by Hebby Roman
Men! They could be so ornery!
Even so, she’d had to beg her brother to take care of Minnie. She certainly couldn’t ask Bart to take care of Minnie, not after last night. Chad still didn’t like her dog, but she hoped he’d be good to Minnie while she was gone.
Besides, she couldn’t stay another minute at the ranch. She needed time to think things through, and seeing Abby and her family would be a balm to her spirit.
She might have stayed with the Browns, but she wanted to get away from Langtry. She’d stopped by this morning and told Ginny she was going to see her friend in Del Rio, who was due to have her baby. She’d confided some of what had happened to Ginny. Her friend, who was still upset with Chad, had understood and wished her a safe trip.
When she had her baby, she’d get a divorce and return to Boston—get as far away as possible from Bart. She and her aunt had “made up” through a series of letters they’d exchanged. Her Aunt Minerva understood what had happened and had forgiven her, which was a miracle, in and of itself.
Her aunt was tough as an old shoe. She and her late husband, Uncle Sean, hadn’t been able to have children, and as the captain of a ship, he’d often been away for months at a time. When he’d bought more ships and built warehouses, he still went to sea and left Aunt Minnie to run their expanding business.
Being thrust into a shipping business where women were scarcer than hen’s teeth, had honed her aunt’s instincts, making them razor sharp. She had to make decisions quickly and trust her gut feelings. Her aunt was quick to judge people and seldom backed down from her opinions.
Shaped by her aunt at an impressionable age, Lindsay had learned to formulate strict opinions, too, and judge people on their merits. Or so she’d thought, until Seamus. He’d managed to fool her with his ardent wooing. But he hadn’t fooled her aunt—some instinct had warned Aunt Minnie to have him investigated.
Given her aunt’s strictness and firm opinions, she was thankful to have won her aunt’s forgiveness and to know Aunt Minnie wanted her and her child to return to Boston.
Her aunt must have grown to love her as a daughter. And knowing she was loved, no matter the mistake she’d made, gave her courage. She could forget Bart and start her life over, especially with her aunt’s support.
She threw back her shoulders and straightened her spine. She checked the watch pinned to her shirtwaist and peered down the rail lines, wondering if the train would be on time.
Then she saw Bart, escorting Rose to the platform. She hadn’t realized the madam would be sharing the same train, going east. If she’d thought about it, Bart had said she was only going to stay the night. But it didn’t matter; they didn’t have to sit in the same railway car.
Just seeing them together and wondering if they’d slept in each other’s arms last night, her stomach knotted and her heart executed a funny flip-flop in her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was greet them.
She moved back inside the depot, hoping Rose already had her ticket.
Glancing past Bart and Rose, she noticed two men jumping over the railing on the Jersey Lily’s porch. She thought that was odd. Why were they in such a hurry?
The sharp bark of gunshots startled her.
Alarmed, she stepped back and glimpsed the bright sun glint off metal. Now, she understood why the men had moved so fast.
They were gunning for Bart!
She stuck her head out and screamed, “Behind you, Bart!”
He shoved Rose onto the platform behind some heaped crates and whirled around, dropping to the ground. He drew his gun from its holster.
More shots blasted. A veritable barrage of gunshots pelted the air like a swarm of angry bees. The acrid smell of gunpowder blanketed the air, making it hard to breathe.
Lindsay covered her ears with her hands and tried to draw breath into her lungs. She shook like a leaf, and her heart lodged in her throat. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Watching Bart lying in the dust while the bullets pocked the ground all around him, she felt as if she’d descended into a hideous nightmare.
Crawling along the ground, Bart dodged and weaved, like a grotesque puppet pulled by invisible strings. Keeping low and constantly on the move, he proved to be a difficult target. But the bullets kicked up the dirt behind his feet.
Lindsay bit her knuckle, stifling the scream building in her throat. She didn’t dare make a sound because it might distract Bart from his death-defying course. It was obvious, despite his zig-zag path, he wanted to reach the cover of the crates. But to do that, he’d have to climb onto the platform, offering the two men shooting at him, a perfect target.
