“Do you mind?” Annie asked quietly. “That he isn’t going to be brought to justice?”
“Hell, yes, I mind,” he growled, then went to sit down beside her on the bed where she was resting. “For prolonging the war, I’d not only like to see him shot, I’d want to pull the trigger myself.”
“I’m not certain I believe he didn’t know what Winslow had done.”
“It’s possible that he sacrificed Winslow without even blinking, but on the other hand Winslow didn’t start yelling that Vanderbilt had been behind the entire scheme, so the odds are he really didn’t know. It doesn’t make much difference. He was at the root of the entire situation.”
“No one will ever know what he did, and he’ll just continue to get richer and richer. It makes me so angry when I think what they did to you.”
He rubbed his hand slowly over her belly. “I never would have met you if it hadn’t been for Vanderbilt’s treason. Maybe fate evens things out.” Thousands of men dead, all for one man’s greed. But if things had been different, he wouldn’t have Annie now. Maybe things just happened, maybe there was no great cosmic scale in which evil and good were carefully balanced. He had to live in the present rather than waste any more time with regrets and bitterness. He not only had Annie, he would be a father soon, an event that was already looming large in his mind. But thanks to Atwater, and Jefferson Davis, and J. P. Morgan, and most of all thanks to Annie, he was not only a free man, he was well off financially and could take care of Annie the way he wanted.
“What will happen to Parker Winslow?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Rafe said, but he had a good idea. Atwater had left the hotel without saying where he was going. Sometimes justice worked best in the dark.
* * *
Atwater slipped into Winslow’s residence with the stealth of a man who had a great deal of practice in getting around without attracting attention. He could make out the rich furnishings as he moved from room to room; the damn varmint had been living well while Rafe McCay had been forced to live like an animal.
The marshal couldn’t think of the last time he’d had a friend. Not since sweet Maggie had died, probably. He’d lived a solitary life, in his support of law and order and his own pursuit of justice. But, damn it, Rafe and Annie had become his friends. They had spent long hours talking around campfires, watching each other’s backs, planning and worrying together. Things like that tended to bond people together. As a friend and as a lawman, and by his own personal code, he needed to see that justice was served.
He found Winslow’s bedroom and entered it as silently as a shadow. It was a hard thing he had to do, and for a moment he hesitated, staring at the sleeping man in the bed. Winslow wasn’t married, so there wasn’t a missus there to be terrified out of her wits, and Atwater was glad. He thought about waking Winslow, but discarded the idea. Justice didn’t demand that the man know of his own death, only that the deed be done. Very calmly, Noah Atwater drew his pistol and evened the scales of justice.
He was gone from the house before the servants sleeping in the attics could rouse themselves and scramble into their clothing, not certain what it was they had heard. Atwater’s face was curiously blank as he walked through the night-darkened streets, his thoughts turned inward. His execution of Winslow had been nothing less than justice, but maybe his own motivation had been more complicated than that; maybe, because of the way he felt about Rafe and Annie, there had been a bit of revenge in him, too. And maybe it was time he turned in his badge, because when other things began to matter, then he couldn’t consider himself a pure servant of the law any longer. And after what had happened to Rafe, and seeing how money and power had so successfully manipulated the system to ruin the life of an innocent man branded “outlaw,” Atwater couldn’t say he believed in the law the way he used to, even if he would always be a man of justice in his heart.
But he was satisfied. The scales were balanced.
CHAPTER
20
Atwater slammed into the ranch house, his face pale with anxiety. Rafe stepped into the hall to meet him. His own face was tense, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up.
“Can’t find him nowheres,” Atwater growled. “What good’s a doctor if he ain’t never around when a body needs him? He’s probably curled up somewhere with a damn bottle.”
Atwater’s assessment was probably true. The citizens of Phoenix, whose population had exploded since the first house had been built a year before, were rapidly coming to the same conclusion and turning more and more to Annie with their medical problems. That wasn’t much help to Annie, though, who was now herself in need of a doctor.
