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Adie’s assumption of Maggie’s wealth had been confirmed the day she’d died. Bleeding and weak, she’d told Adie to remove a velvet bag from a drawer of her trunk and look inside. Adie had gasped at the glittering gems. Maggie’s dying wish still echoed in her ears. She had begged Adie to take Stephen and raise him as her own; then she’d squeezed Adie’s wrist with her bloodless fingers.
“Leave Topeka tonight. Break all ties with me.”
“But why?”
“Don’t let my brother near my son. He’ll send Stephen to an orphanage.”
Adie had stood alone as an undertaker buried Maggie in a run-down cemetery; then she’d taken the jewelry and backtracked to Kansas City where Maggie had sold a few pieces of jewelry before coming to Topeka. The sixty-mile train ride to the bustling city had given her two advantages. She’d gotten a better price for Maggie’s jewelry, and the railroad left Kansas City in four different directions. If Maggie’s family found the jewelry, they wouldn’t know where she’d gone. If by chance a detective, or Maggie’s brother, traced her to Topeka, the man would reach a dead end.
Adie had sold only what she needed for a fresh start, then bought a ticket to Denver because of its size. She wanted to open a boardinghouse, a place for women like herself and Maggie. For two days she’d held Stephen on the crowded train, struggling to keep him fed until they’d arrived in a city full of gambling halls and saloons. Pretending to have Maggie’s poise, she’d stayed at a hotel, visited the bank and explained her ambition to the elder Mr. Dean, who had shown her Swan’s Nest. The mansion had reminded her of Maggie and she’d bought it, using what cash she had from the jewelry sale and signing a two-year promissory note for the balance.
She could have sold more jewelry and paid for the house in full, but she feared leaving a trail for a Pinkerton’s detective. Nor did she want to squander Stephen’s inheritance. The remaining jewels—a sapphire ring, a pearl necklace, a bracelet and some glittering brooches—were his legacy from his mother, a gift from the woman who’d given him life but had never held him.
As Adie led the mare into a stall, she felt the sting of tears. Maggie had died three months ago, but she still missed her friend. She also feared strangers, especially men. If Stephen’s father tried to claim him, Adie would have to make a terrible choice. On the other hand, she had no qualms about hiding from Maggie’s brother. Considering how he’d shunned his sister, he didn’t deserve to know his nephew. In Adie’s book, he didn’t deserve to breathe.
She lifted the saddle off the mare, set it on the ground, then stripped off the scabbard, the canteen and the saddlebags. She set everything aside, filled a bucket with water and gave the horse a measure of hay. Satisfied, she closed the gate to the stall, stepped to the saddlebags and dropped to a crouch. She had no business going through Joshua Blue’s things, but she had to be sure he had no ties to Maggie Butler.
With shaking fingers, she worked the buckle on the bulging leather bag.
Chapter Two
As soon as Adie Clarke left the kitchen, Josh drained the glass of milk and poured himself another. He’d been aiming for her boardinghouse when he’d left Kansas City, but he hadn’t intended to faint on her doorstep. Before he’d left, he’d seen a doctor who’d told him what he already knew. He had a stomach ulcer, a bad one that could bleed and threaten his life. At the very least, it offered daily torture.
Josh didn’t care. He had to find his sister. Ten months ago, Emily Blue had left their Boston mansion with a satchel, her jewelry and Josh’s bitter words ringing in her ears. He’d never forgive himself for that night. He’d said unspeakable things, calling her a name that shouldn’t be uttered and accusing her of being a Jezebel. He’d made hateful accusations, all the time wearing the collar that marked him as a minister.
The memory sent fresh acid into Josh’s belly. He had to find Emily and her baby and make amends. Until he found them, he refused to rest.
Never mind the stomach ulcer. The Apostle Paul had written of a thorn in his flesh. It had kept him humble. The ulcer often humbled Josh, though not as profoundly as it had tonight. Fainting on Adie Clarke’s porch hadn’t been in the plan when he’d left Kansas City on the word of Wes Daniels, a gunslinger who’d frequented the saloon where Josh had been preaching on Sunday mornings. Wes had told him about a boardinghouse called Swan’s Nest.
“It’s for women in trouble,” he’d said, winking at Josh. “Maybe your sister’s there.”
Josh had left the next morning. Halfway to Denver, his stomach had caught fire and he’d stopped eating. Pure and simple, he’d fainted on Adie Clarke’s porch out of hunger.
