Chapter Twenty-Nine

Confusion. That was the main thing Eleanor felt as Timothy led her into Doctor Reynold's office. Lewis looked up from behind the counter and his guilt filled his expression as his eyes widened. "Hello Miss Eleanor."

Eleanor prayed the man would keep his mouth quiet. She didn't need Caroline, Timothy, Samantha, or Zachary finding out her secret. Not here. Not like this. "Hello Lewis. Is Doc Reynolds here? He said there was a room I could use..."

"He had to go make some house calls, but I can show you to the room."

Lewis reached out for the suitcase in Timothy's hand, but the other man held it closer and waved his hand. "Show us the way, Lewis."

Eleanor didn't have time to wonder at the oddity that was Timothy O'Neil's behavior. The man was a puzzle and Eleanor had never been good at solving puzzles. Lewis simply nodded and led them through the back of the store and up a staircase to the Doctor's living quarters.

He opened a door off the kitchen and motioned them to enter. "This is the room. The blankets and sheets are all fresh on the bed—he had me change them this morning. That wardrobe is empty if you want to hang your things. There's that small dresser that's yours to use and I can bring you up some water for your wash basin..."

"Thank you, Lewis." Eleanor hoped he would understand the dismissal. She was so very tired—and every moment he spent around the four people with her was another moment he might accidently let her secret slip.

"Right." His expression was tight and she suspected he was fighting tears. Dear Lord, that was something Eleanor certainly didn't need. She knew he must be feeling guilty over giving her that rue the day before but he had no need to be sorrowful—she would talk to him later. "I'll let you get settled in."

Lewis quickly left the room leaving several curious glances behind him. Zachary cleared his throat and rolled his shoulder. "If no one else needs me, I'm going to go wait outside."

Eleanor would have laughed if she had had any kind of good humor in her at the moment. Zachary appeared completely awkward. Clearly the guard dog had realized there was no one that needed attacking at the moment and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

"If you're okay here, I'll head back to the saloon," Caroline spoke up as well. "I need to check on the other girls now that Thomas has been riled up."

"You won't have to worry about that son of a bitch much longer," Zachary promised, his voice practically snarling with the rage he felt toward the saloon owner. Eleanor didn't miss the way Samantha laid a gentle hand on his arm or the way her touch did indeed seem to soothe his temper. "He'll be gone by tomorrow evening one way or the other."

"Eleanor, I'm going to walk Zachary out," Samantha spoke up, laying the bag of belongings she'd been carrying onto a small arm chair. "I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you."

"I'm really okay," Eleanor insisted.

Samantha's smile was gentle. "I'll come back and check on you just the same."

And just that quickly, Eleanor found herself alone with Timothy O'Neil. He sat her suitcase down at the foot of the bed and shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "It's a nice room you've got here. It was nice of the doc to offer it to you."

Eleanor nodded, glancing around. The furniture was polished until it shone and quite delicate. The wood floor gleamed and the plush rug felt like a cloud beneath her feet. It truly was a nice room—the nicest that Eleanor had ever had. "Yes. It was very nice of him." And it was. But it also made her suspicious. Why would the doctor help her? And what would he expect in return?

Eleanor's stomach turned as a wave of nausea swept over her. Her legs weakened and she reached out of the bed post. Timothy was at her side in an instant. His hands were gentle as he steadied her on her feet, guided her to the bed and sat her down upon it. "Should I go get Lewis and let him look at you?" he offered, the panic she had heard in his voice the night before edging its way back in.

Eleanor shook her head. "I'll be okay."

Timothy didn't say a word as he grabbed the ceramic water pitcher and walked out of the room. Eleanor wondered where he'd gone and she wondered more why she found herself wishing he would come back. She did not have to think long on those puzzling thoughts because Timothy returned within moments carrying that pitcher, now full of water. Some of the droplets ran down the dark floral sides and dripped on the rug.

Grabbing a clean glass off the bedside table, Timothy filled it with water and held it out to her. "You need to drink. And you need food. I'll go get you some breakfast."

"Stop," Eleanor snapped, causing Timothy to pause and frown. "Please just stop."

"Stop what?"

Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the toes of her worn ankle boots. "Did you truly trade your watch to Thomas?"

"Uh..." He shifted his feet and let out a long sigh before going to the arm chair, moving the bag out of it, and sitting down. "Yeah, I did. Thomas made it clear he wasn't going to back off without some form of compensation."

"And the watch is special?"

"Yeah. It belonged to Zachary's father. I'm guessing you know about what happened to his family?"

"I think everyone in town knows about the Marston family."

