The Education of Madeline (11 page)

His cock twitched to life, and he groaned. Not again today. He wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. He washed up quickly and put on his clean clothes. Grabbing the soiled ones, he walked down the stairs, ready to wash them himself. Because, sure as hell, Eppie wasn't going to do it.

Teague didn't expect it. The beating, that is. It was dark, and his senses were still full of Madeline. He was blindsided with a block of wood across his head. Two men then proceeded to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. He couldn't get his bearings, and blood was dripping into his right eye.

He tried to fight back, but it was no use. He was dizzy and weak from the blow to the head. With a final fist to his stomach, he dropped to the dusty ground.

“You do what you're being paid to do, drifter. Stop fucking the bitch and find out the information we need.”

Teague groaned and tried to rise. One boot slammed into his chest, and he fell back.

“You understand, boy?”

He recognized the voice. That bastard Jackson Webster, sheriff of his own domain. Teague didn't answer, not that he thought he could. His mouth was full of blood and a few loose teeth, not to mention the dirt they'd kicked in there.

“You were hired to find information. Find it.”

That bastard kicked him in the balls with what felt like lead shoes. The pain was excruciating, and he was glad when he blacked out.

I
t was Wednesday, and that meant she was at the bank all day. Madeline stared across her desk at Horace Bindle. He had come into the bank to ask for an extension on his mortgage payment and was currently telling her why he needed that extension.

She tried, truly she did, to focus on what Horace was saying. He was an older man with frizzy gray hair, a heavily creased face, and bright blue eyes that blazed when he was excited about something. He had a small farm just outside town and provided fresh vegetables, fruit, eggs, and milk to Merriweather's Store.

Try as she might, Madeline's body had other ideas about what she should think about. She found herself envisioning Teague lying on his bed, naked, waiting for her. All sorts of interesting ideas on what to do with him swirled and whirled until she actually found herself wiggling—
wiggling!
—on her chair.

“Miss Brewster? Are you all right? You look mighty flushed all the sudden.”

Madeline smiled as best she could at Horace. She flushed even brighter, this time with embarrassment instead of arousal.

“I am feeling a bit warm. Summer is coming quickly, isn't it?”

“That it is,” he said as he nodded sagely.

“I will give you an extra week on your payment, Horace, but no longer. I've already extended you three weeks. This will make it a month, and that is the most we can offer.” Madeline tried to keep her head on bank business.

Horace thanked her profusely, shook her hand with his knurled, clammy one, and then left the bank. She stared at the pile of paperwork in front of her and pinched herself on the arm. No more daydreaming.

Two hours later, Madeline was ready for the midday meal. She glanced at Mr. Cleeson and found him staring at her. She nodded and stood. When she started walking toward him, she saw him slide the papers on his desk into his top drawer.

How odd.

“Mr. Cleeson, I'm going to walk home for dinner. I should be back within the hour.”

He nodded, his flyaway blond hair waving in the wind.

“Make sure Mamie and Bernard have sufficient funds in their till.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Mr. Cleeson, is anything wrong?” Her warning bells were tinkling, and her sense of danger, although not keen, was sniffing like a bloodhound again.

“No, Miss Brewster. That young lady I told you about…well, I asked her to marry me, and now I've got to ask her pa. I was checking my bank balance and making sure I could support her and a family.” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed.

“Well, good luck with that, then.” Madeline took her reticule from her desk and left the bank. She was amazed to find several people saying hello to her—people who
never
talked to her or would probably not bother to spit on her if she were on fire.

Jackson Webster stood outside the sheriff's office on the other side of the road. He spotted her and hurried over, narrowly missing a wagon loaded with lumber. She kept walking at her brisk pace, hoping to lose him before she reached home.

No such luck.

“Madeline!” he called.

She was only six feet away and couldn't pretend she didn't hear him. Especially because two women walking the other direction looked at both of them.

She turned and looked at Jackson. “Yes, Sheriff?”

