CHAPTER 39

Ethan climbed the stairs at the back of the emporium building before seven the next morning and knocked on the door to Libby’s apartment. In spite of the early hour, Libby greeted him pleasantly.

“Good morning, Sheriff! Can I help you?”

“I wondered if Miss Fennel is up. I’d like to speak to her about the time she was held hostage if she’s feeling up to it.”

“Why, yes.” Libby stepped back to give him entry to her kitchen. “We just finished breakfast. I need to go downstairs and prepare to open the store, but perhaps you’d like to interview her here. There’s some coffee on the stove, and it’s quiet here. No one will bother you.”

“Thank you … if you think …” He looked around cautiously. It felt a little odd, standing in an unmarried woman’s home. Almost as awkward as the first time he went into the Nugget.

Libby smiled, and he suspected his ears had turned red. “I see nothing wrong with conducting official business in a friend’s kitchen. And I’ll be only a few yards away, after all.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He nodded, and she hastened into the next room.

Ten minutes later, he and Isabel sat across from each other at the little maple table. Sun streamed in through the eyelet curtains at the window on the back of the kitchen. The excellent coffee and the occasional quiet sounds of Libby moving about in the store below took away all Ethan’s apprehension.

“You say the men talked some amongst themselves while you were their hostage. Can you tell me what they said?”

Isabel set her cup down and frowned. “Let me see…. I recall Uncle Kenton talking to the man they call Sterling. That was before Papa showed up the first time, when he came alone.”

Ethan leaned forward. “What did they say?”

“It was something about a piece of land that they’d wanted to get for free. I wondered at the time if they were talking about the Peart property.”

“Maybe so.”

Isabel took a sip of her coffee. “Uncle Kenton said something like, ‘Well, it’s too bad that plan didn’t work. That sheriff—’ “She broke off and set the cup down, not meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan smiled. “It’s all right, ma’am. I already know Smith didn’t like me much, nor Wilfred Sterling either.”

She shrugged and gave a little cough. “Well, if you must know, he said you might be smarter than he’d given you credit for.”

“Do tell.” Ethan sat back, rather pleased with her revelation.

“That was about the time I gathered they were demanding a ransom from my father.” Her forehead wrinkled, and she picked up her spoon. “Why would my uncle demand a ransom? Did my father give you any idea?”

Ethan rose and got the coffeepot, though he didn’t need more coffee. He poured a small amount into his cup. “Would you like more?”

“No, thank you.”

He set the pot back on the stovetop and sat down again. “Miss Fennel, I was with your father when he first learned you’d been kidnapped.”

“You were?”

“Yes. Hiram Dooley was there, too, at the Wells Fargo office. Someone tossed a rock wrapped in a note through the window. Your pa took off. Hiram and I read the note and rode off after him. But we had to stop and saddle up, and Trudy joined us.”

She raised her pale eyebrows.

“We … uh … met him coming back from the Martin place. He’d been out there and talked to Mr. Smith.”

“Yes, he came alone that first time, and Uncle Kenton told him to go and get some money and to come back with it by sundown.” She shivered. “I confess I didn’t take to my uncle when I first met him, but I had no inkling he would do violence to our family.”

“You know he had been in prison, I believe.”

“Papa told me. But still …”

Ethan sipped his coffee while thinking through what he knew and what he could reveal. “Well ma’am, I think it’s obvious that when Mr. Smith was released from jail, he didn’t give up his criminal ways. He may have pressured your father into giving him a place to live and then gathered some of the no-accounts he knew around him.”

“His ranch hands? I suppose you’re right. They could all be felons he met while in prison. And he might have seen Papa as an easy way to get some money, rather than earning it.”

“Less risky than robbing a bank, or so it might seem. Of course, in the end …” Ethan shrugged.

“I wonder if he was jealous of Papa’s success.”

Ethan decided his best course was to avoid talking about money where Kenton and Cyrus were concerned, so he sipped his coffee without answering. A knock at the kitchen door startled him. Isabel caught her breath and looked to him expectantly. Ethan rose and walked to the door. He opened it and found Phineas Benton and his wife on the landing outside.

“Reverend.”

“Sheriff. Mrs. Adams told us you were here. We wondered if Miss Fennel was up to discussing funeral arrangements for her father.”

Ethan looked over his shoulder toward Isabel. “Ma’am, the parson and Mrs. Benton are here.”

Isabel rose and came to the door. “Thank you for coming, Pastor.”

The Bentons entered, and she accepted Apphia’s embrace.

“Libby said we could sit up here with you and talk about your Papa’s service if you’re up to it.” Apphia drew back and appraised Isabel. “Did you sleep last night, dear?”

“Not much. I did drop off toward dawn.”

Ethan reached for his hat. “I’ll get going, but please feel free to call on me if you need anything, Miss Fennel.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

He went out the door and down the back stairs. Isabel seemed to accept his train of thought about her so-called uncle’s motives, and he was glad she hadn’t mentioned the hole behind the barn. At some point he’d have to retrieve the money for her, but that could come later. Maybe he could arrange it somehow so that she received it as part of Cyrus’s estate, and its source could remain secret.

