Chapter 3 #2
He sat down on the chair and nudged a little closer to the bed with one hand, the other clutching the glass of water. Leaning forward, his left arm snaked under her shoulders and lifted her slowly upward and then gently pressed the edge of the glass against her lower lip.
“Just a tiny sip,” he cautioned.
A myriad of emotions raced through her all at once.
Gratitude for his gentle strength and calm tone, coupled by her fear of what had happened to her and that he was a sheriff and might learn of her former association with outlaws.
Other thoughts tumbled through her mind in the second or two it took her to take a single swallow.
It was just a trickle of water, but it felt so good she lifted her hand and placed it on his just as he was about to remove the glass.
He let her have another sip. His hand covered hers, his skin warm and his fingers strong.
A moment later he took the glass away and her hand dropped almost reluctantly from his.
He lowered her back onto the pillow and then glanced at the door, which she noticed for the first time, stood half open.
From somewhere she heard the sound of voices, of dishes and silverware. She turned away from the door to find the sheriff towering over her bed. He wore a slight frown, one hand still holding the glass of water.
“You brought me here.”
“Yes. Do you remember anything about the attack?”
She hesitated, not wanting to remember but knowing she had to tell him what she knew. “When the attack on the stagecoach began, I didn’t see anything, there was just a lot of noise … gunshots and pounding hooves, and rattling trace chains.” She paused. “I heard the driver shouting …I was scared …”
“Did you catch a glimpse of any of them?”
“No,” she replied. “I was trying to hang on to the seat …” She didn’t tell him that her first thought was that her outlaw husband had found her. She recalled thinking it couldn’t be possible, not when she might be so close to finding Eliza!
She squeezed her eyes shut, her head pounding anew as she tried to push the sounds of the attack from her mind, of the creak of the stagecoach, of grasping the edge of the windowsill hard, her other hand clutching the bench seat as the coach left the trail and careened over rough, broken ground.
“You all right?”
A hand settled over hers and she opened her eyes, transported back to this quiet, calm room in a boarding house in … her eyes widened. Cedar Bluff. She’d been heading toward Cedar Bluff, looking for her daughter. He was the sheriff. Certainly he would know of an orphanage in the area!
Then again, if she asked him about the orphanage, he would have questions of his own. Maybe he would learn of her former association with an outlaw, which could certainly cause her even more difficulties in the search for her daughter than she’d already faced.
“Yes,” she murmured, although she wasn’t, not really.
“So you saw nothing? Nothing at all?”
“No. I didn’t see anyone, just … I just heard horses and gunshots …” She paused, the terror of the moment returning. She remembered thinking that she was going to die, that she would never find her daughter, she would never—
“Chloe?” His deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “What’s your last name? You got family around here? Where were you heading when the stagecoach was attacked?”
“Whitfield,” she replied softly. “My name is Chloe Whitfield.” She didn’t want to answer his other questions. “But why don’t you ask the driver and his companion about the attack?”
He remained silent for several moments. “Because Roger and Kurt are dead.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a gasp. Her head swam crazily for several moments and she lifted her hand to touch her head but he reached for it before she could.
“No, don’t touch. It’s swollen and bruised. You have some stitches.” He paused, slowly placing her hand down onto the blanket at her side. “Sorry to be so blunt, but it’s important that I learn as much as I can about the outlaws who attacked the coach.”
“I don’t know anything,” she stammered. Again her heart thudded hard in her chest and her stomach felt funny. “I didn’t see anything or anybody.”
He said nothing but continued to watch her, as if he sought to delve deep into the secrets of her thoughts and memories.
She felt uncomfortable beneath the discerning gaze.
Moments later, she heard footsteps coming up carpeted stairs.
A young woman appeared in the doorway with a tray.
A cloth covered bowl sat atop the tray, along with a half a glass of buttermilk.
The young woman carrying it saw she was awake and smiled.
“Good afternoon,” she said, entering the room. “My name is Lillian” she murmured. “Do you remember me?”
The sheriff turned to her with a frown. “Lilly, she just woke up—”
“I can see that, Nathaniel,” Lillian replied.
She moved into the room and gently nudged the sheriff out of her way as she made her way to the table on the other side of the bed that held the porcelain lamp.
She set the tray down on the corner of it and sat down on the chair he’d recently vacated.
“Are you hungry? I brought you some beef broth.”
Chloe glanced between young woman and the sheriff.
Lillian smiled. “I see you’ve met my brother.”
Chloe blinked, glancing once again between the two and noticed the resemblance. She, like her brother, had brown hair and brown eyes. Though her features were a bit softer than his, the shape of their eyebrows, cheekbones, and facial structure were somewhat similar.
“Yes, I … he was asking me about the accident.” She watched as the young woman turned to her brother, slowly shaking her head. “Can’t that wait, Natty?”
Natty?
The sheriff frowned and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at his sister, slowly shaking his head. “No, Lilly, it can’t. Roger and Hank are dead and I need to find the men who killed them and bring them to justice.”
“Well can’t it at least wait long enough for her to regain her senses and get some food in her?” She glanced at Chloe. “You might feel a little stronger and your thoughts a little clearer if you get some food in you.”
She said nothing, feeling extremely self-conscious as two pairs of eyes stared at her.
“I asked you before where you were headed, before we were interrupted,” the sheriff said.
Her mouth dry, she stammered an answer. “I … I’m not sure, exactly.” He frowned and his sister’s eyes widened a bit. “I … I mean, I was coming through here, thinking of starting a new life in Texas, but I didn’t really have any particular destination in mind.”
Liar! She saw the doubtful look cross the sheriff’s face and the tilted head and questioning expression on Lillian’s.
“I mean, I’ve been traveling from town to town for a while now, picking up odd jobs as I can to pay my way.
” She suddenly thought of her valise and gasped.
“My valise! Did the outlaws get my valise?”
“I’m sorry,” the sheriff broke in. “Anything of value was stolen from the stagecoach. Did you have money in your valise?”
Wordlessly, Chloe nodded, her stomach a tight knot. It wasn’t just the thought of the money being stolen, but … did she have anything inside the valise that could identify her by name? She tried to remember.
No, she didn’t think so, but at the moment couldn’t be sure.
She stared at him as a wave of self-pity and anger surged through her.
Her last bit of money that she had earned and what Maggie had given her since leaving Lincoln, the ten dollars left to her name that she’d tucked into the bottom of her valise … gone?
She couldn’t stop the moan that left her throat.
Now what was she going to do? She closed her eyes against the warmth of tears flooding behind her eyelids.
Why did everything have to be so hard? What was she supposed to do now?
She needed to find her daughter. If Eliza wasn’t in the area, she had to keep looking, but in order to do that she needed money.
And the care she’d received from these people …
“I have no money, no way to repay you for your help or to move on—”
Lillian’s pleasant voice broke into her self-pitying thoughts.
“As it turns out, Chloe, my mother is looking for some help around the place. I try to do what I can, but I’m also teaching school part-time and helping out at the mercantile several days a week stocking shelves.
My mother would be pleased to offer you a job, and she could provide you with room and board—”
“Lilly,” the sheriff cautioned, frowning at his sister.
She turned to him. Don’t Lilly me, Nathaniel. We must help those in need, the Bible tells us so.”
Chloe saw the look the sheriff gave his sister before turning to her. She couldn’t help but see suspicion in his gaze. She knew that look because she felt much the same. Even so, she had few options.