Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sunlight streamed in on Eleanor's face and she cursed, realizing she had forgotten to pull the curtains closed before going to sleep the night before. She moaned as she snuggled deeper into her pillow and pulled the covers over her head.

"If you're awake, I believe we need to have a talk."

Eleanor heart slammed into her ribs as she shot upright in bed, her eyes immediately falling on Doctor Reynolds where he sat in the arm chair pulled close to the bed. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

His expression was tight. "Take a moment to gather your wits. You'll remember."

Frowning, she rubbed at her face and glanced around the room. Her mouth was dry and her head dizzy. Her body felt weak and tired and everything ached. What had happened? An image of Timothy O'Neil came to mind, and with it, the events of the evening before. Eleanor had gotten very ill and she'd lost consciousness. That would explain the docs' presence.

Doctor Reynolds got to his feet and filled a glass of water from a small pitcher beside the door. He placed it in Eleanor's hand and waited as she took several small swallows. "I ran Timothy out of here around two this morning because if the man had paced one more time across this floor he very likely would have fallen through to the saloon below."

Eleanor was confused. Why would Timothy care what happened to her?

"You and I need to have a talk, Eleanor. Timothy wanted answers as to what was wrong with you, as did Caroline. I was as honest with them as I felt I could be. You are malnourished from improper diet. You are severely dehydrated. You're exhausted from lack of sleep. All in all your rather dramatic display of last night was caused in most part by those three things."

Eleanor winced but she was relieved. If the doctor thought that was all that was wrong with her then it meant he hadn't realized she was with child—if anyone found out it could be a disaster.

"I'm sorry, doc. I'll take better care of myself," she promised, taking another long sip of water before setting the cup on the side table. She wrapped the blanket around herself, feeling a chill as she sat there in her corset and bloomers.

Doctor Reynold's heavy graying mustache tugged down at the corners as he took a seat beside her bed once again. "It's too late for the rue to work, Eleanor."

She froze. Her eyes blinked several times. Her heart dropped to her stomach. "What?"

"You heard me. I would guess based on the heartbeat I could hear with stethoscope and the measurements I took, that you are nearing three months along. Rue has to be taken within the first month to be safely effective. To end your pregnancy now would require more of the herb than your body could survive. You would die."

"How... how did you know?" Dear God he knew. That meant others would know. What was she going to do? Eleanor had no idea. How could she be a mother and a whore? It simply wasn't possible.

"Breathe, Eleanor." The doctor reached in his pocket and pulled out a vial of peppermint oil. Pouring several drops on a rag, he held it out. "Breathe this in, it will help with the nausea. You're looking rather green."

Green? Hell. Eleanor did her best to take several steady deep breaths. Doctor Reynolds sighed. "When Caroline came racing into my office last night and told us you had lost consciousness, Lewis panicked. He knew he had given you that rue and he was terrified that you had used too much and done harm to yourself. He admitted to me that he had given it to you and he has been dealt with severely."

Eleanor shook her head. "It's not his fault...."

"It is. As doctors our first and most important duty is to help and heal our patients. Had he taken the time to realize how far along you were, he would have known that in order to have taken enough rue to end your pregnancy, you would have to take an amount that would also end your life. You should have come to me sooner, Eleanor, and I could have helped you."

"And now?" she laid her hand over her stomach as she stared out the window. "What now?"

"Now, you have to make a life for yourself and your child." She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. "I'm going to guess you've been at least two months without your courses?"

Barely hearing his question, she nodded. "Yes."

"I would say by mid to late fall, you will be a mother."

A mother. While part of her heart soared at hearing those words, she knew that part was nothing but a dreamer. Eleanor had no idea what she was going to do.

"Who knows? Does Timothy know...?" She wasn't certain why she didn't want him to know. Why did she care what he would think?

"No one knows except you, me, and Lewis. Lewis and I won't tell anyone. It's not our place. But you should. You have friends. Friends who could help you."

"Friends?"

"Samantha. Zachary. Timothy. I would also do anything I could to help you given your situation."

Eleanor frowned, turning her gaze to the doctor. "Why would anyone help me? It's my own fault for getting with child. I've always taken a tea that prevented it before.. I'm not certain why it failed. No one is going to feel sorry for a pregnant whore, Doctor Reynolds. And no one is going to help me. I've made this bed myself."

