Cinnamon and Roses (24 page)

"What else can you tell me about her?"

"That's it. Nice clothes, real proper speech. But I haven't seen her since, so I don't know where she is or what she's been doing. You
ain't
going to send the marshal over here, are you? We've been real good about keeping trouble to a minimum, and he hasn't made any rounds for the last couple months."

Caleb dug in his jacket and handed her a couple of bills. “Don't worry. I appreciate your help."

"No problem, honey,” she said, leaning over to stuff the money into the toe of an abandoned slipper on the floor. “You ever need more than just information, pay me a visit. And if I'm not the kind of gal who catches your fancy, I'm sure I can find one who will."

"I'll remember that,” Caleb said as he moved to the door.

Caleb stepped into the jailhouse and looked around the front office. Marshal Thompson was either out or in back with a prisoner. Caleb sat down in an available chair, balanced on two legs, and propped his boots on the desk, crossing them at the ankles.

Within ten minutes, Thompson walked in the door. “Caleb,” he said, holding out his hand. “Hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not at all, Marshal,” he answered, shaking the man's hand.

Thompson brushed down his mustache and went around to the other side of the desk. “What can I do for you?"

"Have you heard about Rebecca?"

"Sure have. I'm real sorry, Caleb. Doc says she's
gonna
be all right, though. Thank the good Lord for that."

"Then you haven't heard the rest?"

The marshal leaned forward in his chair. “Well, now, I have heard a thing or two, but you know how gossip runs rampant in this town. I don't pay it much
nevermind
anymore.” He took off his hat and set it on the desktop. “Rumor has it that Doc Meade was over at the Dog Tick after he left your place. The ladies are all in
a lather
,
thinkin
’ he's consorting with those kind of folks, but Doc swears he was only talking to Chloe.
About a medical matter."

"That's true,” Caleb said. “I just came from there myself."

Thompson's bushy eyebrows rose.

"To talk, Marshal.
My wife is sick in bed. What kind of man do you think I am?"

"I didn't say anything, Caleb. But I've seen better men than you go over there for an hour or so. ‘
Specially
when their wives are too far along to keep them happy."

"I'm happy, Marshal.
Except for the fact that someone is trying to murder my wife."

"Murder!
That's quite an accusation to be tossing around, don't you think? You want to be sure before you make those sorts of charges."

"Oh, I'm sure. And I think the bullet that hit Megan was meant for Rebecca, too."

"Now, Caleb—"

"Marshal, my wife was poisoned with an herb called pennyroyal. She nearly died, and she almost lost our child. I consider this very serious. If you talk to Chloe down at the Dog Tick, she can give you a description of the woman she sold a bottle of the herb to. I suspect that woman employed one of our housekeepers to put it in my wife's tea."

"Can you prove it wasn't just another prank
Anabelle
Archer cooked up?"

Caleb raised an eyebrow. Gossip traveled fast if the sheriff knew about that already. Only he, Rebecca,
Anabelle
, and her mother had been involved in that conversation about
Anabella's
mischief-making. “If this was a prank, it wasn't a very funny one. Rebecca almost died. Besides, Chloe said the woman was dark, not blond."

"Still, everyone knows about
Anabelle's
confession in the churchyard. Her mother's been bawling around about it ever since. How do you know it's not just another one of her vengeful tricks?"

"I don't,” Caleb said reluctantly. “So let's go ask her."

Caleb wasn't too happy about having to ride out to the Archer home and waste time better used looking for the real culprit, but if that was what it would take to convince Marshal Thompson that there was someone trying to kill Rebecca, so be it. They would find
Anabelle
, ask her some questions, and ease the marshal's mind, as well as his own. Then he would make sure Thompson got down to business tracking down the black-haired woman Chloe had told him about.

They found
Anabelle
outside, shaking a rug over the front porch railing. She looked at them warily and glanced behind her, and Caleb suspected she didn't want her parents to know they had company.

"Marshal Thompson. Mr. Adams,” she said softly, coming down the front steps and draping the small rag rug over the banister. “Can I help you?"

Caleb didn't bother to dismount, and Thompson only shifted in his saddle.

"Seems there's been more trouble with Rebecca Adams,” the marshal said.

"What?”
Anabelle
exclaimed in a hushed voice. “I swear I haven't done anything to her. Honestly, Mr. Adams. Ma has punished me something fierce for mistreating Rebecca before. I haven't been allowed to leave the house since."

"Then you don't know anything about the poisoning?” Caleb asked.

"Poisoning!
Oh, no! Nothing! I swear it on a stack of Holy Bibles. Is she all right?"

"Far as we know,” Caleb said. “I hope you're being truthful with us,
Anabelle
."

