Lorraine Heath (28 page)

And he didn’t. He stayed by her side, wiping her brow when she released a tortured cry, holding her hand while her body twisted in agony.

Words failed him, became insignificant. He considered telling her that the loss didn’t matter, that they would have other children, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her, and he knew she’d know his words for the lie they were.

No other child, no matter how special, how precious, would replace this first child.

So he did all that he knew how to do. He remained stoic, held her, and wished to God that somehow the pain could be his and not hers.

And he watched as she wept silently when Amelia wrapped the tiny lifeless body in a blanket. Dallas forced himself to his feet. “I’ll take him.”

Amelia glanced up, despair sweeping over her face. “Dallas—”

“I’ll see after him while you finish taking care of Dee.”

He took the small bundle and left the room. It was the dead of night, but he did what needed to be done.

He built a small coffin and padded it with the delicate blankets Dee had bought to keep the child warm. Then he laid his tiny son inside the wooden box.

With the cold winter winds howling around him, he dug a grave near the windmill beside the house and laid his son to rest.

As gentle as an angel’s soft tears, snowflakes began to cascade from the heavens.

A shudder of despair racking his body, Dallas dropped to his knees, dug his fingers into the freshly turned soil, and wept.

Cordelia forced herself through the fog of exhaustion and pain. Every inch of her body protested, her heart protesting most of all for it remembered the loss and the grief on Dallas’s face as he’d taken his child from Amelia.

She bit back a cry as fingers poked and prodded. She opened her eyes. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Why was Dr. Freeman torturing her now?

He pulled down her gown and brought the blankets over her, seemingly unaware that she had awakened. Through half-closed eyes she watched him walk across the room to the window where Dallas stood gazing out through the paned glass.

“She gonna live?” Dallas asked.

“She should,” Dr. Freeman said, “but she’s going to need a lot of rest. Pamper her for a while.” Dr. Freeman put his hand on Dallas’s shoulder. “And find a way to tell her gently that she’s not going to be able to have any more children.”

Cordelia’s heart constricted, and she pressed her hand against her mouth, biting her knuckles to keep herself from crying out. Dallas jerked his head around and stared at the doctor.

“Are you sure she can’t have any more children?”

Dr. Freeman sighed heavily. “She’s lucky to be alive. She got hurt inside and out. Her injuries were extensive, and there’s going to be a lot of scarring. Based on my experience, I don’t see how she could possibly get pregnant.”

He walked quietly from the room. Dallas placed a balled fist on the window and bowed his head.

Cordelia’s heart shattered with the knowledge that he’d lost his dream.

Before she was fully awake, before she’d opened her eyes, she was aware of his warm fingers threaded through hers. Her eyelids fluttered, and she could see Dallas sitting in a chair beside the bed, his dark head bent, his face unshaven.

Tears clogged her throat and burned behind her eyes. He looked to be a man in mourning. She used what little strength she had to squeeze his fingers.

He snapped his head up and leaned forward. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Gently he brushed wisps of hair from her face. “How are you feeling?” he asked in a voice that sounded as rough as sandpaper.

He became blurred as her tears surfaced. “Was our baby a boy?” she asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips against the back of her hand. Then he opened his eyes and held her gaze. She watched his throat work as he swallowed.

“Yeah, yeah he was. I, uh, I laid him to rest near the windmill. I … I always liked the way the blades clack when the wind comes through, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

She wished she had the strength to sit up and wrap her arms around him, to comfort him. The tears welled. “I overheard what Dr. Freeman said—that I won’t be able to have other children. Dallas, I’m so sorry—”

“Shh. You’re gonna be all right and that’s what matters. I thought I was gonna lose you, too.”

At that moment she didn’t think she could love him more—for the lie he had spoken with such sincerity. She knew the truth. If she had died as well, he could remarry—any of the women who had recently moved to Leighton—and have the son he so desperately wanted.

He eased up in the chair. “Dee, I want to know what happened.”

Sniffing, she furrowed her brow. “What happened?”

“You left the room. I heard you scream—”

She squeezed his hand, pieces of images racing through her mind. “Oh, Dallas. Rawley.”

