Actually touched nothing to her lips.
Then she placed the spoon down.
Marcus relaxed.
That told her enough.
After supper, Beatrice carried the bowl to her room.
Hidden beneath her shawl.
Caleb followed later.
They poured the contents into a sealed jar supplied by Marshal Rourke.
Evidence.
At midnight, someone tried entering the room.
The knob turned once.
Then stopped.
Caleb sat in a chair beside the door with revolver ready.
Beatrice lay fully dressed on the bed.
The knob moved again.
Caleb opened the door abruptly.
Dr. Vale stood outside.
He nearly fell forward.
Caleb’s expression became cold.
“Doctor.”
Vale recovered.
“I thought I heard coughing.”
“No.”
“I wanted to check Beatrice.”
“At midnight?”
Vale looked past Caleb.
Beatrice sat up.
“I’m fine.”
Vale smiled nervously.
“Of course.”
His eyes moved toward the bedside table.
Searching.
For what?
The tonic?
Soup?
Caleb stepped into the hall.
Vale stepped back.
“Good night.”
He left.
Caleb closed and locked the door.
Beatrice whispered, “He knows.”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Caleb looked at her.
“We could leave now.”
“I know.”
“Still staying?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
No argument.
On the morning of November third, Beatrice Holloway Mercer turned twenty-seven.
She woke before sunrise.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then the Bell house ceiling came into focus.
Caleb slept in the chair.
He had refused the bed while in Marcus’s house.
Not because they were not husband and wife.
Because he wanted to guard the door.
Beatrice looked at him.
The mountain man Ridge Creek called barren.
Broken.
Dangerous.
He had one hand resting near the revolver and his chin against his chest.
She smiled.
“Caleb.”
Nothing.
“Caleb.”
His eyes opened instantly.
“What?”
“It’s morning.”
He looked toward the window.
Then at her.
“Happy birthday.”
The simplicity of it made her cry.
Caleb stood.
Alarmed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t sure I would be.”
He stopped.
Then crossed the room.
“May I?”
She nodded.
He held her.
For several minutes.
No speeches.
No promises.
Just arms around a woman who had survived long enough for a date on paper to change the legal shape of her life.
The trust meeting was scheduled at ten inside the Silver Crown Mine office.
Marcus.
Dr. Vale.
Nathaniel Shaw.
A county clerk.
Two mine investors.
Beatrice.
Caleb.
And, unknown to Marcus, Marshal Rourke in the adjoining storeroom with two deputies.
Beatrice wore dark blue.
Not wedding cream.
Not the pale colors Marcus selected because he claimed dark shades made her “look larger.”
She no longer cared.
Caleb wore his mountain coat.
Scar visible.
No attempt to make himself respectable for men he did not respect.
Marcus opened the meeting.