The Half-Breed's Woman

by Cheryl Pierson

  But not Jaxson’s life.

  She raised her eyes to the wounded man on the bed, and saw that he was awake and watching her.

  ****

  Jax lay as still as he could. It hurt to breathe. He turned his head slowly, and was able to see the broken end of the Apache arrow shaft rising up out of his flesh. He must have drifted off for a few minutes. The poison was working fast. His eyes slitted against the light, and he became aware that he wasn’t alone.

  Callie sat warily at the other side of the bed in the chair. As their gazes locked, he could see that she was sorry for what she was about to do.

  He would never ask her for help. Her dark eyes narrowed in determination, and in her expression, he read what she planned to do. Leave. But he drew her to him even now, unwilling to believe what he saw in her expression.

  He gritted his teeth. She was leaving him. It was written plainly on her face and in the stiff way she sat.

  “What’re you…waiting for, Cal?” he murmured.

  ****

  She jumped, startled as much by his direct question as the way he lay watching her. As if he knew every move she would make. Every thought she had—

  She shook her head to clear her mind, and for a moment, he thought she meant to stay. But her eyes held the intent he knew she’d had all along. She was going.

  “Now’s your chance,” he said hoarsely. “Your chance to…go.”

  “You’re—letting me go?” she asked quietly, and as the question fell between them, she realized it had a deeper meaning. I’ll never let you go, girl. But he was. And there was something else. She sounded—disappointed, hurt, even to her own ears.

  “I’m hardly…in any shape to keep you, wife,” he said, after a moment. “Do me a favor, Cal, will you?” He closed his eyes.

  Her heart almost stopped at the raggedness of his voice, and in that moment, she knew that whatever he asked of her, she’d do. Even if it meant staying here with him indefinitely as—whatever he wanted her to be. Wife—or prisoner.

  She moistened her lips. “You know I will, Jax. What is it?”

  “On your way out of town—stop by Doc Naylor’s office and ask him to come by.” He stopped and drew a deep breath. “Tell him—tell him I’ve…got money.”

  He spoke with a bitterness that Callie didn’t understand. “Do you know him?” she asked softly. Maybe if the doctor knew Jax, she could at least feel as if he would take good care to see that he recovered. The doctor would know how to treat the wound; what to do for his fever—

  There was something unreadable in Jax’s eyes—and Callie could’ve sworn she saw unguarded vulnerability there for an instant before it was replaced with the mocking aloofness she’d seen earlier.

  “You—might say that. We spent some time together. A long time ago.”

  Callie felt even better at that admission. Surely, Doctor Naylor would come for an old friend. She nodded, steadying her voice before she spoke. “All right. I’ll do that for you.”

  ****

  Jax closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Every breath was an effort, and he hurt so damn badly— He couldn’t believe Callie was really going. He’d miss her—the soft warmth of her body next to him as they slept, the mischievous laughter in her caramel eyes, the way she had tasted when he’d kissed her, the smooth warmth of her skin under him as they made love…

  He opened his eyes again. The light filtering through the curtained window assailed him. The poison was potent. It could be anything, and he wondered if he’d be strong enough to live through it. The sensitivity to light, the distortion of his senses, and the pounding headache were all indicators that perhaps Crooked Elk had used more than one kind. Jax wondered what combination the Apache had put together. Something creative, he was sure, and lethal, knowing the arrow had been meant for Callie. Maybe he should tell her…the others were still out there. He’d led her to believe Crooked Elk was trying to settle an old score with him…but she was still in danger. He couldn’t talk right now… He’d have plenty of time to think about it after Callie left. Right now, he wanted to look at her, so that he could remember.

  “Jax—” Callie turned back to him as she stood poised, her hand on the doorknob.

  Jax told himself he couldn’t trust what he thought he saw in Callie’s expression. He thought he had seen need—for him—written across Callie’s face. That, he knew, was ludicrous.

  When he spoke, his voice was infinitely tender. “Go on, Callie,” he whispered. “Damn you, just get out.”

