Heart Knives
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“I’m not going to let you do this.” The man standing in the hallway of the boardinghouse didn’t look like a murderer. His clothing looked more like a traveling salesperson’s, and he wore no weapon on his person as far as she could tell. He even had on shoes instead of boots. But his voice was hard-edged with steel beneath his gruffness.
She turned around slowly so he wouldn’t see her surprise that anyone would want to harm her. She’d never been threatened before. It unnerved her. “What are you going to do?” She took another step toward the door leading into the parlor where the piano lay silent and dark.
That would be the last place they wanted to search first for evidence because it was so obvious someone had used the room earlier today—and probably just minutes ago if there were tracks in the dust from when it was dragged out.
The stranger stopped walking backward and came forward so suddenly she felt as though she’d run headlong into him. There wasn’t time to duck or sidestep so she ducked under the arm that reached up to block her escape. Then he grabbed both of her arms and pushed against the front door while pulling her toward him with his free hand. “Let me go!” Her feet slipped out from under her, and she went down hard on the dirt floor.
He laughed at her surprise, but his expression was less than amused. “You can try,” he said. “But I think you’ll find my grip is much stronger than yours.”
She scrambled back, but he caught her by the waist and pulled her down again. This time he held her pinned between himself and the wall. The rough fabric of his shirt rubbed across the side of her face when he bent down close enough to speak. His breath tickled her ear.
“Don’t play games with me, woman. I don’t know what you’re planning, but we’ll stop it dead in its tracks.” He spoke slowly to ensure that she understood every word. She did understand, and he knew it because his next words were spoken softly and deliberately.
“I’m not your enemy. In fact, I’ve come here to help you. So why don’t you answer me? Why are you hiding something?”
For a split second, she wondered if he might have guessed right about their plan, but then the thought fled because his question was too ridiculous for such a coincidence. No one would believe that she was involved in the theft of the piano. If only she were able to tell him exactly what she was up to.
“Answer me! What are you hiding?” He shoved her harder against the wall. “Talk now or I won’t be so kind next time.”
Her lips formed a tight line and she refused to say anything. Instead, she glared at him through narrowed eyes. When nothing else happened, she decided that the truth might satisfy him. “Why should you care if we take that piano? You don’t even like music. Don’t you know you’re the worst pianist in the county?”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise, then furrowed in confusion. Then he laughed. She’d struck a nerve. He shook his head as though laughing at himself for believing there was any possibility that someone as untalented as she could be involved with a crime this heinous.
“There’s no way you—”
A gunshot sounded, and then another. The bullet that hit her knocked her sideways and made her vision blur. But the pain was dull compared to the sharpness of the sting of hot blood dripping down her cheek. Her head throbbed with each pulse of her heart.
She tried to focus on the gunman who was standing over her and saw him point the pistol at his own head. He hesitated for a moment, staring off into space until he seemed to remember what he was doing and pulled the trigger. Then he slumped over, and the gun fell from his grasp to clatter to the ground beside them.
Terrified, she struggled to stand, but the effort caused the world to spin around her. With great care, she crawled back to the hall door and pulled herself inside. She couldn’t get out, and the other gunman was still on the floor behind her.
She turned around and gasped when she saw him lying on his back in a pool of blood spreading through his chest. She stared at the body for several seconds before realizing how ridiculous it was to linger there, looking at a corpse, wondering if she should call out for help.
She turned away, knowing the men downstairs would hear the shot if they weren’t already aware that an alarm had gone out. And then she was running for the stairs leading down to the street level. She needed a horse. Or a wagon. Anything with wheels so she could drive herself out of town and away from these killers who’d taken her prisoner.
***
Morgan drove home as quickly as possible. By the time she arrived, she was exhausted, hungry, and covered in dust that smeared across her hands when she touched the steering wheel. It took a few minutes to realize what she’d seen outside the store when she looked past her windshield.
The black man lying on the ground hadn’t been killed by a bullet. His body had been pierced with a long shank of wood, probably the same thing he used for whittling.
