Chapter Ten
Roman had not intended to kiss Anastasia on their walk.
In fact, it was just the opposite. He’d meant to thank her, wish her well, and say goodbye, placing a boundary around his heart and going back to his solitary life as usual.
But when he saw her, every plan he’d made came crashing down around him, leaving rubble at his feet and every resolve in smithereens.
And what was he to do now?
He had no idea.
As soon as his lips touched hers, he knew he needed to back away.
It wasn’t what he wanted, but he cared about this woman too much to sully her reputation, to run the risk of losing her to a scandal.
He would now deliver her to her father and he would go home, and he’d probably spend the night awake trying to decide what to do next since his original plan had been destroyed so entirely.
They had just reached the front of the hotel when a wagon careened around the corner, the driver whipping his horse and shouting at the animal to go faster. Then he pulled up beside them, yanking the reins hard. “Kendall?” the driver shouted.
Roman did a double take. He had no idea why this man would want to speak with him—they were strangers to each other, as far as he knew. “Yes?”
“I’ve got a delivery for you.”
A second man in the back, one Roman hadn’t even noticed, jumped to the ground, grabbed something large from the bed of the wagon, and hefted it to the sidewalk. Then he leaped back into the wagon and it took off again, the cracking of the whip resonating in Roman’s ears.
The bundle on the ground rolled over with a moan.
“What . . .?” Anastasia bent over to see what was happening, then straightened. “It’s a man, Roman. A wounded man.”
Roman squatted on his heels and turned the man’s head toward him. Even before he touched him, he knew, but now it was verified. “Timothy,” he said, his throat closing around the word. “It’s my brother Timothy.”
Anastasia turned and dashed into the hotel. Roman couldn’t guess why she had left so suddenly—he could only focus on the bruises developing on his brother’s face, the way his right arm was bent to the side, the shallow way he was breathing. Timothy had been beaten, it was obvious. But how badly?
Anastasia returned almost immediately, the clerk from the hotel desk right behind her. “I’ve sent for a doctor, sir,” the clerk told Roman. “Let’s get him into a room while we wait.”
“Thank you,” Roman said. Between the two men, they were able to get Timothy to his feet, and Roman slung his brother’s left arm over his shoulder to walk him inside the building. Timothy winced and groaned with every step, and Roman assumed he had more broken bones than just his arm.
Anastasia obtained the room key from the clerk and ran ahead, unlocking the door and holding it wide as the men crossed the threshold. Then she helped remove Timothy’s shoes before stepping back. “Should I send a message to anyone? How can I help?”
Roman could barely think. How had this happened? “My mother,” he said after a moment. “My mother should be here.”
“Of course.” She disappeared again, and Roman turned back to the clerk.
“Do you think we could have some water brought, and some towels . . .?”
“Absolutely, sir. I’ll be right back.”
Once alone in the room with his brother, Roman sank into the chair next to the bed, not taking his eyes from Timothy’s face.
Timothy was asleep now—either that, or he’d fainted.
Either way, he no longer seemed to be in pain, but Roman knew that relief was temporary.
A body couldn’t go through this sort of abuse and recover so quickly.
But for that matter, Roman didn’t know just how far the abuse extended—there could even be more wrong than broken ribs.
He sat there on full alert until the doctor arrived about fifteen minutes later.
The man was stout and whiskered, carried a large black bag, and spoke with authority.
“Step outside, Mr. Kendall. Or at least into the corner of the room. I can’t perform an examination with family members hovering over me at every turn. ”
“I wasn’t planning to hover,” Roman began, but the doctor shushed him.
“Into the corner, then, but I must be allowed to work.” He opened his bag and removed a stethoscope.
Roman decided to wait in the hallway. He needed to collect his thoughts.
Anastasia was waiting nearby, along with both her parents.
“How is he?” she asked. “I saw the doctor go in. Did he say anything yet?”
“He just ordered me to stay out of his way. He probably won’t have any sort of report until he’s done with the examination.”
“Of course. I’m sorry—I’m just anxious.”
Mrs. Smith placed a hand on Roman’s arm. “Should we send for anything—tea or coffee?”
“I’m all right, Mrs. Smith, but thank you.”
