Jolt

  Tate's brows rose, and this time he was the one seeing the future. Filled with a sudden foreboding, he turned Lita out of the parlor and headed her down the hall. "You need to get to bed. Bright and early tomorrow, we are driving back to Colorado Springs."

  She stopped at the base of the stairs, bemusement etched on her face. "Why?"

  He urged her forward with a hand to her back. "We need to get married."

  Chapter 25

  "Tate, I still think you're being ridiculous." He had awakened Lalita at dawn and was now hurrying her down the hall toward the bathroom so they could leave for Colorado Springs the moment Mrs. Kettler arrived. "I'm really hungry; I've got to eat breakfast before we go."

  "I'll pack us something to take along."

  She turned back at the door. "Tate, are you serious about getting married today? I know you think I need your protection, but I don't have a dress or anything."

  He gave her a little push into the bathroom. "If you need something special, I'll buy it there." He pulled the door closed in front of her. "And don't take as long in there as you usually do," he said louder through the door.

  Lalita stood a moment, staring, feeling overwhelmed. This is not how I envisioned my wedding day.

  She turned to run a tub of water, wondering at Tate's urgency. She had an anxious feeling rising up, but she didn't know how to express what she was feeling. I love Tate, but this is going too fast.

  Slipping out of her robe and chemise, she stepped into the bath, hoping to wash her anxiety away.

  ***

  Come on, Lita, we need to get moving. Tate had Maisy hitched to the buggy waiting out front, their breakfast packed, and now he had nothing to do but pace the upstairs hallway. Finally he strode to the bathroom door, ready to knock, when it opened to a startled Lita with wet hair.

  He grabbed her by the arm and pulled. "Come, Lita, we need to go."

  She drug her feet all the way to her room, obviously not feeling the same urgency that he was. "Tate, what is it you're afraid of? I love you, but I'm not sure I'm ready to get married today. I know we've been together a lot in the past several weeks, but really, we just met. I'm not all that easy to live with. What if you regret—"

  He cut off her speech with a kiss. A kiss to let her know exactly how he felt. His hands roved over her back as his lips claimed her as his own. When he broke it off, they were both out of breath. He framed her face with his hands. "Lita, I love you. I want to marry you. That won't change if we court for a day or six months. I feel the connection with you I never felt with Augusta. Things are so different in your time that you don't realize when you're stepping over the line. You need my protection, and I can't give that to you fully without being your husband." He caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. "Now please hurry. If Dickson decides to make trouble for what you did to him yesterday, I want to be way down the road."

  Lita stepped backward into her room. "Okay, well, I'll be as fast as I can." She closed the door and Tate blew out a breath before pulling out his pocket watch and clicking it open. Mrs. Kettler should be here any minute. He trotted down the stairs to make sure the back door was unlocked.

  At the bottom of the stairs, however, footsteps on his front porch made his heart leap into his throat. He stood still, waiting, and when the doorbell rang, he prayed that it was just someone who wanted to pay his bill. He couldn't be tied up with an emergency for half the day like yesterday.

  He walked down the hall and opened the door to something much much worse—Seth Dickson stood next to Marshal Reeves.

  ***

  Lalita heard the doorbell and wondered who would be dropping by so early. Tate will be furious if he's called out to deliver a baby. This town could use more doctors.

  Hurriedly, she slipped into her high top shoes and snugged the laces. Checking the mirror, she gave her still damp hair a little shake and grabbed her hat to put on after it dried. She was wearing the same thing she had on the day before. Maybe Tate would buy her a real wedding dress, but his crazy desperation didn't give her much confidence of that. And I refuse to wear one of Augusta's dresses to get married in.

  As soon as she opened her bedroom door, she heard the voices. She recognized Tate's and Dickson's, but a third resonated with a deep timbre that seemed familiar, but she couldn't place it. Now what do I do?

  The voices were getting louder.

  "Marshal, how can you give any credence to this man's story when I've told you that this wasn't the only time he tried to waylay Miss Torres, and that he even attempted it in a church? He has her scared. Of course she would defend herself against his unwanted advances."

