Jolt, Page 20

  Dickson visibly bristled. "Not quite, Max."

  Max employed his crutches, maneuvering through the saddles in various stages of construction. "Well, you're too old for her anyway. I was thinking that as soon as I got out of this cast—"

  "Pa may be too old, but you're too young, Max," William interjected. "I'm a lot closer to her age, I'd wager."

  Max spun to face his brother, and Tate almost regretted getting the two involved. "You? You've never even spoken to her. I… we've…"

  Tate followed and clapped a hand onto Max's shoulder. Oh Lord, forgive me for chaffing these young men's hearts. "So how do you feel about her being your ma?"

  Both boys looked horrified.

  Dickson's jaw went tight. "All right, Doc, outside. Now." He breezed past Tate and out the side door. Tate followed with Dickson leading him a good thirty feet from the saddlery to a small grove of aspens that had survived the building of his corral.

  Dickson turned and his usual good mood was nowhere to be found. "Doc, I need a wife, and I know my boys have both got stars in their eyes with regards to Lalita, but—"

  "That's Miss Torres to you, Dickson. I don't recall her giving you leave to be so familiar."

  Dickson finally found his smile. "Doc, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've got stars in your eyes too."

  Tate ground his teeth. "She's a patient, and it's my job—"

  Dickson put a hand to Tate's shoulder. "I know, son, and you've taken good care of her. But I swear on my granny's grave that I'll take care of her too. The Good Book says that God looks at the heart, and that's what I strive to do. She's an Indian and a ruined one, too, I'll wager, but the Lord forgives, and so do I."

  Tate was seething. "You are not endearing yourself to her by throwing her in jail."

  The man shook his head. "Don't I know it, but she'll come around. She just needs to see that her options are limited. A few days in the hoosegow ought to do the trick."

  A declaration of his love for her was bursting out of Tate's heart, and a speech about her options was on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, it was his fist that seized the moment.

  Chapter 27

  Lalita and Tate drove the buggy in silence. After he'd paid her bail and his own fine for "brawling," they were finally heading home with Tate's bank account considerably smaller. She was glad to be out of the jail, but she knew it wasn't over yet. She still had to go before the judge.

  They met another couple in a buggy, and Tate touched the brim of his homburg, but the gesture was met with icy stares. Lalita's chest squeezed as Tate gripped the reins, his jaw set. "I'm sorry, Tate, I've brought you nothing but trouble."

  He took her hand on the seat beside him and flashed her a weary smile. "No, Lita, you've brought me more joy than I've had in years. We'll get through this."

  "Can we still get married?"

  He slowly shook his head. "You're not allowed to leave Manitou until after sentencing."

  "That's too bad." She leaned her head back and looked at the late afternoon sky. " 'Cause if we had gotten married this morning, tonight would have been our wedding night."

  Tate stiffened, and Lalita guessed she must have crossed that Victorian line again that she was forever stumbling over. She was too drained to be miffed about it, however. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting I can't… just say things I'm thinking."

  Tate threaded is fingers with hers. "No, Lita, when you're just with me, you can say anything. I was just… surprised that you'd be looking forward to our wedding night."

  She shifted on the seat to look at him. "Are you kidding me? Why wouldn't I look forward to it?" Her eyes grew wide. "Is there something you haven't told me?"

  He looked at her, alarmed. "No! Everything is… as it should be."

  She blew out a breath. "Whew! I thought you were going to tell me you lost something vital in a war or something."

  There was a moment of silence before Tate laughed out loud. Lalita started to giggle, and the two laughed most of the way home. As he was driving up the hill, he finally found control. "Lita, you say things no one would ever say. With you around, I think I'm going to be laughing for the rest of my life."

  "But that's a good thing, right?"

  He looked into her eyes. "That's a very good thing."

  The two were quiet for several minutes, though smiling. With their hands entwined under the fabric folds of her skirt at her side, she returned to the original topic. "So why would you think I wouldn't be looking forward to our wedding night? You're a great kisser; I can't wait for the rest."