The sight of such a grisly murder left her numb, stunned, unable to react in any other fashion than to keep driving toward the ranch house where she hoped Frank would be waiting to see what had transpired. She was certain she’d be able to convince him of her innocence.
That she wasn’t in league with anyone else in this small community. But when Morgan got closer to the house and realized that there were no horses waiting to greet her, she feared that her partner may be dead after all.
She stepped from the vehicle and hurried up the porch steps before remembering that Frank didn’t like visitors. She paused, then rang the bell and waited. There was no reply. So she pounded on the front door until the sound echoed through the empty hallway and made her ears ring. Still, no one answered, so she went around the side of the house and found Frank’s pickup parked there with his hat in plain view.
“Frank!” She ran through the open barn doors and stopped short when she saw his lifeless form sprawled out on the dirt floor. He was still dressed in his work clothes. He’d been murdered, and there was nothing left of the body to show what had actually killed him. Not even a mark on his skin. No wound that she could see. Nothing.
“Frank, please,” she whispered as she reached down and closed his eyelids, and gently laid his head on the floor next to his feet. “You can’t die just because you’ve done your duty to God.”
As if God would answer her plea. As if God cared about one single soul in the entire county. She was so lost and confused that she wandered into the tack room. A lantern lit the interior. She walked over to a cabinet full of saddles and bridles and knelt down beside his head.
She picked up his hat and wiped it clean of dust, then put it back on his head and brushed out the wrinkles from inside. He must have come here to check on something since he hadn’t bothered to leave a note explaining why he hadn’t returned home last night.
If he’d been working late or if he had been called to investigate a murder in the town, she knew he wouldn’t want to burden her with anything he thought was beneath his station as sheriff.
She stood slowly, her gaze lingering on the saddle hanging from its hook on the wall above his head. It was a fine black leather model that had never been used, and now it would stay with her forever because that was the only piece of his that she would take with her when she left the ranch for good.
A shadow appeared before her. “Are you sure I can’t get you some coffee?” Her mother was standing in the doorway to the tack room.
“Yes, thank you.” Morgan tried to smile as she took another look at Frank’s hat. “I’m very grateful that you’re alive.”
Her mother came forward and wrapped her arms around Morgan, and she held her close, squeezing tightly as if she might not ever let go again. She felt her mother’s lips press against her hair before she whispered, “I know how much you love him, sweetheart.”
Morgan pulled away and looked at her mother, wanting to tell her about her suspicions, but afraid that her mother would think she was crazy. That she wasn’t in control of her emotions. That she was losing her mind. “He died because of me. Because of what I did.”
Her mother nodded solemnly, but her expression showed no sign of sorrow, and she offered no condolences. Instead, she gave a little sniffle. “That’s terrible news, darling, and we’ll need to pray together.”
Morgan wanted to argue that prayer wasn’t going to make Frank return to life, but she knew it wouldn’t matter anyway. “There is nothing more to be said right now.”
“Come.” Her mother turned from Morgan and motioned for her to follow as they headed toward the kitchen. “Let’s sit down. We’ll talk later. I’m sorry I didn’t hear your message earlier.” She poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Morgan before sitting down at the table.
Morgan followed her mother and sat across from her at the wooden table and studied the dark blue dress she wore. The fabric seemed stiff enough to cut off blood flow if one were attacked. Morgan couldn’t decide whether or not she liked the color or if it made her appear washed-out and pale. Either way, it was a sharp contrast to the dark circles under her eyes.
Her mother sipped her coffee as if trying to calm her nerves. “Why don’t you tell me everything that happened?”
“All of it.” Morgan didn’t care if the sheriff heard what she’d told her mother or if Frank knew about their secret relationship. It was none of his business anyway. “From the moment I entered the barn to the time you arrived.”
“Okay,” her mother agreed, then took a sip of coffee. “And what happened after I left?”
“Nothing. He was dead when I got back to the house.” Morgan stared down at her cup, hoping her mother would believe her. But she already knew by looking at her face that it didn’t seem as if her mother was going to buy any of her explanation.
“What do you mean nothing?” Her mother set down her empty cup. “Did you try to revive him?”
