Free Sawbones by Melissa Lenhardt Page B

the eagerness in his voice. “My sister wrote to me about it.”
    “I don’t know the details,” I said, “but it is difficult for me to believe a doctor would kill another person willingly and knowingly.”
    “Come, now,” Sherman said. “People will do anything to survive.”
    “A romantic disappointment is hardly life or death.”
    “It’s hard to believe a woman would be able to kill a man in cold blood,” Cornelius said.
    “How would she be able to overpower him?” Herr Schlek asked.
    “She poisoned him,” Beau said.
    Poison?
    “Then she bludgeoned him with a candlestick to make sure.”
    I didn’t need to look at Maureen to know she was panicking. I had to hope she would stay quiet and no one would notice her fear, or if they did, assume it was from talk of Indians. Her fear of the Comanche was well known to our group.
    “I refuse to believe it,” I said.
    “Why, did you know her?” Sherman asked.
    “No. As I said, I trained in London. I do not believe it because she was a doctor. Our oath is ‘Do no harm.’”
    “You’ve obviously never been crossed in love,” Sherman said with a laugh.
    “I have known plenty of women who have and none of them have murdered their lovers.”
    “What happened to the woman?” Anna asked.
    “She was found murdered a few days later,” Beau said.
    “Just desserts if you ask me,” Sherman said.
    I stood. He was reprehensible. “If you will excuse me, I need to check on the animals.” Maureen rose to follow but I stopped her. “Stay and rest,” I said. We did not need the group to see us walk off and huddle together like criminals. Plus, I needed to be alone.
    Maureen sat back down. Lieutenant Kindle took my spot next to Anna and tried to start a conversation. Cornelius sat next to Maureen. Though she blushed, Maureen stayed put and didn’t look vexed with his presence for the first time.
    I found Púca and Piper asleep on their feet. I put my hand on Púca’s neck to steady myself and took a deep breath. I thought back over the conversation and believed I had handled myself well, given no indication of my connection to the story. And what a story it was. James had not mentioned poison or a candlestick, only a fireplace poker. Which was correct? It didn’t matter. The murderess was dead and it was merely a campfire story for men to tell about the idiocy and weakness of women. I bristled at the idea that jealousy and murder would be Catherine Bennett’s legacy instead of the strength and determination of an intelligent woman succeeding at a man’s profession.
    “Dr. Elliston.”
    Amos Pike walked up, a large wad of tobacco bulging in his cheek and a flask of whisky in his hand.
    “Mr. Pike.”
    “Would you like some?” He leaned against Piper and held the flask out over her neck.
    “Thank you.” I sipped the whisky. I held the back of my hand against my mouth to stifle a cough before handing it back.
    Amos grinned. “Wish I had bourbon to offer you.” He leaned his arms on Piper’s neck.
    I cleared my throat, but my voice still sounded like a croak. “Why?”
    “You give bourbon to people you’re trying to impress. Whisky is for Mexicans, Indians, and old Rangers.”
    “You were one of the best, I hear.”
    “Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.”
    “Are you saying Ester elaborated?”
    He took a long pull from his flask. “I doubt it. Ester’s a fine woman. There ain’t no lie in her.” Amos patted Piper on the neck and stared at the ox without seeing her. “It leaves a mark, witnessing something like that.” He spit tobacco juice on the ground and offered the flask to me. I took another sip. “Ain’t goin’ to apologize for what I done to avenge it, either.”
    “No one is asking you to.”
    Amos drank again and eyed me. “You’re quite a woman”—he paused—“Laura.”
    There was too much emphasis on my Christian name to be coincidental. His smile was sly, but nonthreatening and with a fair amount