Isabel prepared a light luncheon for herself and Libby. It was the least she could do for her hostess. To her surprise, when they sat down together, she found her appetite had returned.

“That’s a very good red flannel hash you’ve made,” Libby said with a smile. “Thank you. I don’t usually take time for a hot meal at noon.”

“The air is cooler today, and I thought it might taste good. After all, you’ve done so much for me.”

“Think nothing of it.” Libby sliced off a bite of leftover chicken. “Did you have a good visit with the Bentons?”

“Yes, I … we’ve decided to hold the service in the church.”

“I think that’s wise,” Libby said. “If it rains, or even if it doesn’t—it’s been so hot lately—it will be nice to be under cover.”

Isabel detailed the plans they’d made for the service while they ate. When she’d finished, Libby stood.

“Forgive me for running out so soon, dear. I like to get back to the store quickly and let Florence go home for her dinner. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave you again?”

“No, I think I’ll take a nap,” Isabel said. “I fear I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I’m sure it will do you good. Thank you for the delicious meal.” Libby started to gather her dishes.

“Oh, just leave those. I’ll take care of them.”

Libby had hardly gone down the stairs when a knock came at the kitchen door. Isabel jumped and hurried to open the door. Dr. Kincaid stood on the landing, holding his black bag and smiling.

“It’s good to see you looking so well, Miss Fennel. May I come in? Mrs. Adams said I would find you here.”

“Why, yes, Doctor.” Isabel stepped back and let him enter.

He removed his hat and stood looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, let me take that.” As she reached for it, he smiled down at her, and Isabel felt suddenly at sea. She’d never been alone with such an attractive man. A hint of guilt buzzed about her mind, like a horsefly zipping in and leaving, only to return a moment later. Was it wrong to think a man pleasant to look at or listen to? She turned away and carefully placed his hat on a rack near the door.

“I shan’t take long,” Dr. Kincaid said. “I’d like to count your pulse and respirations if you don’t mind, and ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, of course.” Isabel felt her cheeks flush. “Would you like to come into the parlor?” Now, why did she ask that? Surely the physician could listen to her heartbeat just as well in the kitchen.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t seem to think it odd, so she led him into Libby’s parlor.

“Won’t you sit down?” She took one of the straight chairs near the window.

He set his bag on the sofa and opened it. “I’ll stand. How do you feel today?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“I’m sure yesterday was trying.”

She nodded and lowered her gaze. “I met with Mr. and Mrs. Benton to plan Papa’s funeral.”

“Ah. And when is that to be?” He took a stethoscope from his bag and hung it about his neck.

“Tomorrow. The pastor thought it not wise to wait longer.”

“I see.”

She looked down at the carpet, feeling a bit queasy. Neither of them spoke of the heat that made the hasty service necessary. “I’m still … getting used to the idea that Papa is gone.”

“Shall you stay here with Mrs. Adams?”

“For a while, I think. She’s invited me to remain with her indefinitely, and I’ve decided to stay a few more days. I don’t wish to impose on her, but—”

“I’m sure she finds your company stimulating.” He took out his watch and approached her. “May I?”

She held up her wrist, and he took it gently, focusing on the timepiece.

“Your pulse is a bit rapid and thready. You haven’t felt dizzy, have you?”

“No, but … when I think of all that happened yesterday …”

“Of course.”

She didn’t look at him. The touch of his warm hand contributed to the frantic pace of her heartbeat, she was sure.

He lowered her hand to her lap and stood back a bit. “Now, if you’ll just breathe normally, I shall count your respiration.”

Again she sought something else to look at. His compassionate blue eyes could make a woman think all sorts of things. Just the concept brought the flush to her cheeks again. Oh dear, this will never do. He’ll think I’m ill when I’m merely behaving like a schoolgirl—swooning over an attractive man. The idea!

“Miss Fennel?”

She jumped. “Yes?”

“How was your sleep last night?”

“Fragmented, I fear.”

“I’m a bit concerned. Do you have a strong constitution?”

“Certainly, under normal circumstances.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’d like to prescribe a tonic for you.”

She straightened her back, wondering whether she ought to protest that she was fine.

“I assure you it’s mild, but it will help you sleep. Take it just at bedtime. And if you wish to lie down this afternoon, take a spoonful then, as well. I know it’s difficult to keep the mind from racing when you’ve had a shock. The memory constantly replays the unfortunate events and the tragedy that ensued.”

“Why, yes. That’s exactly how it was.” She looked into his eyes. They radiated a serene kindness.

“And how is your left wrist? Still sore?”

“A little, but it’s much better today, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dr. Kincaid sat down on the sofa, sliding his bag over a few inches. “Do you plan to return to your teaching post?”

She blinked at him, surprised at the inquiry. “I hadn’t considered not doing so.”

“And when does the next term begin?”

“In about three weeks. We’ll have a two-month summer term, then a break of three weeks during harvest, and then begin the fall term.”

“May I suggest that you take these next three weeks to rest? I know the temptation is there to busy yourself and forget about all of this—to prepare for school and perhaps overhaul the ranch house. But you need to build yourself up physically. You’ll have your father’s affairs to settle, too. He had a lot of business concerns, I understand.”