“Keep looking,” he said. He didn’t know what else to do. Even a drunk doctor had to be better than no doctor.
“Rafe,” Annie called from inside the bedroom. “Noah? Come in here, please.”
Atwater looked uneasy at entering a room where a woman was in labor, but the two men went into the room Rafe had just left. Rafe went to the bed and took her hand. How could she look so normal when he was frankly terrified? But she smiled at him, and adjusted her bulk more comfortably on the mattress.
“Forget the doctor,” she told Atwater. “Just fetch Mrs. Wickenburg. She’s had five of her own and has a good head on her shoulders; she’ll know what to do. And even if she doesn’t, I do.” She smiled at Rafe. “It’ll be all right.”
Atwater was already leaving the ranch house at a run. Another contraction began low in Annie’s belly and she grabbed Rafe’s hands, placing them flat on her tightening abdomen so he could feel the power of his child’s efforts to be born. He turned absolutely white, but when the contraction eased Annie lay back with a smile. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she breathed.
“Hell, no, it isn’t wonderful!” he barked. He looked sick. “You’re in pain!”
“But our baby will be here soon. I’ve delivered babies, but obviously I’ve never experienced it from this position before. It’s really interesting; I’m learning a lot.”
Rafe felt like tearing his hair out. “Annie, damn it, this isn’t a class in medical school.”
“I know, darling.” She stroked his hand. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but truly, everything is perfectly fine.” She was surprised at how upset he was, but she realized she should have expected it. No expectant mother in history could have been more cosseted than she had been on the long trip across the country to Phoenix, a brand-new city with brand-new attitudes, not only by Rafe but by Atwater, too, who had resigned his job as marshal and, at Rafe’s invitation, joined them as a partner in the sprawling ranch they now owned in the Salt River Valley.
He hadn’t wanted her to begin her medical practice until after the baby was born, but time passed slowly for her with nothing to occupy her but the increasing ripeness of her body. So far it was only women who had come to her, women with personal medical problems or their own pregnancies, and sometimes they brought their children. Most people still went to Dr. Hodges, who had an unfortunate fondness for the bottle, but several women had told her that, after her baby was born and she was able to begin a full-time practice, they intended to make certain their entire families came to her.
She was glad it was winter, so she wasn’t having to go through labor during the intense heat. During late summer they had had to sleep out on the veranda, though the adobe ranch house was built along Spanish lines, with arches and clean open spaces, and high ceilings to alleviate the heat. She loved her new home. Everything about her new life seemed perfect. Most of all, there was Rafe. He was still impossibly stubborn and autocratic, still the lean, dangerous man with pale crystal eyes who could make most people shiver with just a look, but she knew the passion and sensuality in him, and had no doubts of the strength of his love. There had been days during the autumn when he had carried her out to a certain place where they could lie unseen, with only the great blue sky overhead and the warm earth beneath them, and they had made love naked on a blanket spread on the ground. Her
pregnancy had made her skin acutely sensitive and he had reveled in her increased sensuality. She had at first been shy of revealing her body as her abdomen swelled larger, but Rafe had loved feeling the movements of his child within her.
Her contractions had begun during the night, very mild twinges that had kept her awake but weren’t really uncomfortable, and progressed slowly. She had expected that, since it was her first baby. By noon the contractions had begun to feel sharper, and she had told Rafe she thought the baby would be born that day. To her surprise, he had immediately panicked, and so had Atwater, who had rushed off in search of Dr. Hodges.
“My water hasn’t even broken yet,” she said. “There’s plenty of time.”
He looked grim. “You mean this is going to go on a lot longer?”
She bit her lip, knowing that he would find it unforgivable if she smiled. “I hope not too much longer, but it will probably be tonight before it’s born.” She wasn’t looking forward to the next several hours either, but she was anxious to get it over with and actually hold her baby in her arms. She felt an incredible bond with the little creature who had been growing inside her, this child of Rafe’s.
