Marry Me. Jo Goodman

you’d have to make arrangements for your sister. I could ask Rose if we could take her in until you get back.”

      Cole weighed the needs of his patient against his responsibility to Whitley.

      Will made another suggestion when Cole didn’t respond, “Mrs. Cooper or Mrs. Showalter would do it, too, if you’d rather it was one of them.”

      Cole realized that by not answering immediately he’d offended Will. He knew all about Mrs. Beatty’s former profession inside of two hours of his arrival. Rose made it a point to tell him. “It’s a generous offer, Will, and I’ll be relieved if Mrs. Beatty agrees. I hesitated because of Whitley. She thinks she’s sufficiently mature to be left alone.” She probably was, he allowed, but that didn’t mean he’d allow it. “I think she’d be pleased to spend time with you and your wife.”

      “Good. That’s settled.” He stopped rolling the glass. “The sheriff makes his rounds on Thursdays. If you tell me what you’ll need, I’ll see that you get it. If you need it earlier, I suppose one of us can bring it tomorrow morning.”

      “Judah’s about my size. His clothes will do. I’ll want my obstetrical bag on Thursday. Whitley will show you which one it is.”

      Will nodded. “The larder’s stocked. I peeked in the root cellar. You sure as hell won’t starve.” He glanced at Rhyne as it occurred to him that maybe he should apologize. “Pardon my language.”

      She sneered at him. “Damn you and your apology, Will Beatty. You can’t leave me with him.”

      “I can’t leave you with your pa.”

      “I want my rifle.”

      Will looked at Cole, saw the almost imperceptible nod, and agreed. “I brought it back with me when I got my shirt. There’s nothing gained by leaving a fine rifle like your Winchester on the ground. I’ll clean and polish it before I go, and I’ll put it on the rack.”

      “I want it here.”

      “Bring it in, Will,” said Cole. “She doesn’t know she’s supposed to be too exhausted to argue.”

      “Runt never did.” Will realized his mistake, but he didn’t correct himself this time. Rhyne wouldn’t have thanked him for it, but she would have sapped her strength setting him straight.

      Will took Cole’s glass with him when he went. He poked his head out the door to check on Judah and got a double fist shaken at him for his interest. Grinning, he ducked back inside, took the glasses to the kitchen, and got the rifle. Rhyne’s Winchester repeater was a well cared for weapon and he was still admiring it as he carried it back into the bedroom. “I don’t mind cleaning it,” he said, approaching the bed.

      “Take your time,” Cole told him. “She fell asleep again.”

      Will found what he needed in the other room and set to work while Cole took some time to familiarize himself with the cabin. He climbed to the loft where Will told him Rhyne slept and found some relatively clean shirts, a pair of denim trousers, another flannel union suit, and five socks. “She doesn’t own much,” he said, showing Will what he’d found.

      “No, I’ve never seen Runt in more than three of four different shirts.”

      “What about her stage clothes? Where do you think they might be?”

      “Now, there’s a question.” He looked up from cleaning the rifle, a gleam in his eye. “You want me to ask Judah? It’d be a pleasure.”

      Cole shook his head. “Let me look around some more.”

      “Suit yourself.”

      The cabin only had three areas, and Judah’s room was the only one that afforded some privacy. The small loft was open and looked down into the front room. The kitchen and larder took up all of the space under the loft. Cole made his own inspection of the larder, saw that it was as well stocked as Will had said, and wondered if Rhyne was the one who made the preserves and pickled the beets. He chose ajar at random and read the label. The script was small and painstakingly neat: CHERRY CURRANT JELLY. The date indicated it was made last summer. Replacing the jar, he moved on, taking note of how precisely the shelves were organized and of how clean they were.

      Judah’s influence, he thought, but perhaps not his work. It was difficult to know, and he wasn’t confident that Rhyne would see fit to answer his questions.

      The door to the root cellar was set squarely in the middle of the larder. Cole lifted it and peered in. He found a lantern on one of the shelves, lighted it, and then eased through the opening and down the ladder. The smell of the rich, dark earth was pleasant, and Cole breathed deeply, inhaling the layered odors of onions, radishes, and potatoes.

      Raising the lantern, Cole glanced around. He almost didn’t see the trunk for the burlap bags piled around it. He didn’t assume the intention was to hide the trunk, but rather that it had come to be hidden as a consequence of its lack of importance.

      Cole cleared off the trunk and found that the key was in the lock. He turned it, flipped open a pair of latches, and lifted the lid. He called up to Will, “I found it!” Above him, he heard Will moving around. He looked to the opening and waited for the deputy’s face to appear. “The costumes,”

      he said when Will came into view. “There’s a trunk of them here.”

      “I’ll be darned.” He leaned the Winchester against the wall. “You want some help?”

      It took about twenty minutes for Cole to rummage through the trunk and pass what garments he thought might be useful up to Will. The work could have gone more quickly, but Will had some comment about every piece he examined, usually a vague, highly suspect reminiscence about the play or the role that had employed the particular costume.

      “I don’t feel so bad now about chasing after Runt. Seems to me that if I’d been able to catch and kiss him, I would’ve known he was a girl long before now.” He held out a hand to assist Cole coming out of the cellar. “’Course, I don’t know if I’d have really kissed him. Truth is, I was always relieved when he got away.”

      “I can imagine,” Cole said dryly. He brushed himself off and looked at the gowns and other garments Will had laid neatly over the backs of two chairs. “We have to talk about that, Will.”

      That no-account Beatty boy frowned. “Talk about what? Tryin’ to kiss Rhyne, you mean?”

      “Not exactly.” Cole closed the door on the root cellar and motioned Will to follow him into the kitchen. He kept his voice low so there was no chance that he would be overheard. “Have you thought about what you’re going to charge Judah with?”

      Will rubbed his chin. “Seems like there should be something. I know he beat Rhyne. She said he walloped her pretty good.”

      “That hardly describes what happened to her.” The gravity of Cole’s expression kept Will from interrupting. “What you say to people about bringing Judah in is your prerogative, but I’m hoping you’ll be cautious about what you reveal–and to whom. It’s going to be difficult for Rhyne when people learn Runt Abbot is a girl, but they don’t need to know she was pregnant and lost the child. No one’s health is improved by being the subject of that sort of speculation, and she’s bound to learn of it.”

      “A lot of people know Judah has a temper, and they know Runt felt the hard edge of it most of the time.”

      “My point is that no one intervened. Ever.”

      “I can’t say that anyone exactly witnessed it. More like they saw the evidence. There were the older boys, don’t forget, and Runt, well, he wasn’t complainin’.”

      “She wasn’t complaining,” Cole reminded him. “Then, or now. You must have noticed that. When she asked about Judah, she was concerned for you. She still is.”

      Will couldn’t argue with that. “So what are you suggesting?”

      “Charge