  He closed his eyes, too weary to keep them open any longer, and finally he heard the door click shut after what seemed like a very long time.

  ****

  Callie made her way down the back stairway and out the door without incident. She blinked back the hovering tears and hurried down the dusty street, clutching her bag. It was for the best, she thought bitterly. Now, if she could only tell herself that long enough to actually believe it…

  As she stood looking up and down the street for the doctor’s shingle, she caught sight of Carlos headed her way. His dark features brightened at the sight of her. He waved, and hurried to where she stood, Jax’s saddlebag across his shoulder.

  “Hola, Señorita.”

  “Hello, Carlos.”

  “I carry your bag for you, no?” He reached to take her bag, and they moved forward a few steps out of the middle of the boardwalk. “How is Señor Jax? Who is—”

  “Carlos, do you know where Doctor Naylor’s office is?”

  “Sí,” he replied warily.

  “Just point me in the right direction, and—”

  Carlos stopped and turned to face her, his expression serious. “Can you not care for him, Señorita? It must be very bad if he would send for el doctor.”

  Callie patted his shoulder in reassurance. “You needn’t worry—the doctor will see to him.”

  Carlos’s expression became disbelieving. “He will not come, Señorita! And Señor Jax knows this.”

  “Nonsense. Jaxson told me they…that they knew each other long ago.”

  “Who is with Señor Jax, Señorita?”

  “Why, no one, Carlos. I—”

  “You left him alone?”

  “I had to! Don’t you see? I have to get the doctor.”

  “You are going farther than Doctor Naylor’s office, I think,” the boy said, his hand tightening around Jax’s saddlebag as he stepped away from her. “Here Señorita. Take your bag.” His eyes raked her scornfully. “I would never leave my friend.”

  Callie moistened her lips. Carlos looked at her steadily, making her feel small.

  “The doctor’s office is across the street,” Carlos told her quietly. He pointed to a small sign. “Right over there. Buenas dias, Señorita.” He bent his dark head, but not before giving her a sharp look that cut her to the quick. He had dismissed her as efficiently as any wealthy Don of the Spanish nobility, giving his opinion of her by his actions, his tone. And, he was on his way to the hotel in a long loping run. Callie remembered she hadn’t told him the room number. She started to call after him, but he was too far away.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the doctor’s office. As she entered the building, a bell jingled on the doorknob.

  A tall man sat behind a massive oak desk, his feet propped on its edge, a medical journal open across his lap. He wore a short frock coat over a white linen shirt. As he glanced up, he met Callie’s dark eyes with a piercing gray gaze.

  Now that she was actually here, Callie felt hesitant. She’d been trying to ignore the undercurrents she’d felt both in her conversation with Jax as well as with Carlos. They’d both seemed doubtful that Doctor Naylor would help. “Hello.” She nodded nervously and took a step forward. “Dr. Naylor?”

  He inclined his head slightly, watching her.

  “I’m-I’m Callista Buchanan.” She extended her hand.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, almost disinterestedly, ignoring her hand.

  Callie didn’
t quite know how to proceed. She had never met a professional who behaved so peculiarly. She took another step forward and gave him a faltering smile. “Dr. Naylor, a—a mutual friend—of ours has been hurt, and I was hoping perhaps you might see about him.”

  “And, pray tell, who would that be, my dear?”

  “Jaxson McCall.” Callie rushed on, not giving Dr. Naylor a chance to say anything. “He was wounded, you see, by an Apache arrow. Half of it is still—”

  “Spare me the details.”

  “Doctor—”

  “I don’t treat Indians.”

  Callie felt the breath rush out of her. Surely, she had not heard him correctly. He went back to his reading, and for the second time in the past fifteen minutes, Callie recognized that she was being dismissed.

  “You were his friend!”

  Doctor Naylor raised glittering gray eyes to her hot gaze. “You never heard that from Jaxson McCall!”

  “He said you knew each other from—from long ago! Don’t you remember?”

  “Ma’am, I do not treat Indians. Or Mexicans.”

