Page 75 of Fairest of Heart

“Here.” Hoffman shoved a sliver of paper into his hand. “There’s a train leavin’ in thirty minutes. Go take care of your girl.”

Titus’s fingers closed around the ticket. His legs managed to take on his weight, but his mind took longer to recover. “She’s not my girl.”

Not yet, anyway. Not in any formal capacity.

Hoffman released his grip and thumped him on the back. “Uh-huh.”

Eyes brimming with compassion met Titus’s gaze, spearing urgency through him like a javelin. This was no time to give up. To let defeat run unopposed. Penelope was under the care of the best doctor he knew and a God who could bring the dead to life. This battle wasn’t over.

Energy surged through Titus, strengthening his muscles and straightening his spine. “I gotta go.”

Hoffman smiled. “Yes, you do. But first, give me a rundown on this Hunt fellow.”

Titus shared what he knew about Cecil, then handed over the sack of gold nuggets Narcissa had left behind along with her note.

“She’s using him as a scapegoat,” Titus explained. “Show him the letter when you take him into custody. Get him to turn on her.”

Hoffman nodded as he tucked the bag and note into his jacket pocket. “If he won’t talk to me, I’ll let Captain Bill take a run at him. We’ll get this she-wolf one way or another. Now get outta here. You got a train to catch.”

Titus didn’t argue. He ran all the way to the depot. This case, his promotion . . . none of it mattered anymore. All he cared about was getting to Penelope before she was lost to him forever.

Titus rode up to the Diamond D well after dark. Exhausted. Heartsore. And terrified of what he might find inside. Lucky roused himself from the porch to announce Titus’s arrival with a morose bark that lacked conviction. Head hanging low, the hound padded over to him as he dismounted and rubbed his head against Titus’s leg, seeking comfort. Titus crouched down and wrapped his arms around the dog, burying his face in his fur as he rubbed and patted his head and body.

Tears threatened, but Titus forced them back. Tears were a product of grief, and he’d not shed a single one as long as hope remained. He’d be strong for her. Believe for her. Pray with every drop of faith in his soul for her.

Giving Lucky a final pat, Titus rose and faced the house. A pall had fallen over the place, leaving the air oppressive and heavy despite the mild autumn weather. The weight of it bowed his head and stooped his shoulders.

Someone had left a lantern lit and hanging from a hook by the front door, but the dim light failed to dispel the gloom. Giving his horse an apologetic pat for not seeing to his needs immediately, Titus left Rex standing in the yard and strode for the porch, his legs feeling as if he were slogging through a river of mud.

The front door creaked open before he reached the top step. “Titus? That you?”

Titus faltered at the weak sound of his grandfather’s voice. Doc looked so haggard and frail standing in the doorway. As if the smallest breeze would topple him.

“It’s me, Grandpa.” Titus finished his climb up the steps and met Doc at the door. He had to swallow twice before he could squeeze his question from where it had lodged in his throat. “Penelope?”

Doc gripped Titus’s arm. “She still lives.”

“Thank God.” The largest knot in his stomach unwound. He wasn’t too late.

Yet Doc’s sober features forecasted storms, not sunshine. Doc’s grip tightened above Titus’s elbow. “Opium poisoning. It’s depressed her system and sent her into an unnatural sleep. She . . . she might never wake up.”

The words hit him square in the chest like the blow from a prizefighter’s fist. “How . . . ?”

Doc’s tortured gaze met his as a tear rolled down his weathered cheek. “I thought I was keeping her safe by insisting she stay at the ranch.” Doc dropped his gaze to the ground, his head wagging back and forth in denial. “I took Dusty and Coy with me to search out Rowdy’s hiding place, leaving Jeb, Ike, and Angus to watch over Penny. I never should have left. Maybe if I’d stayed, they wouldn’t have drunk that widow woman’s poison. I—”

“What widow woman?” Titus interrupted, his voice sharp.

Doc blinked at him from behind his spectacles. “When Jeb and the others woke, they told me of a widow in a heavy black veil who’d come by the ranch peddling cider. They all drank some. But the woman gave Penny a cupful from a different jug. Must’ve been a stronger concoction.”

Narcissa. It had to be. She could have disguised her voice and appearance to keep Penelope from recognizing her. Easy enough for an accomplished actress.

“Jeb got off a warning shot,” Doc continued, “and we set off for home right away, but the poison had been in Penny’s system for at least thirty minutes. I did my best to purge it from her, but her respiration is so slowed, I fear . . .” He raised his eyes to meet Titus’s again. “I’m so sorry, son. So very sorry.”

Titus pulled his grandfather into an embrace. Doc’s body shook as he wept.

“None of this is your fault,” Titus said, his voice raw as he hugged his grandfather. “I shouldn’t have left, either, but I did, and there’s no guarantee that if either of us had stayed the situation would have turned out any differently. She’s in God’s hands, and we gotta trust him to do what’s best. Even if that means . . .” He thumped the old man’s back and straightened, fighting mightily to keep his own tears in check. “Even if that means we have to say good-bye.”

God, please don’t ask me to say good-bye again. Please!