His two attackers emptied their four guns before they stopped to reload. In the open street and vulnerable, Bart got several shots off and one of the men dropped in his tracks.
When the other man saw his partner hit the ground, he grabbed the fallen man’s guns. Yelling obscenities at the top of his lungs, the red-headed man ran toward Bart, firing again and again. Bart writhed and twisted. And then he sank into the dust.
Bart was shot!
The horrible realization tumbled over and over in Lindsay’s head, but she couldn’t believe it. Her benumbed mind refused to grasp the meaning of his crumpled form.
The man who’d shot him looked over his shoulder toward the Jersey Lily. He must have seen the Judge with a shotgun in his hands because the red-headed man jumped on the nearest horse and spurred it into a gallop, heading west, out of town.
Forcing her hollowed-out legs to move, she ran to where Bart lay in the dust and dropped beside him. Rose came out of hiding and joined her.
Lindsay tugged at Bart, crossed herself, and pleaded, “God, please God, don't let him die. Please, God.”
With gentle hands, Rose nudged her to one side and said, “Mrs. Houghton, let me turn him over and see how bad he's hurt.” She captured Lindsay’s gaze. “I’ve seen a lot of gunshot wounds in my profession.”
Numbly, Lindsay nodded. Tears poured from her eyes, and her ears rang from the shots. The awful shots still echoed in her head.
Rose touched her arm. “He’ll be all right. They got him in the shoulder. But the bullet needs to come out. Is there a doctor in Langtry?” Rose squeezed her arm. “Mrs. Houghton, do you understand me?"
She nodded again, holding onto Rose’s words that Bart would be all right, as if they were the only words in the universe. Repeating them over and over in her mind like a benediction.
She took a deep breath, willing her panic to subside. She must think calmly, must help Bart. She twisted the wedding band on her left hand.
“No, we don’t have a doctor here. We’ll need to get him to Del Rio. I was going there. I’ll buy him a ticket and tell the clerk to send Will to let my brother know what happened.”
Rose nodded and bent to lift her skirt and tear off a piece of petticoat. “We need to stop the bleeding. I’ll stay with Bart.”
Lindsay wet her bone-dry lips and croaked, “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
“How far on the train to Del Rio?”
“Not long, less than an hour.”
“Good. Get the ticket and send word.”
Lindsay went back inside to buy another ticket, hoping the train would be on time. Through the smeared and dirty window of the railroad depot, she saw Judge Bean organizing a posse to go after the red-headed man. For once, the Judge was good for something. She hoped they got the man and strung him up.
She went back outside and could see the smokestack of the approaching train. She thanked God for it being on time. Now if they could take on water and load the crates fast enough.
Rose had Bart’s head in her lap. Seeing them, Lindsay couldn’t help but feel bitter and jealous, though she realized Rose must know a great deal more about taking care of a man who’d been shot.
Bart’s eyes fluttered open. “It was the Boyd brothers, Rose.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I think I got one of them.”
“You got Phineas.”
He winced and bit down on his lip. “Is he dead?”
“Looks like it, but the Judge will make sure.”
“Wish it had been Red. He’s the meanest. And he’ll be back again.”
At his words, Lindsay’s heart squeezed. The nightmare was going to continue?
“Judge Bean is getting together a posse,” Lindsay said. “They’ll do their best to catch him.”
Bart sighed and turned his head away. “Lindsay, I didn’t know you were here.”
“I was going to Del Rio, to visit a friend. We’ll get you to the doctor there.”
She glanced down to see his blood had already soaked through Rose’s petticoat. The metallic smell of it was overwhelming, making her want to retch. She reached down and tore off a large piece of her own petticoat. After folding it into a square-like-bandage, she handed it to Rose.
Bart groaned, and he gazed at her. “Rose will take care of me, Lindsay. You needn’t bother.”
