Sweetwater (Birdsong Series) Page 3

  “He had it coming. How’s Cassie?” His memory was returning in vivid detail and he knew he would have done it all, again.

  “Cassie? I don’t know. She was with Dora when I brought you here to my room. Why? What has she got to do with this?” Emily was afraid to hear what he might say. Emily assumed that Cassie was crying because she came upon the two men fighting. She hadn’t noticed Cassie’s dress.

  “I was returning to my room, to get some badly needed shut-eye, when I heard scuffling coming from inside a closet. As I drew closer, I was certain a woman was in trouble.” He gritted his teeth and nearly spat out the information.

  “I opened the door and Cassie fell out onto the floor . . . with that bastard on top of her. He ripped her dress, wide-open, and she’d been crying. I saw red, Emmie. He was trying to rape her. He practically boasted about it. Told me to get lost so he could finish what he’d started. I hit him. That’s the last I remember

  “Is he going to live?”

  Shocked at the revelation, Emily nodded. “Well, certainly. You didn’t kill the man, Doc, and if what you say is true, he got what was coming to him. Leave him to Dora and Whiskey. They’ll tar and feather him and ride him out on a rail. But you, Mr. Donovan, need to relax and close your eyes for a while. I’ll stay with you.”

  Blake did exactly as he was told. He closed his eyes and allowed his lips to curl upward at the corners in a small smile of contentment. His Emmie was there with him, at least for the moment, stroking his forehead with her long cool fingers, and it felt like heaven. He didn’t even notice the fiery pain radiating out from his damaged hands.

  It was late into the night when Emily finally left Blake, softly snoring and deep in slumber. Tonight, she would share a bed with Patty. Neither woman wanted to be alone.

  The sheriff had been summoned, and after Dora explained what the man tried to do to Cassie, he arranged for the unconscious cowboy to be carried away to the hoosegow and await the judge. He deemed Blake did what any good man would have done in similar circumstances, and there was no need for further questioning.

  “So, tell me, Patty,” Emily insisted, as she crawled into the narrow bed. “What exactly happened?”

  “Didn’t Blake tell you?”

  “To be honest, he’s not thinking too clearly. I don’t think he remembers much after throwing that first punch. He said Cassie fell out of the closet and landed on the floor with that big galoot on top of her.”

  Looking furious, Patty informed Emily of the rest of the story. “That snake pretended to be a guest in the hotel. Of course, he is most definitely NOT a guest. He waited for Cassie to pass him in the hallway, and stopped her, asking for more towels. Naturally, she complied, unlocking the linen closet. She never saw him coming. He pushed her in and shut the door behind them.”

  Emily gasped, “Poor Cassie.”

  “Oh, Em, it was awful. He tore her dress and camisole, exposing her breasts. He put his filthy hands and mouth all over our Cassie. I don’t know if she’ll ever truly recover. If Blake hadn’t been coming up those stairs, at just that exact moment . . . I shudder to think what would have happened to our dear girl. She’s very upset and scared to be left alone. Dora is with her now.” Patty began crying softly.

  “Then Blake was right to punish the bastard,” Emily stated unequivocally.

  Patty’s eyes widened with the memory of the violence she had witnessed. “You didn’t see him, Em. The doc is not your common saloon fighter. His fists are lethal. I believe he’s had professional training. I think our kind doctor is a pugilist.”

  “A what?”

  “A professional boxer. For some reason, he has chosen not to share his past with us. How much do you really know about him, Em?”

  Emily shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know much. He’s a good doctor, and he seems to like me. That’s about all.”

  “Well,” Patty said, “I’m going to find out a little more about our good Doctor Donovan. We think he is a gentleman, but he has a history, Em, and I imagine it’s a dark one. Until then, I would advise you to stay clear of him.”

  Emily was surprised to hear Patty say these things about Blake. She knew that her friend had once been sweet on him. “Everyone has a history, Patty. Take it easy on Blake. I believe he’s a hero. Now, can we go to sleep?”

  Patty turned down the wick and bolted the door before she crawled into bed next to Emily. “Good night, Em.”

