The Midwife's Secret

She pressed her lips closed and glanced down at the floor, away from his appraising stare. She hadn’t meant to…tell a fib. It just came out. In truth, she hadn’t known for sure what she’d say when someone asked about her former husband, and yet here it was. She’d fibbed. And why?

Because looking up at Tom Murdock, she didn’t feel like fessing up to her failures. She didn’t feel like having him look at her with sorrow, the way everyone always did. She’d finished with her mourning, and her anger at her former husband, and was ready to start anew. She was eager to resume the skills her late grandfather—one of the hardest working doctors in Calgary—had taught her. Midwifery skills to help the women who sought her help, and medical knowledge to tend to children and their ailments.

Realizing her fib wouldn’t hold for long, for as soon as Mr. Finnigan arrived, he was a man who knew the truth about her husband, she felt herself flush. She’d fibbed and hadn’t done it well.

Amanda straightened her spine. It was no one’s business but hers. “I’ve bought some property and I’d like to build a log cabin. Something simple, with a couple of spare rooms in the back.” She’d already allotted every nickel of her small inheritance to put toward her practice and the children.

“I think I’ve heard of you,” he said, recognition shimmering in his bright eyes. He sat on the edge of his desk. The wood creaked beneath his muscled weight. “You’re new to town, just been here since yesterday, right? Are you that woman I spotted at the mercantile yesterday afternoon, who rides that—”

“What difference does that make?”

“No difference.” His grin was charming. The row of strong, white teeth wasn’t quite centered, so his smile seemed especially intriguing. “We’re friendly folks in Banff. We’ve never seen anything like it before, that’s all.”

She pressed her fingers into her skirt, clasping her bonnet, surprised again by his unpredictability.

He stood and grabbed his duster. “Sorry about… Let’s start again. Forgive me, I really do have an appointment. Patrick will be back in a minute to take the information from you, and I’ll take it from there. What property did you buy?” He tugged on his cowboy hat. Now he was even taller.

Tension left her muscles. She fell into step with his long stride as he walked to the door. “That pretty square along the mountain, on the end of Hillside Road.”

He stopped in surprise. “What?”

When she stopped beside him, her dangling purse slammed against her slicker. She answered cheerfully, “Mr. Finnigan sold me that shack on the five-acre square—”

“On the right or left side of the road?”

“The left.”

His voice lowered to a deadly calm, his face grew solemn. “The one with the huge spruce? Lot D ninety-five?”

What was wrong with him? She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Yes. And the tall pines. You know it?”

Bracing himself, he stepped back and stared at her. “What the hell is going on here? Finnigan sold you my property?”

Her heart began to thump. She answered in a rush of words. “Well…it might have belonged to you and Mr. Finnigan at one time, maybe as partners here at the sawmill, but didn’t he tell you? He sold it.”

Tom blinked, then grinned slowly. “This is a joke, right? Dammit, my whole morning’s been one whole joke, hasn’t it? Finnigan’s been known to pull my leg, he’s a real practical joker around here—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but he sold me that property.”

He paused, then clenched his jaw. A moment passed. “I don’t believe you.” His menacing stance caused her stomach to quiver. “You might be part of this whole thing.” His eyes narrowed. “Lady, just who the hell are you?”

A warning voice whispered at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She lifted her chin a notch and matched his icy gaze with one of her own. “I told you who I am. And I don’t like the way you’re talking to—”

“Do you have a deed?”

“Of course I do.”

“Let me see it.”

She fumbled in her purse. “It’s right here.” It was right here, but she was darn well keeping it to herself. There was a problem here. A big problem.

Out of the corner of her eye, she pretended to reach into her bag, but she judged the distance to the door. Three feet. What would he do if she refused? He wouldn’t try anything physical in front of witnesses. And if he did, she’d kick him as hard as she could. Her heart drummed. She dug her heels into the floor and met his eyes without flinching. “On second thought, I think I’d better wait for Mr. Finnigan. I’d rather deal with him.”

In a flutter of arms and legs, she sprang to the door for freedom. Neighborly or not, she didn’t like Tom Murdock.