  "Doc, was she or wasn't she mostly unclothed, even showing off her limbs, outside the house?"

  "She was in the carriage house, attempting to unharness the buggy while I was called on an emergency. She had never done it before and didn't want to spoil her new dress. I believe Mr. Dickson only appeared at my house because he saw me heading out of town. He was not invited onto my property."

  "Heck, Doc." It was Dickson speaking now. "You protect that little chit as if she were yours."

  "She is mine, Mr. Dickson. She's my patient. Any patient in my care is also under my protection."

  Dickson blew out an exasperated breath. "The only person in the town that believes she is your patient is you, Doc. Marshal, maybe the doctor has acted more untoward than I have. Why, he even punched the preacher when he suggested she shouldn't be under his roof."

  Lalita couldn't help it when a high pitched chirp of indignation leaped out of her mouth. She clamped a hand to her lips, listening, but there was nothing but silence below.

  Finally, Tate restarted the conversation, obviously flustered with the knowledge that she was listening. "Dickson, you know that's not true; that punch was meant for you. You were the one harassing—"

  "Doctor," the marshal broke in, "I'd like to speak to the lady myself. Would you please ask her to come downstairs?"

  Lalita sucked in a breath and started down. At the bottom of the stairs, she heard Mrs. Kettler coming in the back, and for just a second, she considered making a break for it. The whole scene of speeding through the kitchen, dodging Mrs. K. and turning over a stool or two to make it difficult for those who would race after her flashed before her eyes. If Tate ran out to the buggy, and I ran around the house and jumped in, could we get away? The answer, of course, was no. Maisy, with a buggy attached, could not outrun the marshal on a horse.

  Turning to go down the hall, she could see the trepidation in Tate's eyes. She held her chin up and came to his side. Dickson gave her a smile and a tilt of his head, but Lita didn't acknowledge him. She focused on the marshal in a jacket and vest, his hat in his hand at his side. Only the badge gave him distinction from every other man in town. "Marshal, what can I do for you?"

  Marshal Reeves gave her a weak smile. "Miss Torres, Mr. Dickson claims that you… that you… well, that you assaulted him."

  Lalita turned a steely glare on Dickson. "Did he? Did he also tell you that he had me pinned against a fence and that he was touching me inappropriately?"

  Dickson broke in. "No decent woman wears what you were wearing without expecting a man to act on it."

  Tate stepped toward him. "Are you calling her indecent, Dickson?" He fisted his hand. "I still owe you a punch to the jaw."

  The marshal pushed the two apart. "Dickson, wait outside."

  Dickson stood a moment sliding the brim of his bowler between his fingers before turning and letting himself out. The marshal let out a breath. "Now, Miss Torres, did you assault Mr. Dickson?"

  "I did what was necessary to get out of his clutches. Where I come from, that's called self-defense."

  The marshal studied her a long moment, but Lalita refused to break eye contact. "I can't help noticing, Miss, that the buggy's out front ready to go, there's a picnic basket sitting by the door, and you have your hat. May I ask where you were heading so early this morning?"

  She gave a quick glance
to Tate just behind his shoulder who gave a tiny shake of his head. "I was just going out for a drive, Marshal. The fresh mountain air is good for recovery."

  "Alone? Surely if Dickson had been nigh unto molesting you, you'd not venture out alone."

  "Well, no," she stammered, "the doctor was going to accompany me."

  The marshal turned to Tate with eyebrows raised. "Just the two of you, alone and unchaperoned?"

  Tate swallowed. "No, Mrs. Kettler and Nellie were coming as well."

  The marshal picked up the small basket and looked under the cloth covering. "Seems a bit sparse for four."

  Lalita put her hat nervously on her head. "Nellie doesn't eat much, and I'm on a diet. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

  He set the basket on the stool by the door and looked from her to Tate and back again. "Dickson wants to press charges, Miss Torres. As the marshal, I am obligated to arrest you until the judge is in town to decide the case."

  "That's ridic—"

  "It's just his word against—"

  The marshal held up a hand. "There is a caveat. He says he'll drop the charges if you agree to marry him."

