Tainted Dreams

by Christi Corbett

  "Hold still!" Theodore shouted, panting with exertion as he pulled her closer and dug the end of his gun deep into her neck.

  Jake cursed as she cried out.

  "Perfect!" Theodore let out a burst of maniacal laughter. "I'll shoot her first, and then after you watch her die I'll kill you."

  Kate winked at Jake, then went limp.

  Theodore dropped her, kicking her in the ribs as she landed. She screamed, then lay motionless and silent as even shallow breaths brought on a blinding rush of pain.

  Swinging his boots free from his stirrups, Jake leaped through the air and landed on Theodore's back. Jake's gun flew into the bushes as they both tumbled to the dirt in a rolling ball of rage. Theodore landed several punches to Jake's jaw and one to his stomach before Jake got the upper hand. He flipped Theodore onto his back, then heaved himself upright and straddled the man between his legs.

  Gripping Theodore's neck with his left hand, Jake pummeled his nose with his right.

  A sickening noise filled the air—the crackling of bone and cartilage shattering beneath Jake's fist. Amidst Theodore's primal howls of pain, Jake struggled to his feet and staggered to the edge of the trail, searching for his gun.

  Ignoring the agony shooting through her side, Kate got to her knees. Gripping her ribs with one hand, she inched toward where she'd seen Jake’s the gun land.

  Rhythmic gurgling behind her caused her to turn.

  Theodore stood in the center of the path, laboring to breathe through his twisted nose and mouth awash with blood.

  Gun in hand, he raised his arm, aimed at Jake, and fired twice. The thundering roar of the gunshots muffled the sounds of his retreating footsteps.

  Jake collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Awake

  Saturday, December 30, 1843

  Jake woke into blackness, groaning as waves of excruciating pain washed over him. Gingerly he brought his fingertips up to explore his eyes and the top of his head.

  Bandages. Why would there be bandages?

  Suddenly, everything came flooding back. Theo standing with a pistol in his hand, confessing to everything, their fight, and then gunshots.

  Kate!

  Panic overwhelmed him. Ignoring the dizziness and pain pulsing through his temples, he tore off the bandages covering his face. Doing so revealed both the early morning light, and a sight so beautiful it made his breath catch in his throat.

  Kate was asleep, curled on an overstuffed chair next to his bed, her arms outstretched and her fingers twined protectively through his own. He smiled, thinking his hand sandwiched between hers was the reason his left arm wouldn't move until he saw the heavy cloths wrapped around his left shoulder. He looked again at Kate, noting her disheveled hair and bloodstained dress, and wondered what day it was.

  The realization he'd been shot was just starting to sweep over him when Kate stirred in the chair. She stared sleepily over at him and he gave her a weak smile.

  "Hello, beautiful." His tongue felt thick.

  "You're awake!" She gasped and stood up in a rush, rubbing her eyes as if incredulous at what she was seeing.

  "Hello, beautiful," he repeated, stronger this time.

  She blushed and placed a cool palm against his forehead. He reached up and caught her hand.

  "What happened?"

  She bit her lip and glanced at the closed door. "I better get the doctor."

  "Don't go," he said, tightening his grip. "Come stand on the right side of the bed, so I can hold your hand easier."

  She obliged.

  "What happened?" he repeated.

  "Theodore shot you. Twice," she said, blinking back tears. "Once in the head, and once in the shoulder. The doctor determined the one to your head was a surface wound. It grazed your temple, but you bled so much…" Her voice broke and she trailed off, unable to continue.

  "That was a brave risk you took," he said. "Going limp in his arms."

  "You remember?" She stared at him in surprise. "The doctor wasn't sure if you'd recover any memories of that day."

  "I remember fighting with Theodore and hearing gunshots, but nothing after." He ran his thumb gently over her knuckles and asked the question even as he dreaded hearing the answer. "Did he hurt you?"

  She shook her head. "No, he took off running before you hit the ground."

  "Where am I?" he asked, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  "The doctor's house. He said you wouldn't be able to be moved for at least a few days, and for a while he wasn't sure if you would recover at all."

  "How long have I been out?"

  "It's Saturday morning." She ticked off the days on her fingers. "Three days."

  He looked at her bloodied dress again in disbelief. "You've been here the whole time?"

  "I couldn't bear to leave you," she whispered.

  Jake shifted in the bed, wincing as pain pulsed through his head and shoulder and prevented him from pulling her close.

  "I'm going to get the doctor," she said firmly.

  She returned about five minutes later, trailed by a balding man wearing rumpled clothing, wire-rimmed glasses, and a brilliant smile.

  "We were beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up." The doctor unwound the strips of cloth covering Jake's shoulder, inspected the wound, and replaced the bandage with a fresh one. "You've got this little lady here to thank for being alive."

  "How did I get here?" Jake asked, recalling he'd been shot half a mile from town, yet now he lay in a comfortable bed.

  Kate spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear. "I got you onto Nickel and brought you here."

  "You lifted me?"

  She shrugged. "You helped some."

  As Jake stared at her amazement she blushed and looked away, much to the doctor's amusement.

