He brought the buckskin gelding to a stop and glanced around him. A weighty sigh escaped his lungs as he recognized the green hills and pair of cottonwood trees.
The afternoon air was crisp. He rode alongside her. She was perched atop the gentle bay mare he owned but didn't put a saddle on as often as he'd like. Her hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, and the gentle breeze made her curls dance across her shoulders. Her lips were the color of a sweetbrier, and she had a playful twinkle in her eye.
"You know, I'm not sure it's proper for a lady to be ridin' around out on the prairie with the Marshal like this."
"Say, the only thing not proper about it is that I don't get you out here often enough."
Matt shifted his weight in the saddle with a remorseful shake of his head. He hadn't done a lot of things with Kitty often enough. He hadn't told her how he truly felt. He hadn't told her what she meant to him. He'd assumed she'd known, and he had assumed that was enough.
He bumped his boots against the horse. He needed to ride until she was out of his mind, but he could cover every square mile of Kansas with his compunctions. There wasn't a place he could go in Ford County without a memory of her invading his senses.
Doc's eyes skimmed over the checker pieces scattered over the wooden table and floor. He'd pestered and hounded during their nightly friendly game of checkers. With a shake of his silvery head and a tug of his ear, he glanced at his troubled friend, picking up the battered board.
"You won the game, Matt," he quipped sardonically, waiting for the Dodge City Marshal to calm from the uncommon outburst.
The lawman had been acting out of character for some time. He'd taken a few more risks. He'd been more apt to draw his gun. He seemed to have a death wish. The physician knew there wasn't a cure for heartache.
Matt blew out a frustrated breath and stomped to his desk, rifling through a drawer. He tossed the issue of The Daily Picayune onto the table. "Page nine," he bitterly muttered.
Doc removed his glasses from his pocket, putting them on and flipping through the old newspaper. His thick, unkempt brows rose higher with each sentence he read. "You didn't try to stop her?"
"I told her to marry him," Matt gruffly answered and stepped over the wooden pieces, flopping into the chair.
"You know what I think?"
Matt looked at him. He didn't care what the physician thought, but he knew he'd give his opinion no matter what.
"I think you're a dang fool," he said. He'd lost track of how many times he'd spoken those words over the years. "You make choices – good ones – in the line of duty, but you've never made a good choice when it came to Kitty. You never once thought about what she wanted. A dang fool," he muttered bitterly.
Matt narrowed his eyes, glaring at the older man. "Well, then, that puts you in a pretty tough position because, as far as I know, there's no cure for foolishness."
"No, there isn't," Doc grumbled, standing up and slamming his chair under the table. In a split second, he made a choice of his own.
He trudged up the stairs. His head hurt. He'd dealt with one too many rowdy drunken cowhands. His eyes stung from a lack of sleep, and he'd finally admitted to himself that he needed sleeping powders.
Matt stopped halfway up the stairs, sucking in a breath.
On the top step, she was next to Doc Adams. Chin in her hand. Short dress. Smooth stocking-clad leg peeking out from under her billowy skirts, innocently teasing him.
"Evenin' Kitty," he greeted, courteously taking his Stetson off his head. He spoke to Doc, but he was fixed on the easy lovely way her lips curled into a smile. That smile, the one that always made his heart beat a little faster and marvelously took away all the stresses of his day.
"Help us watch Front Street go by," Doc insisted.
Matt fleetingly glanced behind him and turned his eyes back to the redhead. He had better things to look at than the townsfolk. "You're lookin' pretty tonight, Kitty."
She tilted her auburn head, locking her stunning blue eyes onto his. She appreciated the compliment but wished she heard his praise more often. Perhaps on the boardwalk in the middle of a bright sunny day. "How is it you never tell me that in the daytime?" she teased but had a seriousness in her tone.
He winced. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He wished he could fade into the side of the building.
He sighed, wishing he could travel back in time. He'd tell her she was pretty every morning she woke up in his arms. He pushed the door open, stepping into the dark office.
"Doc?" he called out and lit the lamp.
Matt spotted the notepaper on the desk, swearing under his breath as he read the doctor's scrawl.