"I am. Oh, I am, Mr. Adams."

"Good enough. But if we find out you lied—"

"No, no. I would never do that again. I'm real sorry about how I acted before.” Her face flushed in embarrassment. “It wasn't very grown-up of me."

Caleb inclined his head. “Then if you hear anything, you'll let us know?"

"Yes, sir.
I'll tell Ma and Pa, too."

"I didn't think she had anything to do with it,” Caleb said as they rode away.

"You understand why I had to be sure, don't you? I mean, I can't very well go chasing after some imaginary murderer if there's the chance it's just a childish prank."

"Well, now that you know, I hope you'll help me find the woman Chloe described."

"You know I will, Caleb. Just tell me what she looks like, and I'll get the word out."

"Good. And I want you to look for our housekeeper.
Dolores, too.
She was the one giving Rebecca the herbs in her tea. She may be able to lead us to the other woman."

It was after dark when Caleb finally made his way wearily into the house. He left his coat on a hook inside the front door and headed immediately up the stairs.

His father and sister were crowded around Rebecca, each offering to do some good deed to aid in her recovery.

"You might think of letting her rest,” Caleb suggested from the doorway.

"Oh, Caleb, you're home.” Megan rose from the chair beside the bed. “We were beginning to worry."

"No need."

"Well, now that you're here, we'll leave you and Rebecca alone. Supper will be ready whenever you are."

"I'll be down in a while,” he said.

On their way out, Megan stopped beside him and stood on tiptoe. “She's doing much better.” she whispered in his ear. “She'll be up and around in no time."

"Is Megan right?” he asked once his sister and Holbrook had left the room. “Are you feeling better?"

"Oh, much,” Rebecca said. “I've been awake almost all evening. Where were you?"

"I had some business in town."

"Important business, I hope. Otherwise I would feel terribly neglected."

He went to her side, balanced on the edge of the mattress, and cupped her cheek in his palm. “It was very important.” He lightly touched her lips with his own. “And I would never dream of neglecting you."

"I should think not,” she said with a slight smile. “I hear you took excellent care of me while I was sick."

"And where did you hear that, my dear?"

"From your father and your sister and Doc Meade..."

"Liars, every last one of them."

"I doubt it,” she said quietly. “Your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. That meant a lot to me."

"Did it?” His voice was just as soft.

She only nodded.

Caleb swallowed and moved closer, taking her hands in his own. “There's something I've been meaning to tell you. I just never found the right time."

"What's that?” she asked.

"I love you,” he said without hesitation.

Caleb thought for a moment that her eyes would pop out of her head. Then he realized she wasn't breathing.
and
he became concerned. “Rebecca? Rebecca?” he said, giving her hands a little shake.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me.” He brought her fingers to his mouth. He couldn't help but smile. “I love you."

"You're just saying that because—"

He gripped her hands tightly. “I am not just saying it. When you were unconscious and the doctor sent me out while he examined you, I spent a lot of time thinking.
And trying to pray."

"You?
Pray?” she asked incredulously.

"Yes, me,” he said with a chuckle. “I know it's not an everyday occurrence—at least it wasn't—but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't help you, and I was going crazy with worry. I didn't see any harm in trying my hand at prayer."

His voice lowered. “I don't think I did a very good job, though. All I could think was that I didn't want to lose you.” His hold on her hands loosened while he threaded his fingers between her own. “I love you, Rebecca. I love holding you in my arms at night and waking up beside you in the morning. I love your spirit, your intelligence—even your stubbornness. My whole life has turned brighter since the day you blew into the Express office in a flurry of peach skirts and petticoats, with a tongue as sharp as a razor."

Rebecca flushed prettily and ducked her head. He tapped her under the chin with a knuckle until she was once again looking him in the eye. “I don't even think I realized it until you were nearly taken from me. I don't know how or when it happened, but you burrowed your way into my stone-cold heart and curled up just like you belonged there."

Rebecca threw her arms around his neck and held him close. At first she had thought herself delusional, imagining the words coming from Caleb's lips rather than actually hearing them. But the more he spoke, the more she believed. And the naked vulnerability that shone in his eyes couldn't be anything but real.

"Oh, Caleb,” she whispered. “I love you, too."

Caleb pulled away and gave her a giddy, astonished look. “Well, why the hell didn't you say so sooner?"

She wiped at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I couldn't. It would have hurt too much to have you laugh in my face."

"Sweetheart, you say a lot of things that amuse me, but ‘I love you’ could never be one of them."

"I can't believe it,” Rebecca said softly. “For so long, I thought you hated me for trapping you into this marriage. I never thought you would grow to even like me, let alone love me. And now you do. Or at least you say you do."

