Bite marks and bruises, blemishes and blood. For just a split second, he closed his eyes, hoping to rid his vision of the image. It didn’t work. To the end of his days, he would see her soft white flesh after insufferable hours spent under Quinn Hennessey’s merciless fists.
“Why, Gabe? Why? Why would he do this? He seemed to care for her; he gave every indication that marriage to Molly was exactly what he wanted. How could he turn into such a—such a monster?”
“Honey, there’s some folks just take pure delight in hurtin’ others.” He looked not only sorrowful, but so tired of dealing with all the sins enacted by cruel, careless humans. “Makes ’em feel strong and powerful, somehow, havin’ someone smaller and weaker to pound on. And the more a victim cries and screams, the more those devils like it.”
Camellia shuddered.
“See, Hennessey figured hookin’ up with Molly would give him a nice easy life. She insists she told him the truth about the situation. But he didn’t realize till after their weddin’ that you Burtons aren’t some rich, successful family with a lotta money in the bank, that Molly was actually putinear dirt-poor. So then he got mad. Really mad. And he took it out on her.”
Quinn had risen this morning, cleaned himself up as best he could, and left the desolate cabin with a hard, cold threat to his wife of one day: stay here, don’t try to leave, don’t tell anyone. If you do, I will hunt you down, wherever you are, and kill you. And then I’ll go after your sisters, as well.
Heaving a sigh, the doctor finished his coffee in one final gulp. “Surprised I got that much outa her. The girl is plumb scared of her own shadow.”
Camellia had been making tiny whimpering noises of pure horror during the last few minutes, until Ben scooted his chair closer to pull her into the sheltering harbor of one long arm.
“What—what can we do for her—?” she finally managed to whisper.
“She’ll want a bath, soon. I’ll leave this bottle of arnica oil, so’s you can add it to the warm water, that’ll help ease the discomfort she’s feelin’ right now, and fade somea the bruises. And some laudanum—that’ll help her sleep; also good for pain.”
“Of course.” Camellia pulled herself slowly upright, as if every muscle ached. “I’ll go now, and—and get things started.”
“Cam.” Another straightforward, meaningful look from the doctor. “She wants the bedroom door kept locked. And the downstairs doors kept locked. And the shades pulled. You’ll remember—”
Flashing back to her own not-too-distant experience with the brutal Putnam brothers, she nodded. “Yes. I remember.”
“I’ve heard all I need to hear,” said Paul, rising. “Will she press charges, Gabe?”
“Dunno. Doubt it. But if she don’t, I will.”
“Good man.”
And the gathering broke up, each to his own separate task. Each with his own set of emotions.
Each plagued by his own list of regrets.
Chapter Eleven
AS MUCH OF A FUSS AS Ben made about demanding to be deputized, Paul adamantly refused.
“I said no, Mr. Mayor. It ain’t gonna happen. You’re too close to what’s goin’ on, and that’s always a problem.”
“Tarnation. I ain’t no green kid, sheriff. I think I can separate emotion from logic when I need to handle a gun.”
Early evening sunlight was fading away into the soft goldy-rose glow of dusk as they left Camellia to the tending of her sister and started stalking the half dozen blocks or so downtown toward the jail. With Ben squawking protests like a blue jay with every step.
“That wasn’t your opinion when we dealt with the Putnams,” he huffily pointed out. “And I had a lot more reason at that time to go off the deep end, if I needed one.”
“That’s so. But, if you recall, I was down a man at the time; Colton Bridges was off in Waco, visitin’ kinfolk, and not due back for another week. I needed the firepower. Today I don’t. Austin and Colton and I can manage things just fine.”
Their strides were long and quick; Ben found himself catching an in-between breath just to keep up. “The man is no better’n a rabid dog. He deserves killin’.”
Suddenly furious, Paul stopped dead. “Now, see, that there is exactly what I mean. Stop sayin’ things like that, or you’ll have trouble fallin’ down around your head in a big way. Now g’wan back to the store, and count your money, or somethin’, since your wife wanted you outa the house for a while. And I sure don’t want you hangin’ out with me!”
Eventually, of course, the long arm of the law caught up with Quinn Hennessey; in a town the size of Turnabout, on a Sunday, there are only so many places a man can squirrel himself away.
This happened to be in a private room on the upper floor of the Prairie Lot, along with several other miscreants much better-heeled, playing draw poker and Omaha Hold ’Em. And Hennessey showed himself to be clearly unhappy about being dragged away for what he assumed was no good reason.
“But I am winning, kind sir,” he tried to politely inform Paul, when the deputies signaled their intent to physically lift him from behind the edge of the baize-covered table did he not willingly rise on his own. “Let me at least gather in what I’ve—”