  "Yes sir, she brought you in on the back of that horse more dead than alive from all the blood you lost. It took three men to get you out of the saddle and into this room. She's the talk of the entire town, being such a little thing and saving a big lad like you. She's been here the entire time, too, nursing you back to health."

  Kate's cheeks flushed crimson, but she said nothing.

  "I have some news about Theodore that might be of interest to the both of you," the doctor said as he wound a new strip of cloth around the top of Jake's head. "Thanks to Kate's testimony about the shooting, Theodore was escorted to the jail about an hour ago." He took scissors from his pocket and snipped the end of the bandage before continuing. "Folks in this town—and the entire territory, for that matter—took note of what he'd done and viewed it as an opportunity to show them fellers back east how this here is a lawful place deserving acceptance into the United States of America.

  "The trial didn't take long, and afterwards there was quite the crowd gathered to see Theodore off. He didn't go quietly, either; it sure was something to see a grown man dragged away kicking, screaming, and ultimately sobbing." He slid the scissors back into his pocket and then patted Kate on the shoulder. "He'll never hurt you again, miss."

  He shifted to focus his attention on Jake. "Now, as for you. Stay in this bed and don't tear off your bandages again. I'll be back in a few hours to check on you."

  When they were alone again, Jake reached for Kate's hand. "Sounds like I missed out on the good times," he said, stunned at all that had transpired while he'd been out. "Where are Nickel and Old Dan?"

  "Travers took them back to my barn, and I had your friend Rob go to your stable and bring Plug over to my barn too. They've both been out each day to feed and water all six of the horses."

  "What about you?" he asked quietly. "Who's been taking care of you?"

  "I'm fine," she replied. "You're awake and that's all I need."

  She slid her hand free and bustled around the room, giving him a few sips of cool water, wiping his neck with a damp cloth, and then lifting his head to switch out his pillow with a fresh one.

  "There now," she said, giving his blankets a
final pat. "I'm going to let you rest, but I'll be back soon."

  "Katie?"

  "Yes?"

  He hesitated, unable to find the right words.

  "What is it?" She rushed to his side. "Should I get the doctor?"

  "It's not that so much as…" He lowered his gaze. "I'm so sorry I wasn't able to protect you."

  "I don't always need you to come to my rescue." Her eyes sparkled as she gave him a chiding smile. "Sometimes I do fine on my own."

  "Stay with me?" he whispered, hating himself for the fear in his voice, and that he'd resorted to begging.

  "Of course," she murmured in return.

  As Jake's eyes drifted closed and he submitted to sudden, overwhelming exhaustion, he was dimly aware of Kate climbing into the bed and snuggling in beside him.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Healing

  Hours later, Kate stood beside Jake's bed and watched him sleep.

  The past three days had been horrific. Jake's collapse to the ground and the subsequent brutal struggle to get him onto Nickel and back into town had only been the beginning of her journey into despair.

  After she'd ridden up and down the streets, screaming of her desperate need for the doctor, he'd finally appeared in the doorway of the restaurant where he'd been dining with Clara. The doctor had taken one look at Jake—unconscious, blood-soaked, and slumped across Nickel's neck, and his expression had gone grim. Immediately he'd summoned Clara and told her to take Kate to the hotel, where she could await updates.

  Kate had refused. Adamantly.

  At the doctor's office, she'd helped position Jake on the examination table, then cut apart his shirt while the doctor readied his equipment. The sight of the jagged scar across his chest was a sobering reminder of the bravery he'd displayed while trying to save her father's life. And he'd gotten hurt again saving hers.

  With practiced efficiency, the doctor had removed the bullet from Jake's shoulder, bandaged the wound, and established the second bullet had actually just grazed Jake's skull instead of piercing it like he'd first suspected. Then he'd crushed Kate's glimmer of hope by stating that due to all the blood Jake had lost, there was only a slim chance he'd survive the night.

  Stubborn as always, Jake had proved the doctor wrong. Then a fever had taken hold. For two days he'd sweated profusely while hovering between shouting in delirium to incoherent babbling to thrashing about in a glossy-eyed, unfocused daze. For two days Kate had vigilantly watched him suffer, terrified with memories of how her dear brother had fought a fever for days, then quietly slipped into death.

  The doctor had come by to check on Jake's improvements—and setbacks—every few hours, but Kate refused to leave the room except once. Even then, she'd only strayed as far as the hallway when she'd given her sworn statement about the details of the shooting to a representative of the law. Clara had taken charge of making sure Kate ate at least a few bites of food a day, and provided updates to the steady stream of Jake's friends inquiring of his progress.

  When Kate had finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion early that morning, she'd nearly lost hope that he'd ever recover. Then, when she'd woken and seen his brilliant blue eyes open and alert, she'd nearly cried with joy.

  She laid a testing palm across Jake's forehead and breathed a sigh of relief to again confirm his temperature remained normal and his skin was dry to the touch. After tucking in the blankets around him, she blew out the candles and settled into the nearby chair for the night.

  ****

  Thursday, January 4, 1844

  Kate entered the room, lunch tray in hand.

  "Clara made this meal special for you—ham, carrots sprinkled with brown sugar, and two slices of freshly baked bread." Kate set the meal tray across Jake's legs. "Perhaps once your stomach is full you'll quit being so cranky."

