Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll ask Saint what the trouble is. Tomorrow. All right?”

“Yes, thank you. I saw Lucas kissing Mary,” she added, a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh Lord, now this is a story that I want to hear. Is it time for me to haul Lucas off to a corner and demand his intentions? Shall I prime my shotgun?”

“You’re being silly.”

“You’re probably right. Mary can handle him quite well without our interference. She is one tough woman.”

“He’s up in his office, Dr. Morris,” Nero said. “I don’t think I’d bother him if it ain’t real important.”

“Thanks for the warning, Nero. It’s important, or I wouldn’t risk my ears.”

“He beat the hell out of a drunk last night,” Nero added. “I had to haul him off the guy.”

“Good,” Saint said. “He ought to be too tired to go after my hide.”

He knocked on the closed door and heard a very reluctant “Come in. What do you want?”

Saint firmly closed the door and walked into Brent’s small office. He took his time seating himself.

“Well?”

“My, we’re irritable, aren’t we?”

“Saint, if you’re here at Maggie’s behest—”

“Oh no, not at all. I just wanted to hear what you know about Byrony Butler leaving San Francisco.” Aha, he thought, that got his attention.

“All I know is that she’s leaving. All right? Leave me the hell alone.” Brent closed his eyes. He felt so tired, so miserable, he couldn’t stand himself.

Saint relaxed further into his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “It’s odd,” he said after a moment.

“What’s odd?” Brent said, straightening, his eyes intent on Saint’s face.

“She isn’t gone.”

“So,” Brent said, exhaling a deep breath. “She even lied to me about that. I should have known it was all an act, all—”

“She’s ill.”

Brent went pale. He jumped up from his chair and strode across the room to stand in front of Saint. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I ran into Del this morning. He told me that Chauncey went to the Butlers’ house but their servant wouldn’t let her in. Told Chauncey that Mrs. Butler was in bed and the doctor wouldn’t let her see anyone.”

“You’re her bloody doctor! What’s wrong with her, Saint?” Suddenly Brent drew back as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “She’s pregnant again, isn’t she? That is what’s wrong.”

“I doubt it,” Saint said. “Ira hasn’t called me. I don’t know who’s seeing to her.”

Brent mentally counted the number of days it had been since he’d last seen her. Four, no, five days. She’d told him she was well again, she just had a slight cough. “You’ve got to go see her,” he said.

Saint had already decided to drop by the Butler home. He supposed that he had to test the waters for himself. “I think I will,” he said, rising.

“You will tell me what’s wrong, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Saint said. “I’ll tell you.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Saint couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.