by Joyce Armor
“Tell Per I’ll spend the night in town. I won’t be able to ride very fast, and it’ll be too late by the time I’m done there. I’ll probably pass the boys on their way back.”
“All right. Watch out for that other fellow.”
“You too. Don’t take any chances, Bridget.”
“I’ll say the same to you, Gus. Per would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
He snorted and she headed off to the other end of the ravine to start driving the cattle. Although her side ached, the pain was manageable. Driving eight head of cattle was a little less manageable. She finally coaxed them out of the gulch only to have one or more wander this way and that. Every time she turned her horse to force them back on track, her side hurt like the devil. By the time she got to the recent break in the fence, she was panting and sweating, not feeling very well at all. She climbed down, grabbing onto her saddle as her knees buckled. After a few moments, she gathered her strength and widened the break in the fence, then led the first couple of cows into the pasture. After that, it was fairly easy to drive the others in.
She wouldn’t have had the strength to repair the fence even if she’d had the proper tools. Instead, she took a length of rope from behind her saddle and tied a couple of stout sticks across the break, which would prevent the cattle from escaping. Now, if she could just make it home. Home. It really is my home now. She smiled, then cringed in pain as she turned her horse toward the ranch.
Now every beat of her horse’s hooves shot a pain through her side. She looked down, not surprised to see the wound had bled through her bandaging. She was torn between urging the horse into a gallop to get to the ranch house sooner and slowing her down to a walk so she would feel less jarring. She settled for a canter, praying she could hold on until they reached the house.
Just half a mile now, then a quarter of a mile. She could see it in the distance, and Karl’s cabin beyond that. How long ago it seemed that she had arrived to find him hurt and suffering, growling like a wounded bear. She smiled at that. He was her wounded bear. Her stubborn, grouchy, beautiful wounded bear. And in that moment, as she felt her strength ebbing, she realized she loved Karl Burgen. Why? She might not even be able to explain it, but he had somehow grouched his way into her heart.
It was probably less than an eighth of a mile now, and she didn’t think she could make it. She couldn’t sit up in the saddle anymore and was leaning forward, both hands on the pommel. By the time she got to the ranch house, her head was swimming, and she did the drunken cowboy dismount, falling to the ground in a heap. Just when she thought her side couldn’t hurt any worse, that took her breath away, literally. She needed to get up and take care of the wound. Well, maybe she would just take a wee nap first.
At that point, Per, who had just put the baby down, came outside in response to the thump she had heard.
“Bridget!” She rushed to her cousin’s side, quickly assessing the situation. “Where’s Gus?” Her heart was in her throat.
It was a struggle to speak. “He…he’s fine, Per. Rustlers. He took them…to town. He’s…he’s staying there overnight.”
She helped her cousin sit, although Bridget held her side and groaned. “And left you to make it back here hurt?” She couldn’t believe her husband could be so thoughtless.
“He…he didn’t know I was shot. I didn’t tell him. Just let me rest a minute.”
She laid back down.
“Karl! Karl! I need you!”
Bridget could hear the panic in her cousin’s voice. She must be even worse off than she thought. Karl also heard the desperation in Per’s call and came out of his cabin at a run, barely limping at all. When he saw Bridget lying on the ground, bleeding, his heart nearly stopped. He dropped to her side.
“She’s been shot.”
She winced as he gently scooped her up and strode up the steps into the ranch house.
“You’re…you’re out of the cabin,” she said dumbly. “You’re not limping. Give a care to your arm.”
He was surprised that he barely felt a twinge in his leg or his arm, although the arm splints were a little unwieldy while carrying Bridget. Well, needs must.
“You didn’t have to get shot. I would have come out if you’d asked.”
She smiled weakly at that. “When have you ever done anything I asked?”
He looked over his shoulder at Per. “Where should I put her?”
“Your old room. It’s Bridget’s room now.”
That somehow gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling.
