LITMIR.BIZ

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finally said, in a tone that reminded Rebecca of Andrew when he had to take a bath. It was good to see her awake and snapping at the doctor. It was good to have her back.

      Feeling much relieved, she walked the doctor to the door.

      “Now try to keep her in bed,” he admonished quietly.

      “I heard that,” Ruth called, and they both smiled. “She’s gonna be all right, Mrs. Tinsdale,” the doctor said, with a reassuring grin and a pat on the shoulder. “She’s gonna be fine.”

      “Thank you, Doctor.” Rebecca grinned. “Do you mind letting yourself out?”

      “Not at all. Not at all.”

      Still smiling, Rebecca turned to find Ruth sitting—not lying—in the bed. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” She crossed the room, pausing long enough to get Ruth’s nightdress from the closet.

      “I’m getting up, of course.”

      “You’ll do no such thing,” Rebecca countered, with an emphatic shake of her index finger. “We’re going to finish getting you undressed and then get you back into bed.”

      Ruth screwed up her face in protest, but she did put on the flannel nightdress. “What about finding Andrew?” She fumbled with the bone buttons, and Rebecca helped her.

      “I’ve got help.” She pulled back the covers and coaxed Ruth to lie down.

      “What help? You mean Brody? Bah!” She fussed with her pillows until she was propped up.

      “No, not Brody.” Rebecca smoothed the covers. “Someone—”

      “Can I come in?” a decidedly male voice said from behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know Luke was there, in the doorway. She sucked in a breath and mustered her best formal pose. She needed all her composure when it came to Luke.

      “Come in, Marshal Scanlin.”

      Rebecca was sitting in the Windsor chair and holding Ruth’s hand. She was still wearing her navy dress, and Luke could see that she was drier now, though he figured that she was soaked to the skin underneath.

      She should have changed, but she was stubborn to the end.

      “Why, thank you, Becky.” He used her familiar name, disregarding her formality. He saw the irritation flash in her eyes, and he had to fight the smile that tugged at his lips.

      He stopped at the foot of the bed. “Ma’am,” he said politely. “I’m glad to see you are feeling better. I saw the doc downstairs, and he said you were doing better, so I thought it would be okay for me to stop by.”

      For a long moment, Ruth didn’t speak, didn’t even move. She just stared at Luke. Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted his stance and raked one hand through his hair. “Ma’am, is something wrong?”

      Ruth blinked, then blinked again. “No...Marshal, is it?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Luke Scanlin. I’m the marshal for this region.” He gave her his best smile.

      “Have we met before, Marshal?” She kept on studying him. “You look like someone...” She shook her head, and Rebecca stilled.

      Luke arched one brow in question. “Who?” He shoved one hand through his hair again.

      Ruth’s face drew up in a puzzled expression. “I...” Slowly her eyes widened. “So it’s you...” Her gaze shot to Rebecca, then back to Luke. The color drained from her face.

      Rebecca surged from her chair. “Ruth? Are you all right? Shall I send for the doctor?”

      Luke made a half turn, as if to do just that.

      “No.” Ruth’s voice cracked. “No,” she repeated, holding up one hand. “I’m all right.”

      “Maybe I’d better go,” Luke said.

      “No, Marshall, stay,” Ruth countered, more firmly. She adjusted her position on the propped-up pillows behind her back. Rebecca helped her.

      “So it’s me what, ma’am?” Luke asked.

      “What? Oh, so, it’s you who helped me to my room,” Ruth answered quietly.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “The marshal is new in town,” Rebecca said, smoothing the covers before sitting down again.

      “Well, that explains a great deal.” Ruth’s tone was thoughtful. “Under the circumstances, Marshal, I think you know me well enough to call me Ruth. `Ma’am’ sounds so old, and—”

      “And old is twenty years older than you are...Ruth,” he filled in, grinning.

      “Marshal, I think I like you. I always did have a weakness for charmers.”

      “Not me. I’m telling the truth,” he teased innocently.

      Ruth laughed. “So this must be the help you said you had.”

      “Yes” was all Rebecca said.

      “Well, Marshal, we are thankful for all the assistance we can get. Aren’t we, Rebecca?”

      “Grateful. Yes.”

      Luke came around to stand close to Rebecca. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances. I hope I can help find Becky’s boy. Actually, one of the reasons I came up here was to tell you that the search parties have gone out and I’m going myself, right now.” He touched her shoulder lightly in a familiar gesture. “They’ll come back here as soon as they’ve covered their assigned areas.”

      Rebecca spared him a look that didn’t last as long as a heartbeat. “Thank you.”

      He headed for the door.

      Ruth’s voice stopped him. “Marshal Scanlin.”

      “Yes.” He didn’t turn, only looked back over his left shoulder, one hand braced on the edge of the door frame.

      Her expression and tone had turned serious. “It’s very important that you find Andrew.”

      “Yes, ma’am. I know.”

      “I wonder if you do,” Ruth said gently.

      Chapter Three

      The Barbary Coast was only a few short blocks from Nob Hill, but it might as well have been the other side of the earth. The Coast was several square blocks of the seediest, raunchiest real estate anywhere. It was the reason San Francisco was the most dangerous city in America.

      Sin was for sale on the Barbary Coast. A man could name his pleasure and be certain to find it. He could lose his money in the gambling halls and saloons, lose his virtue in the brothels, or lose his life in the opium dens along Pacific Street. All in all, there were over five hundred concert saloons serving alcohol, and anything else, to the unsuspecting.

      The good people of San Francisco gave the Barbary Coast a wide berth. The trouble was, so did the law. “Enter at your own risk,” said some. “Let ‘em kill each other, and good riddance,” said others.

      So it was only natural that when a man wanted something done that was, well, less than lawful, he’d come to the Barbary Coast.

      That was exactly what Frank Handley had done last week, and tonight he was back, seated at a table near the back wall of Fat Daugherty’s.

      It wasn’t much of a saloon, he thought, taking in the long, narrow room. The ornate mahogany bar took up all of one wall, and the mirror behind the bar had a couple of cracks as big as earthquake fissures. A bartender with a handlebar moustache and greasy hair was serving rotgut that the patrons didn’t seem to mind consuming.

      Cigarette smoke grayed the air, and the planked floor was sticky from too many spilled drinks and too much tobacco juice.

      The

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