  Tate seemed nervous. "Women rarely concede to being eager for their marital obligations, and I thought—"

  "Obligations!" She blinked, wide-eyed. "It will be my honor, and hopefully my pleasure, to… to… What's an acceptable term?… To… know you, Tate. It's not my obligation."

  When he didn't respond, a look of amazement on his face, she added, "Just to be clear, I meant 'know' in the Biblical sense."

  He blinked the dazed look from his face and chuckled as he turned Maisy into the driveway to the carriage house. "Yes, Lita, I understand your meaning."

  "My century is too permissive, but yours is way too uptight."

  Tate pulled into the empty carriage house, and Lalita looked around the space. "No Harold waiting for us today."

  "It looks that way." He rose and stepped down, and she started to follow, but he stopped her. "Just stay there a minute."

  Puzzled, she watched him walk back to the large doors and close them, securing them with the board brace. Her eyebrows raised when he did the same with the side door, effectively locking them in. Stepping back up into the buggy, he sat and patted his lap. Lalita smiled and took off her hat, laying it on her vacated spot as she accepted his invitation. He removed his as well as she slipped her arms around his neck. "You're a bad boy, Tate Cavanaugh."

  He nibbled her earlobe. "Just trying to prove that I'm not 'uptight.' "

  She licked her lips and his met hers with longing and passion. She ran a hand into his hair as his hands roamed over her back. After several heated minutes, Maisy snorted and lurched the buggy forward. They jerked apart, and Lalita laughed. "I think Maisy is hungry."

  "I imagine she is." Tate pulled Lalita back and continued kisses down her neck.

  She put a finger under his chin, bringing his eyes back to hers. Her brows lifted. "She's not the only one, I think."

  His smile, compounded by the black eye that was just starting to show, was absolutely devilish. "Again, your fault. You were the one who wanted to discuss our wedding night."

  She slid off his lap and stood. "And you were the one who said we can't have one yet, so I think we better go in and see how Nellie is."

  He sighed. "I suppose you're right."

  Lalita took the opportunity to watch Tate undo the harnesses; then he showed her where Maisy's feed was located and how much to give her along with her hay. "I hope you won't have to do all this," Tate was saying as he escorted her out of the building toward the house, "but it's good to know just in case."

  "I don't mind doing it." She stopped at the door, and Tate stopped with her. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not like the girls around here."

  Tate just grinned as he opened the door and ushered her in.

  ***

  Tate heard Nellie running down the stairs as they entered the kitchen, and no admonitions from Mrs. Kettler could slow her down. "Lalita! Papa saved you!"

  Lita bent down and gave her a tight hug. "He did, indeed. No moth-eaten jail blankets for me tonight."

  As the trio spilled out of the kitchen with Nellie chattering all the way, he could see Mrs. Kettler at the top of the stairs, her lips drawn tight. His eye was starting to ache, and he realized he must look a sight, but seeing Nellie holding Lita's hand as she excitedly asked one question after another put a smile on his face, and the joy he felt simply couldn't be contained. "Mrs. K., dinner smells wonderful. When do we eat? I think I could eat a side of beef."


  Mrs. Kettler slowly descended with an unmistakable air of grandeur. "There's a meat pie in the oven." She looked after Nellie and Lita who had just disappeared into the parlor. "Will Miss Torres be dining with you? Should I stay as a chaperone?"

  Tate stopped, considering. A blow had been dealt to Lita's reputation today, and even his own. Then he heard the voice of Dr. Fischer in the parlor and knew that conversation could turn to things Mrs. Kettler need not know about. "That won't be necessary, Mrs. Kettler. Miss Torres is still my patient."

  Mrs. Kettler's expression showed her distaste, but she turned and continued to the kitchen.

  Tate moved down the hall to the parlor where Nellie and Lita were holding hands and spinning in a circle, laughing. Tate smiled, envisioning his future with this woman as his wife and the mother of his child. Then his eye landed on the amused Dr. Fischer, and his smile faded. I know I invited him, but now how do I get rid of him?