It occurred to Bridget in her muddled mind that she knew more about healing than the two of them put together. She had to gather her thoughts before she passed out. Karl was about to lay her on the bed when she stopped him.
“Wait. Set me down on the bare floor while you find some towels to put down. No sense ruining the bedding with my blood.”
He looked at her like she was insane but didn’t miss the dogged look in her eyes.
“While you do that…tell Per to heat up some water and make some willow bark tea. When you come back with the towels, get…get my medical bag out of the armoire. And hurry.
“Yes, general,” he said as went off in search of towels.
She didn’t tell him she wanted him to hurry because she was struggling to maintain consciousness. She had to stay alert until she could tell them how to extract the bullet. It seemed barely a minute before Karl returned and picked her up to lay her on the bed. The pain was getting unbearable.
“My bag,” she barely whispered.
He quickly retrieved it.
“Find…the long tweezers, the carbolic acid and the healing salve. And needle and thread. Then go ask Per for a bottle of whiskey. Hurry!”
He quickly retrieved the items from the bag, and also grabbed a bottle of laudanum and rushed off, returning only a minute or two later with a laudanum-laced glass of water. Her eyes were closed. He felt near to panic.
“I’ve got the whiskey.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Here. Drink this.”
He felt a moment of satisfaction in dosing Bridget, but just a moment.
She drank the laudanum-laced water and just stared at him for a moment through glassy eyes before focusing. “Dump the water in the bowl out the window and…and fill it with several inches of whiskey. Then put the tweezers, needle, a good 10 inches of the thread and your hands in the whiskey.”
“My hands?”
“Yes. You’re going to…sterilize the wound and then dig the bullet out.”
“Me?”
If she had enough strength, she would have laughed at his horrified look. “Well, I can’t do it, can I?”
“What about Per?”
“You want…want to draw straws or are you just going to do it?”
“All right, all right.” After following her directions with the stale water, he poured the whiskey in the bowl and put the items in and then his hands, although immersing the hand with the splints was awkward. He looked up as Per arrived with a kettle of hot water.
“Wash the wound with the hot water,” Bridget instructed.
Karl couldn’t help but notice she was deathly pale as Per did the washing. If anything, her skin got even whiter.
She looked at Karl. “Now pour some whiskey on the wound. Per, you...you hold my shoulders.”
Karl did the pouring, feeling like a heel when Bridget could not stop herself from moaning piteously. She was perspiring now and breathing heavily.
“All right. Per, you…you continue to hold me down. Don’t…don’t let me move. Karl, take the tweezers and get the bullet out. If I…if I pass out, after the bullet is out, clean the wound with carbolic acid, then stitch it up. Cover it…with my healing salve and bandage it.”
She closed her eyes. He willed her to be unconscious for his probing. He wanted to wait, but knew he couldn’t. Christ, I can’t do this.
“You…you can do this, Karl.”
Was she reading his mind
? He took a deep breath. The sooner he got on with it, the better chance she had of recovering. He picked up the tweezers and turned toward her. Again, she wanted to laugh but could not summon the strength to do so. He looked like he was marching into battle. Perhaps he was.
Chapter 5
Per tied the curtains open and then returned to her position holding Bridget’s shoulders down. She nodded at Karl and he stepped forward. He had to concentrate to keep his hands from shaking. It occurred to him at that moment that before Bridget had re-broken his arm, he never could have done this. His hand would not have cooperated. He took a deep breath and slowly, methodically, pushed the long tweezers into the wound. Bridget tried to squirm and failed in her attempt not to call out. Then, mercifully, she lost consciousness.
Even in her insensate state, the pale young patient groaned in pain and tried desperately to move, and she was surprisingly strong. It took all of Per’s strength to hold her still. Karl reined in his frustration at how long it took him to capture the bullet. At least it seemed way too long to him, but then he finally had the bloody thing secured in the tweezers and pulled it out. Such a small item to cause so much damage and pain. He retrieved the needle and thread then and dropped the bullet in the whiskey bowl, watching briefly as the blood on it spread through the whiskey. Bridget’s blood. He wanted to yell or break something. Grabbing the carbolic acid and a cloth, he returned to the patient.