"Horseshit." He shoved himself to his feet and grabbed the black leather satchel from beside the chair. "No woman gets herself with child, Eleanor, that does require a male contribution. And you might be a working lady but you are also a lady and you are with child and vulnerable and you need help. There are good people in this world if you'll allow yourself to lean on them."

A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily Eleanor had never leaned on anyone—she had never had the luxury. Doctor Reynolds sighed. "You need to leave this brothel. I have a spare room at my home if you'd like to stay there or I could put you up at the hotel for a time."

"I live here," she countered stubbornly.

"Not anymore. As your doctor I have to insist that you stop working here. If not for your own well being than for that of your unborn child. I saw the bruises." His gaze dropped to her thighs and Eleanor felt her cheeks flame red. "I'm smart enough to know what they're from. Thomas is a violent man and even if he leaves soon, it will only be a matter of time before a drunk or disagreeable man gets too rough with you. I will send Caroline up to help you pack your things. Timothy, I'm quite certain, is probably already pacing the boardwalk outside and I'll let him know you're awake."

"Don't tell them about...." Eleanor swallowed hard.

His gaze softened, at least a little. "I already told you I wouldn't. But I meant it when I said that you should. It won't be long before you start showing and it would be best if they hear about it before then."

Without another word, he opened the door and left the room, closing it with a soft click behind him.

Once she was alone, Eleanor broke down in body wracking sobs that stole her breath. What was she going to do? What could she do? It seemed life had made the decisions for her. She was going to be a mother. She was going to have this child. She had no idea how she would support them both, how she would feed them both. An unmarried whore alone with a child... How was that going to work? Maybe she could have the babe and find a nice family who would want it?

Her heart shattered anew. She didn't want to lose her baby. She realized just how sick she had allowed herself to get. She hadn't been eating, drinking, or sleeping enough. She was lucky that Timothy had been there last night. Timothy O'Neil. She might as well forget any confusing thoughts she was entertaining about that man.

No man would saddle himself with a pregnant whore.

Eleanor dried her tears and rose from the bed. There was no point in sitting around crying and feeling sorry for herself. Life was what it was and it was her fault that she had made hers so much harder recently.

Eleanor would get dressed, pack her meager belongings, and move in to the doc's house for now. Tomorrow would worry about tomorrow—for now Eleanor just needed to get through today.

***

Timothy watched Doctor Reynolds walk toward his home and he turned his gaze to stare up at The Hackney Saloon and Brothel. The doc had let him know that Eleanor was awake and feeling better inside and Timothy was relieved. The doctor had made it seem like she would be just fine given proper food, water, and rest. Why had she made herself so ill to begin with?

Glancing down the road, Timothy knew he needed to find Samantha and Zachary so he could tell them what had happened. Samantha would want to know that Eleanor was sick. Eleanor and Sam were friends, weren't they? And Zachary needed to know that Thomas Williamson wasn't cooperating with his demands. While Timothy would do all he could to keep his best friend from killing the other man—it was still his hope that Zachary could intimidate the bully into leaving once and for all. Not to mention he needed to apologize to his best friend for trading that watch. There simply hadn't been any other way to buy Eleanor's safety for the night.

While part of him wanted to see Eleanor first, Timothy knew it wasn't his place. Doctor Reynolds had already sent Caroline to her room to tend to her and that was who Eleanor needed. Eleanor didn't know him, not really. All Timothy was to her was some dirty cowhand from the saloon who had paid her several times to shove himself inside of her and then walked off. Why would she want to see him?

So instead, he headed down the road toward the hotel. It was nearly eight in the morning. The crew would be heading out to the ranch soon to work for the day and yet Timothy was pretty sure Zachary and Samantha were still locked up in their hotel room. Young love. It made him both immeasurably happy for his best friend and a bit jealous of him all at the same time.

He went to their hotel room door and knocked twice. "Who is it?" Came Zachary's voice from inside.

Timothy clicked his tongue. "Someone who would rather you don't shoot him since I know you're probably standing on the other side of the door with your gun out."

The door was opened and there stood Zachary with annoyance on his face as he holstered his revolver. "Are you checking up on us? We were getting ready to head out."