  ***

  Tate let Nellie stay up later than usual, both because she was so excited to have Lalita home, and it kept the conversation off the letter that he had sent to Jeremiah. When both girls started to yawn, however, he conceded their need for rest and sent them upstairs to bed.

  He was feeling pretty tired himself and was about to ask Jeremiah if he had acquired any accommodations in the town, when the man pierced him with a stare and wasted no time starting the conversation he must have been waiting for all day. "Tate, what's going on here? Your letter sounded desperate, but now that I'm here, I get the feeling you both wished I were gone. Is the girl suffering from flights of fancy or not?"

  Tate cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. "I'm truly sorry that you made the trip clear down here. I had no idea you would jump on the first train without calling me first. I'll be glad to pay for your train fare—"

  Dr. Fischer interrupted him with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense. I can afford the fare, and your mountain town makes a delightful vacation if it turns out to be just that, but I was hoping to… whet my psychological appetite on your riveting case."

  Tate shifted in his seat. "Yes, well, Miss Torres has made a rather rapid recovery in the last few days. Most of her idiosyncrasies have normalized, and she only suffers now from a spotty memory concerning the day of the accident that put her in my care."

  Fischer leaned forward, clasping his hands over his knees. "So she's given up all of it—the idea that Manitou is stuck in the past while the rest of the world moved on, the time travel, the predictions of the future—all of it."

  Tate's mental list of his recent lies haunted him, but he saw no other way to get the man to hop on a train and go back to Denver. He nodded, but the doctor seemed to be waiting for some other explanation. Tate tried to accommodate him. "Since I don't know exactly what happened to her up on Pikes Peak, it's a difficult thing to speculate about her recovery. All I know is what I have observed; every day she has improved."

  Fischer leaned back, his eyes narrowed. "I hate to say this, Tate, but I don't believe it. It's too fast, and you have obviously developed feelings for the girl."

  Tate started to sputter. "Where would you get… of course I was obligated to help her today… and Dickson is insufferable. How could you think—"

  "Tate, have you looked in a mirror lately?" Fischer smiled. "That shiner says it all."

  Tate rose, uncomfortable with Fischer's scrutiny. "You're jumping to conclusions." Turning, he walked to the picture window on the front of the house and let down the sash. "You know I have a temper, and Dickson rubs me the wrong way every time he opens his mouth."

  "While I don't know Dickson, I do know your temper." Tate turned back, hoping to see that he was succeeding in changing his opinion, but Jeremiah's face wore a lop-sided smile. "And what I know about your temper is that it only blows when it's personal or when you are championing another. When your family was bullied and persecuted, or when your wife was shunned by the society matrons. Your temper doesn't just blow at rash or irritating words; it takes a personal jab directed at someone you care about to set that volcano off."

  Tate took a step forward and pressed on. "Of course it's personal. The poor girl is alone here and has been through some sort of trauma that she can't recall, and ever since, I have been judged for keeping her here and protecting her. Excuse me if I'm a bit raw."

  Fischer seemed to chew over his words, and finally he rose. "All right, Tate. You've had a long day. I've got a room at Barker House, so I'll take my leave of you for tonight." He slipped into his frock coat and bowler that were hung by the door. "If I'm welcome for breakfast, I'll see you then."

  Tate wished he'd take his breakfast in the dining car of the Rio Grande, but being rude would only raise his suspicions higher. "Certainly. I look forward to it."

  With the click of the door, Tate walked to the end of the parlor where a mirror hung above the piano. He winced at the sight. Thanks to an ice pack prepared by Lalita after dinner, the swelling had been somewhat reduced, but the black and purple would most certainly be with him most of the week.

  He hoped the same would not be said of Jeremiah Fischer.

  Chapter 28

  Lalita was heading down the stairs in one of Augusta's outfits made from a small floral print, when the doorbell rang. She ran her hands down the shirtwaist that she had taken in at the sides, then looked further down to the green border she had added to the skirt's hem to give it more length. After Tate's outlay of money for bail and brawling, she didn't want to ask him for more fabric for another dress just yet.

