, concentrate on finding her. He wanted to be wrong about who Annalise had left with.

The chair wheels squeaked as the other man sought to keep up. “Where are you going?”

“To tell Davis Lee and gather some men.”

“Damn it, you're forming a posse! Tell me what's going on.”

Yes, he needed to. Matt slowed, turned. Before he could get out a word, Quentin slammed a fist down on the arm of his wheelchair. “She's in danger and here I sit in this damn chair. I couldn't have helped her even if I'd known she needed it.”

“Not true. You're helping her right now. If you weren't in that chair, you wouldn't have been going to see Annalise and you wouldn't have witnessed what happened.”

“Exactly what did happen?” Frustration sharpened his voice. “Who did she leave with?”

The thought of Annalise alone with that man was
enough to make Matt want to kill him, but if she was pregnant and something happened to her and the baby…

He couldn't, wouldn't finish the thought.

“Dammit, Baldwin!”

“Sorry.” Matt had been trying to deny it since he'd heard the description of the horse but there was no denying it now.

He met Quentin's grim gaze with his own. “The man's description doesn't match any of the Landis brothers on the wanted poster, but he could've shaved. However, that horse belongs to one of them.”

 

Annalise tried to keep her thoughts on the cowhand who needed her attention. Hearing he'd likely been shot by the Landis brothers had made her think of Matt. And that brought back all her anger. And hurt. Not to mention thoughts of the baby.

It took effort, but she managed to put all of that out of her mind and focus on the man who needed her help. Sherman had led her around Julius's large sprawling home to the bunkhouse in the back.

The patient, who looked to be barely twenty years old, was unconscious when she arrived. He was resting on a bed, his breathing shallow, his face dangerously pale.

Sherman hovered in the doorway. A few other cow-hands milled around outside. Frank moaned when she checked his belly wound.

“Doc?” Sherman asked nervously.

Annalise glanced over her shoulder. “The bullet went out so I don't need to dig around looking for it.”

“That's good, right?”

“Yes, but your friend has lost a lot of blood.”

He quickly checked around outside then walked to the other side of the bed.

“Even if I stitch him up, it might be too late to save him.”

The boy in the bed reached for Sherman's hand and made a sound. The red-haired man nodded. “Frank wants you to sew him up.”

“All right.” The man was so weak she was afraid to give him any anaesthetic. The best thing would be for him to pass out until she finished.

She cleaned the wound with her mixture of water and carbolic acid. After threading a needle, she said to Sherman, “You may need to hold him down.”

He grimaced, but sat on the bed, keeping Frank in place when he jerked against the pain. After a long moment, his muscles relaxed and she knew he was out.

She stitched as quickly as she could. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her head. Sweat trickled down her spine. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted in the bunkhouse window, falling across the foot of the rough-hewn wooden bed instead of across the middle where it would help the most.

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“A day or two ago.”

“There's no sign of infection.” She pulled the needle through flesh. “That's encouraging.”

She heard the murmur of voices outside the bunkhouse. As she tied off the thread, she caught Sherman's attention on the door again. Why was he so nervous? He had her itching to look over her shoulder every other minute.

Finished with the stitching, Annalise cleaned the wound again then began to bandage it.

“Sherman.” The deep masculine voice coming from the door startled Annalise.

Jumping, she glanced back. The ranch manager, Cosgrove, stood there in his shirtsleeves and dark trousers. Nice garments, not work clothes. His dark-brown eyes traveled over her and she thought she saw a flicker of irritation. At her?

But when he spoke, he was pleasant. “Hello, Dr. Fine.”

“Cosgrove.” She smiled. “I should be finished here in a minute.”

“Very good. I need to talk to Sherman. Could you stay with Frank until he returns?”

“Certainly.” Was it her imagination or had his voice turned terse?

Looking defiant, the ranch hand walked out with his boss. A sudden uneasiness crept over Annalise, but she couldn't say why.

She managed to wrap the bandage around Frank's belly and waist, covering both the entrance and exit wounds.