Morgan shook her head. She was tired of lying. “No, I just went upstairs to my room and cried.”
“Oh, dear.” She sighed deeply as if the weight of the entire county rested on her shoulders.
Morgan waited. She needed a few moments of privacy with her thoughts. After all, they were alone in the house. No one else knew where she was except for her mother, and even that was probably only a half-truth.
She’d never told Frank exactly why she was staying out here so late at night. It was safer this way. And it was better if people thought she was grieving instead of wondering what was happening between them.
Morgan closed her eyes, wanting to forget, knowing it would never happen.
Her mother cleared her throat, and she opened her eyes. “I should have known something was wrong when I got your message. That you weren’t sleeping well. How could you possibly sleep well with all that racket going on outside.”
“Racket?” Morgan raised her eyebrows as she stared at her mother. “It was a horse, and he was running away from us.”
“But why would you come out there? Did Frank leave the house without telling me?” Her mother stood up from the table and paced nervously around the small kitchen as if she feared that someone was watching them, waiting to attack them both.
“Frank left early for the rodeo and didn’t expect me to be awake yet.” Morgan shrugged, but it was true. Even though Frank had left the house before she had, she hadn’t wanted to disturb her mother. Besides, she’d been surprised that he wasn’t there. They usually ate breakfast together before heading out to the field.
“You know I can’t live like this anymore, dear.” Her mother stopped pacing and faced Morgan as she took another sip of coffee and then lowered the mug to the table. “Your father is right. I must find a husband and get married so that we can move back to town.”
Morgan frowned. If her mother really felt that way, why had she kept it hidden for so many years? Why hadn’t she done anything until now? Wasn’t it obvious she hated the fact that Morgan wasn’t married? What was the big deal if she chose to remain single for as long as possible?
Her mother’s expression softened. “Of course, if I marry again it will be with your father’s permission.”
Morgan nodded and tried to hide her disappointment. It wasn’t that she was against marriage; she was only concerned about her mother’s motives. She didn’t understand why a woman who didn’t want children would suddenly change her mind after losing so much of her own family.
Her mother placed the back of her hand over her forehead. “Sometimes I feel so sick I have no idea how I can keep living. I can barely take care of myself let alone raise a child.”
“Mother—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t interrupt me, Morgan. You think too much. Sometimes it makes me worry that you’re turning into another version of your father. Always thinking ahead, worrying about money and work instead of just being happy.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, but she knew she would never stop doing these things. She needed money to pay off the loan, and she also worried about what might happen to Frank if she were forced to leave him alone out here.
But she couldn’t explain this to her mother since it wouldn’t help matters any. Instead, she simply smiled and changed the subject. “We’ll just see if the doctor arrives tomorrow morning. Then everything will be fine.”
“Yes, of course. We’ll have the wedding planned by next weekend,” her mother said. “Maybe it will bring some peace and harmony to our home.” She paused for a brief second as if she expected an answer. When Morgan didn’t speak, she continued. “I hope your new boss will be a good man and will give you the same kind of respect that Frank has shown you.”
“He seems to be a very nice gentleman. And he did seem eager to hire me.”
Her mother turned and walked away from the table. “Then maybe he’ll be more considerate than Frank.”
Morgan stood and followed her mother to the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with him?” Her mother’s voice echoed down the hallway as she spoke to herself.
Morgan stepped through the doorway and found her mother staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not leaving Frank behind.”
The older woman sighed deeply. “Then we need to make a quick trip to town, and you’ll meet him in person.”
Morgan hesitated, wondering if her mother really wanted this or if it was just her way of getting rid of her daughter. “What if I refuse?”
“If you won’t come with me then stay in the house while I do my shopping.”
Morgan looked down at the ground in front of the door. She couldn’t tell her mother no, especially now that the doctor had arrived. But she was determined to stay clear of men who were only interested in making money, not caring about a woman’s heart.
***
When the doctor stepped out of his office, Morgan waited patiently on the porch. The afternoon sun was shining brightly across the prairie. After several minutes, the door opened and she saw a tall, thin man step out with a brown medical bag strapped around his waist. He wore a white coat and carried a stethoscope in his hand. She noticed that he seemed rather short and wiry.
