Birdie's Nest (23 page)

“Of course. I’ve never understood the reasoning behind that practice. They will protect men against disease but allow women to die because their bodies can’t tolerate another pregnancy.” She picked at a loose thread on the hem of her riding skirt. “You know they aren’t one hundred percent effective, don’t you? For generations, couples have had children even when using prophylactics.” Birdie stretched out on the quilt. Propped on her side, she took his arm and pulled him down beside her. “Don’t worry, if we have a baby every year, so be it.”

“But I don’t want you to be pregnant all the time. It can’t be healthy for you.” He twirled a strand of her hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I’ll work out something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll find a way to get condoms.”

“Not at the expense of going to jail, I hope.” She slid into his arms and tilted her face up to his face. “One kiss before lunch.”

He arched a brow. “Just one?”

His wicked smile was almost as arousing as the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth and the heat of his length molded to hers. Her body hummed with a hunger of its own and Tad’s kisses left her seeking more. She needed closer, wanted to touch his skin. Before she could unbutton his shirt, he’d yanked hers out of her skirt and shoved it up to her neck. She giggled. “Are you trying to choke me?”

He rolled to his back, a deep chuckle bursting from his chest. “No, sweetheart, just wanted to touch the beautiful breasts that have fascinated me since I first saw them.”

She propped up on an elbow and pinched his side. “What are you talking about? When have you seen my breasts?”

“Uh, well, the day I pulled you from the river, your dress slipped down and exposed your assets a little.”

She swatted him on the belly. “You dirty old man!”

“Hey, I didn’t sit there and stare, but promptly pulled your gown up so no one else would see your beautiful flesh.”

Birdie snorted. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I promise. My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”

Swallowing the smile that threatened to break out on her face, she quirked an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

He turned back to face her. “I want you something fierce, Birdie. Are you sure we can wait until March to get married? That’s a month and a half away.”

She coughed. “Well, in my time, it’s not uncommon for couples to anticipate the wedding night.”

He grinned. “It’s not totally unheard of in this time either, but sweetheart, our first time will not be on the ground surrounded by cattle munching on grass.”

“Tad, I think you should know, I’m not a virgin. There haven’t been a lot of men in my life, but a few.”

The hands she loved so much cupped her face. “It doesn’t matter…as long as I’m the last.”

* * *

They conceded and allowed Olivia to reserve the church for the second Saturday in March. The woman had made an appointment with a dressmaker to have a gown made. Today was Birdie’s first visit. After viewing a number of fashion dolls and magazines, they’d agreed on a design. The dress was simple—a scooped off-the-shoulder neckline inset with lace, with abbreviated leg-o-mutton sleeves and a form fitting bodice that ended in a v just below her waist. The skirt flared slightly from the hips and back, while hanging almost straight in the front. She’d wear a waist length veil with a crown of flowers.

“But, it’s all so plain, Birdie. Can’t we add a flounce here?” Olivia pointed to the sleeves and then to the dropped bodice seam. “And one here?”

“I’d feel ridiculous in something with flounces.”

The dressmaker interceded. “Mrs. Lockhart, Miss Braxton has chosen a dress perfect for her height and figure. She’ll set tongues wagging and other brides will be copying her dress before the season is over.”

Olivia chewed her lip. “You really think so?”

“I know so. This dress speaks of elegance. I’m overjoyed to be the one to make it as it will bring me lots of business.” She patted Birdie’s hand. “Now, stop back by at the same time in a week so I can make further adjustments.”

Oh goodie. Birdie hated standing still and being poked and prodded, but to be beautiful for Tad, she’d do it. She grinned. Wonder how he’s doing at the tailor’s?

* * *

Tad stepped from the tailor’s shop, grateful to be free to return to the ranch and get to work. He wondered how Birdie was managing with his mother and the dressmaker. He grinned at the idea of Birdie getting trussed up in a bunch of frou-frou. His smile wilted. He hoped they didn’t talk her into something she’d be uncomfortable wearing. Birdie was a beautiful woman, but ruffles and flounces didn’t suit her.

He approached the surrey outside the dressmaker’s. Chester whinnied a greeting. Hank looked up, strode toward him, and handed him a letter. “Some kid delivered this. Said I was to give it to you and tell you it was urgent.”