  Tate blew like a volcano. "What? Marshal, can't you see how he is warping the circumstances to suit himself? Well, two can play this game. I'll charge him with trespassing."

  "As I understand it, you weren't here, so how do you know he was trespassing?"

  Lalita's eyes flashed. "Well, I was here, Marshal. I can attest to the fact that he came right into the carriage house uninvited."

  The marshal shook his head. "It would be your word against his, and he would win."

  Her hands flew to her hips. "And why is that?"

  The marshal seemed to be losing patience. "I can think of three right off. One, you're a woman. Two, you showed up here out of the blue, and nobody knows you and nobody is looking for you. Three, you've got Indian blood."

  Lalita looked to Tate wide-eyed as the marshal went on. "Dickson, on the other hand has some evidence of your vulgar exhibition. He claims you have quite the tattoo on your shoulder. You could prove him wrong right here and now, and I'll tell Dickson to run on home and stop bothering you."

  Lalita looked back to the marshal and slowly licked her lips. "I was in a private building trying to deal with a horse harness I've never undone before. My only audience was supposed to be the horse."

  The marshal stepped closer. "Do you want to know what I think, Miss Torres? I think your memory loss has to do with trying not to be found. I think you're a soiled dove that got into some trouble, and now you're taking advantage of the doctor's good graces."

  Lalita's mouth fell open, but it was Tate that spoke. "Marshal, this woman came to me completely unconscious. The Hill brothers brought her to me in that state. She did not pick my house as a hide-out."

  "Maybe not, but once she woke up, I'm sure she saw the advantage of staying with you. And from what I hear, you've been providing her with all kinds of gifts."

  He turned his attention to a flabbergasted Lalita. "I don't know why Dickson wants to marry you, but to each his own. It will make less paperwork for me should you decide to go that route. Now," —he clapped his hands once— "since you're all dressed up and ready to go out, you need to decide if you'll be going with me to the jail or with Dickson to the Justice of the Peace."

  Tate didn't know what to do, but he couldn't let Dickson marry Lita. "Marshal, may I have a word with Miss Torres in private?"

  The marshal took a step back and waved them into the parlor. Taking her by the elbow, he guided her to the far corner. "Lita, you need to go with the marshal."

  "But—"

  "I know." He looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being watched, then lifted her hand to his lips. "I'll go out right now and hire a lawyer."

  She kept a tight hold on his hand, her face contorting with tears. "I've never been in jail."

  He stroked the side of her head. "Of course you haven't, darling," he whispered, "and with any luck I'll have you out of there before the day is out."

  "Tate, just tell Dickson that we were going to get married this morning. Won't he—"

  Tate shushed her. "I don't know what he'll do," he whispered, "but once that cat is out of the bag, we won't be able to put it back in, and if he still wants to charge you—"

  "We'll be in exactly the same place as we are now. I'll be in jail, and you'll be trying to get me out."

  "Doctor," the marshal called from the hallway, "Dickson interrupted my morning coffee. My patience is wearing thin."

  "Well, good morning, Marshal," Mrs. Kettler's voice sing-songed. "I'm sure the doctor will be with you shortly. In the meantime, would you like a cup of coffee and a biscuit?"

  His voice moved down the hall. "I'd be glad to take you up on that, Mrs. Kettler. Your biscuits are a well known treat."

  Tate exhaled and tried to regroup his thoughts. "The difference is between a doctor acting on behalf of a patient or a man acting on behalf of his lover." At her wide eyes he explained. "It won't matter that we haven't known each other in that way yet. As soon as the word is out that we planned to marry, all manner of rumors will fly about what has been going on behind these closed doors."

  "But didn't you expect rumors to fly with our sudden marriage this morning?"

  "A few certainly, but once a couple is married, decorum demands best wishes be said, and life goes on."

  Lita wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "So you think that if you're acting as my doctor only, you can make a better case?"

  He nodded.

  She inhaled a big breath and let it out. "All right then, I guess I may as well go, so you can get me some help."

  "Help is here, Miss."

