A Treasure Concealed (24 page)

“How awful.” She toyed with the hem of her apron, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Yes, it is, but it's very often done among the elite of society. Marriages aren't always about love but rather business dealings.” He waited for her to comment, but she didn't.

“So, because Catherine was up against this, we agreed to let her father believe we were accepting of the engagement he and my father had contracted. It's nothing more than a sham, however.”

This got Emily's attention. “For what purpose?”

“To buy time,” Caeden explained. “Catherine needs time. We will plan for a long engagement. Meanwhile, she hopes to arrange an elopement with her young man. If her father believes she's engaged to me, he won't have any further plans for her.”

“How will this help his financial problems?”

“Despite the betrothal being a sham, I'm paying Mr. Arnold a large dowry or bride-price for Catherine's hand. It's a small thing to do in order to keep Catherine from a life of misery. In a short time, after she has the opportunity to put her plans in
action, I will break the engagement. If I cancel the engagement, then I will be expected to forfeit the dowry. I alone will bear the shame, and Catherine will still be highly regarded in her social circles. In fact, she will no doubt garnish a great deal of sympathy. More important, she'll be able to marry her true love.”

Emily finally seemed to relax a bit. She met his gaze and nodded. “That's quite admirable of you. She's fortunate to have you as a friend.”

“Miss Emily, are you home?” Jake Hoover called from outside.

Emily jumped to her feet and hurried to the door. Caeden grimaced. He wasn't through with what he wanted to say, but with Jake there he couldn't continue. Instead he focused on the food she'd fixed for him.

“Well, hello there, Mr. Thibault,” Jake said, coming into the cabin with two sacks slung over his shoulder. “I thought you'd gone on your way.”

Caeden swallowed. “I was delayed. I needed to speak with Emily about some important matters.” He turned his attention back to the food, hoping Jake would finish his business and leave.

“Well, I brought the little lady some elk.” He put the sacks on the table opposite Caeden, then looked around the cabin. “Looks like I'm not the only one makin' deliveries.”

“Caeden sent this stuff to us. It arrived after Pa was shot and moved to Lewistown. I just found it here this morning. He said it was in thanks for what Pa had done for him.”

Jake smiled. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” He looked at Caeden and raised a brow. “It would seem you were mighty thankful.”

“I still am.” Caeden finished the last of his toast and said nothing more.

Jake seemed to realize he'd intruded and started for the door. He put his hand out and touched Emily's coat hanging there. “I see Millie got this cleaned up for you. Knowing her, she probably cleaned your gun as well.”

Emily smiled. “I didn't check, but I was happy to get both back.”

“I was sure you would be. Look, I'll check on you again, Miss Emily. Let Millie know if you need anything. She can always get word to me.”

“Thank you, Jake. You've been most kind. Once I get organized I promise I'll make you some of your favorite cookies.”

Jake hesitated for a moment at the open door. He looked back at Caeden as if ascertaining his trustworthiness. Caeden held his gaze for several moments before Jake nodded and left the cabin. Emily waved from the door and seemed in no hurry to return to Caeden's company. He frowned. This was turning out to be more difficult than he'd expected.

“If you'll excuse me,” Emily said, reaching for her coat. “I need to go down to Millie's.”

Caeden got to his feet. “Please wait. I have something to say.”

Emily was already out the door but paused. Caeden followed her, hoping, very nearly praying, for the right words. His entire future depended on this moment.

“Well?” Emily looked at him and offered him a hint of a smile. She moved away several steps. “What is it you want to say?”

“I . . . I'm going to be gone for some time.” Caeden searched for the words, but nothing seemed right. “I wanted to . . . well . . . I wanted you to know that . . .”

He looked at her for a long moment, then did the only thing he could think to do. The one thing he'd wanted to do for a very long while. He closed the distance between them in two long
strides and pulled Emily into his arms. Without another word he covered her mouth with his in a long and passionate kiss.

He felt her yield to his touch, melting against him just as he had hoped she might. He deepened his kiss, bending her slightly backward. Her arms went around his neck. Caeden wanted the moment to never end, and Emily seemed to be in no hurry to go.

She does care about me. She wants
me as much as I want her.

When he ended the kiss, Caeden continued to hold her. He knew time was of the essence, but moments like this weren't soon to come back his way. “I love you, Emily.” He whispered the words against her ear. “I didn't think it was even possible for me to fall in love, but I have.”

He turned his head to gaze into her eyes. She looked at him with eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Whether she was more surprised by the kiss or his declaration, it didn't matter. Caeden put his hand to her cheek. “I have to return to Washington, and as I said, I'll be gone for some time. I had to come here, however, and ask you if you'd consider . . . if you'd mind . . . waiting for me?”

