Sheriff Chisholm continued opening and closing the drawers in his desk before finally getting up and walking into the back of the office. Darren frowned when the man didn’t immediately return. When more gunshots echoed up and down the street, Darren knew he needed to act.
Darren shook his head and bolted for the door, drawing his gun in the process. He slipped outside and crouched behind the porch railing. He scanned the street, stopping when he saw where the shots were coming from.
The bank was located two doors down and the same masked outlaws he and his brother had encountered were causing a ruckus. His vision went red when the man who shot Mark came into view. He had a bandana across his face, but Darren could never forget what Mark’s killer looked like – the evil in those eyes.
The outlaws were shooting their guns into the air and turning their horses in tight circles, causing them to rear up occasionally, sending townsfolk scurrying for cover. One of them was holding the reins of a riderless horse. The reason for the horse became obvious moments later when one of the outlaws came out of the bank, a bulging bag in his hands. They were robbing the bank!
The man tossed the bag up to one of the outlaws and then quickly regained his seat upon his horse. Darren scanned the area around the bank, relieved to see that almost everyone was finding a place to take refuge…almost. Darren’s heart froze when he saw Pastor Johnson’s teenage son Timothy caught in the fray.
Mrs. Johnson was a dozen feet away, having taken refuge behind a parked wagon to the left side of the bank. Timothy was anxiously trying to get to her, but the gunshots and horses were making the task near impossible. The youth stumbled into the street a few steps, doing his best to reverse his position and get to his mother’s side.
Darren began making his way toward Timothy, keeping his presence undetectable until the very last moment. Timothy’s head swiveled back and forth as he searched. He finally located his mother and tried to get to her, but his movement placed him directly in the path of the five outlaws. Instead of moving back to the boardwalk, Timothy tried to run parallel to the wooden walkway to get to his mother’s hiding place.
Having garnered the outlaws’ attention, Timothy came to a standstill, blocking their forward movement. The same man who had shot Mark only days earlier dropped his arm, pointing his gun directly at the young teenager. Darren knew he had to act now or watch another person gunned down for no reason.
One of the outlaws addressed Timothy. “What are you doing, boy?”
“I’m trying to get out of your way,” Timothy answered back, his voice shaking with fear.
“You should have never been in our way,” the outlaw snarled back. The masked man made a show of switching his revolver from hand to hand several times before stopping the movement and bringing the pistol down, pointing it directly at Timothy’s chest.
Darren didn’t even hesitate. He stood up and lunged for the pastor’s son just as a gunshot rang out. He slammed into Timothy, hitting the ground hard as the young man went flying and Darren fell onto his shoulder. His vision went black for a moment before everything inside his head exploded.
Searing pain ran down his body and he lay there on the ground, barely registering the gruff voice above him saying, “Anyone who rides after us best be ready to meet his maker. We’ve already watched you bury a young man this week. One more won’t matter at all to us.”
The outlaw laughed and the others joined in, cheering and teasing one another as they rode out of town. Darren lay there until the sound of their horses faded away. He could hear the town coming to life around him and he pushed himself up off the ground, staggering beneath the pain that stole his breath away.
He gained his feet and reached for the pain lancing down his side, staring dumbfoundedly at the red, sticky blood that covered his hand, dripping off his fingers to land in the dirt. His shoulder was on fire, but the blood didn’t make any sense. He had expected getting shot to hurt worse.
He blinked several times as he realized what had happened. The blood on his body wasn’t his own; it belonged to Timothy. He’d been shot!
Chapter 7
Lorna had been walking down the boardwalk, pleased with how easily she’d been able to secure most of what was on her list. She was even starting to think that staying here might not be such a bad idea. The people seemed nice enough and, while the town was on the small side, that wasn’t always a bad thing.
She was enjoying being at the ranch, and several of the people she’d met in town today had been very welcoming. She smiled and nodded her head at a young woman walking toward her. She looked to be around her own age but was holding the hand of a little boy with dark hair and dark brown eyes. The young woman inclined her head in return and Lorna’s contentment grew.
Suddenly, gunshots rang out from the center of town. She was frozen in place for a long moment and then panic set in. She searched for someplace to hide, and ended up on her belly on the ground, hiding beneath a very small wagon. The smell of dry earth and horses greeted her nose, but she didn’t care. Her mind was silently sending up the alarm – Danger!
She lay there in the dirt, bewildered as she watched horses prancing around near the front of the town’s bank. Other townsfolk were scrambling to take cover as the men on the horses yelled back and forth.
More gunshots echoed up and down the street and she wished she could ascertain if these men were the same ones she’d met her first day in town. She wasn’t able to see their faces, but she’d witnessed enough to believe the men on the horses were the outlaws. The red bandanas on their faces were the same as the men before had worn. She was almost certain they were the same men.
