have some work for her to do.”
Viola watched Hattie amble away, then turned and glanced at Thomas Stone to see if they had disturbed him. He was sound asleep. The pain medicine she had given him after the broth was working. She stared at his face, watching his eyes to make certain. The loose-fitting shirt she was making him out of soft cotton needed no measurements, but for the sleeves. But she did not want to ask him, for she was certain he would refuse the shirt.
She looked at the covers over his chest, watched the even rise and fall of his breathing and set aside her sewing, picked up her tape measure and hurried to the bed. As stealthily as she could manage, she lifted the edge of the covers until she could see his free arm. She measured the length from shoulder to wrist, then inched the tape around his wrist for the cuff measurement, trying her best not to see his hand. She knew well the punishment a man’s hands could inflict, and she knew the strength in his from his firm grip on her arm.
She shuddered and backed away, but could not leave his shoulder and arm uncovered. His breathing remained steady and even. She glanced at his face, stepped close and drew the covers back in place, then hurried back to her chair. He looked younger in repose. And handsome. But she had seen handsome turn to ugly very quickly.
She dropped her tape on the table and went to her knees beside Goldie, to wash away the dark memories with the sight of the baby’s sweet face. Goldie dropped the spool and grabbed for her feet, tugging at her moccasin booties, letting out a howl of frustration when they did not yield. “Shhh, little one, you’ll wake Mr. Stone.”
Viola gave her back the spool, lifted her into her arms and carried her to the chair. The rockers whispered against the floor as she cuddled the baby close and exorcized the remembered cruelty of hard, rough hands with the silky touch of the baby’s cheek against hers.
Thomas opened his eyes, drawn out of the darkness by the warm, musical laugh of the woman who gave him such cool, remote smiles. He slewed his gaze toward the rocker, saw Viola playing pat-a-cake with the baby and shut his eyes against the ache that filled his chest—an ache that had nothing to do with the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Louise, I am so sorry. So very sorry.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the rough wood ceiling to block out the image of his infant daughter in his wife’s arms when he had buried them. An image seared into his mind. He had buried them together so they would never be apart. He clenched his jaw against the memory he couldn’t stop from invading his thoughts. He was over the ravaging grief, but the guilt remained. He never should have given in to Louise’s pleas that they marry before he answered his call to minister to the Alaskan natives. And he should have stayed strong and refused when she begged to come along. He hadn’t known it then, of course, but living conditions in the Indian villages had proven too primitive and harsh for his city-bred wife. And then he had gotten her with child. All selfish acts that had cost Louise and tiny little Susan their lives. If he had known…
A soft gasp broke into his thoughts. Instinct drew his gaze toward Viola Goddard. She was peering closely at the baby who was standing on her lap, supported by her hands around her small chest. “Goldie! Oh, baby, you have two teeth!” The hushed words floated toward him on a ripple of quiet laughter that spoke of surprise and delight. The baby waved pudgy little arms, babbled sounds that made sense only to her infant ears, then gurgled out laughter.
The ache in his chest sharpened. His baby girl would never— Thomas yanked his gaze back to the ceiling, clenched his hands and set himself to battle the guilt in his heart. Forgive me, Louise, for my weakness and selfishness.
How many times had he thought those words over the past three years? How many more times would he utter or think them before the guilt went away? Would it go away? Or would he live with the shadow of his selfish acts clouding his life forever?
This time he didn’t fight the darkness that rose to claim him, but yielded to the weakness and the medicine, and welcomed the oblivion that blotted out all thought.
Viola leaned down, picked up the rattle Goldie had dropped, then straightened. “I want strong locks put on my doors, Frankie. I thought perhaps you could do that for me?”
“Sure I can, Viola.” Frankie Tucker’s blue eyes gleamed with excitement. “You figure someone else will try to break in here and kidnap the baby, now that the idea’s been planted in people’s heads? I told Sheriff Parker I thought that might happen, and asked him if I could help him watch your place. I mean, I know he shot the kidnapper dead, but what if he had a partner or something?” Frankie sighed and tucked a lock of her short, curly, dark hair behind her ear. “He refused. Like always. I don’t know why he doesn’t think I’d make a good deputy. I’m smart as any man. Smarter than Henry Duke for sure! And he uses him sometimes.”
The hurt in Frankie’s voice tugged at her heart. Viola set aside the fear that had surged at Frankie’s mention of the kidnapper’s partner, and searched for some sort of balm she could offer—remembered that awful moment when she saw the blood spreading across Thomas Stone’s shirt. “Being a deputy can be dangerous, Frankie. Look at what happened to Mr. Stone. Perhaps the sheriff is afraid you will be harmed in a gun battle, or—”
“Ha! I can outshoot any man.” Frankie’s blue eyes flashed. “Our pa took us girls hunting as soon as we were strong enough to heft a rifle. And he taught us to use pistols, too. Lucy and Margie are good shots, but I’m the best. I don’t miss. And the sheriff knows it. I challenged him to a shooting contest tomorrow, just to show him. Figure that ought to make him look favorable on me as a deputy.”
That would be amusing, if she weren’t envious. Viola caught Goldie’s baby hand before she could grab her hair, kissed its pudgy palm. “I wish I knew how to use a gun. Things would have been much different.” She bit off the bitter words, afraid she had revealed more than she intended.
Frankie grinned. “That would have surprised the kidnapper for sure.” Her face lit up. “I could teach you if you want. I got time. No reason for me to be home, with Lucy and Margie gone.”
Viola stared, shocked by the offer, then intrigued. She would never have to be afraid again. Not of Dengler and his thugs, the kidnapper’s partner, any of her male customers or any other man. She would be able to protect herself. She curved her lips in what she was afraid was a rather grim smile. “I would like that, Frankie. When Mr. Stone is recovered, I shall buy a pistol and you can teach me how to use it.”
“Good. You let me know when. Now I’ll go down to the smithy and check with Duncan. If he’s got a couple good, sturdy locks in stock, I’ll come back and put them on your doors tonight.” Frankie opened the door, paused. “If not, I’ll have him make you some. It won’t take him long, if he’s not busy. And if he is, I’ll see to it he gets to them fast as possible.”
Viola nodded. “Thank you, Frankie. You have relieved my mind a good deal.” More than you can possibly know. “Tell Mr. MacDougal to put the locks on account. I will stop by and pay him as soon as Mr. Stone is well enough for me to leave him.” She closed the door, lifted Goldie into the air and smiled up at her. “There, sweetie. Now you will be safe…and so will I.” She lowered the laughing baby to her chest, held her close and hurried to the bedroom to check on Thomas Stone.
“How are you feeling, Thomas?” Jacob Calloway set his black bag down, then pulled back the covers. “That light-headedness and nausea any better?”
“Somewhat. It’s not a problem so long as I don’t try to…lift my head.” Warm fingers circled his wrist. Thomas slid his gaze to the watch in the doctor’s other hand, waited.
