Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) (31 page)

But he’d already accused me of murder, and as tempting as it was, I wouldn’t play into his taunts and become what he accused me of being. When it came down to it, he’d won. I couldn’t do anything without hurting Lydia or exposing my father to unwanted attention.

My lungs constricted in my chest and the blackness of despair threatened to pull me under. Everything in me fought against admitting defeat. How could I let go of the one woman I’d ever loved? How could I leave her here with this monster? At the very least, I could wire Beth and tell her the circumstances. She’d come after Lydia. Randall had nothing to threaten her with. She could stand up to him and free Lydia. Beth would take her home.

More than anything else, I needed to protect Lydia and my father from Randall Templeton. And from me.

I looked down, and ground out the one word that hurt more than anything. “Fine.”

Randall chuckled. “It’s not like there isn’t a world of women out there for you to choose from, and most of them are a hell of a lot more appealing than Lydia. Honestly, I don’t even know why you’d bother with her. I mean, even one of the savages would have been a more interesting way to pass the time.”

I shot up from my seat and turned on my heel to leave the room without saying a word, because if I stayed I’d be damned about the consequences, and there’d be no doubt about my being a murderer.

I’d lost my way. I went to church in Palmer, and said my prayers before bedtime every night, but it had become just something I did. I didn’t accept it in my heart.

While I sat in the quiet church, lit only by a few candles at the altar, I started my journey back.

“Lord, you and I haven’t seen eye to eye for a while,” I said.

I’d started the night reciting scripture, and going through the motions of worship. But somewhere deep in the secret part of the night, I’d dozed. I must have slept a couple of hours because I woke, groggy and unguarded, right before sunrise, and started talking to God instead of praying.

“When Father sold me in marriage, and Randall refused to bring me home, I was mad at you. I thought you’d betrayed me.”

I watched the candles as they guttered and went out one by one, until I sat under a blanket of darkness.

“I grew up terrified of you. I did what Father told me because he’d put the fear of God in me from as far back as I can remember. I was more afraid of you than Lucifer.”

I sighed a soft laugh at my childhood fears. I’d imagined God lurking after me, watching my every move, keeping a record of my every word, and judging each and every one. I figured Lucifer was easy to recognize and reject, but there were so many rules to follow in order for God to love me. I knew for sure I’d break one and damn my soul to hell.

“When I was left alone in Nevada, I didn’t think you cared about me. I didn’t understand how I could work so hard to hold up my end of the relationship, and you’d still let that happen to me. So I just went through the motions as a habit.”

Warm, wet tears trickled down my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I was crying. “It wasn’t until I met Emmett—well, when we fell in love, really—that I realized you hadn’t forsaken me after all.”

One of the candles suddenly came to life on the altar, and for just a moment, I thought God had done it, acknowledging my gratitude, but then the light flickered on Randall’s face as he lit several more candles.

“Don’t be so quick to come to that conclusion, Lydia.”

I swiped the tears from my face. “What conclusion?”

“That Emmett Wilder is a gift from God. What if he’s a temptation sent from Satan?”

He blew out the match and came to sit in the pew in front of me. Sinister shadows rippled over the contours of his face. I had to suppress a shudder.

“What if,” he continued, “God watched the whole time, and when you fell for the bait, that’s when he actually abandoned you.”

“What are you talking about? Emmett is not a test from either God or Satan.”

“You may think differently when you learn that he left.”

Gooseflesh rose on my skin, and I thought I might be sick. “What do you mean?”

I couldn’t tell with the candles behind him and most of his face in shadow, but Randall seemed to be smiling. “I mean, he stopped by this morning and we talked. He said after sleeping on it, he didn’t want you after all.”

“I don’t believe you.” Ever since we’d been married, Emmett losing interest in me had been my biggest fear. But Randall’s words were far too flippant to take seriously.

“I’m sorry, Lydia. That was ill-mannered of me. Please forgive me. I’ve never been fond of Emmett Wilder, so I’m happy to see the back of him.”

My heart stuttered, and I had to close my eyes and swallow a couple of times to before I could speak again. “He’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?” My throat tightened so I had to force the words out.

“That’d he’d made a mistake. In the light of the real world, he realized you were better off without him, and that he really preferred a solitary, bachelor life.”

Randall shrugged, as if he hadn’t just pulled the rug out from under my life.

“But he told me he loved me.”

“Lydia, men will say anything when they think it will get a woman in their bed.” He held up a hand, preventing me from responding. “I’m sorry to be so crude. I’m usually more gentle with ladies, but you need to understand how this is a good thing.”

By now tears poured down my face, falling onto my hands in my lap. “How is this a good thing?” My heart stuttered and I thought it might shrivel and die in my chest, while the rest of me went on living in misery.