  Both Tate and Lita looked to the parlor door to see a tall fellow with his dark hair parted down the middle, a neatly trimmed black mustache tickling his upper lip.

  He hung his hat on the rack by the door. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I was about to ring the bell, but the fellow sitting on your porch said to go on in."

  Tate's heart plummeted even as he walked forward to greet the doctor he'd sent correspondence to.

  Correspondence about Lita's fragile state of mind.

  Chapter 26

  Dr. Jeremiah Fischer watched from the front porch of the Cavanaugh residence as Tate, with the young lady beside him, urged his horse and buggy to follow the marshal on horseback. The man who'd introduced himself as Seth Dickson brought up the rear on a horse of his own.

  Jeremiah scratched his head at Tate's hurried explanation as to their sudden departure—something about a misunderstanding that should be straightened out by nightfall—but Tate had told him to make himself at home until he returned, so he decided he may as well do just that.

  Turning, he went back inside just as the housekeeper was coming down the stairs with a young girl who was crying. "She can't go to jail! She's going to be my mama!" Jeremiah's ears pricked at this, but the housekeeper didn't seem to be in accord with this proclamation.

  "Nonsense! She would not make a suitable mother. She's far too permissive. You'd be spoiled rotten in a matter of weeks. If she is finally out of this house, then that's a good thing."

  They didn't appear to notice him in the hallway, and the girl wailed louder as the housekeeper pulled her into another room.

  Jeremiah followed, the mystery of it all pulling him to the dining room doorway, where the little blonde sat with her head bent over her arms, weeping as if she'd lost all that she held dear. He pulled out the chair across from her, and she looked up, startled.

  "Don't be afraid." He smiled. "I'm a friend of your father's." He extended a hand to her over the table. "I'm Dr. Jeremiah Fischer."

  She hesitantly put hers out to him, even as she shuddered in her sorrow, and he gave it a firm squeeze. "And what's your name?"

  Mrs. Kettler entered with a plate of eggs and toast and set it before the girl. "This morning, her name is Miss Weeping Willow, but never fear, she''ll be as fit
as a fiddle soon enough, once she spends the day helping me clean. Have you had breakfast, Doctor? There's plenty."

  "Why no, I haven't. Thank you."

  The housekeeper bustled back to the kitchen, and Jeremiah looked to the girl who only stared at her plate of food, her cheeks wet with tears.

  He leaned forward. "It's perfectly all right to be Miss Weeping Willow, but I think that's probably not your real name, is it?"

  She shook her head, her lip trembling. "It's Nellie," she said quietly. "Although sometimes Papa calls me Miss Nell."

  Jeremiah straightened. "Well, Nellie, I'm pleased to meet you again. I think I may have seen you once or twice as a baby. Your papa and I are old friends, and I knew your mama, too, when she was—" He suddenly thought better about elaborating on that topic. "When you all lived in Denver."

  She picked up a piece of toast and nibbled. "I don't remember living anywhere but here."

  "Naturally."

  Mrs. Kettler returned with a plate of food and set it and a cup of coffee in front of the doctor. "Thank you, Miss…"

  "Mrs. Kettler. I've been Dr. Cavanaugh's housekeeper ever since… well ever since he had need of one."

  Jeremiah nodded. "I see. Well, thank you again for the breakfast."

  She gave a nod and scurried back to the kitchen. Jeremiah turned his attention back to the youngster across from him. "So," he began, cutting off a bite of ham, "you've had some bad news this morning." He placed the bite in his mouth and chewed while he awaited a reply.

  Nellie blew out a sigh. "Yes. Very bad news. Our Lalita is going to jail."

  Jeremiah made a mental note of "our Lalita" as he sipped his coffee. "I didn't catch the reason… did she break the law?"

  The poor girl started to cry once again. "I don't know. Mrs. Kettler wouldn't tell me."

  Jeremiah's heart clenched at the sadness she felt. "There, there, now, your papa's working right this minute to clear it all up."

  She looked up in surprise. "He is? Will she be home soon, then?"

  "Let's hope so, and I'll help however I can."