He brushed the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I do. I'll never give you reason to doubt it again. Besides, do you really believe someone could force me, Caleb Zachariah Adams, to do anything I didn't want to? Come now, Rebecca, I'm a bit more determined than that, aren't I?"

She nodded. “It's true that your stubbornness is about the size of
Kansas
itself."

"Don't be so eager to agree, sweetheart,” he said with a chuckle. “I could point out a few of your shortcomings, as well."

"Such as?” she asked, feigning defensiveness.

He closed one eye and pretended to concentrate.
“Your temper.
But I already said that, didn't I? Well, you're also stubborn, willful,
mulish
—"

"Those are all the same thing,” she pointed out.

"Oh. In that case, I guess you only have one character flaw. It just happens to be a very large one,” he teased.

She snorted. “And here I thought that's what you loved best about me."

"It is. If it hadn't been for your temper and bullheadedness, you never would have stormed into my office that afternoon. And if you hadn't bent my ear about that bill, I never would have noticed your pert breasts or sashaying hips. And if I hadn't noticed your figure, I never would have wanted you so badly. And if I hadn't wanted you so badly, we never would have made love. And if we hadn't made love, we never would have made this little one.” He put a hand on her belly. “And you never would have married me."

"So what you're saying is that my stubbornness is a good thing?"

"A very good thing.
As long as you don't use it too often.
At least not with me."

"Oh, well,” Rebecca said haughtily, “if you're going to tie my hands..."

A wicked light came to his eyes, and he gave her a conspiratorial wink. “We'll try that later.
After the baby is born."

She flushed to the roots of her hair. “If anyone gets tied up, Caleb Adams, it will be you."

He gave a deep belly laugh. “A hellion, that's what you are. How did I ever end up with such a hellion for a wife?"

Rebecca opened her mouth to answer.

He held up a hand to stop her. “No, don't remind me. But rest assured, my dearest Rebecca, that I never hated you. Perhaps I wasn't the most gracious of husbands to start, but I never hated you. And even though I don't think I knew it then, I was glad to have the baby as an excuse to make you mine."

"Really?"

"Absolutely.
Now, wife,” he said, straightening, “tell me once more that you love me before I go downstairs for our meals."

"I love you,” Rebecca whispered, her heart completely light for the first time since she had met this infuriating man.

"You aren't leaving again, are you?” Rebecca asked, finally allowed out of bed. She sat in the comfortable green armchair, a book in her lap, watching Caleb adjust his tie.

"I shouldn't be long,” he answered. He came to her side and pressed a light kiss to her cheek.

"What will you
be
doing?” she asked. He had gone into town the past three evenings in a row, and she was beginning to suspect that something was not quite right.

"I have some business to take care of."

"That's what you said last night.
And the night before that."

"Then it must be true."

Caleb heard her teeth click together and saw the sparks in her eyes. She probably thought he was up to no good, though he didn't know how she could even imagine such a thing after the intimate discussion they'd had. Hadn't he told her that he loved her? Didn't she believe him?

"All right,” he said. “I didn't want to tell you this because I thought it might upset you, but I've been out with Marshal Thompson the past few nights looking for Dolores and the woman who gave her the pennyroyal to give you."

"Oh, Caleb,” Rebecca cried, letting her book fall shut.

"Now don't fret. We've only been questioning some people in town, sweetheart. It's not like we're forming a posse to hunt them down."

"Still, it's so dangerous."

"
Which is exactly why I didn't tell you.
But I don't want you worrying, all right? I'll be fine.” He winked.

"I'm letting Thompson do all the dangerous work, anyway."

"You will be careful, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I'm not going to let myself get hurt now that I've got a woman at home who loves me."

Caleb found Marshal Thompson with his spurs on the desk, the same as every other night he'd come to town. This time, however, Thompson's face lit up at his arrival.

"'bout time you got here, son. I have something I think you'll like."

He waited while the marshal jingled a ring of keys and unlocked the door to the cells, leading him to the end of the row. On a small cot in the corner of the cell sat the big-boned Dolores. Her gray hair fell in greasy strands about her face.

"Someone here to see you, ma'am,” the marshal said.

Dolores lifted her head and looked at Caleb. When she realized who it was, she came to her feet, hurriedly trying to improve her appearance. “Mr. Adams, sir."

Caleb felt a twinge of pity for the old woman. Then he remembered that she had helped poison his
wife,
and he strengthened his resolve to get to the bottom of this.

"Dolores,” he said with a brief nod. “I think you know why you're here."

"Yes, sir.
I did something I oughtn't. I feared it was wrong, but she said no real harm would come of it, and she paid me so much. I'm real sorry, sir."

"Who's
she?
” Caleb demanded.