“Get off me, Wolf,” Tom shouted.

Wolf clamped his teeth on the edge of the note, trying to pull it out of Tom’s pocket, but Tom grabbed it back. He stepped around the playful dog and tore after Amanda Ryan. He couldn’t let her escape without seeing the deed. Where’d she go?

He glanced down the street past a horse and buggy, past the tinsmith’s, the apothecary’s, the boot-maker’s and finally past his brother’s office with the freshly painted sign: Dr. Quaid Murdock. Tom wheeled around to scour the other side of town. Soaring through the pine trees of the Rocky Mountains like a massive fairy-tale castle, the new Banff Springs Hotel glistened in the spreading sunlight. The largest and most expensive hotel in the world was a month away from opening. No sign of—

What was that? Around the corner, the edge of a petticoat and hem. He raced toward it, turning into the lumberyard.

The rush of waterfalls over the man-made dam echoed in the sunny air. The park teemed with wild animals. A dozen bighorn sheep grazed the slopes, and red squirrels raced down the aspens. He glimpsed her near the back of the building, sliding onto her bicycle. She’d left it leaning underneath the side door canopy, which had protected it from the light rain.

He stomped toward her in the mud. A stack of quarter-sawn lumber loomed at his shoulders. In drier conditions, they wouldn’t be alone. A dozen of his men would be splitting logs and unloading wagons.

“Stop right there.” His voice thundered across the fifty feet separating them.

Her eyes blazed into his as she worked harder to speed up, trying to tie her bonnet while grabbing the handles at the same time.

“Leave me alone,” she shouted, leaning into the wind. “Or, I’ll…I’ll call the Mounties.”

He swore under his breath. The Mounties, federal agents appointed to keep law and order in the West. He planned on seeing them himself. Hell, he’d already set up an appointment with his Mountie friend, and she was making him late.

Was she working with Finnigan? Did the two of them plan to build a log cabin on the property together, maybe sell it for a larger sum? Or was Finnigan working alone, and an even bigger bastard than Tom had first imagined?

Things had been going pretty well up until nine o’clock this morning.

Then at the bank, when the bank’s president, Mr. Thimbleton, swore up and down that there was no more money in the sawmill account, Tom had seen firsthand what Finnigan had done. Cleared it out. The whole fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-three dollars. An all-time high due to final payment they’d received Friday for construction on the Banff Springs Hotel. More money than Tom had ever seen.

Finnigan had planned it well. Hadn’t even bothered to leave Tom the payroll for this coming week. Never mind Tom’s other bills—the sawmill’s mortgage, payment for his youngest brother’s law school tuition, payment on his middle brother’s medical supplies for his new office. Finnigan hadn’t even left enough to cover Tom’s gift to his pa, the new team of horses.

Tom kicked the dirt. Dammit.

He’d written a bank draft Saturday, but it hadn’t cleared the account before Finnigan had, which meant Tom’d have to give the horses back. Who could rob an old man in Pa’s condition? And Tom had worked for weeks to select those horses, gentle mares that wouldn’t spook Pa, but strong enough to till soil and pull stumps, if that’s what Pa chose to do with them.

Amanda mounted what looked to be a cracked leather seat. She headed toward him, veering to his left. The solid rubber tires dug a good one-and-a-half-inch groove into the soft mud. It’d be easier to ride on the pebbly street, or the side of the road where new grass was growing. But first, she’d damn well had to pass by him, and he wouldn’t let her get away before she talked.

“You’re going to ride that thing in the rain?”

“It’s no longer raining.”

He pulled in a deep breath of cool mountain air and blocked her path. As he moved, the note in his pocket slipped out, but he shoved it back in. He braced his hands on either side of his hips to confront her.

Her blue eyes flickered. With a look of defiance, she rose off the seat, her skirt catching in the cracked leather and pedaled faster toward him. “Get out of my way or I’ll run you down!”

When he caught the flash of terror in her eyes, he realized with a thud she was physically afraid of him. Afraid of him? With a shudder of guilt, he stepped out of her path to show her he meant no harm.