“What is going on in this town?” she asked as another gunshot rent the air. She was surprised when a man came running out of the bank, a large bag in his hand. He tossed it up to one of the other riders and then vaulted onto the back of the riderless horse.
His horse reared up on its hind legs, but the man kept his seat and managed to get the horse under control in a few seconds. He waved his arm in the air, signaling the other riders. All five horses then headed toward the other end of town.
When they kept going, finally riding out of sight, she realized the threat was now gone. She crawled out from beneath the wagon, dusting off her clothing and coughing as a small dust cloud formed around her. Others were doing the same, emerging from their hiding places and coming out of the buildings that lined the main street.
As the air cleared, Lorna tried to regain her bearings. She stared in confusion as people began rushing in the direction of the sheriff’s office. She’d been in town for less than a week, and already there had been two incidents involving shooting in the middle of the town. In broad daylight, no less! And both times had involved those nasty outlaws – surely the same ones who had killed Mark.
Her earlier happiness with the town abruptly faded. This town was dangerous: outlaws robbing banks, shooting their guns off where innocent bystanders could get shot. And she’d yet to see the sheriff emerge from his office.
She glanced toward the train station and considered heading directly there and buying the first ticket out of Virginia City. She’d unknowingly arrived in a town being terrorized by criminals and it seemed that the local law enforcement wasn’t inclined to do anything about it. Even now, with half a dozen townsfolk standing at his door, the sheriff hadn’t shown his face.
She looked toward the jail a few doors down on the other side of the street, and that’s when her instincts told her that something wasn’t quite right.
She glanced up and down the street, noticing that while robbery had just occurred, only a handful of people had rushed over to see the sheriff and complain. No, something else was wrong.
“Someone go fetch the doctor, and hurry!”
Doctor? Lorna’s nursing experience told her someone was in need of help. She rushed toward the gathering crowd, pushing her way through the people so that she could see what was wrong.
“Doc’s not in town. H
e’s tending to the Williams gal. She went into labor this morning,” someone else shouted out.
“He’s four miles away from town.”
“This isn’t good.”
“This isn’t going to end well.”
The comments and opinions sent a shiver of dread up Lorna’s spine. As she pushed her way through the last wall of onlookers, she wondered who was injured. She did a quick search of those nearby, looking for Darren. She didn’t see him until she reached the center of the crowd and glanced down.
Lorna gasped, covering her surprise by placing her hand on her heart and forcing herself to react in a calm and confident manner. Darren was sitting on the ground, covered in blood and holding a young boy in his arms. The boy’s eyes were open and staring at nothing. She sought out Darren’s eyes as she stepped forward, but the brief negative shake of his head froze her in her tracks.
She couldn’t believe what he was insinuating. Darren was staring at her very oddly, so she ignored his wishes and stepped forward. She let her eyes scan the young boy, taking in the fact that he appeared to be losing quite a bit of blood.
“The doctor is out of town, let me help him,” she pleased as she squatted down next to them. “Let me examine him.” She asked for Darren’s permission with her eyes.
Darren gave her a harsh look and then shook his head again. He stood up, cradling the boy in his arms and stalked away from her. She stared after him in disbelief for a long moment until the sounds of a sobbing woman behind her captured her attention.
She looked over her shoulder at the woman, obviously the boy’s mother, and could tell she was going into shock. Lorna turned and placed an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Let me help you.”
The sobbing woman nodded and leaned heavily on Lorna as she began to follow after Darren. They caught up to him at the wagon, where he’d already settled the boy’s body inside. The young boy’s eyes were now closed and his chest was moving slightly with each painful breath.
“Darren?” the crying woman asked, pain and desperate need in her voice. She was begging Darren to tell her things were going to be all right. Her plea tugged at Lorna’s heart and she felt her own eyes moisten with unshed tears.
“Get in the wagon, Sofia,” he roughly told them both.
Lorna nodded and led Sofia over to the side of the wagon. She assisted her in climbing up into the buckboard, and then followed suit, uncaring that her skirt was hiked up during the process. She didn’t even consider moving to the seated portion of the wagon, opting to sit in the back with the injured young man.
She pulled her skirts up above her ankles once more and then plopped down, sitting on the wooden slats of the wagon. She immediately did an assessment of the boy’s condition, needing to see where all of the blood was coming from.
The boy’s mother sobbed brokenly on the other side of his prostrate body. She held his hand and alternated between pleading for him to open his eyes and cursing the men who had done this.
Darren made a noise and Lorna turned to watch him climb into the wagon, taking a seat on the buckboard. After grabbing the reins in his gloved hands, he turned and met her gaze over the sobbing woman’s head, his eyes blank. He was the first to look away and he snapped the reins, starting the team of horses forward.