  Callie stood in disbelief. That would certainly explain Carlos’s behavior when she’d mentioned Dr. Naylor. And she was also beginning to understand Jaxson’s odd reticence concerning the good doctor as well. She closed the distance between the door and the doctor’s desk.

  “He said to tell you…he has money.”

  To her astonishment, the doctor laughed, and laid down the journal, raising his fog-gray eyes to hers. “He must be pretty desperate, to send you over here for me, Miss Buchanan.” He shook his head, chuckling once more.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked sharply, realizing that what he said was true. Jaxson had seemed very uneasy when he’d mentioned the doctor.

  “Because he knows I won’t come.”

  Callie’s expression turned hard. She raked him with loathing in her eyes. “You aren’t much of a doctor, are you? He needs you! How can you let him lie up there and suffer? Possibly die—”

  “Probably,” he corrected, lowering his feet to the floor. “Arrows can prove to be pretty deadly—in the right place.”

  “You bastard.”

  He swiftly came up out of his chair. “If you were a man, I’d—”

  Callie wanted to laugh, but she was too angry. Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, if you were a man, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” She gave him a haughty, unflinching stare as he banged his hands on the desk and leaned forward, nose-to-nose with her.

  “May I remind you, you are in my office, Madame?”

  “Certainly. And while we’re at it, let me remind you of something you obviously have forgotten. ‘First, do no harm—’ Sound familiar? Probably not. It’s the Hippocratic Oath you were supposed to have taken when you became a doctor, you fraud!”

  She had one last thing she could offer. Without looking away from his furious silver glare, she reached into her bag and felt for the jewel case. Her fingers closed around it firmly as she brought it out of her bag. “If you won’t come for money, or decency, or your own self respect as a doctor,” she pressed the case into his hand, “come for this. These jewels could pay your yearly wages a hundred times over, Doctor. They mean nothing to me if Jaxson McCall dies. Please come.”

  Callie whirled and sailed through the door, slamming it behind her with a satisfying bang. Fear and anger pushed her back down the dusty street. Without realizing what she was doing, she found herself standing in front of the hotel. Halfway up the stairs, she began to question her sanity.

  But when she opened the door to the room she’d left a half-hour earlier, peace settled over her spirit. This was the right thing. No matter what came of it, she could not leave Jaxson in the state he was in.

  Carlos sat beside Jax, one of Jax’s pistols cocked and aimed at her heart as she opened the door. A happy grin lit the boy’s features, only to be replaced quickly by stoic indifference. He carefully eased his finger off the trigger, and let the hammer down slowly. Callie could not mistake the relief in his coal-black eyes.

  “You were right, Carlos,” Callie said, shutting the door behind her. “You were right about…everything.”

  Carlos nodded sagely. “He is not a good doctor, that one.”

  “No. He is not even a good man.” Callie set her bag down. She crossed the room and laid her hand across Jax’s forehead. He felt even hotter than before, if that was possible. She couldn’t just stand by and let him suffer and die. She wouldn’t. If he hadn’t been protecting her, he’d never have been injured in the first place.

  Jax slitted his eyes open at her cool touch across his flesh. “Callie?” His voice was a harsh whisper.

  “I’m here.”

  “You…came back?”

  Callie nodded, unable to speak for a moment. How could she have ever left him? He seemed to have gotten so much worse in the short time she’d been gone. “Yes. I—I came back.”

  A smile touched his mouth, and when he opened his eyes to look at her again, they glimmered with a knowing look. “He wouldn’t come, would he?”

  Callie looked down. “No,” she answered quietly. “He said—he said you knew he wouldn’t.”

  “Did he…tell you why, Callie?”

  Callie met his dark gaze, holding it a moment before she answered. “He doesn’t treat Indians—or Mexicans.”

  “That’s right,” Jax murmured. “Or…brothers.”

  Chapter 20

  “Brothers! You and Dr. Naylor?” Callie was shocked. But not so much at Jax’s revelation as at the thought that Doctor Naylor wouldn’t come to help his own brother.