“Well yes, there’s the stagecoach line and the boardinghouse, in addition to the ranch. And he owned considerable property.”

He leaned back on the sofa. “You’ll have to think about those things, of course. But take time to rest your mind in between.” He looked around at the pleasant room, and his gaze landed on Libby’s cherry bookcases. “I see Mrs. Adams has quite a library.”

“Yes. She has more books than anyone else in town. She’s told me I may borrow any I like.”

“That’s good. It may seem frivolous right now, but if you can lose yourself in a novel for a few hours, it will help you stop thinking of your own troubles for a while.”

“I thought I might try the latest one by Henry James, though Papa might …” She broke off and smiled in apology. “I was going to say, ‘Papa might think it quite daring for a mountain schoolteacher.’ “

Kincaid smiled. “I think you would enjoy it. I’m reading Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons right now.”

Isabel raised one hand. “Oh, those Nihilists!”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I understood it. I rather liked it, but I felt as though I shouldn’t.”

He chuckled. “We’ll have to discuss it when I’ve finished it. That is, if you’d care to do so….”

He must be lonely, Isabel thought. That wistful look could mean nothing else.

“I should be delighted.” She swallowed hard and lowered her lashes. Papa’s words had suddenly bounced back into her mind. I saw you staring at him at the picnic … saw you eyeing him at church, too. Should she say something to assure Dr. Kincaid that she wasn’t pursuing him? No, if he hadn’t thought such a thing, mentioning it might make him wary. And she would dearly love to discuss Turgenev with an intelligent person.

“Are you well?” He leaned toward her and reached for her wrist again.

“Why, yes. I only … Oh, it’s silly, but I was thinking of the books we might discuss. You’ve no idea how much I’ve longed to do that. My father isn’t much—wasn’t much of a reader for pleasure, and while I’m sure Mrs. Adams indulges, she is so busy that we rarely meet except at church or the shooting club.”

“I should be delighted to engage in literary discussions.” He fingered his stethoscope. “I was going to listen to your lungs—”

“I assure you, my breathing is fine. I shall recover soon from all of this.” Her face must be as scarlet as a radish by now. There was no chance she would let him get any closer with that stethoscope without another female present. It would be too, too unsettling.

He took the instrument off and tucked it into his bag. “All right. Let me just write down the name of the tonic. Mrs. Adams stocks it in the emporium.” He took a small pad and a pencil from his coat pocket and began to write.

“There you go. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to come by and see you before the service tomorrow, just to be sure you’re up to it.”

“You may come, sir, but I shall be fine.”

He nodded and stood. “In that case, I’ll be off. I have a patient to visit at the Storrey ranch. But if you feel the need of my ministrations, send someone to the boardinghouse. I’ll be back there in an hour or two.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Isabel looked down at the sheet of paper he’d handed her. They said doctors had terrible handwriting, but she could read his script perfectly. She rose and saw him to the door, trying to keep her breathing steady and willing her heart to stop hammering like a frenzied blacksmith.

The blacksmith. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Doctor, there is one thing that troubles me. I wonder if you might give me some advice on a financial matter.”

“I’d be happy to, though I’m not an expert in that field.”

“It’s my father’s business with the stagecoach company. He had a contract running through next spring. I suppose the logical thing is to ask Mr. Bane to see it through if he’s willing. He already keeps the horses and changes the teams.”

“He seems a good businessman. Didn’t he start out with just the smithy?”

“Yes. He bought the livery when the former owner moved out of town.”

“From everything I’ve seen of Mr. Bane, he’s trustworthy. If he’s not too busy to take it on, he would probably do well with the stage line.”

Isabel nodded slowly, amazed that she could discuss Griffin Bane without becoming agitated.

“Do you know whom I should discuss it with if I were you?” Kincaid asked.

“No sir.”

“Your friend Elizabeth Adams. She’s the shrewdest woman I’ve ever met. And she’s known Mr. Bane much longer than I have. She could tell you if he’d do well in the position.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Isabel smiled as she swung the door open. “Thank you so much, Doctor. I shall put the matter to her this evening.”

She closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, puzzling over the thoughts whirling through her mind. Dr. Kincaid would call again tomorrow. She must be ready to receive him graciously. But she mustn’t throw herself at him. Indeed, she mustn’t even think of pursuing him. How unladylike and vulgar that would be. Shades of Rose Caplinger and her mass distribution of cookies to the single men of the town. And Papa was surely right that the handsome doctor would never look her way. On the other hand, Dr. James Kincaid had expressed interest in discussing books with her.

She caught her breath. She’d better dust off that volume of Turgenev and refresh her memory of the story line and philosophy between its covers. Slowly she walked into Libby’s parlor and stood gazing into the mirror between the windows. Papa was quite right. She was too thin, and her hair had always been a nondescript brown. Her pale eyes held none of the allure of Libby’s sparkling blue ones. And yet … She strode toward the bookcase but stopped in the middle of the room.

First things first. She must fetch the tonic. Surely the doctor would inquire tomorrow whether she had followed his instructions.