The Bride's Prerogative (67 page)

CHAPTER 39

E
than climbed the stairs at the back of the emporium building before seven the next morning and knocked on the door to Libby’s apartment. In spite of the early hour, Libby greeted him pleasantly.

“Good morning, Sheriff! Can I help you?”

“I wondered if Miss Fennel is up. I’d like to speak to her about the time she was held hostage if she’s feeling up to it.”

“Why, yes.” Libby stepped back to give him entry to her kitchen. “We just finished breakfast. I need to go downstairs and prepare to open the store, but perhaps you’d like to interview her here. There’s some coffee on the stove, and it’s quiet here. No one will bother you.”

“Thank you … if you think …” He looked around cautiously. It felt a little odd, standing in an unmarried woman’s home. Almost as awkward as the first time he went into the Nugget.

Libby smiled, and he suspected his ears had turned red. “I see nothing wrong with conducting official business in a friend’s kitchen. And I’ll be only a few yards away, after all.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He nodded, and she hastened into the next room.

Ten minutes later, he and Isabel sat across from each other at the little maple table. Sun streamed in through the eyelet curtains at the window on the back of the kitchen. The excellent coffee and the occasional quiet sounds of Libby moving about in the store below took away all Ethan’s apprehension.

“You say the men talked some amongst themselves while you were their hostage. Can you tell me what they said?”

Isabel set her cup down and frowned. “Let me see…. I recall Uncle Kenton talking to the man they call Sterling. That was before Papa showed up the first time, when he came alone.”

Ethan leaned forward. “What did they say?”

“It was something about a piece of land that they’d wanted to get for free. I wondered at the time if they were talking about the Peart property.”

“Maybe so.”

Isabel took a sip of her coffee. “Uncle Kenton said something like, ‘Well, it’s too bad that plan didn’t work. That sheriff—’ “She broke off and set the cup down, not meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan smiled. “It’s all right, ma’am. I already know Smith didn’t like me much, nor Wilfred Sterling either.”

She shrugged and gave a little cough. “Well, if you must know, he said you might be smarter than he’d given you credit for.”

“Do tell.” Ethan sat back, rather pleased with her revelation.

“That was about the time I gathered they were demanding a ransom from my father.” Her forehead wrinkled, and she picked up her spoon. “Why would my uncle demand a ransom? Did my father give you any idea?”

Ethan rose and got the coffeepot, though he didn’t need more coffee. He poured a small amount into his cup. “Would you like more?”

“No, thank you.”

He set the pot back on the stovetop and sat down again. “Miss Fennel, I was with your father when he first learned you’d been kidnapped.”

“You were?”

“Yes. Hiram Dooley was there, too, at the Wells Fargo office. Someone tossed a rock wrapped in a note through the window. Your pa took off. Hiram and I read the note and rode off after him. But we had to stop and saddle up, and Trudy joined us.”

She raised her pale eyebrows.

“We … uh … met him coming back from the Martin place. He’d been out there and talked to Mr. Smith.”

“Yes, he came alone that first time, and Uncle Kenton told him to go and get some money and to come back with it by sundown.” She shivered. “I confess I didn’t take to my uncle when I first met him, but I had no inkling he would do violence to our family.”

“You know he had been in prison, I believe.”

“Papa told me. But still …”

Ethan sipped his coffee while thinking through what he knew and what he could reveal. “Well ma’am, I think it’s obvious that when Mr. Smith was released from jail, he didn’t give up his criminal ways. He may have pressured your father into giving him a place to live and then gathered some of the no-accounts he knew around him.”

“His ranch hands? I suppose you’re right. They could all be felons he met while in prison. And he might have seen Papa as an easy way to get some money, rather than earning it.”

“Less risky than robbing a bank, or so it might seem. Of course, in the end …” Ethan shrugged.

“I wonder if he was jealous of Papa’s success.”

Ethan decided his best course was to avoid talking about money where Kenton and Cyrus were concerned, so he sipped his coffee without answering. A knock at the kitchen door startled him. Isabel caught her breath and looked to him expectantly. Ethan rose and walked to the door. He opened it and found Phineas Benton and his wife on the landing outside.

“Reverend.”

“Sheriff. Mrs. Adams told us you were here. We wondered if Miss Fennel was up to discussing funeral arrangements for her father.”

Ethan looked over his shoulder toward Isabel. “Ma’am, the parson and Mrs. Benton are here.”

Isabel rose and came to the door. “Thank you for coming, Pastor.”

The Bentons entered, and she accepted Apphia’s embrace.

“Libby said we could sit up here with you and talk about your Papa’s service if you’re up to it.” Apphia drew back and appraised Isabel. “Did you sleep last night, dear?”

“Not much. I did drop off toward dawn.”