As he raised the glass to his lips, he said a silent prayer for Emily and her child. Somewhere in the world he had a niece or nephew he’d never seen. A little girl with Emily’s button nose…a boy with the Blue family chin. Josh was imagining a child with Emily’s dark curls when he heard a baby cry. High pitched and needy, it cut through his soul. For all he knew, Emily was sleeping right above his head. The baby could be his niece or nephew.
He wanted to charge up the stairs, but his common sense and Miss Clarke’s stern rules kept him in the kitchen. Closing his eyes, he prayed for the child and its mother. He knew how it felt to wake up with a bellyache.
Above his head, the ceiling creaked. He heard the pad of bare feet on the wooden planks and imagined a mother hurrying to her child. The footsteps faded, then stopped. An instant later, the baby’s wail turned to a hopeful whimper. He imagined the mother taking the baby in her arms, sitting in a rocking chair as she nursed it back to sleep. He listened for the creak of the rockers, maybe the hint of a lullaby. Instead the baby shrieked in frustration. Footsteps scurried back down the hall while the baby’s cry stayed in the same room, growing louder. The pacing stopped over Josh’s head, paused, then went halfway down the hall. He heard a door open, then another pair of steps, muted now as if two women were trying to be quiet on floors that wouldn’t allow it.
When the stairs squeaked, Josh shot to his feet. Adie Clarke knew she’d rented him a room, but the women coming down the stairs would see a drifter in black, maybe an outlaw. Common sense told him to leave the kitchen, but he stood frozen with the hope of seeing Emily.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot you dead.” The female voice, shaking with sincerity, had come from the shadow in the hall.
He froze.
“Get your hands up!”
As he raised his arms, his duster pulled open. Josh believed in turning the other cheek, but he wore a Colt Peacemaker on his hip. He’d learned early in his travels that riding unarmed into an outlaw camp caused more of a stir than a cocked rifle. Carrying a weapon was his way of being a Greek to the Greeks. The Colt made him familiar to the rough men with whom he felt called to share the Good News. Unfortunately, the woman in the doorway wouldn’t see the gun as a calling card. Josh felt the weapon pulling on his belt and winced. He’d lost weight. If he didn’t hike up the belt soon, he’d lose his trousers.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“I’m a new boarder.”
“Liar,” she said in a stony voice. “Adie doesn’t rent to men.”
“She took pity on me.” Josh peered into the hallway. He couldn’t see the woman, but candlelight glinted off the double barrel of a two-shot Derringer. The weapon shook, a sign of her nerves.
“Where’s Adie?” she demanded.
“Tending my horse.”
“Why aren’t you tending it yourself?”
Pride kept Josh from admitting his weakness. Before he could correct the mistake, the woman hollered down the hallway.
“Pearl! Get Bessie and Caroline! We have an intruder.” The gun stayed steady. “Find Adie now.”
With his hands in the air, Josh heard doors open and the tap of feet on the stairs. In Boston, he’d enjoyed the Women’s Auxiliary meetings. The ladies had fawned over him and the compliments had gone to his head. The women of Swan’s Nest wouldn’t be so appreciative.
Pain stabbed past his sternum and around his ribs. If he’d been alone, he’d have fallen to his knees, clutched his middle and curled into a ball. With a gun trained on his chest, he didn’t dare move. The pain hit again. His shoulders hunched as he cringed, causing his arms to drop as if he were going for his gun.
The woman fired.
The bullet slammed into Josh’s shoulder. He took a step back, caught his boot on the chair and fell against a hutch filled with china. Plates crashed to the floor and so did Josh. He didn’t want to die. He had to find Emily. He’d shamed himself as a man and a minister. He had to make up for his mistakes.
“Don’t shoot,” he said. “I mean no harm.”
The woman kept the pistol trained on his head. “We’ll see what Adie has to say.”
Josh lay on the floor, clutching his belly and smelling sulfur and blood. He’d seen men die before. In Boston he’d prayed with elderly gentlemen fading in their own beds. In camps west of the Mississippi, he’d seen men die from gunshot wounds, infections and disease. Curled on the floor, he listened to his own breath for sucking air, a sign he’d been hit in the lung, but he heard only a rasp in his dry throat. His heart kept an even rhythm, another good sign.
Judging by the pain, he’d been hit high in the shoulder. Silently Josh thanked God the woman had owned a Derringer and not a Colt .45. He’d live as long as she didn’t panic and shoot him in the head.
He heard footsteps in the kitchen and opened his eyes. Bare toes and the hems of robes filled his vision.
“You shot him!” said a new female voice.
