Lawman

“Your husband?” he asked, staring at her. “They buried Daniel Gillespie here?”

“No, it’s not Dan,” she said. “Dan’s buried in the cemetery next to the church, at the other end of town. No, that’s…it’s Francisco Luna.” She saw his confusion. “He’s—he’s the one Dan killed…before he killed himself.”

The puzzled expression was transformed into one of understanding, and then he frowned. “Livy, you had him buried here? You put flowers on his grave? Then— then it’s true, isn’t it?”

She saw him take an involuntary step back, even as her brain screamed with disappointment. Then it’s true he was your lover—that’s what Cal meant. And then her disappointment changed to anger, anger that he was just like everyone else in Gillespie Springs who had judged her based on what was said, without giving her a chance to defend herself.

He added, “But…was that wise? After what happened?”

Livy saw his gaze shift to her belly, and knew that he’d seen the slight thickening there. She crossed her arms protectively over her abdomen in that age-old, unconscious gesture of a pregnant woman, feeling the anger rise and surround her like flames.

“You think what you want to think, Caleb Devlin, it doesn’t make any difference to me. And yes, I am still angry at you, you—you traitor! One of my brothers was killed, and the other one never bothered to come home. My husband came back a broken, bitter shell of a man. Daddy died of a broken heart when we couldn’t pay the taxes on the plantation. And you think I shouldn’t be angry at you? And what business is it of yours if I gave six feet of earth in my own yard to Francisco Luna?”

She watched as a muscle worked in Cal’s jaw. “Livy, I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s none of my business. I was just—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she told him. “I’d have thought after your beating you’d have a little compassion for other outcasts, but as that doesn’t appear to be the case, you can just get out of here!”

“Livy, please—”

“No! Get out!

But he just stood there, and with a little cry, she ran for the house, slamming the door. She headed for the stairs, intending to run up to the sanctuary of her room, where she could give in to the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, safe from his probing gaze.

She had reached the second-to-last step when she slipped.

Even outside, he heard her scream, and with the scream, the curious paralysis that had made him stand there while she denounced him vanished. In a few short strides he’d reached the door and wrenched it open. Thank God she hadn’t taken time to lock it.

“Olivia?” he called, striding into the kitchen. “Where are you?” And then he almost stepped on her, lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs that led up from the kitchen.

“Olivia?”

She lay on her side, her knees drawn up against her abdomen, her skirts twisted around her ankles. Her eyes were closed, her face pasty white, like a poorly bleached muslin sheet. Moisture beaded her upper lip.

Her eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice, then opened. She blinked once, twice, as if trying to focus.

“Olivia, it’s me, Cal,” he said, kneeling at her side. “What’s happened to you? Did you fall?”

Her eyes drifted shut again. “I guess so…” she murmured. “Slipped…”

“Can you get back up? Does anything seem like it’s broken?” he asked, feeling the delicate bones of her wrists and wondering if she even realized who he was.

“Can’t… Dizzy, bleeding…” she said, and then some spasm seemed to seize her and she clutched her abdomen and moaned.

Cal hadn’t seen the blood at first because of the black widow’s weeds she was wearing, but as he started to scoop her up off the floor he felt the warm dampness on the back of her skirts and saw the crimson stain of blood on his forearm.

“Olivia! What’s happening? Are you—are you…” How did one delicately ask a lady if she were losing the baby he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge she was carrying?

Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed at his face as if puzzled for a few seconds. “Yes…I’m miscarrying. And do you know what? I’m…glad….”

Her announcement stunned him. “You’re miscarrying? Lord God, Livy, you need a doctor! I’ll get him— where is he?”

“Right in town…next to the bank. But he won’t come…hates me, too…”

“I don’t care. You need help, so he’s going to have to see you,” he told her, but then realized she couldn’t hear him, for she had passed out.

For a moment he considered what he should do. Livy’s pulse was rapid, faint, and her skin felt cool and clammy. The port-wine flood beneath her was growing. He thought about riding hell-for-leather back down the road to the doctor’s, but did he dare leave her for so long while he went to persuade some stiff-necked hypocrite to do his medical duty? Deciding the answer was no, he strode back down the hall, grabbed an afghan he’d seen folded up on the back of a horsehair sofa and wrapped it around Livy, then lifted her and carried her to where Blue stood tied under a tree.

Galloping back into town with her cradled in his arms, he found the bank at the center of town and the doctor’s office in the building that stood just next to it, as Livy had said.

The chairs in the small waiting room were fully occupied by a woman and her handful of children, all of whom gaped at the sight of the stranger who strode in carrying the town’s most notorious female.

“Mama! That man’s got a patch on his eye like a pirate, and the lady’s bleedin’!” one boy cried. He pointed at the trail of blood behind Cal, causing his mother to gasp and pull him against her ample bosom.

“The doctor—where is he?” Cal demanded curtly, when it seemed the woman was only going to stare in horror.

She pointed to the door at the other end of the waiting room. “In there. But you’ll have to wait, just like we are. He—he has a patient—”

Cal didn’t wait. He strode over to the door and called through it, “Doc, I got a sick woman here—she needs help now.”

“Be with you in a few minutes,” a raspy voice answered in a disinterested fashion.

That wasn’t going to be good enough. Cal steadied his unconscious burden, then kicked the door open, surprising the elderly sawbones and his “patient,” another elderly gent who sat opposite the doctor across the examining table, on which lay a checkerboard and checkers.

Cal kicked the game off the table, sending the wooden disks flying.

“Now wait just a minute, stranger. You can’t—” began the doctor, putting down a bottle of whiskey.

“This woman needs your help now,” he told the astonished sawbones as he laid Livy gently down on the now-empty examining table. “I think she’s losing her baby.”

Recovering his professional poise, the doctor bustled over to his patient, while the other old man continued to stare with undisguised curiosity.

“But that’s Miz Gillespie!” the doctor said in consternation after he saw her face. He seemed to freeze in place.

“You got a problem with her name, Doc?” snapped Cal, allowing his hand to hover suggestively near the gun on his hip. “Seems to me it doesn’t matter who she is right now, just that she needs your help. And I’ll pay your fee, if that’s the problem.”

The doctor stared at the gun, then back at Cal’s face. “I guess you’re right, Mr.—?”

“Caleb Devlin.”

“Mr. Devlin. Very well, then, I’ll see what’s to be done. Hap, we’ll finish our, uh, business later,” he said to the other old man. “Why don’t you show Mr. Devlin back out to the waiting room?”

“I don’t think—” began Cal.

But the doctor was very much in command now. “Go on, you can’t wait in here, even if you was this woman’s husband, which I believe you ain’t. Go on out to the waiting room. And you tell that Ginny Petree an’ her endless brood a brats with sore throats that it’s gonna be awhile.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_19816923-fb69-534a-b9b1-388733de2e1a)

Cal retreated, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to remain in the tiny waiting room with half a dozen children studying his eye patch while their mama stared pointedly at the dried blood on his arm and the dark red splotches on the floor. He went on outside and stood stroking Blue’s nose at the hitching post, wishing there was something he could do while he waited.