Lorna bent over the boy and then pulled several long strips of linen from her underskirt. She folded them up and applied them to the wound on his side. He moaned harshly but didn’t open his eyes. Lorna was pleased that he was still alive, but by the way he was bleeding she knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
She kept her eyes on the boy, not watching where they were headed, trusting that Darren was taking them to help. She couldn’t have been more surprised when she felt the wagon slowing down and looked up to see that they were at what appeared to be a small Indian settlement.
She watched as half a dozen Indian braves came forward, surrounding the wagon and looking fierce and unfriendly. None of them were smiling, and fear struck Lorna’s heart. She was shaking so badly she could barely keep the pressure on the boy’s wound.
All of her preconceived notions about Indians came rushing at her, sending her anxiety to the heavens and making her want to do nothing but run away as fast as she could to hide. Her chest was pounding painfully, and one thought wiped all others from her mind.
Indians! Savages! They want to kill you because you’re white! You must get away! Run! Hide! Save yourself!
Chapter 8
The Indian men came to the back of the wagon, speaking to Darren briefly, and Lorna scrambled back as they lifted the young boy up and carried him into a nearby teepee. Once they were out of sight, Lorna scrambled from the wagon, almost falling on her face in her haste, but managed to catch herself at the last minute. Darren had climbed down from the wagon and was assisting Sofia to the ground by the time she righted herself.
Lorna joined Sofia, wrapping the crying woman in her arms for a moment before turning to watch Darren walk away. He was striding toward the teepee when she caught up to him and confronted him.
“What is happening? That boy needs help.”
“Which is exactly what he’s getting.” Darren shook his head at her and moved to walk around her, but she mirrored his actions, blocking his path once more.
“Do these people know what they’re doing? He’s bleeding profusely…they’re….” She had to bite her tongue to keep from calling them what they were – savages. There was no way they could possibly be of any help to the bleeding teenager.
Darren gave her a stern look and lowered his voice as he replied, “This is a Paiute tribe. They are well known in these parts for their healers. They are the best ones to tend to the boy.”
He shook his head at her and then tried to brush her aside. Lorna still wasn’t satisfied and refused to be moved. Sofia stood a few feet away now, watching Lorna’s interaction with Darren. Lorna tried again. “How do you know—”
“Move aside,” he told her gruffly.
She looked at Sofia once more and then straightened her spine and sent a challenge in Darren’s direction. “That boy has a bullet in his body that must be removed. I can do it. I’ve done it before—”
Darren opened his mouth to reply but was stopped when one of the Indian men responsible for removing the boy from the wagon exited the teepee and stepped forward. He looked at Darren and then Lorna before quietly informing Darren, “She is right. The bullet is still inside his body. It must be removed, or he will surely die. It is lodged next to the numu.”
“Numu?” Lorna shook her head and looked to Darren. “What is he talking about?”
Darren met her eyes and quietly explained, “This is Tocho. He is the tribe’s chief healer.”
Tocho answered her question in a guttural voice, “Numu is our word for liver. If the bullet is not removed correctly, the organ will become damaged and he will surely die. I’m sorry, but we cannot remove the bullet.”
Lorna heard Tocho admit that she was right about the bullet needing to be removed and that they were not able to perform the necessary surgery. She finally looked directly at Tocho, only to see him watching her carefully. She felt her heart skip a beat at the intensity of his stare, and it took all of her courage not to look away. Fear ran through her veins, but she forced it down. The boy needed her help or he would surely die.
Tocho continued to watch her with his hawk-like stare. He had dark eyes and a lean face with a large, flat nose, surrounded by long, black hair that reached almost to his waist. His chest was bare, and the deerskin trousers he wore were split up each side, giving her an indecent view of his tanned legs. He had feathers woven into a band around his head, and they rustled in the slight breeze as he continued to stare directly at her. He seemed to be summing her up and she sent up a silent prayer that he wasn’t planning her demise.
Indians can’t be trusted. That was her father’s voice, and yet Darren hadn’t thought twice about bringing the boy here. Why? Is there a difference between the Indians
here in Nevada and the savages that killed my father back in Nova Scotia?
Lorna swallowed back her fear and focused only on the young boy at death’s door inside the teepee, desperately needing her help. “I can remove the bullet.” She moved her gaze to include Darren and explained, “I was a nurse during the war. I’ve seen dozens of bullet wounds. I’ve removed bullets from wounds much worse than the boy has.”
Lorna didn’t like having to defend herself to the Indian, but it didn’t appear that she was going to be able to tend to the boy without his consent. Time was passing, and with each moment he remained untreated, his chances for survival decreased. “I can do this.”
After a long moment, Tocho must have seen what he was looking for because he turned and told Darren, “She is likely the boy’s only hope of survival. She must fill the role of healer. Let her do this.”
Before anyone could say another word, Sofia moved forward, her tears increasing. Sofia threw herself at Lorna, letting out a heart-wrenching sound, and begging her, “Please. You have to help him. Don’t let him die. You can save him. Please.”
A Bride to Heal His Broken Heart Page 5
