Sourdough Creek by Caroline Fyffe Page A

there, sweet. Almost a boyish longing as his dark hair framed his face.
    She glanced away, remembering his warm breath on her ear, his cheek caressing the top of her head. Could this be the same Sam Ridgeway who’d barged into their life only a few days before, offering protection and safe passage?
    “Will do,” he finally replied.
    “We won’t be letting anyone in,” Miss Hershey assured Sam. “Will we…ah, Cassie?”
    Cassie shoved her hands in her pockets and looked at the two lovebirds standing hand in hand. “No, we won’t.”
    The door shut quietly behind the men and the two women stood looking at each other.
    What must Annabelle be thinking? Cassie wondered as she nervously shoved her hair behind her ear and turned back to Josephine. Her clothes and ragged appearance were a far cry from the beautiful picture the nurse made, even in her disheveled state. “What can I do for her now?” She picked up Josephine’s little, limp hand and kissed her fingertips.
    “I think we should remove the damp towels and put dry bedding around her,” Annabelle answered.
    “Annie?” A soft plea came from the other room.
    Annabelle sucked in her breath and ran to her father’s side. Cassie followed.
    “Water.” He whispered the one word so softly Annabelle had to lean close.
    “Here, Daddy.” She lifted his head and held a cup of water to his lips.
    His eyes widened briefly and his last breath came out on a sigh, his head rolling to the side. It knocked the cup from Annabelle’s hand which clattered to the floor, spilling water everywhere.
    “ Daddy ?”
    Frantically, she patted his sallow cheek several times. “Daddy. Daddy!”
    Annabelle’s voice rose higher with each passing moment. She took him by the shoulders and gently shook him. When he didn’t respond, she collapsed onto his motionless chest, crying uncontrollably.
    Hurrying over, Cassie placed her fingers on the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. When she was sure that the poor doctor was indeed dead and nothing more could be done for him, she sat on the side of the bed and rubbed Annabelle’s back, not knowing what else to do.
    Annabelle was inconsolable, her sobs wracking her small frame so violently that they rocked the bed. Her fingers gripped the man’s bedclothes in a tightfisted ball.
    “Here, Annabelle,” Cassie said. She pulled the girl’s stiff body away from her father’s, and turned her in her arms. She held Annabelle tightly, remembering the day her own mother had died. “Go ahead and cry,” Cassie whispered.
    Many minutes passed as Annabelle let her grief flow. Then she quieted and pulled away. Her eyes were vacant, lost. The clock on the mantel chimed softly. Cassie stood and pulled the sheet up over the departed doctor’s head. It hadn’t been that long since she’d done the same for her mother.

 
     
    Chapter Nineteen
     
     
    S am stood just inside the swinging doors, taking in the barroom. It was dingy and dark. It reeked of stale, dirty bodies.
    “Quiet!” the bartender shouted. His wooden gavel banged down several times on the bar top, rattling whiskey stained glasses and dishes soiled with leftover food from the night before. His eyes shone brightly with excitement above his long, gray handlebar mustache. “I will have order here!”
    Jonathan, his elbow dangerously close to the banging gavel, was talking with a farmer. A skinny little man with a wooden leg stood nearby, listening. Two boys, who looked a lot like Jonathan, sat at the other end of the bar, rolling dice. Neither one looked a day over fifteen.
    Bang, bang, bang !
    Jonathan’s face pinched in annoyance and he covered his ear with his hand. “Walter, do you have to pound that thing so hard? We’re all right here.”
    “Yer darn tootin’ I do. This here’s important business. Y’all need t’ shut yer traps.”
    One man, draped across the top of a scuffed-up table in a pile of disheveled playing cards, snored loudly. His partner threw back another