  "I mean it, Kate. I've been cooped up in this room for the past four days, and I've had enough."

  Kate held back a grin as she watched him devour his food with the gusto and wariness of a caged bear. Unbeknownst to him, he was eating the last meal of his captivity. The doctor had already agreed to let him leave, with the implicit understanding he would accompany Kate straight to her house, where he should stay in bed for at least another week.

  The day before, she'd sent Rob to gather all Jake's belongings from his dugout, then worked with Clara to prepare her house and unpack the long-forgotten supplies she'd purchased at the mercantile minutes before the shooting. As they'd finished making up the freshly sewn and stuffed straw tick, Rob had returned with Jake's bedroll, clothes, saddlebags, and meager food stash. After piling everything on the kitchen table, he muttered something about how he'd left Jake's frying pan behind and Jake would know why, and then headed back to town.

  Everything was ready for Jake's arrival, including Nickel and Old Dan currently saddled and waiting outside at the hitching post.

  "We'll see what the doctor thinks," she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "He's due any minute."

  "I don't care what he thinks." Jake popped the last bit of bread crust in his mouth and then pushed the tray onto the nearby table. "I'm leaving."

  A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the doctor.

  "How's our patient doing?" he asked, stepping into the room. "I hear he's being a bit impatient today."

  Jake crossed his arms over his chest, not amused at the joke. "I want out of here, doc."

  "Let's take another look at how you're doing," he replied, then lifted Jake's shoulder bandage and examined the wound. "It's healing well, but you have to take it easy for the next few weeks. The body needs time to heal after losing a large amount of blood."

  He stepped away from the bed and waggled his finger in warning. "You can go, only if you agree to do what this young lady tells you. You'll be weak for the next few days—or longer—and you'll need her help."

  The doctor winked at Kate before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

  "Let’s get your boots on," Kate said, kneeling down at Jake's feet and pulling his boots to her side. "Here, give me your foot."

  Jake shook his head. "I'm not a child that needs help getting dressed, and that doctor doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm not weak." He swung his legs off the bed, planted his feet on the floor, stood up, swayed mightily, and then promptly sat back down.

  "You're coming with me," she said, sliding his boot over his toes and then pulling it into place, "and I'll have no arguments on the subject."

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Recuperation

  To Jake's disgust, it took him three tries to pull himself into his saddle. By the time he had Nickel's reins clenched in his fist, he was sweating from exertion and shaking from exhaustion.

  To her credit, Kate didn't comment on his struggles; she just passed over a fresh handkerchief and waited silently while he mopped the dampness from his forehead and neck. She was similarly silent when retrieving his gun from the bushes as they traveled to her claim.

  When they arrived at her house, it took all his strength to dismount and walk inside, where he shamefully threw up into her chamber pot seconds after toppling onto her bed.

  His last thought before falling into a dreamless sleep was of how his body had betrayed him.

  ****

  Friday, January 5, 1844

  Jake woke ten hours later feeling better than he had in days, until he saw Kate asleep on the floor in front of the fire. He vowed this would be the last time he'd let her sleep on a bedroll while he lounged in her bed. Injured or not, he'd be on the floor tomorrow night.

  Judging by the light filtering in through the oilskin-covered window, it was just past dawn. Intent on visiting the barn to check on the horses, and perhaps chop a few days' worth of wood on the way back, Jake sat up.

  Or rather, he tried to sit up—until his left arm buckled beneath his weight.

  Muttering a string of curses, he flailed about beneath the blanket until he recognized the wisdom of rolling onto his
right side and heaving himself upright in stages.

  Giggles erupted from the floor in front of the fireplace.

  "What are you laughing at over there?" he asked.

  More giggles, then a burst of laughter. “The most stubborn man alive.”

  Jake chuckled at his own ridiculous antics. Less than a minute ago he'd had the loftiest of goals. Maybe the doctor had been right.

  As she sat up and smiled at him, the soft glow of the firelight highlighted the red in her hair, the porcelain of her skin, and the fullness of her lips. Kate was a beautiful woman—inside and out. A woman who possessed powerful strength and courage when facing tragedies. The woman he loved.

  "What are you thinking about?" she asked.

  "Us, together again. First the trail, then the hotel, and now here."

  "You can't stay away from me," she teased.

  "You're right," he answered, his smile waning as he wished he wasn't so frail, or that she wasn't so far away.

  He considered the white box still buried deep in his saddlebag—a saddlebag he'd noticed was now sitting on the floor next to the kitchen table—but knew now was not the time.

  ****

  Thursday, January 18, 1844

  Kate sat on her newly repaired porch and gazed over her land. It had been a good day—the skies were clear, her coffee was hot and fragrant, and the recuperating man inside her home was already asleep for the night.

  As the bottom of her cup came into sight, she heard a loud noise followed by a curse. Kate went inside, sighing as she found Jake bent over the hearth, a log near his foot.

  "What are you doing out of bed?" she asked for the fifth time that day.

  "Getting the fire going again," he answered, then straightened and gave her such an impish smile that she had to laugh.