Chapter Four
Old habits die hard. Douglas had never forgotten how to pick a lock or get in and out of a building without being seen. He'd spent several years living on the streets of New York City, surviving by his wits and his criminal skills, before he met his three brothers and his baby sister, and headed west. Before that, he'd been in an orphanage. Granted, he'd been only a boy when he'd perfected his criminal technique. But it was like making love to a woman. After you learned how, you never forgot.
His experience as a petty thief came in real handy now. So did the rain, for it kept the night owls inside their homes. Boyle's men weren't a problem, just an inconvenience. Douglas stashed the buggy in a cove near their lair on the hill overlooking Sweet Creek, then crept up on the four men and listened to their conversation in hopes of gaining some useful information about their boss. He didn't learn anything significant. Other than taking Boyle's name in vain several times because he'd assigned them this miserable duty, the men spent the rest of the time boasting to one another about the number of shots of whiskey they could swallow in a single sitting. They were incredibly boring, and after listening to their whining complaints for almost twenty minutes, Douglas hadn't heard anything significant. He was about to make a wide circle around them and continue on when Boyle's men decided to leave their posts and go back into town for the night. Not only had the weather finally gotten to them, but they were also certain their boss would never find out.
Their laziness made Douglas 's task easier. He made six trips on his sorrel back and forth from the general store to the buggy with supplies Isabel would need, then headed across town to Dr. Simpson's cottage.
He didn't knock. He went in the back door because, just as Isabel suspected, Boyle was keeping a close watch on the physician. He had a man stationed out front. Douglas spotted the guard leaning against a hitching post across the street with a rifle in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. There wasn't anyone watching the back, however. Douglas figured Boyle had ordered one of his men to do just that, but like the complainers up on the hill, he'd probably sneaked home too.
Douglas had forgotten that Isabel had told him Simpson was married. His wife was tucked in nice and tight beside him, sleeping on her side with her back to her husband. All Douglas saw was a puff of gray hair above the covers.
He didn't use his gun to wake the elderly man. He simply put his hand over the doctor's mouth, whispered that he was a friend of Isabel Grant's, and asked him to come downstairs to talk.
The doctor was apparently used to being awakened in the dead of night. Babies, Douglas knew, often came during that inconvenient time. Although the physician seemed wary, he didn't argue with him.
His wife didn't wake up. Simpson shut the door behind him and led Douglas to his study. He pulled the drapes closed and then lit a candle.
"Are you really a friend of Isabel's?"
"Yes, I am."
"And your name?"
"Douglas Clayborne."
"You don't intend to hurt Isabel?"
"No."
The doctor still didn't look convinced.
"I want to help her," Douglas insisted.
"Maybe so, maybe not," Simpson replied. "You aren't from around here, are you? How do you know our Isabel?"
"Actually, I only just met her. Her husband sold me an Arabian stallion a couple of months ago, but I was expanding my business back then and couldn't come for the horse until I'd hired some extra hands."
"But you're a friend. Is that right?"
"Yes."
Simpson stared at him a long minute, slowly rubbing his whiskered jaw until he had worked out whatever it was that was bothering him, and finally nodded. "Good," he said. "She needs a friend as big and hard-looking as you, young man. I hope to God you are hard when it comes to protecting her. You know how to use that gun you're wearing?"
"Yes."
"Are you fast and accurate?"
Douglas felt as though he were undergoing an inquisition but didn't take offense because he knew the physician had Isabel's safety uppermost in his mind. "I'm fast enough."
"I saw your shotgun on the table in the hall," Simpson said. "Are you also good with that weapon?"
Douglas didn't see any harm in being completely honest. "I prefer my shotgun."
"Why is that?"
"It leaves a bigger hole, sir, and if I shoot someone, I shoot to kill."
The doctor grinned. "I expect that's the way it ought to be," he remarked.
He sat down behind his desk and motioned for Douglas to take a seat across from him.
He declined with a shake of his head.
"How's our girl doing? I sure wish I could see her. I expect she's getting big and awkward about now."
"She had the baby last night."
"Good Lord Almighty, she had the baby? It came much too soon. What'd she have? A boy or a girl?"
"A boy."
"Did he make it?"
"Yes, but he's thin, terribly thin… and little. His cry is real weak too."
Simpson leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "It's a miracle he survived. Besides being weak, is he acting sick?"
"I don't know if he is or not. He sleeps most of the time."
"Is he nursing?"
"He's trying to," he answered.
"Good. That's real good," he said. "His mama's milk will fatten him up. Tell Isabel to try to nurse him every hour or so until he's stronger. He'll only take a little each time, but that's all right. If the baby refuses to eat, or can't keep it down, then we've got a real problem on our hands. I don't know what good I could do for him if he gets into trouble. He's too young for medicine. We've just got to pray he makes it. A chill will kill him, so you've got to keep him warm all the time. That's real important, son."
"I'll keep him warm."
"I don't want to sound grim… It's just, you have to understand and accept the facts. There's a good chance the baby won't make it, no matter what you do."
"I don't want to think about that possibility."
"If it happens, you have to help Isabel get through it. That's what friends do."
"Yes, I will."
"How is she doing? Did she have any problems I should know about?"
"She had a difficult time with the laboring. She looks all right now."
"You helped her bring the baby?"
"Yes."
"Did she tear?"
"No, but she sure bled a lot. I don't know if it was more than what's expected. I've never delivered a baby before. I ask her how she's doing, and that seems to embarrass her and she refuses to talk about it."
The doctor nodded. "If she were in real trouble, she'd tell you for her son's sake. Try to keep her calm, and be real careful about upsetting her. Isabel's a strong woman, but she's vulnerable now. New mothers tend to become emotional, and I don't expect Isabel to be any different. The least little thing might set her off, and she doesn't need to be fretting about anything. Paul Morgan's wife cried for a full month. She plumb drove her husband to distraction worrying about her. The woman cried when she was happy and when she was sad. There wasn't any rhyme or reason to it. Eventually she snapped out of it. Isabel's got more serious problems to deal with. I don't know how I'd stand it if I had Boyle breathing down my neck. I'm sure worried about her son though, coming early like he did, and I know she must be worried too. If the baby makes it, are you planning to stay with our girl until he can be moved?"
"Yes, I'm staying. How long do you think that will be?"
"At least eight weeks, but ten would be even better if he's slow to put on weight. I'm mighty curious about something, son. How'd you manage to get to Isabel's ranch in the first place?"
"It was dark and I was taking the most direct route, using the moonlight to guide me, until it disappeared and the rain started. I almost ran into Boyle's lookouts by accident then. They were so drunk they didn't hear me. I wondered what they were doing hiding out in the rain," he admitted with a shrug. "But I wasn't curious enough to find out. I'm glad now I didn't stop."