Chapter Nine
Lindsay held Abby’s baby son and paced in front of Bart's door. There had been a vacant room at the boardinghouse, and Abby had been kind enough to let Bart have the room to recuperate.
Doctor Rodgers had dug out the bullet and said Bart should recover if the wound didn’t get infected. She’d wanted to help take care of him, but every time, she came to check on him, Rose had turned her away.
Rose had been polite enough about it, claiming he was eating or sleeping or in too much pain, but Lindsay knew excuses when she heard them. He didn’t want to see her. She remembered how he’d spurned her when they were waiting for the train.
Little Timothy, named in honor of the beloved nephew Abby’s husband had lost, started to fuss. He smelled so sweet, as only babies did, the subtle scent of milk clinging to him. She rocked him in her arms and tried singing a low lullaby. But the baby kept fussing, and she went downstairs where she had a cot in the kitchen.
She heard footsteps and the kitchen door swung open. Abby, in her nightgown and with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders smiled and crossed the room.
Gently, she took the baby from her arms, saying, “Thank you for walking with him, but I heard him crying. And it’s about his feeding time anyway.” She unbuttoned the front of her nightgown and sat on the edge of the cot, giving the baby her left breast to suckle. She arranged her shawl to cover Timothy’s head and most of her breast.
Lindsay watched in awe. As the youngest child of her family and then being raised by her widowed aunt, she knew nothing about birthing and babies. Soon she’d need to know. Her unborn child gave her a kick as if in agreement, and she cupped her hand over her curved stomach.
Abby had given birth only a couple of days before they’d turned up on her doorstep, and her friend had still been in bed when they’d arrived. Fortunately, Elisa, and her sister, Rosa, had helped get Bart settled in the vacant room and been very helpful, fetching and carrying for her wounded husband.
“Don’t look so frightened, Lindsay, breast feeding is natural. You’ll get the hang of it. I’m certain.”
She gulped and swallowed. “I hope so.”
“And I appreciate your help with Timothy so I could sleep a little longer. But you need to rest, too, especially for your child.”
She nodded and reached out, stroking Tim’s soft cheek with her fingertip. “Yes, I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Bart and how he won’t see me.”
“He’ll see you.” Abby patted her hand. “I know he will.”
“When? It’s been a week now, and he only lets Rose take care of him.” She shook her head. “He’ll never forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” Abby shifted the baby to her other breast and re-arranged her shawl, keeping her baby warm and snuggled. “What are you talking about? You told me your marriage was in name only.”
“It started out that way to give my child a name. It was Chad’s idea, when we took Bart on as a partner.” Her baby gave another kick, and she couldn’t help but smile and smooth her hand over her abdomen.
Abby returned her smile. “Your baby is restless tonight.”
“Yes, restless and kicking like crazy.” She leaned back on the cot. “But there’s more to the story about Bart marrying me, and it’s also the reason he was shot.” She trembled, thinking about the shootout and knowing it wasn’t over.
“Chad saved Bart’s life, but in the process, the man Chad wounded died from the injury. That’s why his brothers gunned down Bart. But one of the brothers got away. And now, Chad has telegrammed me that the posse didn’t catch him.”
Abby squeezed her shoulder. “You do need to sleep. I asked you about Bart forgiving you, and then you told me about the shooting. You’re talking in circles, Lindsay. Do you want Clint to look into it?”
“No, you told me Clint turned in his badge when you had Timothy.”
“He did. The county elected another sheriff. Clint promised to give up his badge when we had a child. But he can go to the new sheriff and have him put out a circular on the man who shot Bart and got away.”
Lindsay nodded. “I’d appreciate that. It couldn’t hurt. I doubt the Judge alerted the proper authorities.” She touched her friend’s arm. “You’re so lucky. Clint is such a good man, and a great father for Kevin.”
She’d met Abby’s husband and son and been impressed by what a nice man Clint was and how polite and well-mannered Abby’s son was.