“What happened?” demanded another.
Could one of the women be Emily? The voices hadn’t matched hers—one sounded Southern and the other was too high pitched—but he’d seen four pairs of feet. Josh wanted to look but realized it would be fruitless. He’d become thin and ragged, but Emily would have recognized him. He closed his eyes in despair.
In a breath of silence, he heard the hopeful cooing of a baby and looked up. The fourth woman had an infant in her arms. The goat’s milk, he realized, was for the child. Expecting to be fed, it had settled into its mother’s arms but was growing impatient with the delay. The cooing turned to a complaint, then a wail that dwarfed everything in the room, including Josh’s pain.
“The baby’s hungry,” he said.
“Quiet,” ordered the woman with the gun.
Josh could barely breathe for the pain. “Please. Feed it.”
No one moved.
He raised his voice. “I said feed the baby.”
He flashed on the night he’d clashed with Emily. Three times he’d told her to leave, betraying her love as surely as Peter had betrayed his Lord. Like the fisherman, Josh felt lower than dirt.
The wailing grew worse. The woman with the gun called to one of the others. “Get the milk, Pearl. I’ll keep watch.”
Emily had loved their mother’s pearls, a strand so long it reached to her waist. Was she using an alias to avoid him? Maybe she hadn’t recognized him. He’d changed in the past year. Even more worrisome, maybe she’d seen him take a bullet and wished him dead.
Bare feet, slender and white, padded across the wood floor. Josh tried to call Emily’s name, but his belly hurt and the words slurred to a groan. He watched the woman’s feet as she retrieved the pitcher of goat’s milk, filled a bottle and warmed it in a pan of water on the stove. The baby, smelling food, shrieked even louder. Wise or not, Josh raised his head. The baby’s mother wore a yellow robe, his sister’s favorite color, but she had white-blond hair. Emily’s hair was dark and wavy like his. He hadn’t found his sister after all, but neither was this woman the baby’s mother. Her belly promised new life and promised it soon. Closing his eyes, Josh prayed for the mother and child, wishing he’d done the same for Emily instead of driving her away with his foolish pride.
Adie heard a gunshot, dropped the unopened saddlebag and ran for the house. Mary, a former saloon girl, kept a pistol in her nightstand and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
Had Joshua Blue betrayed Adie’s trust? She didn’t think so. The man could barely walk. It seemed more likely that Stephen had awoken early and Mr. Blue had lingered over the glass of milk. Whoever went for Stephen, probably Mary, had seen Adie’s empty bed. Maybe she’d heard the thump on the door and jumped to ominous conclusions.
She ran up the back steps and flung open the door.
“Adie!” The cry came from Pearl. “We thought—”
“I know what you thought.” She dropped to her knees at the man’s side. “He’s hurt. We’ll have to call the doctor.”
Stephen shrieked. He needed to be fed in the worst way, but Adie feared for the wounded man’s life.
Groaning, he rolled to his back, revealing the bullet hole in his duster. When she opened his coat, she saw a red stain blooming on his white shirt. With each breath he took, the blood spread in a widening circle.
Looking at her face, he mumbled something unintelligible.
She hunched forward. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I said…feed the baby.”
Joshua Blue was lying on her floor with a bullet in his shoulder, bleeding inside and out, and he was thinking of her son. What kind of man put a baby before his own life? Using the hem of her nightgown, Adie wiped his brow. “Be still. We’ll get the doctor.”
“No.” His voice sounded stronger. “No doctors.”
“But you need help.”
Someone lit a lamp. As it flared to life, Mary stepped closer. Adie smelled the residue of gunpowder and looked up. “Maybe Caroline can go for Doc Nichols.”
The man lifted his head. “I said no.”
His refusal made Adie wonder if he was on the run. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Everyone at Swan’s Nest had run from something, including herself.
Mary scowled down at her. “Who is he?”
“I rented him a room.”
“But you don’t rent to men. You promised—”
“This isn’t the time,” Adie said.
She looked past Mary and saw Pearl at the stove. With her back to the rest of the kitchen, she lifted the bottle out of the pot of water and whisked Stephen into the front room where she could feed him in peace. Adie looked at Caroline. “Where’s Bessie?”
“She went to get her nursing kit.”
Mary finally lowered the gun. “Maybe she can take out the bullet.”
Adie studied the man on her floor. His color had come back and his breathing seemed steady. Maybe they could avoid Dr. Nichols after all. Bessie hurried into the kitchen and dropped down next to Adie. She looked at the wound, checked the man’s back for an exit hole, then lowered him gently to the floor. “The bullet’s still in you, sir. It’ll have to come out.”