Eleanor never glanced up from her shoes, but she could see Timothy out of the corner of her eye. He sat back in the chair, rubbed at his face with one hand and tapped at his thigh with the other. "You haven't been around long enough to know that I was raised from the age of ten by the Marston's. My own pa died when I was real young and my mama was a cold woman who never did seem overly fond of having a child—and when she remarried, that man didn't like seeing proof of the man who had come before him living in his house. Zachary's folks saw the bruises and took me in. When they were murdered, I lost my family too. Nobody had been in that house since that day but Zachary recently found the watch and he gave it to me so I could have something to remind me of the only real family I ever had."

Eleanor took several long moments to let that information soak in. She had no idea that Timothy had such a sad backstory. He had always seemed fun-loving, quick to laugh, a bit of a goof when he played cards and raised hell in the saloon. He hadn't seemed like a man who took anything in the world very seriously—but he certainly seemed serious just now.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you trade something so valuable just to help me?"

"Why wouldn't I? When it comes right down to it, it's just a watch. You're a person." His words carried such certainty—as if he worried for her sanity for even asking the question.

"But why do you care? I'm a whore in a brothel and you've paid for my services a few times. We've never had any real conversation. People don't just help people for no reason, Timothy."

"You needed my help so I helped you." His voice was tight causing Eleanor to sneak a glance at him. There was sadness etched so deeply on his face, it nearly stole her breath. "And I'm sorry for the times I treated you with anything less than respect."

Her laughter rang out but it was humorless and hollow. "Respect? You paid for my services and I never wore bruises from your hands so I would say that's respect enough."

Timothy let out a long, tired sigh. Eleanor realized he looked exhausted. Had he slept last night? She remembered that the doc said he had run Timothy out of her room around two in the morning. "We'll just have to disagree on that," he muttered.

"Don't pity me for what I am." Eleanor snapped. "I am a whore and I won't apologize for that. It provided me a good life—or a better one than I would have had otherwise."

Timothy shrugged. "I'm not the judgmental type, ma'am, and I wouldn't judge you. You seem to be judging me awful hard though. I didn't help you for any other reason than it seemed like the right thing to do. I'll go get you some breakfast."

"No. Don't. Just go, Timothy." Eleanor didn't understand the man or her own thoughts surrounding him. She wanted so badly to believe that maybe he was simply good. That maybe he was interested in knowing her—the real her. Because if that was the case then it might also be possible that somehow, someday, someone might be able to love her. Falling in love sounded nice. It also sounded like a dream and Eleanor had never been the type to fall for pretty dreams. "I'm sure you have things to do. Samantha was going to come back and I'll have her get me something."

She was no longer looking at Timothy but she didn't have to in order to feel his tension as he stood in the doorway. "I don't mind buying you something to eat, ma'am."

"I don't want to owe you anything," she countered. "You've done quite enough for me and I do thank you."

"I don't want your thanks."

Finally, she met his gaze. Those green eyes which were usually full of light and good-nature were tired, sad, and dull. His boyish face was drawn. Eleanor wanted to scream but she kept her voice quiet. "What do you want from me?"

Timothy shook his head. "Not a damn thing."

And then Eleanor was alone.

***

The moment fresh air hit his face, Zachary pulled Samantha into his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. The last thirty minutes had left him on edge and tense but holding his woman close soothed him. Samantha's soft, tiny body relaxed against him and her hands rested low on his back, simply allowing him to hold her for as long as he wanted.

"I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, Zach."

Slowly, Zachary pulled away. The last thing he needed was for someone to come wag their tongue about the display of affection—Zachary would probably simply knock teeth out without hesitation if anyone came up to them with something negative to say.

Samantha laid a gentle hand on his cheek and he leaned into her touch shamelessly. "What do you need? Do you want me to go tell Gavin I won't be working today and you and I can saddle the horses and slip away? We could spend the day out riding together."

Zachary groaned. Damn, that sounded good. Samantha never failed to amaze him—she seemed to read him like a book and know exactly what he needed. Unfortunately, he had to turn her offer down. "As much as that sounds like my idea of heaven, I can't."

She didn't look disappointed. Instead, her gaze was knowing. "Your best friend needs you, doesn't he?"

Zachary rubbed at his neck. "Unfortunately," he muttered. "You were right, yesterday. Something is wrong with Tim and I've never seen him quite like he's been lately. He's been there for me, so I reckon it's only right that I be there for him."

"I hope you can help him," Samantha said, glancing toward the doctor's office. "I hate knowing that he's hurting. Do you think it has something to do with Eleanor?"

"It certainly seems that way," Zachary replied, taking her hand and holding it gently in his own. "But he hasn't mentioned her a single time so I don't know for sure."

"Eleanor seems different lately too. I tried to get her to open up to me yesterday but she wouldn't."

"Looks like we both have a job to do today then, don't we? I'll talk to Tim and you talk to Eleanor. I'd say you'll do better than I will. You make everyone around you better."

"My poor Zachary." Samantha's tone was teasing even as her face reddened at his praise. "I know how much you aren't looking forward to a talking about feelings."

He shivered. "I'm truly not. Especially with Tim. Once the man does open up and begin talking, it's likely he'll never stop."

