Chapter 20
Ronan sat at the edge of Cressida’s bed as the sun sank down toward the horizon, pink and orange light filtering into the room, making her look like an angel with her dark lashes dusting her cheeks.
If he could take the sickness from her, he would in an instant. He would gladly be the one curled up in bed and fighting off a fever if it meant she was going to be fine.
For a moment, all he could do was look down at her, trying to take in the lines of her face, the small freckles sprinkled over her skin. He could spend a lifetime trying to map the freckles.
“You’re going to get through this,” he whispered, brushing some more of her hair back from her face. “I know it feels rough right now, and you’re not in a good way, but we’re going to make sure you get better. Please just hold on a little longer. For me.”
He reached out and put his wrist to her forehead, feeling the fever starting to climb once more, her skin burning hot to the touch. The pink flush started to come back to her cheeks.
He swallowed hard, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. This wasn’t good. There was no reason for the fever to be climbing again, especially when she had been so awake.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured again, still feeling the temperature of her skin, wanting to believe he was imagining it.
He wasn’t, though. She was heating up quickly.
He looked at her for a moment longer, his chest tight and aching.
She was curled on her side with Diver tucked against her stomach. They made quite a handsome pair. Ronan admired them for a moment before grabbing the empty water glass and leaving the room.
“I think it might be time to send for the doctor,” Ronan said, his voice tight as he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Mrs. Agatha said the doctor’s out of town for the next two days,” Etta said. “I should’ve told you when you first came over, but it slipped my mind with everything going on.”
She sounded like she was on the verge of tears, sending him down the hallway faster.
As he stepped into the kitchen, Etta turned to him with a shaking hand, a little blue pot in it.
“What’s wrong?” Ronan asked, putting the glass on the counter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Cressida was awake and talking for a little bit. The fever had broken a bit, too, but I’m sure she’s going to be fighting with it through the night as well.”
“Which is a problem.” Etta waved the little pot at him. “This is the fever tea. It’s a mix of yarrow and chamomile, and it’s almost empty.”
“Where do you get the herbs you need?” he asked, already heading to the front door to pull on the boots he had abandoned hours earlier. He stepped back into the kitchen, waiting for her answer.
“In town. At the end of the main street, there’s a general store. A white building with black shutters and pretty yellow flowerboxes in the windows.” Etta put the pot down and brought her fingers to her lips. “I can’t walk that far, and I’m not supposed to ride.”
“I’ve got my boots on.” Ronan swallowed down the apprehension he felt about going into town. While he liked his privacy, there were things more important than being private.
Like making sure Cressida was going to get the help she needed.
“Are you sure? Thank you.” She looked at him while holding back tears that glistened in her eyes. “I feel horrible asking so much of you, but I really do appreciate how much you’ve been helping.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Ronan headed out of the house, grabbing his hat from the hook near the door on the way, going down to the barn, and getting one of the horses saddled up. As he hauled himself up into the saddle, his heart stuttered against his ribs. Letting out a deep breath, he sat a little taller in the saddle.
It was going to be fine. People were going to look at him, they were going to talk to him, but getting to know some of the people in town wouldn’t be too horrible.
Unless the quiet life I’ve been trying to build for myself comes crashing down around me and I’m left wondering what else I can do.
He rode quickly to town, the pounding of his pulse in his ears in time with the hooves thundering against the dirt road.
The closer he got to town, the more he hoped that it would be easy to get in and out. He let out a wavering breath, looking at the white clapboard buildings surrounding him, their shutters painted in different colors.
People walked along the sidewalks, talking to each other with bright smiles, colorful skirts swishing as women moved from one store to the next. Men stood tall with their lunchboxes in hand, going home after a long day of work.
A couple of people nodded to him as he passed, even though he didn’t know any of them.
Ronan reached up, tipping his hat low over his eyes, though he did nod back to the people who acknowledged him, not wanting to stick out too much for refusing to even look at the townspeople.
When a couple more people stopped and stared, he forced a smile on his face, raising his hand in a slight wave.
The whole time, his heart was racing, and in the back of his mind, he kept thinking about what would happen if anyone recognized him.
He didn’t recognize any of the people he passed, but then again, he had encountered hundreds of people over the course of his career. It would be impossible to remember all the faces he had seen.
He glanced around, taking in all the buildings, looking for the one with black shutters and yellow flowerboxes. It was near the end of the street, a carved wooden sign reading “general store” hanging above it.
He hitched his horse to the post outside, taking a deep breath. He could do this. It wasn’t going to be as horrible as he thought it was.
People were going to be curious about who he was and where he was from, but there were already rumors about him and how he had gotten the property. He could confirm what was true to others, if it would benefit him for them know, and he’d be vague about the rest.
Letting out another breath, he walked into the general store, the bell above the door chiming, the scent of spices and sugar filling the air.
Ronan eyed the shelves lined with goods, taking in the sacks of flour and sugar, the big barrels filled with penny candy at the end of the aisles.
“Evening,” an older man said, his hair peppered with gray, smile lines at the corners of his eyes, red whiskers growing wild.
“Evening.” Ronan looked around the little shop before holding out his hand. He figured looking friendly was the best thing he could do to avoid having people ask too many questions about his life. “Name’s Ronan. You’ve got a nice little shop here.”
“Briggs.” The man beamed, looking around at all the goods he stocked on the shelves, the blends of teas and spices, the bolts of fabric on one wall. “I like to think I stock a little bit of everything. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No. I inherited a piece of property here.”
Briggs snapped his fingers together. “Ronan, that’s why the name’s familiar.
