Chapter Thirty

At the first hint of dawn on the horizon, Jack was usually tuned tighter than a piano string. He woke with new thoughts, new ideas, and a burning desire to see what he could accomplish before the sun disappeared on the opposing side of the vast prairie.

This morning was different. Those rays coming through the window meant an interruption to the most joyful time of his life. An interruption, but not an end.

He’d made the coffee himself. The kitchen filled with the thick, rich aroma. It felt strange to be standing in his kitchen, fixing to go back to work, when so much had changed. The bugle sounded outside, calling reveille. Jack gulped hot coffee as he scratched a brief note to his bride, but then he heard her on the stairs and decided his love might be better expressed in person.

The green boughs of the Christmas decorations swayed as he whisked through the house to meet her before she reached the ground floor. He swept around the corner, snatched her off the steps, and swung her around.

Hattie squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She still carried the bed’s warmth in her nightclothes, but he could also feel her own warmth through the soft fabric.

“Good morning,” she murmured into his neck. “Is it time to leave already?”

His arms tightened around her. He grinned as he thought of thirteen-year-old Jack, who would never have believed this possible. “The world didn’t stop turning, even for us,” he said. Leaving her would be torture, but how sweet it would be to think about his return all day.

“I’ll finish decorating for Christmas, now that we know we’re staying here,” she said.

“Should I send a guard to protect my books, or will you promise not to throw any out?”

“You’d better just watch me yourself,” she said as she twisted a brass button on his uniform.

A shadow passed by the French doors of his office. It looked like Major Adams wasn’t going to wait for him to make an appearance at roll call.

“Duty calls,” he said. He kissed her ever-so-willing lips. “I’ll carry this with me all day.”

“As long as you need more by tonight,” she said.

Major Adams knocked on the door. Had Jack not feared the major would kick it in, he would have followed Hattie back to their room and claimed temporary deafness. He waited until she’d disappeared upstairs before opening the door.

“Major Adams, sir!” Jack saluted as his commander stepped inside.

Major Adams sauntered by with his hands clasped behind his back and announced, “You are firmly in my debt. I expect it’ll take the rest of your life to repay me for the good turn I gave you.”

“What? How do you take the credit for this?”

“Because I’m the one who insisted that the wedding was binding. Your undying gratitude will be payment enough.”

Jack leaned against the banister with his arms crossed. “Did you come over for a purpose besides gloating?”

“Ingrate. Yes. They found a man just like you said. Hiding upstairs in the commissary building on the third floor, and he wasn’t just injured. His leg has more holes in it than a pepper box. Looks like the work of the Cheyenne.”

“You think they shot up Sloane?”

“If they knew he stole their payment, they wouldn’t have been so kind, but it’s not Sloane. It’s his partner,” Major Adams said. “Olin Bixby’s the name. The marshal thinks his likeness is similar to the one in Mrs. Hennessey’s painting, but we haven’t accused him yet. As far as he knows, he’s at the Darlington infirmary for his own good. My guess is that he and Mr. Sloane split the money and took out in different directions. Then the Cheyenne caught Bixby alone and worked him over. Naturally he couldn’t go to the doctor, so he holed up in the cellar of the school, waiting to heal and make his getaway.”

“Or waiting for a chance to dispose of the witness,” Jack said.

Major Adams placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “She’s secure here. She’ll come to no harm.”

“Where’s the money?” Hattie came downstairs dressed, and for the first time in two days, her hair was pinned up and her shoes were on. “Wasn’t that the whole purpose of the heist?”

Jack couldn’t stop grinning. It took Major Adams’s obnoxious throat clearing to bring him around.

“Yes, the money. We have to recover it,” Daniel said. “Things will get heated if the tribes have to wait on Congress to approve another payment. But before we can proceed, we need a positive identification.”

Jack’s smile faded. “I don’t think she’s ready for that.”

“Are you talking about me?” Hattie asked.

“It’s essential,” Major Adams said. “Why haul him to Judge Parker when the witness is here? If he’s not the one we’re looking for, we’re wasting time. She can go in with the doctor and pretend to assist him. Just for a moment, so she can get a look at him.”

“Please, sir.” Jack really hated contradicting his superior, but no one understood the nightly fears that tormented his wife. “Her constitution isn’t strong enough. Not yet.”

Hattie stepped between them. Her face was so pale it looked translucent. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I owe it to Agent Gibson and the driver.”

Jack clasped his hands behind his back. He always hated giving his men difficult assignments, but never had he regretted one so much.

“When Dr. Graff asks for clean bandages, you bring him this.” Jack placed a bundle of white strips in Hattie’s hand, but she could barely feel them with her cold fingers. “Take a look at the man on the cot and leave. That’s all you need to do.”