She could hear Cosgrove's deep bass and occasionally the desperation in Sherman's higher-pitched voice. Leaving a small amount of laudanum for the patient when he woke, she dribbled a little bit of carbolic acid solution on a cloth and cleaned her needle then returned everything to her satchel.

She closed the bag, easing down into the chair next to the bed and leaning over to check the patient for fever. None so far. His breathing was shallow, his face too pale for her liking, but she had done all she could do.

There were more voices now, the tones low and urgent. It sounded as though more men had joined Cosgrove and Sherman. What were they discussing? Ranch business probably.

She glanced around the bunkhouse. She supposed it
was clean by a man's standards. No clothes were strewn about. Bedrolls sat neatly atop each bunk, but it still smelled like dirt and unwashed bodies and cattle.

A stove squatted in the middle of the room. A rocking chair sat along one wall as well as a small table with checkers and a checker board. In the far corner, she saw a branding iron with the Eight of Hearts brand—a center eight flanked on each side by an outfacing heart. And in the wall, burned into the wood, she noticed the Triple B brand.

At first, she didn't register what she was seeing. Her gaze went back to the Eight of Hearts branding iron and on the floor beside it was a round piece of metal, hollow in the center like a saddle cinch.

A piece that could be heated and used to trace a free-hand pattern in a ranch's registered mark resulting in a new brand. It was what cattlemen called a “running iron”.

Annalise's gaze slid from there to the burn in the wall. The brand there was a sloppily imprinted pattern of three B's. Two outward facing B's on each side of a center B. The Triple B brand. Matt's brand. And it had been altered to the Eight of Hearts brand.

This was a lousy effort, but no doubt they'd gotten better with practice.

She drew in a sharp breath. Julius's men were rustling cattle. Did he know? Did his manager, Cosgrove?

As casually as possible, she had to get to her buggy and back to town. Once there, she would tell Davis Lee what she'd found. She remembered the fire she'd seen the night she had treated Edward. At the time, she had wondered if it might belong to the rustlers. Now she was convinced it had.

Her nerves were jumping and impatience drove
through her, but she had to be careful not to let on that she knew anything. Outside, the voices lulled. This might be her chance.

She rose and picked up her satchel on the way to the door. Her palms were slick on the leather handle; she tightened her grip. Five men she didn't recognize from her last visit to the ranch stood in a half circle around Cosgrove. Their gazes crawled over her and she shuddered inwardly. All of her senses screamed danger.

She tried not to act affected in any way. “I left some laudanum for Frank. When he wakes up, he'll need it.”

With a wary look at his boss, Sherman moved toward her. “Thanks, Doc.”

She forced a smile. “You're welcome. I guess I'd best be going.”

Looking put out, the ranch manager's attention shifted to Annalise. “I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere, Doctor.”

“Why not?” Though her stomach dropped to her knees, she managed to keep her voice steady. “No one else appears to need my help.”

Cosgrove narrowed his eyes at Sherman. “I told you no doctors.”

“Yeah, I heard you, but Frank's our brother. I ain't gonna just let him die, especially when he got shot because he was stealing cattle for you.”

Stealing cattle? Brothers? Frank and Sherman were brothers as well as some of these other men? “Are you all brothers?”

The taller of the five men stepped toward her. Annalise held her place, noticing a ragged scar across the bottom of his chin. “All of us but Cosgrove.”

“There are seven of you in total.” They were the rustlers and she knew exactly who these men were.
She hadn't recognized Frank, but now she could see Sherman's resemblance to his picture on the wanted poster. If he hadn't shaved his beard, she would have realized sooner. Still, she asked anyway. “So, just who are you?”

“The Landis brothers,” the tall one answered.

The fear she'd felt before sharpened to a razor's edge. And now she wasn't only concerned for herself, but also for the baby. Her mind whirled as things fell into place. Frank had been wounded a day or two ago. That's when the posse from Whirlwind had been chasing them. He had likely been shot by one of those men. Maybe even Matt. And here she was, treating the outlaw.