Her light laughter filled the air even as Zachary moved her out of the way of a group of rowdy children that were barreling down the boardwalk in the direction of the schoolhouse. "How about this? How about, since I know you're going to have a hard day, we agree that tonight when you pick me up from work, we go back to the ranch, wash off in the river, eat a supper of whatever you've got stashed in those saddlebags and sleep all wrapped up around each other under the stars?"

"That sounds damn good to me, Sam."

She rose on her toes and kissed his jaw. Zachary's hands went to her hips and the gun belt that was resting there. That reminded him....

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?" she asked, laying her head against his chest.

"I don't want to see you pull this damn gun again when I'm right there to do the gun pulling."

She stiffened a bit and took a step back. Those green eyes narrowed as she met his gaze. "What are you talking about?"

He didn't back down as he held her gaze. "At the saloon when I was dealing with Thomas. I saw you pulling your gun. Don't be doing that."

"Don't boss me around, Zachary Marston. I had to do something. You didn't seem to be too eager to pull your gun and he seemed ready to shoot you."

"I'm not afraid of many things, Samantha. Thomas Williamson certainly doesn't make that list. He wasn't a threat to me and I don't need your protection."

Her eyes narrowed to barely more than slits as her lips formed a thin line. Zachary held up his hand to silence whatever she'd been about to say. "I protect you. Not the other way around. You won't win this argument."

A whoosh of air left her lungs as her gaze went skyward. "As far as I'm concerned there is no argument. I have a gun, I know how to use that gun, and I will use that gun to keep not only myself but also the man I love, safe. If that's a problem for you then that is something you need to work out for yourself."

Damn stubborn woman. Was everything always going to be a battle of wills? Zachary laid his hand over his own revolver and thought carefully about what he wanted to say. "When you pull a gun, you make yourself a target for every other person around who has a gun. I bought you that gun so you could protect yourself if necessary when I'm not around to protect you. I promise you that I am more than capable of protecting myself." He glanced around to ensure no one else was within listening distance, swallowing hard at the image his next words brought to mind. "I've seen the bloody bodies of too many people I love, Samantha. I'm not eager to see anymore."

Samantha stepped forward, took his hands, and offered a gentle smile. "I love you, Zachary. I understand how you feel and I respect your fears—but that won't stop me from doing what I feel I need to do to keep you safe. Remember, I've seen the bloody bodies of too many people I love as well and I can't add yours to that list."

Zachary felt the fight leave him. Hell, he didn't want to fight with Samantha—never with Samantha. She had every right to be overprotective of him just the same as he was with her. Sam had lost her entire family too. Zachary pulled her close and kissed her brow. "You won't ever lose me, sweetheart."

"Speaking of.. Are you honestly going to duel Thomas tomorrow?"

Zachary chuckled. "It won't come to that. Cowards don't duel in the street. He'll leave."

"What if he doesn't? What if he has Marshall Oxley help him and doesn't fight fair?"

Zachary sighed and laid a kiss to her soft red curls. "Then I'll deal with it. If I thought either of those men were any real and credible threat, I would be handling things differently. They're cowardly bullies, Sam, and nothing more. I've spent the last five years chasing and dealing with men far worse than either of them."

Samantha just held onto him a little tighter but said nothing. He knew she was worried but he wasn't lying to her. Those two men were vile, disgusting wastes of humanity, but they weren't cold-blooded murderers. They weren't going to shoot him in the back and they certainly didn't have the guts to shoot him from the front. Zachary was no fool. He had thought things through.

The sound of approaching footsteps had Zachary pulling away and turning quickly. Hell, Timothy looked rough. His expression was drawn. Exhaustion lined his eyes and heaviness hung on his shoulders. It was a shock to Zachary to see Timothy look that way—the man had always been unflappably upbeat and good-natured.

"You ready to get to the ranch?" Timothy asked, adjusting the brown vest he wore over his blue shirt.

"Sure." Zachary gave Sam one more quick kiss. "Be careful today. Thomas has had his pride hurt again. Don't wander alone."

"I won't. I promise." She turned to Timothy and wrapped him in a warm hug. "I don't know what's wrong, Tim, but remember I love you, okay?"

Zachary saw the way Timothy's face brightened, even just a fraction, as he patted Samantha on the back. Sunshine. That damn woman was sunshine. "I love you too, Sam."

Samantha disappeared into the doc's house, leaving Zachary and Timothy alone on the boardwalk. "Well let's go get the horses," Zachary urged, starting on his way toward the livery. "And you can get to telling me why you look worse than that hound pa used to have."

Timothy fell in step beside him. "The one with one eye, busted teeth, and a heavy limp?"

Zachary nodded, glancing up toward the rising sun. "Yeah. That one." 

A/N: Timothy is hurting and I don't like it. What have I done? This must be reconciled.