  Jax had known, though. And yet, he had asked her to see if the doctor would come anyway. Carlos’s words echoed in her mind. “It must be very bad if he would send for el doctor…He will not come…”

  Jax gave her a brief, caustic smile. “By…blood only, I can…assure you.”

  The admission hurt him, Callie could see. She looked away from him, across to Carlos’s wide-eyed stare. Evidently, their relationship was a well-kept secret.

  Callie met Jax’s cool look. Was he watching for her reaction? Or was he merely wondering what she intended to do, now that she was here? She bit her lip. She was the only thing standing between him and death. Though she certainly was no doctor, she was no coward, either. She had to try.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  The relief in his eyes was quickly masked. “The matches…”

  She crossed the room to where the saddlebags lay on the floor and rolled up her sleeves as she began to look for the oilskin pouch containing the matches. She could hear Jax speaking to Carlos in a low, gravelly voice, and as she came back to the bedside, Carlos straightened from where he’d been searching for something on the floor. He handed her Jax’s knife with a solemn look, then took a cartridge from Jax’s gunbelt and held it tightly in his fist.

  “Heat the…blade,” Jax muttered.

  She was instantly reminded of Dolly Ames, sterilizing the needle before she began to stitch Jax’s side up. Callie struck a match and held the razor-sharp knife-edge in the flame until it got close to her fingers. Then she shook it out and laid the match down on the night table on top of wood that had seen countless cigarette burns and stains.

  “You look…scared.” A smile touched his lips briefly. “Ease up…Cal,” he murmured. “It’s gonna…be all right.”

  “I don’t know what to do—”

  “You will. I’m gonna tell you, honey.”

  Callie bit her lip and nodded quickly. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment with a sigh. “All right.” She met his eyes. “I’m ready.”

  “Make a—cut on each side of…where the arrow is. Straight down—’bout a quarter inch—maybe a little more—”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Jax.”

  Jax gave a brief chuckle, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re gonna have to, Callie. It’s started to heal. Gotta give it some room. It’ll hurt…a hell of a lot more if—you don’t. ”
/>
  Lifting her chin, she carefully sat down on the bed beside him. She put the metal to his too-warm flesh, just where he’d said, and pushed. Immediately, the blood welled up and ran, and she gasped at what she had done. She looked at him, only to find him watching her, his face drawn, the lines grooved deeply around his eyes and mouth.

  “Other side, Cal.”

  She nodded, and repeated what she’d done, placing a folded towel around the wound to catch the blood.

  “Now, pull—straight up.”

  Carlos reached to steady Jax, a hand on his right shoulder and one on his chest, as Callie gripped the bloody broken arrow shaft and began to pull the shale arrowhead free.

  Jax’s hands fisted in the sheets, his face twisting in pain as the arrow began to slip out. “God…” His breathing came in harsh, ragged spurts. The tip of the arrow finally came clear, and he swallowed back a cry of agony, biting his lip until he bled.

  Callie’s teeth sank into her own lip, wondering how he could endure it. She pressed on the wound gently after a moment. At least, she knew to do that much. But when Carlos hesitantly let go of Jax and began to take the cartridge apart, Callie didn’t understand.

  Seeing her puzzled expression, Carlos said, “We will seal the wound with black powder, Señorita. To stop the bleeding. It keeps away infection.”

  Before she could protest, Carlos deftly pulled the edges of the wound open and poured the gunpowder into it.

  “Carlos!” The blood rushed from her face.

  “Where are the matches, Señorita?” The boy’s dark face was somber.

  “It’s okay, Callie.” Jax’s voice was uneven, jagged with pain. Callie looked down at him. “Carlos knows what…to do.” His voice trailed away as he closed his eyes.

  “Strike the match for me, Señorita Callie,” Carlos said.

  Callie did as the boy asked, handing it to him. Deftly, he held the wound open and laid the flame against the powder. There was a crackling sound and smoke, followed by the smell of hot blood and skin. Jax’s breath hissed in sharply. He turned his face away from Callie, sweat beading his forehead. It was over quickly, but Callie felt as if she was going to be sick. She turned away as she reached for a cool cloth, trailing it down to his neck.