I heard Conrad speaking about you the other day.
How’s the property doing? I heard you have a lot of work to do out there.
And your worker…Tobin, right? Yes, that’s what he said his name was.
He’s been in town a few times for supplies. ”
“It’s going to be a lot of work, but the place should be fixed up and running in no time.” Ronan glanced around, hoping he could find what he needed and get out of the store as quick as possible.
Briggs seemed like a kind enough man, but it was clear he was a talker.
“I came to fetch some yarrow and chamomile.” Ronan glanced at the rack of herbs and spices, all sorted into little brown envelopes with the names of the contents on them.
“You don’t look ill,” Briggs said, drumming his fingers on the counter in a steady beat. “Tobin sick? If he is, and you need to hire someone to do some work, I know there are a few good men around here looking for a day’s wages. Good at building. Don’t mind working from sunup to sundown.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind if I need more help.”
He wouldn’t need more help. The last thing he wanted was people poking around his property or being around him too long and learning something they shouldn’t.
Even though he was far from home, with the number of people traveling these days, it was possible that he could come across someone who knew of him and the things he had done.
The failures that stained his past.
“Well, it’s good to be stocked up.” Briggs’ fingers went still.
“It’s actually for Cressida Lockridge,” Ronan said, trying to steer the conversation away from himself and everything happening at the property. “She’s got a fever, and Etta ran out of tea. Just trying to be a good neighbor.”
“Easy enough.” Briggs rounded the glossy oak counter, walking with bowed legs to the rack. He hummed to himself, finding the sachets quickly and turning back around. “For a fever.”
“Thank you,” Ronan said, glancing at the herbs in his hand. “This should be enough?”
Briggs looked back at the rack, pulling off another envelope. “You’re going to want some of this, too. It’s dried and crushed ginger. Good for inflammation and for forcing sweat, which should help with the fever.”
“Thank you,” Ronan said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few coins.
The bell above the door chimed again, heavy bootsteps on the ground before a person brushed against Ronan, leaning against the counter beside him.
Conrad grinned, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t think I was going to see you again so soon, Ronan. Yarrow and ginger and chamomile, huh? That man of yours getting sick?”
“Cressida’s sick,” Briggs said, writing out the receipt for Ronan.
“Oh, well, you’ll have to give her my well wishes,” Conrad said, looking at Ronan. “Perhaps I should come by later. I could bring some food from the saloon, so Etta doesn’t have to cook supper. I could check in on Cressida as well.”
Ronan bristled, not liking that one bit. “I believe Etta was already in the middle of cooking supper when I left, but I’ll tell them both you wish them well. I’m sure they’ll thank you for the offer and the care the next time they see you.”
Chuckling, Conrad shrugged and stood up straighter, glancing over his shoulder as two other men came in. Conrad nodded to the men with a smile.
“I was starting to wonder if the two of you were going to be late for our meeting.”
“There was a bit of a hold up, but we’re good now,” the taller of the two men said.
The hair on the back of Ronan’s neck stood up, noticing the shorter man watching him, not saying anything to anyone in the store as he wandered the aisles.
Ronan turned to Briggs, handing over the coins, taking the herbs and the receipt. “I should be going, but thank you for your help.”
“Anytime, and if there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to stop by. I know everyone in this town and can connect you with whoever you need.” Briggs puffed his chest out slightly like it was a point of pride.
With how much the man liked to talk, Ronan was sure he did know everyone.
Conrad nodded to Ronan. “You make sure to tell Cressida that I look forward to seeing her when she’s back up and in better spirits.”
“I’ll be sure.”
No, I won’t.
“Oh, one minute, Ronan,” Briggs said before he could leave. “I do have a gift for the sisters if you don’t mind staying a moment longer. Mayor, was there anything I could get you before I go out back to fetch the package?”
Conrad shook his head, another pleasant smile tugging at his mouth. “I just wanted to come in and say hello while I was waiting, but we really should be going. I hope you both have a good evening.”
He swept out of the general store with the two men following along behind him, while Briggs went through the curtain behind the counter.
When he came back, he had a leather-bound notebook. “Etta placed this order the last time she was in town and gave me strict orders not to give it to Cressida. It’s supposed to be a surprise, so if you could give it to Etta for me, I’d be grateful.”
A notebook for Cressida. Probably so she could spend time working on the lesson plans she loved to come up with. Ronan smiled and glanced at the pots of ink and glass pens behind the counter, too.
“Can I take that glass pen and a new pot of ink as well?” Ronan reached into his pocket and pulled out some more coins, putting them on the counter.
Briggs handed over the pen and ink with a smile. “Have a good evening.”
“You too.” Ronan turned and headed out of the store, the herbs tucked in his pocket, Cressida’s gifts held carefully in one hand.
As he stepped outside, the setting sun hit something shining on the ground. He put the gift into his saddlebag first before crouching down, picking up a little silver match case.
As he flipped it over, his heart stopped, and his mouth went dry.
The snake carved into the silver was a sight he didn’t think he would ever see again. It was one he wasn’t supposed to. The entire point to moving somewhere nobody knew his name.
The match case hadn’t been there when he went in the store, which meant it had to have fallen within the last couple of minutes. The only people who seemed to have gone by were Conrad and the men he was meeting with.
Ronan turned the case over and over in his fingers, hoping that when he got back to the engraving, it would disappear, and this would all be some trick of his imagination designed to drive him insane.
Ambrose Flint’s gang was closer than he thought it was.
He tucked the match case into his pocket, his blood running cold.
It looked like the danger of his life had caught up to him faster than he thought possible, and it had something to do with Conrad.