Chapter Seventeen
Heath was vaguely aware of voices in the room, but as he tried to turn toward them a burning pain seared through his left hip. He let out a strangled cry, and heard a woman – Sarah? – gasp; then a male hand raised up his head. The man's other hand brought a glass up to Heath's lips, and he tried to pull away, as the medicinal smell hit his nostrils. However, the man was strong, and Heath didn't have the strength to resist, and before long Heath was caught in a forced sleep.
When he woke again he felt clearer in the head, and noticed the sun coming through the window. Heath took note of his surroundings, feeling the smallness of the bed with its iron frame and plain white bedding. The window on the side was slightly open, letting an almost cold breeze in. The curtains, made of blue muslin, fluttered slightly as the wind blew. He didn't recognize where he was, and attempted to sit up.
"Agh!" Heath exclaimed, as the hot pain that he remembered occurred in his left hip. He gritted his teeth and struggled to move.
"No, Heath don't." Sarah was at his side, admonishing him in a soft voice. "The doctor will be here in just a minute, and he can help you; you're lucky the damage isn't any worse than what it is." Heath didn't understand what she was talking about, even as he kept on trying to sit up.
"Stop it Heath! You'll tear your stitches." Sarah almost snapped at him, and Heath suddenly went very still. Why did he have stitches? He asked himself, and then added where am I? Heath looked over at Sarah, who was sitting beside him, worry in her eyes.
The last thing he remembered was being at the cemetery – the cemetery! Heath now recalled how and why he'd been there, standing over Logan's grave. The shot; yes, he'd been shot at, had come out of nowhere. Before he could think of anything else, a grey-haired man came into the room.
"I see that our patient is up or at least trying to get up." The voice was genial, and Heath noted the twinkle in the unknown man's eyes. "Let me introduce myself, I am Dr. Cliveden and this is my clinic. You were brought here after being shot, I took that bullet out of you "The doctor went on to give explain what he'd done.
"So as of now you have over a dozen stitches in your hip, and will be restricted in your movements for the next week or so. Within days you can walk, slowly and carefully, with a cane on flat surfaces at first." The doctor stated, and Heath found himself groaning as the words sunk in to his mind.
"Doctor no, I have too much to do." Heath thought about his plans for Georgetown, and the mines, all of which he needed to inspect. It was those thoughts that made him try to move again, but the doctor put his hand on Heath's chest, forcing him down. The twinkle left the doctor's eyes, as he issued his warning.
"Young man you are very lucky! If that bullet had gone two inches to the right you would have been paralyzed." Doctor Cliveden replied firmly, giving him a stern look. "Not only would you have been paralyzed, but you would never know the joys of fatherhood. Instead I suggest you thank your lucky stars and do as you are told and be grateful for the second chance you have." The last words were delivered with firmness, and Heath could almost swear that Sarah's countenance wore a pleased expression for just a minute. It was gone so fast he wondered if he'd really seen what he'd thought; so far nothing had been what he'd expected.
It was the thought of Sarah that made him realize all the events of the funeral, and the fact that he had not told Sarah about his plans. Heath admitted that some of his reticence was because in his mind, Logan was his friend, and part of his past. He hadn't seen any reason to drag Sarah into the affair, and upset her with references to his experience in the war.
There was also a part of him that didn't want to deal with Sarah's reaction to his involvement with Logan. Heath knew that Logan was the cause of fight between him and Sarah, and he didn't want to open up the discussion again. The issue of what to tell Sarah about the funeral had been solved by her being invited to lunch by Adam Cohen. In truth Sarah should never have known about him being at the cemetery, if not for the bad luck of him being shot.
"Sarah, I need to explain something to you." Heath waited until, after the doctor had helped him sit up and left the room, to broach the subject. Sarah though handed him some tea, which he didn't want but drank to keep her happy. He knew that he owed her an explanation, especially since Nick and Priscilla had been at the cemetery.
"You remember how I told you that Logan was someone I knew a long time ago, before I came to the Valley?" Heath forced the words out, feeling discomfort at having to open up about his past. He noted that Sarah was regarding with a bland expression, her hazel eyes flat even as her lips smiled slightly. "After he died I felt like I owed him a proper burial, but I didn't want to upset you about his death." Yes, Heath thought, this was the proper approach to take with Sarah; he was looking out for her.