The door shut and Morgan hurried down the stairs. “Doctor, thank you for coming here.” She offered her hand to shake his and introduced herself. “I’m Morgan. This is my home. My mother asked me to meet you.”
Doctor Johnson glanced down at her hand and smiled. “Thank you, Miss Morgan. It’s good to finally meet you in person.” His eyes moved past her toward the ranch. “It’s a lovely place. So peaceful. Not like the busy town where I practiced before.”
Morgan followed his gaze and realized he wasn’t looking at the house—he was staring at Frank. “Frank!” She quickly rushed down the steps and grabbed his arm. “You have to tell me what’s wrong with him.”
Doctor Johnson shook his head. “Not until we talk first.”
“Talk? To who?”
“Just us,” he said and held open his hands wide as if showing how big they were. “But we can’t have any secrets between us. We are going to be working together, so I think it’s best if we start off on the right foot.”
“Working together?” Morgan repeated. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
Doctor Johnson lowered his voice and glanced over her shoulder before continuing. “As you know, I am here to examine Frank. That should give you time to settle your nerves. You seem anxious and nervous to me. Don’t you trust me to treat Frank?”
“Of course I do.”
“So then you must have some reason why you don’t want to tell me anything about Frank’s condition?”
Morgan swallowed hard and nodded her head slowly. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. “I’d rather not say.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t concern you,” Morgan answered, still holding onto Frank’s arm.
“It concerns me when I have patients I’ve been unable to diagnose,” Doctor Johnson said as if reading her mind. “And I believe you’re withholding information because I’m a stranger.”
Morgan glanced at the door then back at her employer, who stood quietly next to his horse and watched them with an unreadable expression on his face. Then she looked at the doctor again.
“You’re right. Let’s sit down on the porch and talk.”
They walked up the steps and sat side-by-side on the wooden bench. Morgan took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was hiding something. But Frank told me to keep it quiet because of my job—because there is always danger involved.”
The doctor chuckled. “That sounds like Frank.”
Morgan laughed and looked up at him with raised eyebrows.
Doctor Johnson smiled and stared down at her with blue eyes that appeared to be full of compassion. “I understand that you’re concerned about Frank’s well-being. And I also realize you’re afraid I’ll use this information against him.”
She shook her head, feeling uncomfortable that he knew about her secret.
“You have nothing to worry about.” Doctor Johnson lifted her chin with his finger and placed a kiss on top of her forehead. “We are all friends here, aren’t we?”
Morgan smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
Doctor Johnson glanced at Frank, who was resting in a chair on the porch. “How long has he suffered from this illness?”
“Since the day I got the ranch.”
The doctor turned and looked out across the prairie, seemingly lost in thought. “Did he mention anything else that might help me find a cause?”
“He’s tired more than usual.” She paused and studied his profile for a moment. “Maybe he’s getting older and that’s why he’s losing his strength.”
“I see. Is that all?”
Morgan hesitated, trying to come up with another topic to discuss but came up empty-handed. Finally, she blurted, “Doesn’t it bother you being alone on the ranch with such a sick man?”
Doctor Johnson sighed and glanced away from the ranch before turning back to look at her. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do!” Morgan felt her face flush red. “I’m just… I’m new to this.”
Doctor Johnson leaned forward. “New to the area, or new to ranch life?”
Morgan blinked and then frowned. “Ranch life.”
The doctor’s shoulders dropped and he seemed to relax. “Then I don’t think Frank would allow you to leave him unprotected, even though he’s sick.”
Morgan shook her head and laughed. “No, he wouldn’t. He likes to protect me too much. Which means it takes more energy for him to do it.”
Doctor Johnson leaned back in his rocking chair. “I’ll tell you what. I’m curious to see how Frank’s illness affects him during our examination, so I’ll let him decide whether or not it bothers him.”
Morgan smiled. “That’s very considerate of you.”
“You may ask anything you like,” Doctor Johnson said and glanced at Frank, who was still staring off into space. “Anything.”
The End