He poured whiskey on the wound, trying to block out Bridget’s groans. After gently cleaning the seeping wound with carbolic acid, he began sewing. When he had worked at Burgen Shipping in Baltimore, he had sewn his share of sails, so he was adept at closing the wound artfully and quickly. Pleased with his neat row of stitches, he covered the wound with salve and bandaged it. He believed the scarring on her creamy skin would be minimal. After that, he moved the dressing-table chair next to the bed and dropped down into it. He was exhausted.
“A doctor couldn’t have done any better,” Per said as she stood, stretching her back to work out a kink.
Karl smiled. “Hard to go wrong with the General spouting orders.
Per could have shouted with joy at that moment. Bridget would recover, and this was the old Karl. Not just his sardonic comment, but the look in his eyes. The angry, pained expression was gone. His right hand worked. He barely limped. And the reason for it all was lying unconscious in that bed, with Karl by her side, a reversal of the previous month. Another of life’s ironies. Knowing Gus, he would feel guilty when he got home and realized Bridget had been shot. Men. They felt the need to take the blame for everything, didn’t they?
* * *
When Bridget awoke, her teeth felt fuzzy, her throat dry. And her head hurt. She tried to sit up and was disabused of that idea immediately when her side felt fiery. And then it all came back to her—the rustlers, getting shot, driving the cattle back. And Karl. She lifted the covers and looked at the bandaging. He had done it. He had gotten the bullet out and sewn her up. She could not see through the bandaging, of course, but she knew it. She would be feeling much worse now if he hadn’t. She was afraid to look at his handiwork but at that point did not care if she had a scar the size of Montana. She was healing; that’s all that mattered. And she was so proud of Karl. For someone who had sat around brooding for so long, he had accomplished something worthwhile, at least to her.
And then she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and slowly turned her head. An unshaven, tired-looking version of her ex-fiancé sat next to her, his head drooping in sleep, his jaw slack. She studied him for a few moments and then reached out and squeezed his hand, wincing as she stretched. His eyes flew open.
“Bridget. You’re awake.”
“How long has it been?” She didn’t feel like Rip Van Winkle.
“Three days. You had a fever the first two days and were kind of out of it.”
“I really don’t feel too bad considering.” She yawned. “Thank you, Karl, for all you did.”
“Bridget, I…” He struggled with how to tell her how sorry he was for his behavior, how thankful for her help and how he wanted to try to recapture the relationship they had forged through the mail.
“You’re awake!” Per breezed in carrying a tray with broth and a cup of tea.
Karl breathed a sigh of relief. He was saved! Coward.
“How do you feel?”
“Sore. And tired. But alive. And thankful.”
Karl stood and stepped out of the way as Per set the tray down on the nightstand. “I guess I’ll go get cleaned up.”
Per glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, you’re a mess.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
“Karl?”
He turned back to Bridget. She looked somehow fragile. He, more than anyone, knew that wasn’t the case.
“Will you come back later? I probably should stay in bed today.”
Just those words “in bed” stirred something in him that had been dormant since the accident. “I’ll see you later. And you probably should stay in bed several days.” He walked out before either of the women could see the evidence of that male interest stirring in his trousers.
Per propped pillows behind her cousin and helped her sit, then handed her the broth and plopped into the chair Karl had vacated.
“How do you really feel?”
“Not that bad, honestly.” She took a spoonful of broth. “More tired than anything. This is good. You’ve become such a great cook.”
“It’s odd to me why everyone shouldn’t learn to cook. It’s such a useful skill.” She shook her head almost sadly. “I spent a lot of years being useless. What a waste.”
