Marry Me (15 page)

There’d been no lamp burning when he passed the room earlier, and he was certain Whitley hadn’t doubled back. There was probably only one good explanation for the light, and he toed open the door to see if he was right.

Rhyne was curled in the chair that he’d planned to occupy. She was wrapped in a dark green woolen shawl and had one of his heavy medical books open in her lap. The pool of light at her side allowed him to see her intense concentration. There was a small vertical crease between her eyebrows, and her shoulders were hunched forward. He couldn’t see what she was studying, but he knew it wasn’t an illustration because her index finger moved steadily down the page.

The final testament to her complete absorption was that she had not acknowledged him; indeed, she did not seem to know that he had joined her.

Cole took advantage of her lack of awareness to observe her a moment longer. A few days after coming to town, Rhyne had quietly submitted herself to Rose Beatty’s scissors. Her ragged crop of hair had mostly been trimmed to a smooth cap. Here, in the middle of the night, Rose’s work was not in evidence. Much of Rhyne’s short black hair stood at attention, although not with the precision of soldiers on the parade ground. This was a scruffy troop of new recruits who had never marched together. When she absently rubbed the side of her head, it only made things worse.

She looked like a rumpled pixie.

Her lowered eyes allowed Cole to see what was perhaps the most surprising transformation in her heart-shaped face: the dark, thick sweep of her eyelashes. According to Mrs. Beatty, Rhyne admitted that her stubby lashes were the result of some painful plucking and an occasional trim with a pair of shears that could have put her eyes out. Upon learning of it, Cole could only think that Rhyne Abbot had reached a very low point if she was owning up to such a thing.

Standing there, Cole wondered how he could make his presence known without frightening her. It occurred to him that he would not have given Runt Abbot the same consideration. He cleared his throat. Rhyne stiffened, but she didn’t flinch.

“Would you like your chair?” she asked, looking up. “No. Stay there.” He held up his cup and plate. “Hot milk and bread. Would you like some?”

She shook her head. “That would put me to sleep.”

“Exactly.”

Her smile was faint, and faintly self-mocking. “I don’t want to sleep.”

He nodded, understanding. “May I join you?”

Shrugging, she said, “Suit yourself.”

Cole would not allow her to put him off with that affected, careless air. “May I join you,” he said again, more deliberate in his tone this time.

She hesitated, searching for the honest answer. “Yes,” she said finally. “I would like that.”

Cole moved to the writing desk and sat in the cabriole chair behind it. He set his cup and plate on the blotter. Stretching out his long legs under the desk, he found the upholstered footstool and propped his heels on it. “What book do you have?”

Rhyne closed it enough so that she could read the spine.
“Foster’s Anatomical Reference and Surgery Guide.”

“You said you didn’t want to sleep.”

“It’s not Dickens,” she admitted. “But it is interesting. It hasn’t put me to sleep yet.”

Cole picked up the cup of milk and eyed Rhyne over the rim. The placement of her index finger between the pages suggested that she’d read better than a third of the book. It was an impressive accomplishment given the short time she’d been in his house. “How do you get past Whitley?”

“I wait until she’s with you, then I leave. Why does she look in on me before she goes downstairs?”

“It eases her mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s important to her to know that you’re there and that you’re safe. It’s why she follows me. She needs to know I haven’t left.”

“Why would she think you’d leave?”

“Because I have.”

Rhyne watched him tip his cup and carefully test the heat of the milk against his lips. He must have found it to his liking because he took a large mouthful. Her eyes strayed to his strong throat and the way the muscles in his neck moved when he swallowed. “Sternocleidomastoid,” she whispered to herself.

Cole lowered the cup and looked at her oddly. “What did you say?”

“Sternocleidomastoid. The muscles in your neck. Am I saying it right?”

He nodded slowly, pointing to the book. “You remember that from there?”

“Uh-huh.” She added quickly, “But I don’t remember everything.”

Cole didn’t think he’d be surprised if she did. “What
was
your education, Rhyne?”

“Judah schooled me. Same as Rusty and Randy.”

