Finished, he gripped the stone wall of the well.God help me.The tremble had spread from his insides to his core. Heneededlaudanum. His skull throbbed. He should go through the alley, cut over to the next side street and get back to Main that way. With a shudder, he started that direction, walked past a trash heap and a stray cat. Waste water ran through a ditch, headed for the town run.
His feet halted. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make it back to Pennsylvania without it. How many times had he prayed and asked the Lord to take away the hunger, the cravings? He’d prayed until his knees were stiff and his fingers numb. And still, it persisted. No answers. No healing. And why had the Lord allowed him to lose the cattle, all that he had left of his early inheritance money?
He scrubbed his hands over his jaw. No. He wouldn’t lay the cattle at the Lord’s feet. That had been his haste and gamble, his doing. But still… if only the Lord would scrub his heart, make it clean. Hadn’t He done as much for David?
Ben kicked a tin can back into the heap.
“You lost, mister?”
He turned. He hadn’t heard the woman approach.
Her gown hung off her shoulder. A smudge of dirt here and there marred the green silk. Rouge covered her cheeks, matching her bright red lips. “You just ride into town? I saw you washing by the well. I got a bath at my place if you want to get cleaned up.” She smiled and touched a finger to his sleeve.
“No, thank you, ma’am.” He pushed her hand away and pivoted toward the street, double-quick.
“I ain’t no ma’am,” she called after him.
He didn’t turn around.
The green building loomed large as he neared the corner. His stomach clenched like a claw striving for its last morsel of sustenance…
What if he bought the smallest bottle they offered? Just in case he needed it for his travels. He wouldn’t touch a drop untilhe got on the stagecoach.Ifhe got on the stagecoach. How could he not if he had any hope of earning real money? He paced in front of the establishment for a full fifteen minutes before he went in.
The small glass bottle pressed against Ben’s thigh through his thin trouser pocket, burning his conscience like a red-hot poker. His feet dragged along as he strode past the Weatherford town square and beyond. What in the world was he thinking? He should go back to the druggist, throw it on the counter, and ask for his money back.
He sniffed. Fresh-baked bread. Chicken. Probably baked. The scents drifting from the café rumbled his empty belly. He should eat something, bolster his strength, and then see if he could bring himself to go back by the druggist before he headed out to the ranch. A bowl of soup would end this rawness in his stomach.
But what of the rawness in his soul? Cora might in time regain respect for him if he worked hard in Pennsylvania and proved himself an able provider, despite the horrendous loss of the cattle. But if he followed through on what was in his pocket, he might as well say goodbye to her forever.
Voices buzzed beneath the canvas-topped outdoor seating. One sounded familiar. A railing separated the diners from the street. A waitress emerged from the log cabin kitchen with a tray of steaming dishes. She worked her way between the small tables.
Ben’s heart constricted.
Cora sat with Arthur LeBeau, chatting away. Her braid hung down her back, but loose strands framed her face beneath her finest straw hat. LeBeau smiled and played with his fork, oblivious to anything but the lady before him.
Ben clenched his jaw. Cora had promised to end any notion LeBeau had of courting her. And here she was enjoying the man’s company. How many times had she seen the doctor in the six weeks Ben had been gone? Had she allowed the man to call at the house and sit in the parlor visiting as if she and Ben had never spoken words of affection to each other? Ben had declared his love, and she’d hinted at her own for him. Their kiss had stirred him from the crown of his head to his toes. And here she was, sparking with this puffed-up toad, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Heart thumping like a locomotive in his ears, Ben strode into the café, shoved a chair out of his way, and marched to their table.
Cora startled. “Ben? What…when? I thought you were?—”
“Away? In New Mexico? Colorado?” He shifted his gaze from her to the scoundrel.
LeBeau pursed his lips, but he wasn’t man enough to tame the weasel smile that broke through. “Afternoon, McKenzie.” His eyes gleamed as if Robert E. Lee had been elected president.
Cora bumped her water glass as she withdrew her hands from the table. Water splashed over the rim before she saved it from a full tumble. “Your letter said you’d be?—”
“So you thought you’d have plenty of time before I returned?”
“It’s not like that at all.”
Ben clenched his hands. “What are you doing here, then?”
She blinked.
LeBeau threw his napkin down. “It’s none of your concern.”
“Charlie broke his arm.” She scooted back her chair. Her brow furrowed. “I had to bring him to Arth—Dr. LeBeau to have it set.”