The next contraction felt stronger and came sooner than she had expected it. She breathed carefully until it was over, pleased that things were progressing. Part of her was still a doctor, and academically she found it interesting. She suspected, however, that before it was over she would totally forget about how interesting it was and be just another woman submerged in the struggle to give birth.
It was another two hours before Atwater returned with Mrs. Wickenburg, a sturdy woman with a pleasant face, and during those two hours Annie’s labor had rapidly become stronger. Rafe hadn’t left her side.
Water was boiled, at Annie’s instructions, and the scissors for cutting the cord dropped in the boiling water. Mrs. Wickenburg was calm and capable. Rafe carefully lifted Annie so that thick towels could be placed under her.
She managed a smile at him. “I think it’s time you left now, darling. It won’t be much longer.”
He shook his head. “I was there when the baby got started,” he said. “I’ll be here when it’s born. I’m not leaving you to do this alone.”
“Just don’t faint or get in the way,” Mrs. Wickenburg said comfortably.
He didn’t. When the contractions came hard and fast, Annie clung to his hands with a grip that left them bruised and swollen the next day. He ground his teeth whenever she groaned aloud, and he held her shoulders when the great final pain seized her in its grip and didn’t relent until a tiny, blood-smeared infant slid out of her body and into Mrs. Wickenburg’s waiting hands.
“My goodness, that was a good birth,” Mrs. Wickenburg said. “It’s a girl, and what a sweet little thing she is. Look how tiny! My last one was twice this size.”
Annie relaxed, sucking in air with great gulps. Her child was already crying, a ridiculous mewing sound like a kitten. Rafe looked dazed as he stared at the baby. He was still holding Annie, and suddenly his grip tightened as he leaned his head down against hers. “God,” he said in a ragged voice.
Mrs. Wickenburg tied off the cord and cut it, then quickly cleaned the baby and gave her to Rafe to hold while the afterbirth came and she took care of Annie.
Rafe was entranced. He couldn’t take his eyes off his daughter. His two hands were bigger than she was. She wriggled and jerked her legs and her arms waved erratically. She wasn’t crying now, but he was fascinated by the expressions fleeting across the tiny face as she frowned and puckered her mouth and yawned. “I’ll be damned,” he said tightly. Annie’s daughter. He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest, much the same sensation he got at times when he looked at Annie.
“Let me see her,” Annie breathed, and with exquisite care he placed the baby in her arms.
Raptly, Annie examined the minute features, loving the downy curve of cheek and perfect rosebud mouth. The baby yawned again, and for a minute her vague, unfocused eyes opened. Annie drew in her breath at the light grayish blue color. “She’s going to have your eyes! Look, they’re already grayish.”
To him the baby looked like Annie, with the same delicately formed features already detectable. She did have black hair, though; her tiny head was covered with it. His coloring, Annie’s features. A blending of them, formed during a moment of such intense ecstasy it had changed something inside him forever.
“Let her nurse,” Mrs. Wickenburg suggested. “It’ll help start your milk.”
Annie laughed. She had been so fascinated examining her daughter that she had forgotten to do what she had always told her patients to do. A little shyly she opened her nightgown and exposed one swollen breast. Mrs. Wickenburg discreetly turned away. Rafe reached out and cupped the warm, satiny mound, lifting it up as Annie settled the infant in the crook of her arm, then guided the turgid nipple to the birdlike mouth and rubbed the baby’s lips. Annie jumped as the baby instinctively rooted at her breast and began sucking. Hot prickles spread through her breast.
Rafe laughed at the slurping sounds. His pale eyes were shining. “Hurry up with dinner,” he advised his daughter. “You have an uncle who’s wearing a rut in the floor waiting to meet you. Or maybe he’ll be a grandpa to you. We’ll have to work that out later.”
Ten minutes later he carried the blanket-wrapped infant out to where Atwater was indeed pacing, his hat crushed to a shapeless mass where he had rolled it in his hands. “It’s a girl,” Rafe said. “They’re both fine.”