He wanted to ask her to marry him but worried that the suddenness of the entire situation would cause her to bolt. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. Her silence was killing him.

Emily could hardly believe what Caeden had just said. Frankly, his entire appearance at the cabin, not to mention the kiss—her first—had been quite stunning. She had cried herself to sleep the night before, hating that the marshal didn't believe her and that Caeden was to marry another. Now with his arm still around her, his thumb stroking her cheek, Emily found
structured thought almost impossible. She didn't want to ruin the moment by saying anything. In fact, she would have really liked to hear him declare his love once again.

“Emily?”

She put her hand over his and pressed it to her cheek. “I'll wait.”

He smiled one of those rare, heartfelt smiles she had come to love. “I knew you cared for me.”

“I do.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He chuckled. “Just remember those two little words. They should come in handy in the months to come.”

Caeden kissed her again, this time much quicker. When he stepped back Emily immediately longed for his return.

“I've got to go.” He mounted the bay and looked down at her. “I've set up a bank account for you in Lewistown. I know you and your father are ever so self-sufficient, but humor me and draw on the account if you need to. I don't like the idea of you being out here by yourself trying to pan for gold in a blizzard.”

Emily laughed. “I'm not that foolish. Still, I did tell Pa I'd try.”

“I don't see as you should have to tell him where the money came from—just that you have what you need.” Caeden shrugged. “It's not a lie.”

For a moment neither one said anything. Emily could see the longing in Caeden's eyes. It matched the feeling in her heart. “You'd best go.”

He nodded. “I suppose so.” He turned the horse toward Yogo City. “You've changed everything in my world, Miss Emily Carver. I hope you realize that.” He gave the horse a nudge in the side and urged him forward.

Emily stood fixed, watching until Caeden was out of sight. Last night everything had seemed so hopeless. What a difference a few hours could make.

K
irk Davies fought off the dizziness that threatened to put him on the floor. He hadn't felt good in days, and upon waking this morning he'd found it almost impossible to put weight on his left leg.

He muttered curses, most directed at Emily Carver. If she hadn't bit him, he wouldn't be dealing with any of this now. He certainly wouldn't be sitting in a doctor's office in Utica with his leg swollen beyond its normal size.

The doctor, an older man with a no-nonsense approach, entered the room and eyed Davies for a moment. “What seems to be ailing you?”

“My leg. I . . . I injured it and now it's causing me grief.”

The doctor felt his forehead. “You're burning up. No doubt it's infected. Drop your pants and I'll take a look.”

The man didn't offer to assist Kirk at all, which only served to bring about more cursing. Kirk undid his gun belt but kept it close at hand. He'd learned over the years it was never wise to be separated from his revolver, and he wasn't going to start now.

Removing his pants proved more difficult. His fingers fumbled with the buttons but finally managed the job. He worked the canvas pants down the swollen leg to reveal the dirty bandage on his thigh.

“Get up on the table,” the doctor instructed.

Again Davies growled out curses as he fought to keep from passing out from the pain. His pants fell to his ankles and nearly caused him to fall as they bound his legs. With no other choice, however, he gritted his teeth and managed to settle onto the examination table.

The doctor didn't take any great care with the removal of the bandage, and when he pulled it away, putrid pieces of flesh and blood came with it. The stench was almost unbearable.

“You're just about to lose this leg,” the doctor declared. “Why'd you wait so long to get in here?”

“Busy,” Kirk said, still clenching his teeth. He wasn't about to show any sign of weakness.

“What happened? This looks like a bite. Did you tangle with some animal?”

“I fell off my horse and landed on a jagged piece of wood.” The lie came easy. He couldn't very well tell the doctor that Emily Carver had bit him. Word might get back to the marshal, and Davies had worked too hard on his plan to have it all be for naught.

The doctor's expression revealed his skepticism. “I've seen a lot of wounds in my years, but this one still looks like a bite. It might help me if you tell me the truth.”

“Look, old man, just patch me up.”

The doctor shook his head. “It's not going to be that easy. You're going to have to stay here. I'm going to have to treat this around the clock. Even then, I think we're too late. I may have to amputate.”

“You ain't takin' my leg and I ain't stayin' here. Just give me some medicine and bandage it.”

The doctor fixed him with the stern look of a father about to discipline his son. “You aren't listening. We'll be lucky if losing your leg is all that happens. You may well lose your life. You've waited too long to get in here for attention. The infection has spread. You see those streaks of red? If those reach your heart you'll be dead.”