“Can you do it?”
“I can try,” Bessie said. “I’m a trained nurse, but it will hurt.”
“Go ahead,” he said.
Bessie looked at Adie. “Get that pint of whiskey.”
Adie kept it with the smelling salts for medicinal purposes only. Before she could stand to fetch it, the stranger clutched her hand. “I don’t want it.”
Why would he deny himself a painkiller? Adie was about to argue with him when Bessie interrupted. “It’s not for your belly, sir. It’s to clean the wound.”
He relaxed but didn’t release Adie’s hand. She felt awkward comforting him, but they were both aware of the coming pain. When Adie didn’t move, Caroline went to the cupboard for the whiskey. She gave the bottle to Bessie, then lifted the instruments from the nursing bag, put them in the boiling water and set out clean rags for blotting the blood. Bessie had opened the two buttons on the man’s shirt, but it wouldn’t pull wide enough to reveal the wound. Using delicate scissors, the kind most women kept for embroidery, she cut the shirt and tugged it back from a small hole oozing blood.
Adie’s stomach churned. The hole in Joshua Blue’s shoulder wasn’t much bigger than a man’s finger, but it had the potential to kill him with infection. In his weakened condition, he might not be able to fight it. Adie squeezed his hand. She feared for his health. She also feared for herself and Stephen. She’d just opened the first saddlebag when she heard the gunshot. Later, when he’d fallen asleep, she’d search his things.
“Whiskey, please,” Bessie said matter-of-factly.
Adie watched as Caroline splashed whiskey into her sister’s palm. As Bessie rubbed her hands together, Caroline dampened a patch of cotton and gave it to her sister. Bessie looked at the man’s face. “This is going to hurt, sir.”
He closed his eyes. “Just do it.”
Bessie took a probe from the instruments Caroline had put on a clean towel. As she inserted it into the wound, Joshua Blue arched up. Bessie pulled back.
“Adie, Caroline. You’ll have to hold him down.”
The two women moved into position. On their knees, they each held a shoulder. As Bessie went to work, Adie felt the man straining against her hands. She also sensed acceptance. The bullet had to come out.
“I found it,” Bessie said.
She removed the probe and lifted a pair of forceps. After a glance at her patient, she inserted the instrument, pinched the bullet and pulled it out. Joshua Blue groaned with pain. Adie wondered which hurt more, his chest or his belly.
Bessie held the bullet up to the light and examined it. “It’s in one piece. We’re done except for stitching this gentleman up.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you.”
“You’ll do fine as long as the wound doesn’t fester. Of course you’ll have to rest up for a while.”
He grunted. “How long?”
Adie had been wondering the same thing.
“As long as it takes.” Bessie took a stitch with a needle and black thread. “Judging by your appearance, you’re half starved. You need a week in bed and a month in a rocking chair.”
Adie cringed. “That’s so long.”
Bessie gave her a motherly look. “It’s what the man needs, honey. We’ll be all right.”
Leave it to Bessie to calm the waters. Mary would pitch a fit. Pearl, conscious of her belly, would stop coming downstairs. Caroline judged no one. She’d befriend Mr. Blue without hesitation, posing a problem of a different kind. Adie watched as the nurse stitched up the wound, snipped the thread and wiped the incision with whiskey. She inspected her handiwork, then wiped the man’s brow with a clean rag. “We need to get you to bed. Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
With Adie on one side and Caroline on the other, he leveraged to his feet. He looked like a kicked-in chimney pipe, but he managed to move down the hall. Adie started to follow, but Bessie stopped her. “I’ll see to him. Go hold Stephen. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks, Bessie.”
“By the way,” said the older woman. “Who is this man?”
“I wish I knew.” Adie told her briefly about finding him on the porch. “He was in pain even before Mary shot him.”
“Maybe an ulcer,” Bessie said. “I’ve got a small bottle of laudanum. I’ll fetch it for him.”
Adie thought of his earlier comment about the drug but said nothing. She wanted Joshua Blue to fall asleep so she could finish going through his saddlebags, but first she needed to check her son.
“Whatever you think,” she said to Bessie. “The sooner he heals, the sooner he can leave.”
“He needs time,” the nurse said gently.
Adie sighed. She’d cook meals for Joshua Blue and nurse his wounds. She’d change his sheets and wash his clothes. But time to heal—what he needed most—was the one thing she didn’t want to give. The sooner he left, the safer she and Stephen would be.