  “Night,” Emily whispered. As she closed her eyes, she thought about the handsome man lying in her bed. Just thinking about his long and hard body spread out on top of her clean sheets warmed her most feminine areas. She noticed he had smelled of soap and soft leather. It was a manly scent. She had delighted in the touch of his dark blonde hair, as she brushed it back off his forehead. He was a good man, she decided, no matter what concerns Patty had. He was her hero and he deserved a reward. She smiled at the thought. She’d think of some way to repay him.

  *

  The next morning, the news was all over town. Patty was upset because of the adverse publicity, fearing some of the guests would choose to leave. But contrary to that way of thinking, she had people wanting to extend their stay. The women felt safe with a protector like Dr. Donovan around. They fairly swooned as he walked past. Men slapped him on the back, and older women kissed him on the cheek. A few younger women held up their babies for him to kiss. In their eyes, he was a real hero and a protector of womanhood. Too bad those sentiments didn’t apply to the lovely and frightened Cassie.

  Cassie refused to come downstairs, preferring to remain hidden away from curious eyes. She cleaned the rooms, but took her meals alone. She hadn’t shown her scratches and bruises to Dora, and she didn’t want her to see the bite. It would only further upset the woman. The vicious bruising around her nipple was an ugly reminder of how close she had come to being ruined forever.

  As Cassie passed Emily’s room, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. Upon closer inspection, she saw Dr. Donovan sitting in a chair, staring out the window. She tapped lightly.

  “May I come in, Doc?” she asked meekly.

  At first, he seemed to not have heard her, but slowly he turned his head. Cassie couldn’t believe her eyes. The doctor looked as if he’d been dragged behind a horse. His complexion was ghastly white and dark blue smudges encircled his brown eyes. His hair was mussed and his shirt was misbuttoned. He was in bad need of a shave.

  “Oh, my lord, Doc. What’s happened to you?” Forgetting her own problems, she ran across the room and fell to her knees in front of him. “You look awful. Are you sick? Did you get hurt?”

  The fear, he saw, in her beautiful lavender eyes brought Blake out of his nightmare. He forced himself back to reality. There was no need to frighten the child any more than she already had been.

  “I’m not feeling well, Cassie, but it will pass.”

  “I’ve never seen you look like this. Is it . . . is it because of me?”

  “No, sweetheart. It’s entirely because of me. I did something last night . . . something that I thought I had control over—a demon I thought I had conquered. Have you heard how that man is doing? Did I kill him?”

  “Kill? You think you killed him?” Cassie was stunned, and honestly, she didn’t care if he was dead as a doornail. He deserved whatever he got. “Unfortunately, he’s still alive, but he was forced out of town, and I can tell you, he looked the worse for it, too. I doubt even his mama will recognize him.” Her voice dropped off.

  “Doc, I want to thank you for saving me. He did some terrible things . . . he . . . he touched me.” She started to shiver and the tears began to run down her soft cheeks. “I swear I did nothing to invite him. I’m a good girl. Really!” She started to scream. Her hands flew to cover her face from Blake’s sympathetic gaze. “Why did he want to hurt me? I did just as he asked. He said he needed another towel. I’m so embarrassed,” she sobbed.

  Blake held out his shaking arms to her. “Shhh, darling. You’re getting you
rself upset. No one blames you. You did nothing wrong. There are some disagreeable hombres out there that don’t respect women. They’re the ones you’ve got to look out for. But even the wisest can be taken unawares, and you’re just a little, bitty thing. You’re a wonderful young lady, beautiful and wise. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  He rocked the sniffling girl in his arms until she quieted some. He meant to comfort her, but was surprised to find that he had found solace in her sweet presence.

  “Go on now, sweetheart. Continue your chores and forget about last night. It is over.”

  “I’ll try. By the way, Emily was looking for you earlier. She thought you had already left the hotel. Do you want me to let her know you’re still up here?”

  Just thinking of his dear Emmie, made Blake feel better. “No. I think I’ll go in search of her.”