“You were never a waste.” And then a panicky thought occurred to her. “Gus made it back safely? What happened in town?”
“Yes, and of course he feels terrible about you getting shot. Blames himself.”
“He didn’t shoot me.”
“You know men.”
“Yeah.”
“The wounded outlaw was transported to Salem for trial. The dead man, Georgie Pike, is the brother of Hobie Pike, a real mean one. All three have wanted posters on them, the wounded man just for rustling, Georgie Pike for rustling and robbery and Hobie Pike for those offenses and murder.”
“Murder.”
“You and Gus will get a reward for the dead fellow and Georgie. The sheriff thinks Hobie will most likely want revenge.”
“Where’s my gun?”
Per opened the nightstand drawer. “Right here.”
Bridget smiled. “You’re a good woman.”
Per sighed. “Gus wants me to take the baby and go visit Lindy or Sophie.”
“That would be fun.” She handed her the empty broth bowl.
“This is my ranch too, and I’ll protect it with my life if I have to. Nobody hurts me and mine.”
Bridget smiled. “You’ve gotten fierce since you moved out here.”
Per laughed.
“Now you can use that fierceness to help me to the privy.”
* * *
In the two weeks since Bridget was shot, much had changed. The three healthy ranchers had a difficult time keeping the patient abed, but between them managed to succeed for nearly a week. By then, Bridget was cranky and frustrated and ready to throw a tantrum or injure someone.
Karl had sat with her every day, playing checkers and teaching her how to play chess, sharing stories of their childhoods as well as their hopes and aspirations, getting to know each other better than they had through the mail. And this was the Karl she had begun to give her heart to, the charming, warm, funny, caring man she first met by post. In the mornings he was back to doing ranch work, taking it slowly as he built the strength back up in his leg. With his ability to get back to work, and Bridget thought perhaps successfully performing her operation might have contributed, he had regained his confidence and pride.
Although no more cattle had been rustled, everyone was still on guard for Hobie Pike. On a trip to Vale, Gus had learned th
at the wounded rustler had been patched up and then hanged in Salem. Until Bridget was up and around, Gus had stayed near the house much more than usual. It warmed Bridget that he trusted her to keep Per and the baby safe when he wasn’t around. And Per was no quivering maiden. She carried a pistol herself and would not be averse to using it.
It was evening, after the four had enjoyed a supper of venison stew and cherry pie. Karl and Bridget sat on the porch, relishing the breeze as they drank coffee and listened to the crickets.
“That was a mighty fine meal you cooked,” Karl smiled.
“Well, Henry has a cold, as you know, so my cooking gave Per more time to fuss over him.”
While he didn’t say anything in response, she could feel his eyes boring into her. She looked over at him and was nearly paralyzed by the tenderness she saw.
“Bridget, I…you’re as fine a woman as I’ve ever known and I love you. I know I handled everything poorly. I guess I lost myself for a while. Do you think you could forgive me and consider becoming my wife after all?”
She hesitated, and he felt a fear he’d never known. He couldn’t blame her, of course, if she turned him down, after all he’d put her through.
“As proposals go, that one was not too bad, Mr. Burgen. As it happens, I love you, too, and I would be very happy to marry you.”
He jumped up, feeling a huge weight off his shoulders and nary a twinge in his leg, and pulled her to her feet, hugging her fiercely.
“Karl, I can’t breathe,” she choked out and he stepped back.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Per, holding the sleeping baby, stepped outside then. “What’s going on?”
Bridget beamed. “We’re engaged.”
“Well, it’s about time.”
The wedding took place in Vale the following week, with Gus and Per as witnesses. Bridget wore a pale blue, lace-trimmed dress she had brought for the occasion, and Karl looked handsome in his black trousers, white shirt and bowtie, although Gus teased him about the neckwear. A few strangers sat in the little chapel watching the simple ceremony out of curiosity. One, a man with his arm in a sling, who hung back in the shadows, had a score to settle.