Ethan reached for his hat. “I’ll get going, but please feel free to call on me if you need anything, Miss Fennel.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

He went out the door and down the back stairs. Isabel seemed to accept his train of thought about her so-called uncle’s motives, and he was glad she hadn’t mentioned the hole behind the barn. At some point he’d have to retrieve the money for her, but that could come later. Maybe he could arrange it somehow so that she received it as part of Cyrus’s estate, and its source could remain secret.

Isabel prepared a light luncheon for herself and Libby. It was the least she could do for her hostess. To her surprise, when they sat down together, she found her appetite had returned.

“That’s a very good red flannel hash you’ve made,” Libby said with a smile. “Thank you. I don’t usually take time for a hot meal at noon.”

“The air is cooler today, and I thought it might taste good. After all, you’ve done so much for me.”

“Think nothing of it.” Libby sliced off a bite of leftover chicken. “Did you have a good visit with the Bentons?”

“Yes, I … we’ve decided to hold the service in the church.”

“I think that’s wise,” Libby said. “If it rains, or even if it doesn’t—it’s been so hot lately—it will be nice to be under cover.”

Isabel detailed the plans they’d made for the service while they ate. When she’d finished, Libby stood.

“Forgive me for running out so soon, dear. I like to get back to the store quickly and let Florence go home for her dinner. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave you again?”

“No, I think I’ll take a nap,” Isabel said. “I fear I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I’m sure it will do you good. Thank you for the delicious meal.” Libby started to gather her dishes.

“Oh, just leave those. I’ll take care of them.”

Libby had hardly gone down the stairs when a knock came at the kitchen door. Isabel jumped and hurried to open the door. Dr. Kincaid stood on the landing, holding his black bag and smiling.

“It’s good to see you looking so well, Miss Fennel. May I come in? Mrs. Adams said I would find you here.”

“Why, yes, Doctor.” Isabel stepped back and let him enter.

He removed his hat and stood looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, let me take that.” As she reached for it, he smiled down at her, and Isabel felt suddenly at sea. She’d never been alone with such an attractive man. A hint of guilt buzzed about her mind, like a horsefly zipping in and leaving, only to return a moment later. Was it wrong to think a man pleasant to look at or listen to? She turned away and carefully placed his hat on a rack near the door.

“I shan’t take long,” Dr. Kincaid said. “I’d like to count your pulse and respirations if you don’t mind, and ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, of course.” Isabel felt her cheeks flush. “Would you like to come into the parlor?” Now, why did she ask that? Surely the physician could listen to her heartbeat just as well in the kitchen.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t seem to think it odd, so she led him into Libby’s parlor.

“Won’t you sit down?” She took one of the straight chairs near the window.

He set his bag on the sofa and opened it. “I’ll stand. How do you feel today?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“I’m sure yesterday was trying.”

She nodded and lowered her gaze. “I met with Mr. and Mrs. Benton to plan Papa’s funeral.”

“Ah. And when is that to be?” He took a stethoscope from his bag and hung it about his neck.

“Tomorrow. The pastor thought it not wise to wait longer.”

“I see.”

She looked down at the carpet, feeling a bit queasy. Neither of them spoke of the heat that made the hasty service necessary. “I’m still … getting used to the idea that Papa is gone.”

“Shall you stay here with Mrs. Adams?”

“For a while, I think. She’s invited me to remain with her indefinitely, and I’ve decided to stay a few more days. I don’t wish to impose on her, but—”

“I’m sure she finds your company stimulating.” He took out his watch and approached her. “May I?”

She held up her wrist, and he took it gently, focusing on the timepiece.

“Your pulse is a bit rapid and thready. You haven’t felt dizzy, have you?”

“No, but … when I think of all that happened yesterday …”

“Of course.”

She didn’t look at him. The touch of his warm hand contributed to the frantic pace of her heartbeat, she was sure.

He lowered her hand to her lap and stood back a bit. “Now, if you’ll just breathe normally, I shall count your respiration.”

Again she sought something else to look at. His compassionate blue eyes could make a woman think all sorts of things. Just the concept brought the flush to her cheeks again.
Oh dear, this will never do. He’ll think I’m ill when I’m merely behaving like a schoolgirl—swooning over an attractive man. The idea!

“Miss Fennel?”

She jumped. “Yes?”

“How was your sleep last night?”

“Fragmented, I fear.”

“I’m a bit concerned. Do you have a strong constitution?”

“Certainly, under normal circumstances.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’d like to prescribe a tonic for you.”

She straightened her back, wondering whether she ought to protest that she was fine.

“I assure you it’s mild, but it will help you sleep. Take it just at bedtime. And if you wish to lie down this afternoon, take a spoonful then, as well. I know it’s difficult to keep the mind from racing when you’ve had a shock. The memory constantly replays the unfortunate events and the tragedy that ensued.”

“Why, yes. That’s exactly how it was.” She looked into his eyes. They radiated a serene kindness.

“And how is your left wrist? Still sore?”

“A little, but it’s much better today, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dr. Kincaid sat down on the sofa, sliding his bag over a few inches. “Do you plan to return to your teaching post?”