  There she was, right where he expected to find the light of his life—sitting in the dirt. Blake chuckled to himself. Only Emily Falkenrath could look so utterly beautiful, with rich, black earth smeared across her hot cheeks. Her ebony hair had fallen out of its carefully executed chignon, clinging to her long neck, and trailed down her back. Unfortunately, she had forsaken her too tight boy’s clothing, for the traditional cotton gingham dress. However, with it clinging to her luscious curves, it looked anything but traditional. Blake stood there admiring the curve of her waist and hips, the plumpness of her breasts, demurely hidden inside layers of cloth. Occasionally, a stiff breeze would lift her skirts just high enough for him to catch a glimpse of her trim ankle. Blake was still admiring his goddess, in the garden, when she looked up at him.

  “You always seem to be popping up when I least expect it, Doc. Can I help you with something?” she asked, as she wiped the backside of her hand across her wet forehead.

  Embarrassed at being caught staring at her, once again, Blake shook his head. “No. I just wanted to thank you for your attention, last evening. I’m afraid I was a mite confused, for a while. Hope I didn’t say anything to offend you,” or embarrass me, he thought.

  Emily placed the spade in the ground and got up and walked over to the good-looking doctor’s side. “Would you like some lemonade, Blake? I’m tired and hot, and these Kansas summers can be brutal.” She placed her arm through his, and without waiting for his answer, led him into the darkened kitchen.

  “Ooh, this is nice,” she sighed. “We’re alone now, Blake. You can talk freely. Why don’t you tell me what really happened last night?” She took two glasses down from the cupboard and hefted the heavy pitcher of cool lemonade and poured.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Blake kept his eyes on the glasses, trying to avoid the piercing blue eyes that were probing his face, delving for answers.

  Pulling a chair up close to the doctor’s, Emily asked quietly, trying to coax a response from the reluctant man. “You were a boxer, weren’t you? Before, I mean. Before you were a doctor, you were a purgalist, weren’t you?”

  Blake chuckled. “I think you mean, pugilist. Yes, darling. I used to fight professionally. I made a good living from it, too.”

  “Why have you kept it a secret? It’s legal, isn’t it?”

  His usually warm, brown eyes darkened to a black void—an emptiness that Emily didn’t recognize. It was a tortured, remorseful blackness, she thought, brought about by tremendous pain. She had seen the same eyes on the faces of the settlers that had crossed the vast plains, only to lose everything they had. Regret? Despair? Hopelessness? It was all there.

  Instinctively, Emily took Blake’s hand and noticed it was shaking. Gently squeezing it, she ran her thumbs up his wrist, stroking firmly, forcing him to relax.

  “What happened? Tell me.”

  Blake was quiet for some time, almost to the point of Emily thinking he was not going to answer her question. They sat in the silence of the kitchen, occasionally taking slow sips of their cool drink, when finally, he cleared his throat, and buried his face in his hands, covering his eyes from view. He could not face her scrutiny.

  Emily could barely make out what he had to say; it was so muffled.

  “Dennis O’Shea was his name, and as good as any other man in the ring. He could have been American Lightweight Champion. He beat Carroll, you know . . . and Andy Bowen.

  “I was coming up, as well. I didn’t need the money, but I craved the excitement of the crowds. It was a powerful drug to me, Emmie, hearing them shout out my name. I gloried in it. The only problem I had was that I didn’t know when to pull back. If my opponent remained standing, I kept pounding at him. I was too damn ignorant to see, or just too blind to care, that while he may still be on his feet, he was finished. I won the majority of my bouts by knock outs.”

  Emily heard a sob caught somewhere down deep in Blake’s chest. How could her gentle friend have enjoyed inflicting so much pain on others? He was a healer. She couldn’t offer any words of comfort; what he was confessing, sickened her.

  Blake sat up and looked directly at Emily. He was devastated by the revulsion he saw in her face, but he had no choice but to tell her everything. “It was O’Shea’s last fight. After our match, he was planning on taking his wife and babies back to England, where she had family. He made his fortune and he wanted to go back and buy some land. Dennis was a good chap.

  “We exchanged a lot of violent blows in the first nine or ten rounds. He gave as good as he got, I can tell you. It wasn’t until the fourteenth round that he began to tire. I don’t know why I didn’t just give him the damn match. It would have been so easy, Emmie. It made no difference to me if I won or not. In the end, I guess I’m just not the type to give up.