Timothy nodded, glancing at Zachary and realizing that both him and Samantha appeared dressed and ready to start their day. Before he could say anything, Samantha stepped forward, placing several small pins in her hair. "Tim, what's wrong? You don't look like you've slept at all."

Timothy's entire body sagged as he realized just how tired he was. "I haven't."

Samantha took his hand and led him into the room, pointing to the arm chair and pushing him down on it. She fussed over him like a mother fussing over a child as she poured him a glass of water and placed it in his hand. Zachary simply closed the door and stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "Okay, now what's going on, Timothy?" Samantha asked, perching herself on the edge of the bed and watching him with concern.

Timothy sighed. "I went to the brothel last night."

"Is that why you didn't sleep?" Zachary spoke up, nearly causing Timothy to chuckle. It seemed his friend was regaining the sense of humor life had stolen from him for a time.

"Actually yes," Timothy replied, a ghost of a smile curving his lips at the sight of the blush that colored Samantha's cheeks. "I went hoping to spend time with Eleanor."

"Eleanor?" Samantha sat up a little straighter. "I ate lunch with Eleanor just yesterday. She didn't seem okay but she wouldn't open up to me about what was wrong."

Timothy rubbed his face. "She's not. She got real sick in the saloon and I ended up carrying her up to bed. She lost her stomach a couple times, couldn't stand on her own two feet, and her entire body shook like a leaf—and then she lost consciousness. I ain't never been so scared in my life."

"What?" Samantha leapt to her feet. "Is she okay?"

Timothy held up his hands. "The doc said she's awake this morning. I sent Caroline to fetch him last night and I stayed in the room most of the night until Doc Reynolds finally ran me off around two."

"I'm gonna go check on her." Samantha went to the door. She paused in front of Zachary, rose on her toes, and kissed his jaw. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replied quickly. One arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tighter against him. "Watch out for Thomas."

"He won't find me so easy to bully anymore," she promised, drawing Timothy's attention to that gun belt around her hips. With one final goodbye to Zachary, Samantha left the room.

"What else is going on, Tim?"

Timothy got to his feet now that Samantha's motherly presence was gone. "Thomas wasn't happy last night. I tried to scare him but he doesn't seem real intimidated by me. I don't think he's taking your threat seriously. I had to buy his cooperation to keep Eleanor untouched last night..."

"But you said she was unconscious?"

Timothy's fists clenched. "She was. He said most men don't care."

"That son of a bitch." Zachary shoved himself off the wall and adjusted the rifle on his back. "Let's go have a goddamn talk with Thomas Williamson. And then you're going to tell me why Eleanor is so important to you and why you're sad lately."

"Sad?" Timothy asked, having no choice but to chase after Zachary because the man was already striding away.

"Samantha noticed yesterday that you seemed sad. I didn't pay enough attention to see it then but I see it now."

Timothy chose silence—one of the first times in his life that he had done so. He wasn't in any hurry to have the conversation that Zachary was speaking of. Timothy had no idea his answers would be to the questions Zachary asked. As they stepped into the early morning air outside, Timothy cleared his throat. "Hey Zach? Remember I said I had to buy Thomas' cooperation?"

"I do have a decent short term memory, Tim."

Timothy swallowed hard. "I didn't have any money, Zach... All I had was the watch."

Zachary paused, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he stared hard at Timothy for a moment. Timothy had no idea what was going through the man's mind. His jaw tightened until it popped, his fists clenched, and without a word, Zachary pointed his boots toward the brothel and strode that way.

"Hey Zachary!" One of the men from the building crew from the lumberyard came jogging to them. "We're ready to head that way if you are."

Zachary shook his head. "You go ahead and get started without us. Just continue laying out the foundation the way we agreed yesterday. I'll be out when I'm able."

"Alright then, boss, you got it." The man jogged away.

"Zachary?" Timothy spoke up as Zachary was once again one the move. Zachary merely grunted. "What do you plan on doing to Thomas?"

A low growl rolled from his chest. "Talking. We're gonna have a nice long talk."

***

Zachary let the swinging door of the saloon slam against the wall as he threw it open and stepped inside. He entered the empty saloon, and glanced up at the landing to see Samantha, Eleanor, and Caroline making their way toward the staircase. Eleanor had luggage in her hand and Samantha carried a bag over her shoulder. It appeared Eleanor was moving out.