Davies might have been worried if he believed the old man's words. Doctors were always trying to scare people into doing what they wanted. After all, that's what made them money. He was no fool. He thought about pulling his gun in order to force the man to do what he wanted, but Kirk knew he wasn't well enough to handle it if the old man decided to make a break for it. “Doc, I'll take my chances. Just patch me up the best you can and give me some medicine.”

“There's not a whole lot I can give you that will help.” The doctor went to a small cabinet and unlocked the door. “I'll do what I can. I'll clean out the wound with carbolic acid. It won't be pleasant, so I'm going to give you a healthy dose of laudanum to ease the pain. It'll make you sleepy.” He pulled two bottles, one brown and one clear, from the cabinet.

Next the doctor opened a box on the counter and pulled out rolls of bandages. He brought all of this to the table and set it beside Davies. “I'll need to get some instruments,” he announced, then disappeared for a moment.

Kirk knew he had a fever, but he felt chilled to the bone, and every part of his body seemed to ache. He looked down at the clear bottle marked
laudanum
and decided to help himself. He was about to put the bottle to his lips when the doctor returned.

“I don't suppose you'd use a spoon.”

Kirk stopped and nodded. “Give me one.”

The doctor put down the small tray he carried and handed a spoon to Davies. “Take four teaspoons.”

“That all?”

“It'll be enough for now.” The doctor placed several instruments in a shallow pan, then poured carbolic acid over them while Kirk dosed himself with laudanum. The doctor took another pan and placed a good amount of bandage material in it and doused that with carbolic acid as well.

Finally he came to Kirk and took the spoon and bottle. “Lie back on the table.”

Kirk did as the man instructed and tucked the gun belt in close to his side. The room spun around him, and even when he closed his eyes, Kirk felt as if it were still moving. He heard the doctor fiddling with his tools, but for the life of him Kirk couldn't manage enough interest to look.

“You might want to bite down on this.”

Kirk opened his eyes to find the doctor holding a rolled-up towel. For a moment he couldn't remember what the man wanted him to do with it.

“This isn't going to be pleasant, even with the laudanum. You may want to chew on this to keep from yelling.” He pushed the towel toward Kirk's mouth.

A hint of understanding permeated the fog, and Kirk took hold of the cloth and clenched the roll between his teeth. Once this was done, the doctor immediately went to work.

Kirk had never known such torture, and in other circumstances he would have killed any man trying to put him through such an ordeal. He cried out against the muffling of the cloth, fiery pain spreading to every part of his body. Just when he knew he could stand no more, a black haze started to cloud his vision and even the sounds of his own cries seemed muffled. After that, he knew nothing.

When he woke up, the doctor had finished and the leg was bandaged. His pants were still down around his ankles, but at least the surgery was done. He looked around the room and saw that the doctor was busy instructing a young man on how to clean the instruments. Struggling to sit up, Kirk again fought the dizziness. At least the pain was less, no doubt thanks to the laudanum.

The doctor looked back at him, then said something to the boy and sent him on his way. “Your wound is very bad, Mr. Davies. I want again to urge you to remain here with me. I can provide you constant care. We'll know soon enough if this has done anything to reverse the infection.”

Kirk struggled with his pants. Once he had them up around his knees he slid from the table, careful to put no weight on the left leg. “I'll be fine.”

“Very well. I'll send you home with a bottle of laudanum. You're going to need to remove the bandage every two hours. I want you to heat up some vinegar and take a towel and soak it good. Then apply it to the wound. It'll hurt like . . . well . . . it'll hurt. The heat and vinegar, however, will hopefully pull some of the poisoning from the wound.”

“Every two hours?” Kirk shook his head, still fuzzy from the laudanum. “I ain't got time for that.”

“Then you'll be dead soon and will have no more time for anything,” the doctor said with a shrug. “It's your choice.”

Kirk pulled on his gun belt and secured it around his waist. “I ain't no weakling. I'll be fine.” He tested the leg. The pain was instantaneous and shot up through his hip and gut, but he told himself it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been.

The doctor went to a closet on the far side of the room. Kirk wasn't sure what the old man was doing, but when he pulled a single crutch from the enclosure it all made sense.

“Use this. I'll want it back. You need to keep as much weight off the leg as possible. I'd give you the set of crutches, but I know you wouldn't use them. Men like you never do.”

“Meanin' what?” Kirk asked.

“Meaning you like to keep your gun arm unencumbered.”

Kirk nodded. “Yeah, you got that right. Don't want to give folks the idea I'm weak. But you just keep your crutch. I want both hands free. What do I owe you?”

The doctor looked at him for a moment and shook his head. “I don't take money from dead men.”