“Rawley?”

“The little boy. I heard a child cry. I went behind the hotel, and I saw him pressed into a corner. Then someone shoved me and the boxes fell … Oh, Dallas, he could have gotten hurt, too. Did you see him?”

“I only saw you.”

“Dallas, we have to find him.” She tried to sit, and he placed his hands on her shoulders.

“You’ve got no business getting out of bed. I’ll send Austin to find him.”

“Have him bring Rawley back here so I can see that he’s all right.”

Rawley Cooper knew he was in a heap of trouble. Had known it for days and knew sooner or later his mistake would catch up with him.

He would have preferred later.

He sat staring at the red and orange flames as they danced and warmed the room. The man who had brought him to this big house sat with his feet propped on the desk, his spurs dangling over the edge.

The man had told him his name was Austin. Once Rawley had gone through a town named Austin. He figured this man was pretty important since he had a town named after him.

Important men scared Rawley. They could do anything they wanted and nobody would stop them.

Rawley nearly jumped out of his skin when Austin pulled open a drawer.

“Dallas has some lemon drops in here. You want one?”

He peered over at Austin, saw the bag he held in his hand, the yellow ball he was rolling between his fingers. He remembered the man had given him a sarsaparilla stick once and hadn’t hurt him when he’d taken it. But that was a long time back. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the fire.

He knew all he wanted to know about taking gifts. Sooner or later, they always came with a heavy price.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Austin said.

Rawley wondered if he ran into the fire if it would swallow him up. He thought about that sometimes. Finding a way to disappear so no one could touch him, no one could hurt him.

“Where’s your ma?” Austin asked.

“Dead I reckon.”

“Don’t you know?”

Rawley lifted a shoulder.

The door opened. Austin dropped his feet to the floor and stood. Rawley stood, too, his legs trembling. Better to face the man who wanted him.

“You found him,” the man said.

The man was big. Rawley had seen him with the pretty lady.

“Yep. His pa was passed out in the saloon. I told the barkeep to tell him the boy was here when he woke up.”

“Good.”

The man sat in his chair at the desk. Austin hitched up a hip and planted his butt on the corner of the desk. Rawley tried not to look scared but he had a feeling he wasn’t having much success at it.

The man leaned forward. “Do you know who I am?”

Rawley nodded. “Yes, sir. You belong to the pretty lady.”

A corner of the man’s mustache lifted as he smiled slightly. “I reckon I do at that. My name is Dallas Leigh. The pretty lady is Mrs. Leigh.” His smile quickly disappeared, leaving his mouth looking hard. “She got hurt a few nights back.”

Rawley’s heart started pounding so fast he thought it might escape through his chest. “Did she die?”

“No, but she’s hurt … bad. She said someone pushed her. Do you know who pushed her?”

Rawley shook his head quickly and dropped his gaze to the floor so Dallas Leigh couldn’t see that he was lying. Silence stretched out between them. Rawley heard the logs crackle as the flames devoured them. Soon they’d be nothing but ashes. He wished something would turn him into ashes.

“Would you like to see her?”

His gaze shot up. Dallas Leigh was looking at him like he could see right through him. He figured anyone who lied to Mr. Leigh came away with a blistered backside.

He nodded hesitantly, wondering what it would cost him to see the pretty lady, hoping she wasn’t hurt so badly that she wouldn’t be able to smile at him. He dearly loved her smiles. Her smiles weren’t like the smiles most people gave him, smiles that hid something ugly behind them.

Mr. Leigh came to his feet and looked at Austin. “Dr. Freeman is getting a bite to eat in the kitchen. Fetch him upstairs.”

Austin walked out of the room with his arms swinging. Mr. Leigh put his hand on Rawley’s shoulder. Rawley shrank back.

Mr. Leigh studied him for a minute, his brown eyes penetrating. Rawley figured he could see clear through to his backbone.

“Follow me,” Mr. Leigh said and walked in long strides toward the door.

Rawley would have swallowed if he’d had any spit, but his mouth had gone dryer than the cotton he’d picked one summer.