Urgent? If something had happened at the ranch, one of the hands would have ridden in to fetch him. He ripped it open and read the familiar script. His first instinct was to wad it up and toss it into one of the trashcans along the street, but the word “son” caught his eye.

Tad,

I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I have no choice. I’ve recently delivered your son. If you don’t come take him, I’ll put him in one of the orphanages. I can’t raise him. The choice is yours.

Lucy

A child? His child? If true, why hadn’t she told him sooner, asked for help? He would have provided for both her and the child. An orphanage? No way in hell would a child of his be given away—not while he lived and breathed. His heart thundered in his chest. Could it be true? If so, what would Birdie say? Would she refuse to marry him knowing his relationship with a woman like Lucy had produced a child?

He stuffed the letter into his jacket pocket and mounted Chester. “Thanks, Hank. Tell the women I have business in town and will be home by dinner.” The first thing he had to do was find out if Lucy was telling the truth. And how would he know if the child was his? The timing was right. He’d last been with Lucy on June first, the date he’d pulled Birdie from the Brazos.

Lucy’s home appeared neglected, not the neat little place he’d visited last year. He rode around to the back and put Chester in the lean to—hiding as he’d always done when he’d visited the woman. Only now, shame nagged his conscience. He strode to the back door and knocked. An elderly woman opened the door and invited him in. “I assume you’re Mr. Lockhart.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am. Where are Lucy and the baby?”

“They’re upstairs.” She smirked. “I expect you know the way.”

His heart thundered with each step he took. When he reached the top, he tapped on Lucy’s bedroom door. “Lucy. It’s Tad.”

“Come in.” She lay in bed, a pale comparison to the woman she’d once been. Her beautiful black hair was dull, matted, and in disarray, her skin a sickly color.

“Are you ill?”

She laughed, the sound bitter and unforgiving. “What do you think? Giving birth is hard, but not that hard.” She sighed, deflated, her body sagged against the pillows. “Yes, I’m dying. Doc says a cancer of some sort on my lung.”

Guilt and shame washed over him. She’d been a friend. He shouldn’t have cut her out of his life completely, could have checked on her occasionally. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I wanted to end our relationship, but I’d never wish you ill.”

She coughed and gasped for breath. He lifted a glass of water on the bedside table and held her head as she drank. “Thank you.”

“Can I do anything for you, Lucy, to make you more comfortable?”

“No, not unless you want to put me out of my misery.”

Kill her? No way could he take a human life unless in self-defense or protecting another. She moaned and clasped her chest. A skeletal hand waved at the medicine bottle by the bed. “Add several drops to a glass of water.”

He held the glass for her. She drank it all and shuddered. “Vile stuff but it does help the pain for a short while.” She closed her eyes for a few minutes, and then opened them. “I intended to make you pay for deserting me, Tad, by keeping your child from you. You’d see him around town and know he was yours but not have access to him. I knew I was pregnant at the July fourth celebration. I would’ve told you that night if you’d come to see me.”

Tad dropped into the chair beside the bed, his head cradled in his hands. “I would have helped you if I’d known. You should have sent me a message.”

“Yeah, I should’ve and you shouldn’t have tossed me aside so.”

“We never had an understanding. You know that, Lucy. Our relationship was strictly business.”

She pounded on the wall behind her bed. A moment later a young woman came into the room holding a baby. Tad stood to meet her. She handed him the bundle and he stared down into the blue eyes of his son. His little mouth smacked as he sucked on two fingers. Through tears he examined the baby’s fingers and toes and rubbed the soft down on his head.

Voice gruff, he choked out, “He’s beautiful, Lucy.” Tad didn’t question if the baby was his. There were no identifying features but the tug on his heart was all he needed. This was his son.

Her smile transformed her features, reminding Tad of the beauty she’d once been. “Yes, he is. His name is Nathan.”

“It’s a good name.”

“This is Sarah. She’s been his wet nurse since his birth a month ago. Her own child died shortly after birth.” She closed her eyes. “Go. Take him, and go. Please. I can’t bear losing him and the sooner you’re gone, the better.”

“I’ll love him always, Lucy. I promise you he’ll have a good life.”