"I understand Heath." She smiled kindly, which took Heath aback. Sarah should have been upset; or getting upset about his not being upfront with her. Instead she was calm and accepting, which made him wonder if it was just because of his wound. It came to him then that Nick and Priscilla would have told her about the funeral. Heath wondered what they had said to Sarah.
"Listen, Nick and Priscilla were at the cemetery because they were visiting Joseph and Hester's mausoleum." He stated, wanting to see what her reaction would be, not wanting to explain how Nick had involved himself in the matter.
"Heath, you need to focus on getting well" Sarah tilted her head, concern apparent in the puckered brow and pursed lips "they explained everything that had happened at the cemetery." She took his hand and held it in hers. "I think it is very noble what you did for your old friend, but now you need to eat something and rest." Sarah added, and Heath started to wonder what was really going on with his wife, as her calm demeanor was out of character.
However before he could explore it further Dr. Cliveden's wife returned with breakfast, which was scrambled eggs. Heath wasn't terribly hungry, but knew that he should eat something. He soon found himself feeling tired, and let Sarah help him get comfortable in bed.
It was two days before Dr. Cliveden let him leave the surgery, and Heath wasn't sure if he was glad to get out of there. Sarah's behavior had not changed which Heath put down to being at the surgery, with people around. Heath was sure that when they were at their private quarters in the hotel Sarah and he would have an argument about the funeral.
The instigator of the shooting, when he first heard about it was pleased; Abner had finally completed the job. The well-dressed man was feeling good anyway, having decided he didn't need to worry about the journal his nemesis had been keeping. That journal contained a record of every transaction he'd done, and if it came to light it would mean arrest and prosecution; an end to his career and life.
Using the excuse of the furnishings in Hester's house being packed up, he had entered the house in broad daylight. If someone had asked him why he was there, he had a legitimate reason to state, but he hadn't needed it. There were enough people coming and going that no one paid him any attention. His cold eyes appraised any likely hiding places, mentally noting them to search later.
He went to the house that evening, having made sure the night guard was over at the saloon. It was quick work to check the locations he'd seen earlier. The last place he looked was the armoire in the guest room; he had noted earlier in the day that it didn't seem to open which struck him as very odd. Wanting to be prepared he'd brought a small crowbar and made quick work of opening the doors.
All he saw were some old gowns and empty hat boxes – he knew they were empty because he looked in each one. It then came to him that his nemesis probably kept the journal in a safety deposit box. Hester was someone who liked to have insurance in all situations, as he knew to his determent. The box had not come to light with her estate, therefore, he reasoned, it must be under an assumed name. In that case, he smiled evilly to himself, it would never be found, since Hester was dead.
So in the afternoon, when he heard about Heath's shooting and surgery, he was sure that the other thorn in his side would soon be gone. The well-dressed man had informants all over town, and knew everything that was happening. It was as he was sitting down to dinner that his oriental houseman brought a sealed envelope that had been delivered by anonymous courier.
The opening of the envelope ruined his appetite; Heath was not dying and in fact would make a full recovery. The well-dressed man – he always sat down to dinner fully dressed, even if he did live alone – pushed his food away and moved quickly to his study. He shut the door, and after locking it drowned two large shots of scotch, before hurling the glass into the fireplace.
His anger intensified the next day, as he tried to find Abner and this time beat him as he'd wanted to last time. However, Abner was in the wind, and at first no one knew where he could have gone. Another informant, the next day came up with the information Abner had bought a train ticket to Sheridan, Wyoming. The instigator put no stock in that information as Abner would not go to Wyoming in his opinion. It was too rural for a city dweller such as the assassin was; rather he thought Abner had doubled back and headed for Chicago or New Orleans. Good riddance was the well-dressed man's thought, not wanting to waste the time to deal with Abner who would get his just desserts in the end.
Instead, on the third day, a new idea came to him, one that filled him with pleasure and excitement. Instead of paying someone to kill Heath Barkley, he would do it himself! He was perfectly placed to commit the act, with no one suspecting anything, provided he was careful. The next several days were spent drawing up different scenarios of how he could kill Heath.
His plans were helped by the fact that they would take place in Georgetown, where the instigator knew accidents were commonplace. The well-dressed man had been successful in business, because he had always taken the time to think through his every move. He used that skill now to put into piece what would be a bigger coup d'etat than anything he'd executed in the boardroom. The man's eyes gleamed with a menacingly evil as he pondered his different scenarios of death for Heath Barkley.