Page 8 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
She didn’t see anyone or anything unusual, but fear prickled at the back of her neck. The people who’d brutally attacked Eric were still out there.
The question was, why had they hurt Eric? More questions quickly followed: Would they strike again? And who would they hurt next time?
4
“Mr. Meyer is dead.” Dr. Howell spoke solemnly from beside Eric’s bed. The smattering of gray hair upon his head was sticking straight up, adding a couple of inches to his small frame.
Even though Clarabelle had suspected Eric was dead from the moment she’d found him in the field, the proclamation still sent a sharp pang through her chest.
“There’s nothing you can do?” Maverick stood beside Clarabelle on the side of the bed opposite the doctor, Eric’s body laid out before them.
“From what I can tell, he’s been dead for a while.” The older fellow spoke in a low whisper, casting a glance to the closed bedroom door.
With the children in the front room of the cabin with Hazel and Clementine, Clarabelle was glad the doctor was being sensitive with how loudly he spoke. The situation was horrific enough for Bianca and Dieter, and they didn’t need to hear all the particulars.
The news of Eric’s attack and injury had obviously spread, because Reverend Livingston and Mr. and Mrs. Grover were also in the other room. Like Clarabelle, they’d all been holding out hope that somehow Eric would regain consciousness and perhaps be able to tell them what had happened and who was to blame. But now they might never know.
Clarabelle leaned into Maverick, needing his strength to hold her up as the reality of the situation sank in.
Maverick slipped his arm around her. Thankfully, Dieter had gone to High C Ranch first before heading to town. It hadn’t taken long for Maverick to show up at the Meyers’ cabin, and he’d helped Clarabelle carry Eric inside.
Now Dr. Howell folded up his stethoscope and slipped it back into his leather doctor’s bag. “I’m sorry. I wish there were more we could do, but the trauma from the blow likely killed him on impact.”
“Then he was murdered.” Maverick’s tone was low and grave.
“It’s obvious someone hit him with a hard object,” the doctor replied. “But it’s more difficult to assess whether the person intended to outright kill Eric or only injure him.”
“Reckon there’s been foul play either way.” Maverick had discarded his Stetson, and his dark hair was messy. His denims and flannel shirt were dusty and held the scent of horses and hay. “I oughta go fetch the sheriff.”
The small bedroom had only enough room for the double bed, the trunk along the far wall, and a leveled tree stump next to the bed that served as a table to hold the lantern. A small mirror graced one of the log walls, but otherwise the room was plain and simple, devoid of anything that might give the place a homey touch.
Now that the darkness of evening had fallen, the lantern illuminated Eric’s pale face that she’d washed clean of the soil and blood. The bandage she’d pressed to his wound was loosely in place.
But it didn’t matter anymore. Eric was gone, and his children were now orphans without either a father or mother or any other relatives who would be willing to take them in and provide for them.
She’d reassured Eric earlier in the week that she would help with the children if anything happened to him, but what rightdid she have if she wasn’t legally their mother? Now what would become of them? The land? The cabin?
She certainly had no intention of abandoning them in their moment of greatest need and would do everything she could to help them. She had a good example from her parents in having an open heart and open home. After all, they’d taken in two homeless orphans—her brothers Ryder and Tanner—during the wagon train ride west to Colorado.
But she was a single woman without a means to support herself, much less two children. No doubt Maverick would be open to her bringing them back to High C Ranch to live there, but they weren’t his responsibility.
First, before any of that, they had to tell the children that their father was dead.
As Dr. Howell made his way around the bed toward the door, she released a sigh.
“You doing all right?” Maverick asked, his eyes alight with compassion.
“I’m not relishing having to give the news to the children.”
“We’ll do it together.”
A soft tap on the bedroom door was followed by its opening a crack, forcing Dr. Howell to take a step back. A middle-aged gentleman poked his head inside. The narrow face with a perpetually serious expression belonged to Mr. Irving, Breckenridge’s only attorney. With his long sideburns, bushy beard, and top hat, he reminded her of a picture she’d once seen of former president Abraham Lincoln.
“May I come in?” Mr. Irving’s gaze darted to the bed and Eric’s lifeless form.
Maverick nodded. “Might as well.”
Mr. Irving had handled their family’s affairs not only after Pa had died but also recently, with Ma’s passing, reading the will and transferring the deed of the ranch to Maverick.