“I hear your horse thief got himself in trouble last night down at the saloon.”

Madeline swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Teague had not come to supper, and she hadn't gone looking for him.

“Is that so?” she inquired as politely as she could.

“Pretty banged up. I hear he had to be thrown out on his ass—pardon me, on his rear end.”

She nodded. “Spirits will drive any man to act like an animal.”

He grimaced. “What's it going to take to convince you that man is a criminal and all he needs is a neck stretching?”

“Nothing will convince me of that.”

She turned, angry and scared, and walked away from him. She was startled when he yanked her arm. He stared into her face, and Madeline knew a moment of fear. Deep in his eyes she saw anger, greed, and something that looked like excitement. That scared her most of all.

“You best keep your legs closed from here on out, Madeline. The whole town is going to know about it soon. He is not a man to be trusted or to be taken to your bed.”

Madeline gasped and wrenched her arm free.

“Keep your filthy mind and hands to yourself, Jackson Webster. You are no longer welcome in my house.”

She heard the two women watching them titter and whisper under their breaths. They'd certainly gotten an eyeful to share with the gossips in town.

Pleasantly surprised by how good it had felt to tell Jackson that, Madeline continued walking home. By the time she got there, she was shaking like a leaf. Someone knew she and Teague had been together. That someone had told Jackson and God only knew who else.

Clutching her stomach, she went into the house.

Eppie was ripping old sheets into strips—into
bandages
—in the kitchen. She looked at Madeline with pity and anger.

“Someone beat the tar out of your man, Madeline.”

It was true! Jackson had told her he had been at the saloon, but she hadn't really wanted to believe it.

“I found him on the floor this morning, bleeding like a stuck pig. Isaiah helped me get him up outta the dirt so I could nurse his wounds.”

“Where is he?” She had to see him. Now.

“In the carriage-house loft. He don't look too nice, now, so don't you get yourself in a tizzy.” Eppie sounded like her mother rather than her friend sometimes.

“I don't need another speech. I need a friend.”

Eppie nodded and grasped her hands. “I'm sorry. I just cain't rightly believe someone did this right under our noses!”

“What do you mean?” Her heart was pounding in tune with her head, and she clutched Eppie's hands tightly. “The gossips say he was stirring up trouble in the saloon last night.”

Eppie scoffed. “He was half dressed, wasn't even wearing shoes! And he had a pile of laundry with him. He wasn't anywhere but here. That man was ambushed.”

 

Teague felt like a dozen horses had run over him. There wasn't a spot on his body that didn't ache, throb, or pound. He was pitiful, and he knew it. Thank God Eppie had found him.

He didn't want to be beholden to that little curmudgeon, but the truth was, he owed her. She'd spent most of the day doctoring him, bringing him broth and water, changing his bandages, and making sure he was all right.

Who knew she could be such a good nurse? He thought she'd want to squash him flat if she could.

He heard the door open downstairs and footsteps running up. That wasn't Eppie.

Maddie.

Teague was mortified to find tears pricking his eyes. He hadn't even realized that he missed her, that he needed her, until he heard her footsteps. She flew into the room in a bright blue dress with her dark braid swinging and her dark eyes etched with concern. She ran over to him and knelt beside the bed.

“Oh, Teague,” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I'm so sorry this happened to you.”

“Not your fault,” he said through cracked, swollen lips.

“It happened on my property, and you are my…friend. It's my fault if I want it to be my fault.”

She lightly touched his face, and the well of emotion he had tried so hard to ignore came rushing up like a volcano.

“I'm so sorry, Maddie.”

She kissed his lips softly. “You have no reason to be sorry.”

Tears trickled down the back of his throat as Teague struggled to tell her what he needed to say.

“Yes, I do. There are so many things I did…. Not good things, either…. Let me tell you what I did.”

Madeline stood and pulled the chair over from the small table and sat next to the bed. She took his hand in hers and then brought it to her lips and kissed it.