Doc Adams squinted in the sunlight bathing St. Charles Avenue. The homes were gleaming and tiered like wedding cakes, sheltered by canopies of leafy green. He breathed in the scents of jasmine and magnolia that floated on the gentle breeze. He swiped his hand over his mustache and remembered the address the clerk at the hotel had given him.
He ambled down the manicured sidewalk, taking in the scenery of magnificent oaks and different architectural styles of the houses as he unhurriedly strolled. He heard overexcited barking and the yowl of a distraught feline. "For heaven's sake!" he hollered, leaping out of the way, losing his balance.
A hand latched onto his upper arm, preventing him from falling into a shrub.
"Monsieur, are you all right?" a devastatingly debonaire gentleman asked.
"Fine, fine," Doc muttered, brushing himself off while glimpsing around for his hat. "Thank you."
The man handed him his crumpled hat. "You're welcome," he replied and considered the old man. "You're not from here."
"No," Doc answered, flapping his porkpie hat against his thigh before popping it onto his head.
"Monsieur, I hope you'll enjoy all my city has to offer," he told him, smiling to reveal perfectly white, straight teeth. "But do stay out of the way of dogs chasing cats," he finished with a wink of a brown eye.
Doc mumbled under his breath and watched the kind stranger confidently stroll down the sidewalk.
She sat at the end of the settee in the parlor. She'd hugged him, kissed him smack on the lips, and poured him cognac into a tulip glass. Kitty had learned what she wanted from him, all the gossip and how her dear friends missed her terribly. She knew he was waiting for the right moment. She imagined his tongue was burning with unasked questions.
As soon as he set eyes on her, he knew the paternity. She couldn't fool him. He knew. She set her teacup down. "Go ahead, Doc. Ask."
"Kitty. How far al—"
"Four months," she answered, noticing the surprised look in his blue eyes.
"Do you have the dates correct?"
She nodded and smoothed her hand over her rounded belly. "Doc, I know the last time Matt and I," she hesitated and bit her lip, thinking of the night shared in the cottage, "the last time in Dodge. It was days before he was shot. Doc, I think…no, I know I'm carryin' twins."
He nodded and rubbed his chin. "Well," he mumbled and critically eyed the swell. The physician tugged on his earlobe. He wouldn't doubt a mother's intuition. "I could examine you, but I left my medical bag in my room."
"All right."
"By golly, Kitty," he hummed and smiled at her. "You're going to be a mother."
"I am."
"Does Henri know?"
"Of course, he knows," she snapped. "Do you think he's blind?!"
"How will you raise a child with a man who's not the father?"
"Henri is the father. All that matters is these babies will be brought up with love."
"Are you going to ever tell Matt?"
She shook her auburn head. "No, Doc."
"Honey, don't you think he should know?"
"Why should he know?"
"He has a right to know."
"He doesn't. He gave away that right when he told me 'what one man won't do another will', Doc."
"Kitty, I—"
"I almost told him. I begged him to listen to me. I told him I had something important to say. I begged that man to tell me he'd give me everything I wanted over the years, but he couldn't." Her voice cracked, dropping an octave. "The way he looked at me, Doc. He told me there was nothing I could say to make him stay here with me."
He watched her swipe a tear from her cheek. "But Kitty," he spoke softly, reaching for her hand.
"Doc, you've argued enough for Matt. More than he would have. I have a man – a husband – that's committed to me and not a badge. Matt won't change. You can't tell him. I won't ever speak to you again if you do," she resolutely concluded.
"All right, Kitty. All right. I won't tell Matt. You have my word," he promised, squeezing her fingers.
"Thank you," she whispered, feeling relief wash over her. Her lips curved into a delighted smile as she heard the front door close and the French term of endearment. "Henri's home. I've wanted you to meet him, Doc. Stay for supper, please. Get to know him."
Doc's eyes broadened with recognition at the sight of the tall, olive-skinned millionaire. He was the stranger that had saved him from falling head long into a bush. He saw the sparkle in Kitty's eyes and the devoted look on Henri Broussard's face. He never thought he'd see the redhead look at another man the way she had looked at Matt Dillon.