“I know.”

Chapter Nineteen

Early in March, Birdie picked up a bunch of men’s cologne samples from Detective Ethan and carried them to the gazebo on the Reservation. Lila met with her first and smelled each of the business cards. She kept returning to one. Finally, she waved it at Birdie. “This is it. I’m sure of it.” She started to turn it over.

“Don’t look at the name on the back. I want to make sure no one else knows which one you selected.”

“I understand. I’ll send Rose out. She’s still pretty shook up. Don’t know how much help she’ll be.”

“Maybe she’ll garner some courage by watching you. You’ve been a big help, Lila. I hope we catch this man and can lock him away.”

Lila stopped in mid-smile, putting her hands to her cheeks. The wounds must pull when she smiled. “I hope so too.” She ran into the house without looking back.

Birdie waited for Rose, and had about given up when she stepped from the dwelling. With her head completely covered, she wrapped her arms in the cloak and pulled it tighter around her. When she stepped into the gazebo, she never looked up at Birdie but kept her head bowed.

“Here, let’s sit down.” On the bench that ran around the small pergola, Rose sat three feet away from Birdie.

“Rose, I’m going to hand you a card. Smell the cologne on it but don’t turn it over and look at the name.” Birdie laid the first card out on the seat between them. Rose unwound her right arm from the cloak, lifted the paper and smelled, and then laid it back down in the same place. “If you think one is it, wait until you’ve smelled them all before coming back to it.”

Rose nodded and proceeded to the next sample. When she’d finished, she lifted two of them again. Finally she lifted one up and held it toward Birdie. “This one.”

“Are you sure? One hundred percent positive?”

“Yes.”

They had a winner. It was the same fragrance Lila had selected. “Thank you, Rose. You’ve been a big help. Do you think you might be up to answering a few questions for me now?”

“I’ll try.”

Over the next thirty minutes, Rose reiterated what Lila had told her—the vulgar words the man used, the mask he’d worn, clawing at his face, knocking his hat off and pulling his hair.

“Good.” Rose peeked up at her so Birdie smiled. “You did real well, Rose. We even found a piece of the man’s hair you’d yanked from his head. It will help us identify him.”

“What’ll the police do to him if they catch him? Nobody cares about us Reservation girls.”

“He’ll be tried and go to prison, I hope for a long time. Your profession shouldn’t have anything to do with his sentence. Guilty is guilty.” Birdie stood and looked at the sky. It was beginning to look like rain so she’d better head home. “You let me and the police worry about this man. Take care of yourself and remember, there are people who can see beyond scars.”

* * *

On the ride back to the station, Birdie pondered the change in Tad’s behavior. She knew something was bothering him and for three nights in a row he’d ridden into town. Surely he wasn’t seeing that Lucy woman? If so, there wouldn’t be a wedding. She wouldn’t marry a man who broke his wedding vows before he said them. No, it had to be something else. Tonight she’d find out what. If he rode out, she’d be on his tail.

After dismounting in the stable at the station, she hurried into Detective Ethan’s office. “We have a match.”

He looked up, eyes sharp. “Shut the door.”

She closed it behind her and sat in the chair facing Lloyd’s desk. “I can’t believe it. Finally.” She took all the envelopes from her bag and laid them out in a row. With her index finger, she tapped the one to the far left. “It’s this fragrance from France—Fougere Royal 1882 by Houbigant.”

Ethan removed the card and smelled. “Ugh, kind of sweet, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and it has a sweet price too. Do you remember where this one came from?”

“I sure do. It’s a small, exclusive men’s shop, only been open a year or so. Their shirts cost as much as my suits. I’ll be speaking with the proprietor first thing in the morning.”

“Can I go with you?”

“I don’t know. You don’t look very manly in that uniform.”

“Would it help if I wore an overcoat over the police outfit?”

He worked his mouth into a variety of contortions while thinking. She’d noticed him doing that before. “On one condition. You take notes and don’t say a word.”

* * *

Tad walked from the jewelry store where he’d just picked up Birdie’s ring. She’d insisted on a plain gold band, but he’d had it engraved inside. He’d almost bought a band for himself but decided he’d rather wear his father’s wedding band instead.