The smell of camphor would always remind Hattie of the nauseating feeling she was experiencing right now. She’d nearly died hiding from the outlaw, and now she was going to walk into a small room with him. The smell of gunpowder replaced the camphor in her memory. The driver motioning for her to hide. Her decision to face the killer, and then running for her life as he chased her from above and shot down at her. Darkness falling as she huddled in the cold.

“Hattie? Hattie?”

Her eyes cleared. Jack was stooping to catch her gaze.

“I’ll be on the other side of the door,” he said. “Even if Bixby is the killer, he probably won’t recognize you. Just go in and take a peek. That’s all.”

Dr. Graff twisted his cravat pin nervously. “I never was much of a performer.”

“You’re changing his bandages,” Jack said. “You’ve done it several times already. Nothing different.”

“Except now I know he’s a murderer. That’s a new piece of information. Why don’t you pretend to be the doctor?”

Even through her distress, Hattie could hear Jack’s frustration. “He’s your patient. Now get in there.” With an outstretched arm, Jack motioned to the hallway that led to the examination rooms.

The doctor straightened his spine and smoothed his cravat. “See,” he mumbled to Hattie, “nothing to worry about.” And then he disappeared down the hall.

She dreaded seeing Bixby with every ounce of her strength. Maybe it wouldn’t be him. Maybe it was just a trespasser the Cheyenne had caught. But was that what she wanted? Wouldn’t it be better for the killer to already be caught?

Jack placed his hand at the base of her neck. He squeezed, and only then did she realize how tight her shoulders were.

“It’ll only take a second,” Jack said. “You can do this. You’ve been so brave already.”

Running away had taken no courage at all. Now she was supposed to go to him on purpose?

“Nurse. Bandages, please.”

Hattie’s stomach dropped. That was her cue.

Jack released her. She took a deep, camphor-filled breath. “Go on,” he whispered.

She took one step, and then her legs took over. They carried her so quickly that she was inside the room before she was prepared. She had to stay objective, but the injured man’s presence repelled her. Instead she focused on the doctor, who was sawing through bloody bandages with a scalpel. The man’s pant leg had been cut off, exposing a scarlet, infected leg. Hattie tried to look at his face, but she couldn’t lift her eyes. Instead she placed the bandages in the hand of the doctor, bowed her head, and turned to leave.

The same panic that had propelled her through the frigid canyon drew her into the hallway. But she couldn’t go. Not yet. Hattie grasped the doorframe of the examination room and held on for dear life. She wouldn’t let Agent Gibson down, and she wouldn’t let Jack down, but most of all, she wouldn’t disappoint herself. If she didn’t look this man in the eyes, she would always feel that she hadn’t done her part.

Gritting her teeth, Hattie turned—just in time to see Olin Bixby reach for the scalpel.

Dr. Graff was holding Bixby’s leg up as he wound the fresh bandage around it. Bixby never took his eyes off the doctor, but he was inching his hand toward the forgotten knife barely visible in the sheets. If she didn’t do something . . .

Hattie rushed forward and grabbed Bixby by the wrist. He dropped the scalpel, and she snatched it up before he could recover.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bixby growled. He kicked his leg free from the doctor’s grasp as he glared at her.

Hattie met his gaze—his black, furious gaze. The same narrow face. The same chipped tooth. Then his eyes tightened. He recognized her. He did. And that moment’s hesitation showed what she thought she’d never see on him. Fear.

Hattie released his arm and stepped away, still clutching the scalpel. “Dr. Graff, you need to be careful where you leave your equipment. We don’t want our patient to hurt himself.” She was walking backward toward the door, not letting Bixby out of her sight. For the first time that day, she felt in control.

His brow was furrowed as he eased his leg down. His mouth curled into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just trying to help out the doc,” he said. “No reason to get jumpy.”

He thought he still had a chance. Hattie saw the knowledge in his face. He imagined that she didn’t recognize him.

She paused in the doorway. As badly as she wanted to scream for Jack’s help and arrest him immediately, she couldn’t predict how the villain would respond. She couldn’t put Dr. Graff’s life in danger.

“I apologize, Mr. Bixby. I didn’t mean to startle you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more bandages to roll.”

Her warm smile did the trick. Bixby laid back against the headboard. Dr. Graff stopped spinning his cravat pin and returned to the bandages, while Hattie made her way to the hall.

She’d faced the fiend, and he hadn’t won. She could beat him. She’d wondered why she had survived the attack, and now she knew. Without her, there would have been no one to look at his face and convict him. It was because she’d survived that justice would be done, but she had to do her part.

But there was still one man free who could hurt her.

Sloane.