The comment struck a nerve with Kirk. The man was determined to scare him, and Kirk wasn't about to give in to fear. It hadn't served him in the past and wouldn't serve him now. Of course, the man could be right. The wound was pretty bad—the worst Davies had ever known. He pushed aside his rising doubts and hobbled to the door. “Your loss. You just wait and see. I'm gonna prove you wrong, old man.”

Kirk made his way outside. Utica was fairly busy that morning. There were at least three freight wagons in the street and enough folks milling around to constitute a crowd. His leg burned and throbbed, but Kirk was determined to make his way to the saloon and buy a bottle. The laudanum was tucked safely in his pocket, and that, along with some stout whiskey, would surely ease his pain. For a moment he contemplated whether it was easier to ride his horse or walk. Mounting was a most difficult procedure, and so he decided it would be better to just walk down to the saloon and then back to the doc's.

The barkeep gave him a nod when Kirk stumbled into the dimly lit room. “We ain't open for business. I had some trouble here last night and a lot of cleanin' to do this morning.”

“I just need a bottle of whiskey.” Kirk tossed down some
coins. “Got myself hurt, and doc wants me to stay off the leg. I need the whiskey to help with the pain.”

“Doc's sure been busy this last month what with the Carver shooting. I guess the old man is going to live, though. I heard Doc talking about it when he was in here the other night.” He looked at Kirk as if anticipating a response.

Kirk had heard rumors of the old man making it through surgery. He knew Emily wasn't dead. He hadn't hit her hard enough to kill her. Well, he'd get this leg healed up, and then he'd take care of Carver once and for all.

“You gonna get that bottle, or do I need to come back there and get it myself?”

The man either took pity on him or else was afraid Kirk might resort to violence if he refused. He quickly procured a bottle and scooped up the money.

“I could use that bottle back.”

Kirk nodded. “You'll get it.” He clasped the whiskey to his chest and momentarily closed his eyes. He'd never been this sick in his life, and all he wanted to do was get back to the shack he called home and fall into bed.

He limped out into the sunlight and began the trek back down to the doctor's to retrieve his horse. He drew one ragged breath after another and forced himself to focus on walking a straight line.

“Davies.”

He turned and found the one man he'd hoped to avoid. “Marshal.”

The other man eyed Davies oddly. “Saw you stumbling there. What seems to be wrong with your leg?”

“Fell off my horse.”

“Where'd this happen?” The marshal continued looking at him as if he didn't believe Kirk.

“Up in the mountains. Why?”

The marshal shook his head. “Just wondered. Hate to see a man incapacitated.” Kirk started to go, but the marshal spoke again. “I see it's your left leg.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

With a shrug the marshal shook his head. “Just noticed it. Got to be hard to mount a horse.”

“I'll get by,” Kirk told him. The man looked more and more suspicious, and Kirk wasn't about to answer any further questions. Kirk narrowed his eyes and hoped he looked as mean as he felt. “You'd do well enough to get on with your marshaling somewhere else.”

He didn't wait for a response but headed for his horse with as little of a limp as possible. Perspiration formed on his brow. The effort was almost impossible, and when he reached his horse, Kirk took a moment to put the whiskey in the saddlebag and regain his wind. With the marshal still watching, Kirk clenched his teeth and lifted his left leg to the stirrup. The pain was excruciating, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he used the bulky muscles of his arms to pull himself atop the animal, putting minimal weight on the leg.

The marshal continued to watch him, but Kirk no longer cared. He knew if he didn't get out of town soon, he just might pass out cold in the middle of the street.

The ride back to the cabin seemed endless, but Kirk tried his best to keep his thoughts on how he'd make Emily Carver pay for what she'd done to him. He'd torment her for a time and eventually kill her. The thought brought him a sort of peace and pleasure. He'd seen to her old man, and now he'd see to her.

As Kirk approached his cabin, a man came out from the
wooded area to the right. He had an ax over one shoulder and was dragging a tree trunk behind him.

“You see the doctor?”

Kirk nodded and reined the horse to a stop. “He cleaned it up and gave me laudanum.” With great effort, Kirk kicked his feet from the stirrups and then slid down the side of his mount. The animal was well trained and didn't move. Kirk freed the whiskey from his saddlebag and stumbled toward the cabin.

The other man let go of the tree and ax and came to where Kirk was. He put his arm around Kirk and all but carried him inside. He took Kirk to the nearest chair and helped him to sit.

“He say how long you'd be laid up?”

Kirk met the eyes of the man who was so nearly the identical image of himself that they could have been twins. “Taber, open this bottle. I need a drink.”

“All right, but aren't you gonna tell me what the doc said?”