She smiled at him, then moved down the hall with her husband. Anastasia remained near him, concern in her eyes.
“One of the hotel employees recognized your name and knows your mother, and a messenger has been sent to bring her here,” she said. “Did he say anything? Do you have any idea what happened?”
“No, nothing.” He rubbed his jaw. “And I’ve never seen those men before, either. I just can’t figure it out.”
“I’ll stop peppering you with questions, then. But I’m here if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thank you, Anastasia.” He nearly reached out to her, but stopped himself. She wasn’t his.
She joined her parents in a small seating area down the hall, and Roman hovered by the bedroom door. How long was this going to take?
Finally, the doctor came out of the room, his face grim.
“Your brother is badly injured, but he will recover,” he said.
“In addition to the broken arm, he has three broken ribs, multiple contusions, and an apparent concussion. I’m sure you already noticed the black eyes.
Someone wanted to inflict the greatest amount of pain on him without actually killing him.
Do you have any idea who would do something like this? ”
“I don’t,” Roman replied. “But you did say he’ll recover?”
“Yes, I did.” The doctor paused. “When I opened his shirt to listen to his heart, I found this note tucked in his pocket. I couldn’t help but read it, since it’s unfolded.”
Roman read the note once, and then again with narrowed eyes.
This time it was a few bones. Next time, we’ll light fire to your mother’s house. You know what you need to do.
“A warning? Why?”
The doctor fixed him with a look. “Sounds a lot like a gambling debt to me.”
“But he paid off his debt. That should be over with.”
“Son, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on this planet, it’s that some things don’t go away that easily.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some bones to set.
Young man,” he called out to a passing bellboy, “could you have more water and towels sent to this room? Thank you.” Then he went back into the room, closing the door behind him.
A warning scribbled on a scrap of paper and shoved in Timothy’s pocket. A threat against the home Roman had provided for his mother. This did sound like it was connected to gambling, but there was no reason to do this to Timothy after he’d paid them.
Unless he hadn’t paid them and had used the money to get himself further into trouble instead.
“Timothy, what did you do?” Roman whispered.
He’d been so foolish, too trusting. He’d believed that everything was fixed now, that everyone had what they wanted and Timothy would see the error of his ways and stay away from the card table for the rest of his life.
But Timothy showed no signs of remorse the other day in Roman’s office.
He’d only come down there to fess up to make Lacy happy—if it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t have told Roman anything at all.
He liked his lifestyle. He had no intention of changing.
And because of that, he was now lying in a hotel bed, bruised and broken, with yet another threat hanging over his head. This one involving their mother, who should never in a million years be part of any sort of threat.
Roman felt cleanly split down the middle.
One half of him was filled with compassion for his brother, who was obviously trapped in a world he couldn’t escape.
The other half was angry. How could Timothy have done this?
How could he have been so selfish and reckless and thoughtless .
. . and addicted? Because that’s certainly how it seemed.
If he was unable to leave the cards behind, if he went right back to them the minute he had some cash in his hand, he was addicted, and Roman didn’t know how to overcome something like that.
He’d never experienced it, so he was the last person who should be trying to resolve it.
But he didn’t know who to ask for the help Timothy needed.
He heard female voices approaching, and a moment later, Lacy and their mother came around the corner. Martha picked up her skirt and ran the rest of the way. “Where is he?” she demanded. “Where did they put him?”
“He’s in here,” Roman told her. He opened the door, and she all but barged inside. He could imagine the doctor telling her to stay back, but to no avail. No one kept Martha Kendall from her children.
Lacy stayed in the hall with Roman. “Tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”
Her eyes widened as he told her about the wagon, the men, and finally, the threatening note. “But you gave him the money to pay off his debt.”
“Yes, I did, but apparently that’s not what he did with it.”
“So . . . what now?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The best way I can see to resolve this is to pay off his debt myself, directly.
But how to keep it from happening again—I don’t know.
I hope he’ll never want to gamble again after this experience, but he might head right back to it the first chance he gets.
Whatever he decides to do, Mother must be protected. That’s not optional.”
“I agree. She should never have been brought into this.” Lacy glanced over her shoulder. “Roman, who are those people down the hall? They keep looking at you as if they know you.”
Despite his anger and worry, Roman smiled. “Let me introduce you.”