Teague knew right then and there that he had fallen in love with Madeline. He hadn't meant to, and he sure as hell didn't deserve to, but there it was. All he could do now was pray she could forgive him and try to make it right with her.

“I fought for the Union in the war. I didn't want to go and leave Claire and Christopher, but I had to. I was gone for two years. Two of the most hellish years of my life. I had to walk most of the way back from Virginia to Missouri. When I finally made it back”—he swallowed hard—“I found them both dead. Killed by bushwhackers or something. They had hung my five-year-old son and raped my wife until she bled to death.”

Madeline's hand tightened on his, and he could hear her quietly crying for him. He couldn't look at her yet.

“I just walked away. There was no way I was going to be a dirt farmer on the land that held the blood of my wife and child. I wandered for years. Took jobs when I needed money. I didn't care about anything or anybody, Maddie. I would do anything,
anything
for a buck.

“I drove dynamite up to the mines—hell, even mined for copper for a few years. I did all the jobs most men wouldn't dare do because they could get killed. That's why I did them, though. I didn't want to live, but God apparently wanted me to.”

He stared up at the wooden roof and took a deep breath for what he was about to say.

“The night before you rescued me, I'd tied one on and had to walk back to the ranch I was working at. I found this damn old horse wandering, and I took him because my feet were tired. That fool sheriff found me and charged me with horse thieving. When I was locked up in that prison cell, he came to me with a deal.

“I would agree to help him find information to ruin Madeline Brewster so the town could finally rid themselves of the Black Widow. In return, I got five hundred dollars and a free pass out of town.”

The room was as silent as a tomb. Teague was afraid whatever Maddie felt for him had just died, so it was an appropriate atmosphere.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

“I was supposed to try to compromise you, distract you, and find out what you do in this house with all the strangers you bring in. They seem to think it's a whorehouse and you are a madam. A rich madam that holds the town in her tight fist, squeezing as much blood out of it as you can.”

Her head dropped to her knees, but he held on to her hand. It felt clammy and cold.

“Sweet Jesus.”

“I'm so sorry, Maddie. I didn't know you when I made this deal. The last two weeks were amazing and…”

“Stop. Just stop talking.”

She stood and walked to the window, her arms wrapped around her waist.

“I'm sorry, Maddie.”

She didn't answer. With a jolt of pain that nearly made him black out, Teague rose and limped over to her. He swayed and grabbed the wall beside the window to stand upright.

He forced her to look at him. The naked agony in her beautiful dark eyes undid him. A sob worked its way up his throat, and he wrapped her in his arms. She was stiff and un-yielding.

“Please, Maddie. I want to make this right.”

“You told them.” She hissed.

“Told them what?”

“Told them about us. How else would Jackson know you'd been in my bed?” She pushed away from him, and he stumbled into the wall.

“I didn't tell them anything. Why do you think they beat me?”

“I don't know. Maybe you weren't moving fast enough for them. Fuck her faster, Teague. Get rid of the old bitch!”

She turned to flee, and he grabbed her arm. She fought against him, but, even injured, he hung on to her until she stopped struggling. He pulled her back against his chest and waited. It started as small hiccups but turned into gut-wrenching sobs. He held on to her and murmured soothing words in her ear.

Teague had no idea how long they stood there before her storm was over. She sniffled and tried to wipe her tears with her hand.

“We'll stop them, Maddie.”

She shook her head. “I think it's too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the plans are already in place, and they started at the bank.”

Her dark eyes were full of pain and misery. Most of which he had put there. He had failed miserably for Claire and Christopher. He vowed right then to make it right for Madeline. Even if it killed him.

 

Madeline wept until she couldn't weep anymore. Her mind and body were numb, but her heart, oh, her cursed heart was howling like a coyote at a full moon. Howling in pain and misery.

“Who did this?” she asked.

“The sheriff and that fool judge. There are a couple more, too, but I believe those two are the brains behind the plan.”