  “I feinted to the left and hit him hard in the neck, then an awful blow to his chin. Dammit, he should have gone down then. An uppercut sent him reeling across the ring, but still he stood on his feet. Any other man would have thrown in the towel, but Danny wanted desperately to win his last fight.

  “Dennis landed some terrific blows to my stomach and ribs, breaking four of them, but still I would not stop my assault. Sometimes, at night, I imagine I hear his wife’s cry for the two of us to stop.” Blake stared off into space, still seeing two men beating the life out of one another. It was a horrible scene, and he was clearly devastated by what had transpired.

  “My eyes were swelling closed, his nose was bleeding all down his chest. He struck my jaw hard enough to lift me off the mat. God, how I wish I’d gone down. Then I sent one final smashing blow to his chest, and the match was over. I was declared the winner.

  “We shook hands. I can see Dennis smiling through all the blood, and saying if he had to lose his last match, he was glad he lost it to me. I felt like a champion.”

  Blake pulled his hands through his hair in some futile attempt to cope with his pain. His voice was strained and barely audible as he proceeded. “Just as Dennis took his tearful wife into his arms, he collapsed against her, shuddered, and took his last breath. The stubborn Irishman died at our feet, practically in his wife’s arms. My final blow to his chest was fatal.”

  Blake returned his eyes to Emily, knowing what he would see. “I’m a killer, Emmie, and that’s the truth of it.”

  Tears were streaming down her face. She felt his pain and his eternal regret. It was difficult for Emmie to defend his actions, but she knew it was all just a tragic accident. “No, Blake. It’s terrible that such a thing happened, but you both knew the dangers of what you were doing. I know his wife knew. She didn’t blame you, did she?”

  He shook his head. “No. She was very brave and very forgiving, and that made it all the worse. Meg left New York and went back to England, taking Dennis’ body with her. She told me he liked me and he would not want me to suffer. Ha! I’ve been to hell and back. I’ll never forgive myself. That’s why I became a doctor. I needed to try to make up for his death in some small way, but I can never truly make up for taking his life. His children will never have their father back.”

  “You’ll never find peace, Blake, until you fin
d a way to forgive yourself. I don’t blame you. I’m shocked by this terrible story, but only because I know you to be so gentle and caring. What you did last night was justifiable. Please don’t worry about that.”

  “Oh . . . that bastard had more coming to him than what I did to him. What worries me is that I have no recollection of the beating. I lost control of myself, Emmie, and that could be dangerous. If I hadn’t been pulled away from him, would I have killed him?” His eyes were filled with questions. Could he have killed again?

  “Yes. I believe you would have. But if I’d had a gun, I would have killed him, as well. Whiskey pulled you off, just before he put his boot on the man’s neck. He would have killed him if Dora hadn’t pushed him off. She was slicing a beef roast and carried her cleaver up the stairs. The look on her face made my blood run cold. I could read her mind and saw her grip tighten on the handle of that cleaver. What do you think she was capable of, Blake? That man is quite fortunate to be alive, in more ways than one. Now, let’s get this other problem of yours out of the way, once and for all.”

  Wrinkling his forehead, Blake was trying to figure out what she meant. What other problem did he have? “Help me out here, Emmie. My head’s a little fuzzy. Did I do something else? What are you referring to?”

  “Just this,” she whispered. Leaning over, she placed one delicate hand on each side of the doc’s face, and pulled him toward her. She opened her lips just enough to capture his own and sent shock waves throughout his entire body.

  Emmie kissed him.

  He returned her kiss with a deeper and more passionate one of his own. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? He heard her moan with pleasure. This kiss was opening the door to so many emotions that he had been holding at bay. His entire body reverberated with desire for this beautiful woman.

  She tasted of sugared lemons, and her lips were soft and lush, just as he had always imagined. Blake kissed her thoroughly, coaxing her lips apart, and gaining enough room for his tongue to enter her moist mouth. It startled her.

  For a moment, Emily opened her eyes and stared into the warm depths of Blake’s sweltering gaze. He was a master of the kiss and she luxuriated in it. Tingles spread up and down her spine. She was aching in the most unusual places. Emily reveled in the dance their tongues performed, creating a yearning in her so strong, she was afraid of what she might allow.