  Tate came out of the parlor with his newspaper in hand to answer the door. Her heart sank as Dr. Fischer stepped over the threshold, but Tate seemed to be expecting him. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, wishing she had waited upstairs for Nellie.

  She forced a smile as the two men reached her, and for the first time, Lalita really noticed the difference in their frames. Tate was of a medium build with a strength that would go undetected unless you had been on the receiving end of being lifted out of buggies, or you had occasion to caress his biceps the way she had when they snuggled together in the parlor. Dr. Fischer was tall and lanky, and Lalita wagered that Tate could beat him easily in an arm wrestling match. She smiled a real smile, wondering if she could arrange it.

  Dr. Fischer took her smile and ran with it. "Miss Torres, you're looking rested. I hope today will be a more pleasant one for you than yesterday."

  "You and me both."

  Nellie appeared on the stairs in a black and gray checked dress that Lalita immediately wanted to add some color to, but Tate waved them toward the dining room. As Nellie reached the bottom stair, Tate placed a hand on her head. "Good morning, Miss Nell. I trust you slept well."

  When she shook her head, looking troubled. Lalita stepped back to the stairs. "More bad dreams?" She had gone to Nellie's room once when the little girl had called out in the night and sat with her until she'd fallen asleep again.

  Nellie nodded. "I kept looking for you, but I couldn't find you." She looked to Tate. "And someone beat you up until you were black and blue all over."

  Tate lifted her up and held her tight. "A dream is just a dream, Nellie. Lalita is here, and I just have the one bruise to show for my bad temper."

  The three joined Dr. Fischer at the table that was already filled with a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs, plates of bacon and biscuits, not to mention butter, jam, coffee, milk, and juice.

  After Tate said the blessing, Fischer unfolded his linen napkin and laid it on his lap. "If I thought it would do any good, I'd try to talk your Mrs. Kettler into moving to Denver. Our cook left us last month, and Bess hasn't found a new one to suit her yet."

  Lalita dished up eggs for herself and Nellie. "Is Bess your wife?"

  "Yes. And I have a son named Tobias, who is a few years younger than Nellie."

  The talk turned to politics and the economy, and Lalita wondered how she could leave the house without it being obvious that she was avoiding their guest. A bike ride was out,
at least until after all the talk about her time in jail yesterday had died down. She also doubted that Tate would let her take the buggy. Even if he trusted her with it, as a doctor, he might need it at any time. "I guess Nellie and I could walk to town," she muttered as she reached for another biscuit.

  "Do you have some shopping to do, or are we boring you?"

  She looked up into Dr. Fischer's questioning face. Did I say that out loud? "Oh, no, I'm sorry, I just don't know much about the politics of this time." It nearly killed her to play dumb, but she knew it was the necessary role at the moment. "I mean of any time. I'm not really into politics."

  Tate set his cup down a bit too hard on the saucer, and she put herself to the task of buttering her biscuit.

  "I wouldn't expect you to; women don't have a head for politics. But just what are you 'into,' Miss Torres?" She heard a definite smile in Dr. Fischer's voice.

  Tate jumped in before she could answer. "She's an accomplished seamstress; she's been teaching Nellie to sew. And she has an interest in history, which I think may explain her earlier confusion."

  Lalita smiled tightly before taking a bite of her biscuit now coated with strawberry jam. It was imperative to keep her mouth occupied. Otherwise, she would no doubt fill this man in on all she did know about the politics of this country and a few others.

  "She knows all about history!" Nellie chimed in. "Even stuff that hasn't happened yet."

  Lalita coughed and put a hand over her mouth in an attempt to keep half chewed biscuit from landing on Dr. Fischer's plate.

  Her eyes watered as Tate handed her a glass of juice, all the while directing his words to Nellie. "You mean in school, right sweetheart? Lalita has told you things you haven't learned about yet in school."

  As Lalita downed her juice, she was sure that Dr. Fischer couldn't possible miss the pointed look that Tate was giving Nellie. Nellie blinked several times before nodding and asking to be excused, and Lalita saw the look of trepidation cross his face. Poor Tate doesn't know if we're better or worse off with her in the room.