Too quickly.
Beatrice noticed.
He was sixty-one.
Thin.
Silver-haired.
Gentle voice.
The kind of doctor women trusted because he lowered his tone when delivering bad news.
He had treated generations in Ridge Creek.
He smiled warmly.
“My dear girl.”
Beatrice wanted to strike him.
Instead she smiled.
“Doctor.”
“I hear the tonic worked wonders.”
“It did something.”
His eyes searched hers.
“Any remaining weakness?”
“Sometimes.”
“Digestive pain?”
“Rarely.”
He seemed relieved.
Beatrice saw it.
Not concern.
Relief.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to examine you tomorrow before the trust meeting.”
“Why?”
Marcus answered.
“Legal formality.”
Beatrice looked toward him.
“What formality?”
“Proof you’re well enough to assume business responsibilities.”
Caleb stepped forward.
Beatrice touched his arm.
Not yet.
Dr. Vale smiled.
“Nothing serious.”
“I’d prefer Dr. Hale examine me.”
Both men froze.
Only a fraction.
Enough.
Marcus recovered.
“Who?”
“Dr. Miriam Hale.”
Vale looked at Beatrice.
“You’ve seen another physician?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“In Durango.”
“For what?”
“Another opinion.”
Silence.
Caleb almost enjoyed it.
Vale smiled.
“Of course.”
But his hands had begun to tremble.
Supper was worse.
Marcus insisted.
Family meal.
Caleb wanted to refuse.
Beatrice agreed deliberately.
Marshal Rourke’s deputy waited at the hotel across the street.
Every dish arrived from Marcus’s kitchen.
Beatrice watched.
Soup first.
Of course.
Marcus smiled.
“You always liked potato.”
She looked into the bowl.
Then toward Vale.
He was not eating soup.
Interesting.
Caleb noticed.
He lifted his spoon.
Beatrice caught his wrist beneath the table.
No.
Marcus saw nothing.
“Something wrong?”
Beatrice smiled.
“Not hungry yet.”
Marcus’s expression tightened.
“You should eat.”
“I will.”
Vale said gently, “Keeping strength is important.”
Caleb looked at him.
“I thought her weight strained her health.”
Vale froze.
Beatrice nearly smiled.
Marcus looked toward Caleb.
“What?”
“Beatrice told me the doctor blamed her weight for weakness.”
Vale cleared his throat.
“A contributing concern.”
Caleb leaned back.
“Now she needs strength.”
“Medical conditions evolve.”
“Convenient.”
“Caleb.”
Beatrice’s voice was soft.
Warning.
He stopped.
Marcus studied him.
“You seem protective.”
“She’s my wife.”
“Yes.”
The word bothered Marcus.
Perhaps the arrangement had been supposed to produce distance.
Not alliance.
Beatrice dipped the spoon.
Pretended to taste.