kept thinking about her trunk. The week before, when they’d switched rooms, he’d carried the trunk himself. While he trusted the hotel staff, the fewer people who knew her whereabouts, the better.
The trunk had been expensive. A sturdy wooden affair with brass buckles and leather straps. Even the stack of books she’d plunked on her side table were leather bound. Her clothes were exquisitely tailored, there was nothing ready-made about Anna Bishop. Nothing at all. He’d traveled far enough away from Cimarron Springs, and he understood that even in the United States, a land built on equality, a class system prevailed. The McCoys had always been a hardworking lot who eked out a humble existence.
Judging from her wardrobe and her luggage, Anna had probably never cooked a meal for herself. He’d read the newspaper clippings Jo collected. Anna’s mother was not just Victoria Bishop; she’d been nicknamed “the heiress.” He might not know much about women, but he didn’t figure an heiress would cotton to the kind of living in Cimarron Springs.
She was above his touch, both in wealth and in her ideology. And while his brain understood the implications, he feared his heart was not as wise.
Jo rubbed her thumbnail along her lower teeth, a sure sign she was worried about something. “Did you think Anna looked pale?”
He’d thought she was stunning. His heart picked up its rhythm, and he absently rubbed his chest. The first few days he’d corralled his wayward thoughts. When he caught himself staring at her lips, he closed his eyes and pictured the day of the rally. He pictured the blood staining his shirt and his hands. Anything that prevented him from thinking of her in a romantic fashion.
With her sitting up and dressed, her hair swept up in a tumble of curls, smelling like cherry blossoms, her lips rosy, he’d found himself staring at those lips once more. Wondering if she’d ever been kissed. While the detective had been talking, he’d been aching to run his hand over the soft skin at the nape of her exposed neck.
Jo pinched him back to attention. “I said, didn’t you think she looked a little pale?”
Come to think of it, he’d noticed the lines around her mouth had deepened and the skin beneath her eyes had taken on the bruised look of fatigue.
“I noticed.” He dragged the words from his throat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought the detective.”
Jo’s expression softened, and she touched his arm. “No, you were right.”
When the hotel staff had let him know the detective wanted to speak to Anna, he’d vetted the man first. “I’ll ask Anna if she wants me to fetch the doctor.”
“She’ll say no,” Jo said. “You know she will. She doesn’t want to be a bother. I can tell.”
“Then I won’t give her a choice.”
Jo didn’t hide her triumphant expression fast enough.
“It won’t make a lick of difference,” he said. “If she refuses our help, we can’t force her.”
“We can show her we care.”
Some of the steam went out of him. “Sure.”
“I’ll check the train station for times. We can give her the information. She can make her own decision after that. We’re doing the right thing.” Jo insisted.
Were they? Were they truly? Anna was in danger, and he was a country veterinarian. Were they really the best choice for her protection? He did know one thing—after seeing her that first day, the blood pooling beneath her, something primal inside him had broken free. He’d do anything to protect her, he knew that much for certain.
Jo rubbed her thumbnail on her bottom teeth once more. “I’ll try and be back by the time the doctor comes. No promises, though.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Franklin will be available if you’re not.”
At least fetching the doctor gave him something to do, something besides thinking of how Anna had looked at him when Jo had suggested the engagement. The look was the same one Mary Louise had given him when he’d asked to court her.
She’d looked at him with shock and derision.
At least this time his heart hadn’t been involved. Not yet, anyway. He didn’t plan on staying around long enough for any more damage to be done.
He’d go to the grave before he let anyone know he’d been playing her fiancé behind her back.
* * *
After a fitful nap that left her no more rested and no closer to a solution, Anna awoke more determined than ever. Her path ahead was clear. Her best hope at ending this turmoil was finding the person who wanted her dead or proving the whole thing was a mistake. Then she could go home.
There was every chance the police would discover that someone had accidentally shot out their parlor window like her inept neighbor, nearly killing Anna in the process. Either way, she’d go back home. Back to traveling during the week and corresponding with other suffragists over the weekends. Back to a future that looked remarkably like her past.
There was nothing unsatisfying about her life, was there? And yet her mind rebelled at the notion. The nagging feeling lingered. A sense that something was missing.
A knock sounded at the door and Anna groaned.
Was it really too much to ask for a moment’s peace? The guard at her door announced Mr. McCoy, and her agitation intensified. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Her thoughts and feelings were too jumbled, too confusing.
She considered refusing him entrance, then dismissed the idea as churlish. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Mr. McCoy entered with another, shorter, gentleman in his later years with a smooth-shaven face, a bulbous nose and prominent ears.
The second man tipped his hat. “I’m Dr. Smith. You probably don’t remember me, but I checked in on you a few days ago.”
Anna glared at Mr. McCoy. “As I stated earlier, I’m fine. I simply need rest.”
“I’m quite sure you do,” Dr. Smith said. “I recommend several weeks of light activity. A visit to the country would do you good.”
Anna huffed. She was usually quite reasonable, but this constant interference was unacceptable. “Did Mr. McCoy put you up to this?”
The doctor washed his hands in the basin. “No. Can’t say that he did. It’s simply a treatment course recommended for my gunshot victims. I must say, my gunshot victims are usually men, but the convalescence procedure is the same. These are modern times, I suppose. Not sure I like all the change. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Deciding it was easier to concede than argue, Anna lifted her arm and tugged her shirt loose, exposing her bandaged side.
She glanced across the room to where Mr. McCoy had suddenly discovered an intense fascination for the flocked wallpaper. Staying annoyed with the man was impossible. Which annoyed her even more.
Dr. Smith perched on a chair near the bed, peeled away the bandage and squinted. “You’re excellent with a needle, Mr.