“Yes, I love all three of my boys. But I miss the other two. Wish it wasn’t shearing time at the ranch, but if wishes were horses…”
“I should be getting back to help my brother, too. I just wanted to see, with my own eyes, if Bart was on the mend. And ask his forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness for what?”
“For being judgmental of him and his past profession. He was a gambler, and all these shootings are because of his past associations. And then I was jealous of Rose.”
“Rose? But she’s just his childhood friend, though, I can see with her profession, how you might think the worst.” Timothy had fallen asleep at her breast. Abby kissed his chubby cheek and closed her nightgown.
“Yes, and our marriage had started to be something more. Bart is really a nice man and a hard worker. He said he cared for me, and maybe we should try for a real marriage.”
“Oh, Lindsay, that’s wonderful!” Abby covered her mouth with her free hand. “If that’s what you want, of course.”
“I thought maybe it was, but I couldn’t get past his unsavory connections and former profession.”
Abby giggled. “Clint has Bart beat by a mile on that score.”
She raised her head and gazed at her friend. “What do you mean?”
“Clint’s mother was a ‘lady of the night’ and he doesn’t know who his father was. He practically raised himself, his sister, and then his sister’s son. But he’s a good and upright man, nevertheless.” She patted Lindsay’s arm. “You need to forget about his past and give the man a chance. Sounds like he deserves it.”
“Even if he brought this killing into our lives because of his gambling?”
Abby sighed. “Men do what they have to do. It doesn’t make them all bad. But I’m sorry you’re worried about your brother.”
“And Bart, too. As soon as this Boyd brother learns Bart has survived, he’ll come back. And according to Bart, he’ll be gunning for my brother, too.”
Abby shook her head. “That’s too bad. But maybe this man won’t return. Maybe the posse scared him off, or maybe, if he’s so mean, he’ll get in another gunfight and not survive.” She shifted the sleeping baby in her arms. “None of us knows what the future will bring.”
“Yes, but you asked Clint to give up being sheriff.”
“I did. Being sheriff is like walking around with a target on your back. I doubt Chad and Bart will be doing that. Didn’t you say they’d been taking precautions?” She kissed her
baby’s forehead. “And besides, between Clint’s ranch, this boardinghouse, Kevin, and starting a family, we had our hands full.”
“I wish I could be more like you, Abby.” Her friend was wise beyond her years and took her responsibilities seriously. “I wish I didn’t worry so much, and I could believe everything will work out for the best. Like you do.”
Abby got up and said, “Little Tim and I are going back to bed. And you should try and get some sleep, too.”
Lindsay nodded and smiled, but she was silently chastising herself for forgetting what was important. How could she have allowed her jealousy to matter more than Bart’s life? Why hadn't she accepted his explanations and believed him?
Could he… would he… forgive her?
* * *
Lindsay was packed and ready to return home. She still hadn’t seen Bart, but she knew he’d return when he was well enough. And Chad needed her because it was shearing time. She was definitely showing now, but she’d supervise the women to feed the shearing crew, while she remained in the background.
She stopped in the foyer and gave Abby a hug and Timothy a kiss. She would miss them.
“I’d like to see you more often,” Abby said. “Maybe I’ll bring Timothy to visit after your baby comes, and we can decide who has the prettier one.”
“Hah! That will be a contest nobody wins.”
“You’re right. No baby could be prettier than my Tim.” She smiled and patted Lindsay’s shoulder. “I know you’ll be all right, but if you need to, just send for me.”
“I think I’ll have plenty of help. Ginny’s mother, Emma, has birthed some babies, and she knows an excellent mid-wife, Constanza Guadalupe. She births almost all the babies in Langtry.”
“Good. And you think you’re due around Christmas.”
“I’m certain. It’s easy to count when you only had relations, the one time.”
“Well, the winter is our slow time, so when your baby is born, we’ll all come and visit you.” Abby paused, as if considering. “Do you have room?”