“A girl.” Atwater peered at the tiny, sleeping face. He swallowed. “Well, I’ll be damned. A girl.” He swallowed again. “Jesus, Rafe, how in hell are we goin’ to keep all those randy young bucks away from her? I got to think on this.”
Rafe grinned as he pulled Atwater’s arms out and placed the baby in them. Atwater looked totally panicked and his entire body stiffened. “Don’t do that!” he yelped. “I might drop her.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Rafe said, without any sympathy. “You’ve held puppies, haven’t you? She’s not much bigger.”
Atwater scowled at him. “I ain’t holdin’ her by the scruff, either.” He cuddled the baby to him. “Damn shame, your own youngun and you wantin’ to handle her like a puppy.”
Rafe’s grin grew bigger, and Atwater looked down at the sleeping baby lying so contentedly in his arms. After a minute he smiled, and made a rocking motion. “Guess it comes kinda natural, don’t it? What’s her name?”
Rafe’s mind went blank. He and Annie had talked about it, choosing names for both a boy and a girl, but right offhand he couldn’t remember either of them. “We haven’t named her yet.”
“Well, make up your minds. I gotta know what I’m gonna call this sweet little treasure. And next time you two decide to have a baby, let me know in plenty of time so I can be somewheres else. This is too hard on a man. I swear, I thought my old heart would give out.”
Rafe took his daughter back, to return to Annie. Already he felt anxious at being away from her. “Grandfathers have to stay close,” he said. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
Atwater gaped at his retreating back. Grandfather! Grandfather? Well, that did sound kinda nice. He was in his fifties, after all, though he prided himself on looking younger than his age. Never had a family before, except for Maggie, and no one since she had died. Scary as hell, but maybe he’d stick around, keep McCay out of trouble. This grandfather business sounded like a full-time job.
Rafe slipped back into their bedroom and found Annie sleeping peacefully. Mrs. Wickenberg smiled at him and held her finger to her lips. “Let her rest,” she whispered. “She’s worked hard and deserves it.” With another smile, the woman let herself out of the room.
Rafe sat down in the chair beside the bed, still holding the baby. He was reluctant to put her down. She was asleep, too, as if being born had been as tiring for her as for her mother. He felt pretty wrung out himself, but had no inclination to sleep. He looked from Annie’s face to tha
t of their daughter, and his heart swelled so much that it pushed against his ribs and almost stopped his breath.
Nine months before he had held an Indian baby and helped Annie preserve her life. Now he held another baby, one to which he and Annie had also given life, but this time it was the life of their very bodies. From the minute he had first seen Annie she had turned his life around, given him something to live for, and if his remaining years gave him nothing else he was content, for this was enough.
EPILOGUE
During the next decade, the brilliant young banker J. P. Morgan arranged a financial coup that broke Commodore Vanderbilt’s monopoly on the railroads. No hint of the Confederate papers ever came to light, but Rafe figured that Vanderbilt, knowing Morgan had them, didn’t fight the banker as vigorously as he might have. It wasn’t the justice Rafe would have chosen, the justice Atwater had meted out to Parker Winslow before resigning as marshal, but it was probably the justice that hurt Vanderbilt the most.
Somehow it didn’t much matter anymore. He had Annie and their kids, and the ranch was prosperous. Sometimes when the kids had been rowdy, the two boys driving their sister into temper tantrums, when Annie had had a busy day with her patients and the cattle had been particularly stubborn, he and Annie would slip out to their place in the desert and make it all go away. He was a slave to her special magic and wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The story of the lost Confederate treasury happened pretty much as related in this book. The bulk of it was stolen, probably by a group of citizens, on its way back to Richmond from Washington, Georgia. It is also true that Tench Tilghman, a personable young man from Maryland, buried his share of the payroll, the Confederate government papers, and some of Jefferson Davis’s personal papers. He kept a diary noting these facts, though the diary doesn’t give the location of the buried treasure.