“He had his own ideas, then, of what was important for you to know.”

“That’s right.”

“You studied all the classics.” “He read them to me and my brothers.” “How did you learn to read?” “Rusty and Randy taught me.”

Cole tried to imagine the boys risking Judah’s wrath to sneak books into the loft to share them with their sister. It didn’t fit easily with what others had told him about the older Abbot boys, but apparently there were times when they weren’t beating the hell out of her.

He took a bite from the heel of bread and washed it down with another swallow of milk. “Will it bother you if I review my notes? That’s why I came in here.”

“You usually work in your surgery.”

It was true. That’s how she’d avoided being found out. “I finished the last set of experiments. I need to look over my documentation.”

“Of course.” She immediately ducked her head and opened the book.

Cole could only interpret her readiness to resume her own reading as evidence of her considerable relief. Since she had just exchanged more words with him than she had since her arrival, Cole did not indulge in feeling slighted. Instead, he was marginally optimistic.

He opened the middle drawer of the secretary and drew out the notebook he was using for this round of his research on bacterial staining. Squaring off the book, he opened it to where he had recorded information on the last group of experiments. His meticulous drawings of what he had observed under the microscope were helpful in reviewing his conclusions. They provided substantiation of the bacilli cultures he was trying to identify.

He made a few notations, but more often simply tapped the tip of his pen against his lips. The milk and bread were not touched again.

In spite of her intention to ignore Coleridge Monroe, Rhyne found herself stealing the occasional glance. He never surprised her by looking up from his work. She found herself fascinated by the way he gave over all of his attention to the thing in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice the dark copper hair that had fallen forward over his brow. In any other circumstance, he would have pushed it back with an impatient gesture. Now, it just lay there, another shadow crossing his quiet features.

She knew he still struggled with the rightness of his decision to tell her what Judah had done. He must have seen something in her face that made him question his judgment. She remembered only that she’d stared at him. From her perspective it seemed that she’d had no reaction at all. She couldn’t move for the numbness. It was exactly like the last moments before she fell asleep under the spell of the vaporizing ether. She was anesthetized.

He’d put away his instruments and walked out with both bags, one under each arm. Rachel had come to her then, but Rhyne knew Cole hadn’t explained what had taken place in the room. Rachel didn’t ask a single question. She just sat in the chair Cole vacated and stayed there until Rhyne slept. In Rhyne’s mind, at least, she stayed much longer.

They had traveled that same day. The decision was made while she was sleeping, and that suited her fine. She didn’t raise an objection to riding in the bed of the wagon and didn’t complain that she could walk to the wagon when Johnny and the sheriff said they would carry her. Rachel packed some clothes and personal things, and Rhyne let her do it without giving her any direction.

She heard snippets of their conversation, but most of it was merely a harmless buzzing in her ears. She had no real interest in what they had to say.

When they arrived in Reidsville, they went directly to Cole’s home. She recalled a flutter of something then, an inkling of doubt, perhaps, just enough to know that she would not always be numb. She hammered the feeling down.

She floated through her days, vaguely detached but carefully polite. At night, she roamed. Too restless to sleep, she explored the house, moving quietly in the hallways so that even Whitley didn’t hear her. She spent time in almost every room, from the overstuffed comforts of the front parlor to the spartan surgery. She wandered through the kitchen and poked around in the larder. Sometimes she removed the slippers Whitley gave her so she could feel the tasseled rug in the dining room under her feet.

Her favorite room was the library. The shelves were crowded with books, not only medical tomes, but biographies and novels, histories and illustrated travelogues. The space smelled of leather and paper and lamp oil. The window facing the street was framed by heavy velvet drapes the color of wild grapes. If she had to spend time indoors, this room would make it better than tolerable.

No one had said how long she might stay here, and she hadn’t asked. Whitley seemed oddly fascinated by her. Rhyne didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed. Cole, when she saw him, was courteous but reserved. Mostly, she was glad of it.

He never broached the subject of another examination.