"Thomas Williamson!" he called out, his gaze leaving the women and going to the door that would lead up toward the apartment Thomas called home.

That door slowly opened and Thomas peeked out—greatly resembling a rat. Zachary nearly laughed out loud when he saw the revolver in Thomas' hand. "I don't want any trouble with you, Zachary Marston. Marshal Oxley let me know I can kill you if you come in my place of business and threaten me."

"It would take more than you to murder me," Zachary assured him. He crossed his arms over his chest and motioned Thomas forward. "Come here. We need to have a talk."

Thomas didn't holster his weapon as he stepped forward, though Zachary noticed he didn't have it pointed at him either. It seemed his bravery had its limits. Coming to a stop about five feet from Zachary, Thomas swiped his hand over his trembling mustache. "What do you want, Zachary? I ain't touched any of these damn women or done a damn thing for you to see fit to come in here slinging threats over."

Zachary simply held out his hand palm up. Thomas frowned. "What?"

"Give me the goddamn watch."

Those beady dark eyes blinked several times. "No. No, that watch was payment."

Zachary sighed. Wrong answer. Closing the hand that was held out, Zachary swung without warning and knocked Thomas in his jaw, which was still a bit swollen from the last punch he had sent into it. Thomas stumbled sideways, clutching at his face. He made a move to aim that revolver in his hand and Zachary rolled his eyes before reaching out and snatching the gun from his trembling fingers. From the corner of his eye, he realized that Samantha had pulled her revolver as well. She holstered it slowly and Zachary knew he'd be having a talk with that woman later. Just because she had a gun didn't mean she needed to be pulling it that way—folks who pulled guns were taking a chance on getting guns aimed back at them. If he ever saw anyone place gunsights on that woman Zachary would probably slaughter them with his bare hands. Slowly.

"Hold this," he said, giving the piece of iron and wood to Timothy who simply nodded and stuck it in the waist band of his pants. "Let's try again, Thomas. Give me the goddamn watch."

Thomas was clearly angry but he was also very clearly terrified. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the watch that had once belonged to Zachary's father. Zachary kept his movements slow and deliberate as he took the watch from Thomas' outstretched hand. "That watch was payment."

"Yeah, a payment Timothy gave you so that you would leave a woman untouched. A woman who was ill, unconscious, and helpless." Zachary shook his head and laid that watch in his best friends' hand. "You're lucky Timothy didn't just kill you instead. You're lucky I don't kill you."

"I'm tired of the threats," Thomas warned, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

"And I'm tired of you not heeding them."

"Dammit, I've left Samantha alone!"

"I told you to leave town, Thomas."

"You said I had a month."

"I changed my mind. I want you on either a train or a stagecoach out of here no later than tomorrow evening. That gives you all day today and tomorrow to find someone to sell this place to and make a bit of your money back. Don't let it ever be said I'm unreasonable."

Zachary turned his back on Thomas. He was done talking. He waved for the ladies to come down the stairs. "Are you leaving?" Timothy asked, stepping forward and pulling the small suitcase of belongings from Eleanor's hand when they reached the saloon floor.

Zachary saw the surprise on Eleanor's face. The woman didn't look well. She was far too pale and those dark circles around her eyes could pass as bruises. "I'm going to the doctor's house. He has a room there..."

"Well let's go then." Zachary motioned for the door. He gave Thomas his back, refusing to give the man another moment of his time as he followed everyone out the door.

"Timothy, my gun!" Thomas called out.

Timothy paused in the doorway, causing everyone else to pause behind him as well. He glanced back at Thomas and pulled the gun from his waistband. "Catch."

Thomas' mustache blew wildly with his exaggerated exhale as he fumbled for the weapon, barely managing to keep it from clattering to the floor. Zachary tensed a bit, waiting for Thomas to attempt to aim that weapon. Slowly, Thomas holstered the gun.

Zachary decided he had once more thing to say to the saloon owner. "You have until tomorrow. If you aren't gone by seven we'll be meeting on the street and settling this for once and for all, Thomas. Consider yourself challenged."

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! More Eleanor/Timothy interaction will be taking place in the next chapter! Do you think Thomas will heed Zachary's warning this time or will it come down to a duel in the street?  As always I love hearing y'alls comments and feedback! Thank you for reading!