He followed Mr. Leigh into the hallway. He’d never seen a house so big nor stairs so wide. He figured ten men could walk side by side down those stairs without bumping into each other. At the top of the stairs, he wanted to take a moment to look down, to pretend he was the king of the world, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t think Mr. Leigh was a man of patience and would understand his desire to look down at a world that always looked down on him.

Mr. Leigh opened a door. “In here.”

Rawley’s heart jumped into a rapid-fire beat. The pretty lady would smile at him, maybe hold his hand, and talk to him in a voice that sounded as soft as the wind. He wiped his hands on his britches, not wanting her to feel his sweat, and stepped into the room.

His heart dropped to the floor.

His gaze darted around the room, searching for a sign that he hadn’t been tricked, but with a knowledge a boy his age shouldn’t possess, he understood all too well the truth of his situation.

He knew better than to trust, better than to hope, better than to want.

He heard a shuffling and turned. A man who looked like he ought to be lying in a coffin stood in the doorway.

“This is Dr. Freeman,” Mr. Leigh said. “He’s gonna have a look at you.”

Rawley swallowed the bile burning his throat. “The pretty lady—”

“You can see her as soon as Dr. Freeman is done with you.”

“Does she want me to do this?” he asked.

“Yep.” Mr. Leigh nodded slightly at the doctor and stepped into the hallway, closing the door.

Rawley fought off the bitter disappointment of betrayal and began to carry himself away to a place where the sun kept him warm, the grass was soft beneath his feet, and the breeze always smelled like flowers.

Dallas had little doubt that the boy knew who had pushed Dee, who was responsible for the harm that had taken away their child.

But he’d also seen what he was too familiar with plunge more deeply into the boy’s eyes: fear.

The boy wouldn’t tell Dallas what he wanted to know because the boy feared whoever had been behind the hotel more than he feared Dallas.

“It seems to be taking Dr. Freeman a long time,” Dee said softly.

Dallas turned from the window and looked at his wife. He had propped pillows behind her back so she could sit up in bed. He was bringing her meals, making certain she had plenty to drink, and had started reading to her in the evenings. She seemed to have little interest in anything but the welfare of the boy, and it had taken Austin two days to find him.

“It just seems that way because we’re waiting. Time passes differently when you’re waiting.” She still looked so pale. “Want me to brush your hair again?”

“No.” She studied her clasped hands.

She’d barely looked at him since she had lost the baby. He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t listened to her father, hadn’t believed she was delicate. He had let her walk out of the hotel room unescorted while he had lain in that bed thinking about what he wanted to do with her body when she returned.

Shame rose within him. He hadn’t held her as precious as he should have, and his lack had cost them both, not only a son, but a chance at a future together. She had wanted to give him a son, and for a short time it had appeared that she had wanted him as well. She had laughed so easily while she carried his son, glowed with anticipation, and smiled constantly.

Late into the night, they had whispered silly things: the books she would read to him, the ranching skills Dallas would teach him, the building skills Dee would share with him. They would take him to the top of a windmill and teach him how to dream—big dreams.

So many planned moments that in one night had crumbled into dust to be blown over the prairie and lost.

The door opened, and Dr. Freeman poked his skeletal face into the room. “Dallas, I need to speak to you for a moment.”

Dee furrowed her brow. “Is Rawley hurt?”

“He’s fine,” Dr. Freeman said. “I just need to talk to Dallas.”

He disappeared into the hallway. Dallas walked out of the room and closed the door.

Dr. Freeman was standing beside a window, looking out, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. “There are times when I regret taking an oath to cause no harm,” he said through clenched teeth. “That boy has more scars than the parched earth has cracks. Do you know what he thought I wanted to do?” Dr. Freeman shook his head fiercely. “No, of course you don’t.”

When he turned, Dallas was surprised to see tears shimmering in the man’s eyes.

“I think that sorry excuse of a man who calls himself the boy’s father has been selling him.”

Dallas jerked his head back. “Selling him? To whom?”

“Men. Men who prefer boys to women.” Dallas’s stomach roiled. “Are you sure?” “I can’t swear to it, but I’d stake my life on it.” “In Leighton?”