As Bessie went down the hall, Adie headed for the parlor where she heard Pearl humming a lullaby to Stephen. She rounded the corner and saw both Pearl and Mary on the divan. Pearl looked lost, but Mary had crossed her arms and was glowering. Adie had hoped to check Stephen and escape to the carriage house, but she couldn’t leave without explaining to her friends.
“Who is he?” Mary demanded.
“I don’t know,” Adie said. “But I’m certain he means no harm.”
Mary groaned. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Adie couldn’t be sure, but he’d come to the door sick and weak. “Look at him. He’s downright scrawny.”
“He’s also dressed like a gunfighter,” Mary insisted. “I know his kind.”
Adie felt naive next to Mary, but she couldn’t stop worrying about the stranger. She didn’t want to argue, but she needed to set Mary straight. “He fainted on the porch. What else could I do? Leave him there?”
“You could have gone for the sheriff.”
To protect Stephen, Adie kept to herself as much as possible. If a Pinkerton’s detective visited Denver, he’d go straight to the law and make inquiries. The less the sheriff knew about Adie and her home, the safer her son would be. She gave Mary an impatient look. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“You’re too trusting,” Mary insisted.
Pearl sighed. “I wish you hadn’t shot him.”
“He went for his gun!”
Adie worried, but only for an instant. A man intending harm didn’t tell a woman to feed a hungry baby. “He has belly trouble,” she said to Mary. “He probably bent over in pain.”
Recognition flitted across Mary’s face.
Pearl went back to crooning to Stephen, who’d fallen peacefully asleep. Adie envied him. She wouldn’t sleep that well until Joshua Blue left Denver. “I have to see to his horse.”
Mary pushed to her feet. “I’ll help.”
“No.” Adie waved casually, but her stomach had jumped. She wanted to go through his things by herself. “It’s been a long night. You and Pearl should get some sleep.”
“If you’re sure—”
“I am.” Adie forced a smile. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”
Before Mary could ask another question, Adie headed for the back door. As she turned the knob, Bessie came down the hall. “Mr. Blue wants to see you.”
The saddlebags would have to wait but only for a bit. With rubbery knees, she thanked Bessie and went to see Joshua Blue.
Chapter Three
In spite of Josh’s protests, the woman nursing him had left a bottle of laudanum on the nightstand. He knew all about the drug and the lies it told. He’d first used it in Boston. With the renown that came with his sermons, he’d gotten an ulcer. The doctor he’d seen, a stranger because he’d wanted to hide his weakness, had given him something to calm his stomach, but it had led to embarrassing bouts of belching, something a man in Josh’s position couldn’t allow. He’d gone to a second physician, then a third. The last one had given him laudanum. It had helped immediately.
Looking at the bottle, Josh knew it would help right now. If he filled the spoon the woman had left—he thought her name was Bessie—he’d be free of pain. He’d be numb to his guilt, too.
The laudanum tempted him.
The craving humbled him.
Reverend Joshua Benjamin Blue, the best young preacher in Boston, maybe in America, had become addicted to opium. Thanks to Wes Daniels, the biggest sinner on earth and Josh’s only friend, he’d kicked the habit three months ago in a Kansas City boardinghouse.
Thoughts of Wes made Josh smile. He hadn’t succeeded in saving the gunslinger’s soul, but neither had Wes corrupted him. They’d had some lively debates in the past few months…a few quarrels, too. Wes had understood Josh’s guilt, but he didn’t share his worry. As long as Emily had jewelry to sell, Wes insisted she’d be sitting pretty. Josh hoped so. For months he’d been visiting pawnbrokers in search of pieces he’d recognize. He knew from Sarah Banks, Emily’s best friend, that his sister had bought a train ticket to St. Louis. Sarah had given Josh a verbal beating, one he’d deserved.
“How dare you cast stones at your sister! I know you, Josh. You’re as flawed as the rest us!”
She’d been right, of course. With Sarah’s remarks in his ears, he’d traveled to St. Louis, where he’d spotted a familiar brooch in a jewelry store. Emily, he’d learned from the shopkeeper, had sold it and moved on. A clerk at the train station recalled her face and thought she’d gone to Kansas City. Josh’s only hope of finding her lay in a trail of pawned jewelry and the Lord’s mercy. If he could have moved, he’d have hit his knees. Like Paul, he counted himself among the foremost of sinners, a man sorely in need of God’s grace. With the laudanum calling to him, he needed that grace in abundance. It came in the tap of Adie Clarke’s footsteps.