Page 46 of Redeeming the Outlaw
Whit lay there for what seemed like hours, his mind reeling from Esther’s rejection. The pain in his heart outweighed any of his physical injuries. He couldn’t fathom why she was pushing him away, not after everything they’d been through together.
A soft knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. For a fleeting moment, he hoped it was Esther returning to tell him she’d made a mistake. It was another pang of disappointment as he heard his sister’s voice come through the door.
“May I come in?” Annamae called.
“Go away,” he mumbled. He lifted his head to see his pillow was now reddish brown from dried blood.
“Sounded like a yes to me,” she cheerfully said, opening the door. Walking over to the side of his bed, she put down a cup of coffee and a plate with a biscuit. “I thought you might be hungry, but it looks like you are having a pity party instead. Want to talk about it?”
“Did I tell you to come in?” Whit growled at her as he moved to sit up in the bed.
Annamae ignored the question. “What did you do to your pillow?” She grabbed his hand and turned it over several times, looking at the open wounds. “Have you decided to be a pugilist? It could be a better career for you than being a marshal.”
“I will not be a marshal. Never was.”
“Then why do it?” She sat down in the chair and leaned forward.
“I wanted to find out more about them.”
“Them being the Richards?” Whit nodded. “Did you find out anything?”
“They are the evilest people alive, and I hope they all perish in the lake of fire.”
Pointing at the cup, Annamae asked, “Are you going to drink your coffee?”
“No.”
Taking the cup, she took a sip before placing the cup back down. “You don’t mean it.”
“I do.”
“Just because someone has bad kin doesn’t mean they are all bad.”
“Yes, it does.” Whit crossed his arms over his chest, wincingas the tightness in his skin stretched. He quickly relaxed his arms back down at his sides, trying to ease the discomfort.
“So, if you plant an apple tree which grows, but produces rotten fruit on one branch. Do you cut down the entire tree, or do you just prune the branch?” Whit grunted in response, and Annamae continued. “If you put harvested apples in a barrel and one apple spoils, are all the apples ruined?”
“Only if you don’t remove it. Sometimes it is at the bottom of the barrel and everything ferments.”
“You are definitely a Hartman, Whitney.” Annamae picked up the coffee and settled back in the seat. “If you will not eat the biscuit, I’ll eat it.”
“What do you mean, ‘I’m a Hartman’?”
“You are just as stubborn as all the other men around here.” She reached over and lifted the biscuit, waving it in front of his face as she brought it toward her mouth.
“Give me that.” Whit snatched the biscuit and bit it, chewing thoughtfully. “What am I missing?”
“Briggs and Reverend Billings stopped by a few days ago, before you woke up. They told Esther that Ma Richards and Brodie escaped.”
The sweet flaky biscuit turned bitter on his tongue. He motioned for Annamae to hand him her cup. Taking a sip, he swallowed the biscuit and looked at his sister. “Did they say anything else?”
“If Brodie and his ma are not captured, those two and anyone they can find will persist in seeking Ma Richards’ children and grandchildren. Anyone associated with them is still in danger.”
“Esther should know...” His eyes opened wide. “What did Reverend Billings say to her?”
“Esther knows she is a Richards. And right now, Ma Richardsthinks Esther is carrying her grandchild. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to tell Brodie you were married, Whit.”
He grinned.She was trying to protect him. There was only one thing it could mean. She still loved him!