“It’s better you find out what kind of man he is now, before you actually married him.”

If what Randall said was true, I had no idea what kind of man he really was. I’d thought he was decent, kind, loyal, and that he loved me. He’d told me he loved me, and I trusted him.

“He’s a good man. You’re lying to me. You have to be.”

“I really am sorry,” he said, and by the soft, solicitous tone of his voice, I almost believed him. “But he’s not a good man, and he’s the one who lied to you. He used you; took advantage of you for a wild, adventurous tryst before returning to his real life.”

A sob escaped my lips, and I covered my mouth to keep the rest of them inside until I could be alone.

“You’re a naive woman, Lydia, not a woman of the world. You’re too trusting. The first man who comes along who says he loves you, you believe him.”

“No. It can’t be true. I’ll talk to him myself. Clear things up.”

“You will not. I forbid it.”

I sat up straight and cocked my head in confusion. “You can’t forbid me. I’m a grown woman. I need to hear the words directly from him.”

“Lydia,” his voice had added firmness. “He’s a bad man. I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but aside from the way he treated you, he’s a charlatan and a murderer.”

I waved the information away. “I know all about that.”

“He told you he killed a woman and her baby?”

I froze. “What?” I whispered.

“After the war. He attended a woman in childbirth. He was drunk and when she didn’t deliver fast enough for him, he sliced her open to get the whole thing over with more quickly. I suppose the bottle called out to him. It was a tragedy, really. And worse, his senator father used his connections to cover the whole thing up. Poor husband.”

Emmett had told me about a woman dying, that she would have died anyway. Could he have lied to me, telling me only what he wanted me to hear? Or was Randall the one manipulating the story? It was too much information. I didn’t know what to believe.

“I need to talk to him. I need to hear the truth from him.”

“No. You will not see him again.”

“But I need to understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. He left. He decided he didn’t want you after all. Maybe he realized there are plenty of less ordinary women in the world, and he’d be better off finding one of them to wake up with every morning.”

I squeezed my eyes shut as his words struck home.

“That man,” he said, “is nothing but a vile, contemptible, murdering fraud. You’re better off here with me and the church and God. And eventually, once you’ve atoned for this whole debacle, I’ll find you a proper husband.”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Dropping my face into my hands, I curled up on the pew and sobbed.

I lost track of time, and when I woke, the golden light of the late afternoon sun shone through the stained glass windows.

My head throbbed from crying so hard for so long. I tried to swallow past my dry throat, and barely managed some saliva. I didn’t really care. Dried tears tightened the skin of my cheeks, and my toes tingled from laying in the same position for too long, but I didn’t care.

When my stomach rumbled, I whispered, “shut up.” I didn’t want to eat, maybe never again. I just wanted to lie there and die, a little bit at a time.

I pulled my coat closer around me, shrinking as far inside it as possible.

“Why?” I asked God. “You made me what I am, the way I look, but I still have a heart. I’ve always followed the rules, done what I was told. Nobody’s ever loved me.” I snorted at the irony. “There are dogs more loved than me. Horses. Criminals. Whores. Why not me?”

Of course he didn’t answer. Why should he? I was nobody. Father made sure I knew that a long time ago. I’d prepared myself for a life alone, and had found a form of happiness I could live with. I should have known better than to expose my heart and risk disappointment. Now I’d have to pay the price.

I sat up and took a deep breath, then another one. “Why should he get to just walk away? He should have to look me in the eyes and tell me himself he doesn’t want me.”

I’d make him face the consequences of his actions and see the results of his thoughtless behavior, and maybe show him I’d be fine without him, maybe even better off; although I didn’t know if I could pull that off.

I crunched back to the house through the snow, in the rays of the afternoon sun. When I closed the back door behind me, I hung my coat on a hook just inside. The savory smell of cooking meat wafted from the kitchen. The smell made my stomach rumble that much louder, reminding me I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

“That smells heavenly,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. Short, round Mrs. Jackson stood at the stove, her gray hair held back by a scarf, and a crisp, white apron covering her dress. Her blue eyes twinkled when she saw me.

“Come in, dear. You look like you could use a hot meal.”

I imagined I looked as haggard as I felt. “It’s been a long several days. I’m just tired and hungry.”

She sliced a hunk of bread from a nearby loaf and handed it to me. “To hold you over.”

I smiled and accepted it, gratefully. “So you keep Randall fed?” I asked, shoving the warm, delicious bread in my mouth.

She huffed a soft laugh. “I cook for him every night and keep the house.”

“Are you a member of the church?”

“Yes. My husband passed several years ago, and when Mr. Randall took over the church he hired me.”

“Well, this bread is wonderful, and whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

“Thank you. Supper will be ready shortly.”