Monroe.”
Rhyne tore off another piece of bread. This time she dipped it in the broth before she put it in her mouth. “What’s the point of watching me? Doc Diggins never did.”
“It’s already well established in town that I’m no Doc Diggins, but it’s possible that’s not always unflattering. I observe all my patients.”
“It’s peculiar,” she said flatly.
“You’re right-handed. You have no fixed contractures of your arms and legs, allowing you full extension of both. No curvature of your spine, and also no evidence of rachitis.” He responded to her raised eyebrow. “Rickets.”
“You might have said so at the outset.”
“Indeed, I might have.”
He was practically daring her to shoot him, she decided.
“That’s all?” she asked.
“Well, there’s no spasticity in your movements, no gross deformities of your hips or feet. Except for the fact that your nose has been broken, there are no apparent physical deviations of your face. Your respiration is normal, your fever appears to have passed, and you’re able to make good eye contact.”
“Maybe I’m just observing you.”
He gave her a faint, knowing smile. “You’ve just proven that your gross hearing is within normal limits, as is your gross vision. Your color is improved this morning. There is no blue tinge to your lips or fingertips that would suggest a lack of oxygen to your tissues. As evidenced by the look you’re giving me now, I would say that you have coherent expression of thought and feeling.”
“Are the hairs at the back of your neck standing up?”
“They are.”
“Huh. I guess I do have coherent expression.” She raised the cup of broth to her lips, watching him over the rim, and took another sip. When she set it down, she said, “So you’re done examining me.”
“Hardly.”
She nodded slowly, having expected that answer. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of it.”
“No. And it would be better all the way around if you didn’t fight me, either.”
Rhyne couldn’t even pretend she had the strength for that. Feeling cowardly because she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, she said, “I wouldn’t mind some of that laudanum about now.”
Cole didn’t comment. He simply reached for his bag on the floor, opened it, and removed one of the cobalt blue bottles. Using the spoon he’d placed on Rhyne’s tray, he measured out a half dose. “You can take it yourself,” he said, “or I’ll give it to you.”
Rhyne looked down at her hands, saw the slight tremor, and knew she couldn’t get the spoon to her mouth without spilling some of the medicine. It pained her that he must have also seen it, because the spoon was suddenly poised at her narrowly parted lips. She opened her mouth and swallowed.
Without a word, Cole took the tray and removed it to the kitchen. He washed the cup and spoon, and then stepped onto the front porch to shake bread crumbs off the tray. Chickens pecked the ground around the crumbs. He’d already tossed feed to them, but they evidently liked the bread better. Shaking his head, he went back inside and laid the tray on the table.
Rhyne was still sitting up in bed when he returned. He counted it as a good sign that she wasn’t pointing the Winchester at him but didn’t fool himself into believing her disposition had improved in his absence. Fear was in the thread of tension he’d observed earlier. The slight tremor in her hands could have been explained by a host of conditions from delirium tremens to ague to exhaustion, but he didn’t think he was wrong to suppose Rhyne Abbot’s root cause was dread.
He imagined it was life experience that gave her the bravado to face him with her chin up and her jaw thrust forward. In her own way she was preparing for a punch, and in truth, she probably would have preferred one.
Her mind wasn’t the least muddy.
Cole put himself between the chair and the bed. “I need you to lie down,” he said. “Do you want help?” When she shook her head, he simply dropped into the chair and waited. She moved carefully, in obvious discomfort, gritting her teeth so no sound escaped her throat. His sister made more noise getting up from the table.
“There’s no hurry,” he told her after she was flat on her back. Last night he had been able to remove the litter poles and dress Rhyne in a clean shirt, but she was still lying on the bloodstained sheet that had carried her in. A fresh pillowcase had taken care of the tobacco juice. “How long have you chewed tobacco?”
The question startled Rhyne. She stopped staring at the ceiling and tilted her head in Cole’s direction. “About half my life. How did you know?”
“You choked on a chaw last night. You could have died. You don’t remember?” He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. “Do you chew in earnest or for show?”
She smiled slightly at the question. “All the world’s a stage.”
He liked her answer. “You fooled a lot of people.”
Rhyne said nothing for a moment then offered quietly, in the manner of a confession, “Sometimes I fooled myself.”
Cole saw that she regretted the admission as soon as it crossed her lips. He didn’t doubt that it was the soporific effect of the laudanum that made her less guarded. “How do you feel about people in town learning the truth?”
Rhyne bit into her lower lip and turned her head away.
“You should prepare yourself,” Cole said. “You’re going to be a curiosity.”
“There’s nothing new about that.”
Cole thought he heard a faint catch in her voice. He was better prepared to face her anger than either her shame or her distress. “No one will know about the baby unless you want to tell.”
Rhyne remained quiet.
“No one will know about the baby’s father.”
“You don’t know about him, either.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.” Cole waited to see if she would tell him now. “You can’t live out here with Judah.”
“He’s my father. I take care of him.”
The way she said it was not precisely a protest, Cole thought, but more of a statement of fact. “He’ll kill you some day. I think he meant to.”
She shook her head vehemently but still didn’t look at him. “No, you don’t understand. He didn’t. Wouldn’t. It was the baby he hated.”
Cole didn’t offer his opinion to the contrary. He’d seen Judah’s eyes when he called his daughter a whore, glimpsed the loathing that made him raise his girl as if she were his son. Perhaps it was Judah that Rhyne had fooled most successfully, not that he didn’t know