She didn’t leave the house for ten days. During that time Will and Rose Beatty came to visit and Rose cut her hair. Mrs. Cooper came and went a great deal. Sometimes she brought Molly Showalter along. They measured the length and breadth of her, then showed her a portfolio of sketches that Mrs. Cooper had done especially for her. Dresses. Jackets. Gowns. Hats. They asked her to choose. It was overwhelming.

She recalled how Cole had come upon them in the parlor: Rachel, Molly, and Whitley sitting still as stone while she examined the drawings one by one. She could feel their eyes on her and knew the pressure of their expectant silence. Cole had grasped the situation immediately and relieved her of the portfolio. In less than two minutes he made all the decisions. Whitley pronounced him overbearing. Molly cowered a little in his presence. Rachel looked up at him, smiled as if she understood something she had not before, and accepted his judgment.

Rhyne had not known what he’d selected for her until Mrs. Cooper returned for the fittings. She came alone, while Whitley was at school, and it was just the two of them. Talking did not seem so much like a chore.

The first time she ventured out it was because Whitley wanted to go to the emporium for licorice and Cole wouldn’t let her go alone. Sitting in the parlor, Rhyne had been able to hear Whitley wheedle and coax. Cole never raised his voice, but he never changed his mind, and he finally removed her from the surgery and closed the doors. She’d come to the parlor after that, feet dragging, chewing on the tip of her braid. Rhyne already had her coat ready.

She had no enthusiasm for walking through town or the energy to deflect the stares, yet she managed it because listening to Cole’s sister whine jangled nerves that were better left for dead.

Rhyne belatedly realized that her occasional glance in Cole’s direction had become a straight-on stare. It had been a long time since she’d turned a page. The last time she had watched him so closely, he’d been in her rifle sights.

“You were right to tell me,” she said suddenly.

Cole looked up. He rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. “Pardon?”

She found it strangely reassuring that he could be dogtired
and
mannerly. He must have had a good upbringing, or at least not the one she’d had. “I said, you were right to tell me. I’m talking about Judah, in case you didn’t know.”

“I was working that part out.” He pushed the notebook away and leaned back in his chair. “Why are you telling me now?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No. No, this is fine. I’m just taken… I don’t know … it seems …”

Rhyne tried to remember if she’d ever known him not to finish a sentence. “I was thinking about the last time I pointed my Winchester at you. It just occurred to me that you deserved to know you made the right decision.”

“What makes you think I didn’t know that?”

She shrugged. One corner of the shawl fell off her shoulder. She pulled it and the sleeve of her nightgown back into place. “The way you watch me, for one thing. The way you don’t sleep, for another.”

“Apparently I don’t watch you closely enough,” he said. “I didn’t know you were moving around at night.”

“I know how to track and hunt. I can move so you can’t hear me unless I want you to.”

“I guess I’ve learned that.” He folded his arms across his chest and studied her. “So if I did the right thing, why can’t
you
sleep?”

“Because I still think about it when I close my eyes. Isn’t that curious? I don’t remember it. Didn’t know it happened. And I dream about it anyway.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t see how you can say I acted properly.”

“You just turned over the cards I was dealt,” she said. “It’s still my hand to play. That doesn’t make it easy; it just makes it mine.” Rhyne saw that he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Judah might have taken it in his head to taunt me with it. That would have been worse. I don’t kill the messenger, but Judah wouldn’t be the messenger exactly, would he? Here’s a word for you, Dr. Monroe, with Latin roots: patricide. I reckon you know what that means.”

Hair stood up on the back of Cole’s neck. “I reckon I do,” he said softly. He’d always thought that keeping Rhyne away from Judah was protecting her. She was making it clear that it worked the other way as well. “There’s no reason for you and Judah to cross paths.”

“That’s fine by me. I’ll move to the other side of the street if I see him first.”

Cole knew it didn’t follow that Judah Abbot would do the same. Will Beatty escorted the man out of town the morning after Rhyne arrived. Judah had the spread to himself now; for the first time in his life he was well and truly on his own. There existed the strong possibility that he would eventually come looking for Runt.