Desperate Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  Bandages were removed, stitches were removed, and Mitch’s hair was so thick that it easily covered the scar on his scalp. Still, Mitch just lay there. Emma ached to hear his voice, to feel him hold her again. Sarah made the curtains Emma had been wanting for her windows, and Hal Wallace and David Meeks brought Emma an iron cookstove from Virginia City, taking out the potbelly heating stove and hooking up the cookstove instead. George Calus brought braided rugs for the floor and another rocking chair to set outside on the little front porch some of the men had built for Emma. Miners brought a huge supply of wood down from the mountains, and people talked about how early winter made its appearance in the Montana mountains.

  “You’ll need this wood sooner than you think,” one man told her. “One more month and we’ll be in the season where it could be seventy degrees one day and blizzarding the next. That’s how it is in Montana.”

  Emma thanked him and closed the door. That’s how it is in Montana. Yes, life out here was certainly different from anything an Easterner could imagine. But what surprised her the most now was how warm and caring a lot of these rugged, drunken, brawling complete strangers could be in a pinch. In places like this, people had to look out for each other, because this place and each other was all they had. In spite of how unbearable life would be if Mitch didn’t pull through, Emma knew that most everyone here would watch out for her and help her until she decided what to do next. And if Mitch remained a vegetable for life, they’d help her with him, too. She’d spoken her wedding vows not quite three weeks ago, and one of them was to stay by her husband’s side in sickness and in health. She’d stay through his sickness, no matter how long it lasted, even if it was months or years.

  Dear God, don’t let that happen to a man like Mitch! So big and strong and brave and blustery and sometimes just plain mean…lying here lifeless. She wondered how she would get through a long, dark winter without going crazy if Mitch didn’t wake up. She looked around their little house. All the gifts and work of others had made the one-room cabin a home in every way…except one. It needed to be lived in, in the normal way, with a man and woman settling in, eating meals together, sleeping together at night…making love and babies.

  She walked to a calendar on the wall and marked off another day…number nine. Nine days with no sign of Mitch coming around. She looked at a mantel clock sitting on a table beside her rocker, then walked over to wind it before lying down, thinking how Mitch had promised that someday they would have a bigger house with a real fireplace and mantel where she could set the clock. She could hear his voice, see his handsome smile, taste his lips, envision the look of love in those captivating blue eyes.

  Another day…another night of utter despair and loneliness. She changed into her nightgown. She’d told Sarah not to come tonight, feeling guilty for taking so much of the woman’s time and more able now to do everything that needed doing herself. She was touched by how much Sarah and some of the town prostitutes had done for her and smiled at how sometimes they argued over who got to help take care of Mitch next.

  She left a lantern dimly lit on the table, hating total darkness. After all, this was still a wild mining town. Mitch’s intimidating six-guns hung on the wall beside the door, and she knew Randy and Len took turns watching the cabin at night, just as a safety measure. After all, Alder still teemed with new arrivals and strangers. With Mitch unable to perform the role of protective husband, she was truly a woman living alone. The thought always made her want to cry, remembering the luxury of lying in Mitch Brady’s arms at night, always feeling so safe and protected.

  She crawled into the bed beside him as she’d done every night since he was shot. She constantly hoped he would sense her presence. She moved under the covers and was soon asleep from exhaustion. She woke up once, remembered hearing the clock chime two notes…2:00 a.m. She fell back to sleep, unsure of how much longer she slept before Mitch’s movement woke her. He’d turned on his side and had moved an arm and a leg around her in the way he’d always done when they slept together.

  Emma’s heart pounded harder. She turned to look at him, but his eyes were closed. Was he just sleeping normally? His breathing seemed more rhythmic, different from the shallow breathing of an unconscious man. All this time she and others had constantly lifted him to a sitting position for hours at a time while he was unconscious, heeding Doc Wilson’s warning that if they left him constantly flat, he could get pneumonia.

  Emma swallowed, daring to touch his face. “Mitch?” She spoke his name softly.

  “Hmm?” he answered sleepily.

  Emma gasped, putting her hand to her mouth.

  Mitch opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Emma sat up. “You don’t know?”

  “All I know is that you woke me up. Is something wrong?” He sat up and looked around. “When did we get curtains? Last I knew we were going to look for material so Sarah could make them for us.”

  Emma burst into tears of joy. “Mitch!” She threw her arms around him. “Thank God! Thank God!” His own strong arms came around her in that familiar embrace that enveloped her in safety and love.

  “I don’t know what the heck is wrong with you, woman, but I have a headache from hell,” he told her.

  He was back! Emma smothered him with kisses. “Just lie back, Mitch. Don’t get up yet!” she told him.

  Mitch watched her in confusion as she literally hopped off the bed and went to the door. She opened it and hollered out to Randy.

  “Randy, go get Doc Wilson! Mitch is awake and talking!”

  Mitch glanced at the clock on the table: 3:00 a.m. The door opened more, and Randy stepped inside to see for himself as Emma turned up the oil lamp, then quickly pulled on her robe.

  “What the hell are you doing, standing outside my door at three in the morning?” Mitch asked him.

  Randy broke into a wide grin. “Hell, I was hopin’ you wouldn’t wake up so’s I could steal your wife, you sonofabitch.”

  He let out a whoop and left, and Mitch stared at the door in complete confusion. He sat up again, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “What in God’s name is going on?” he asked Emma. He looked down at himself. “Why am I naked with a bunch of towels around me?”

  Emma walked over and knelt in front of him. She ran her hands over his face, down his arms, still hardly able to believe he was awake and talking. She grasped his wrists. “You were shot, Mitch, nine days ago. The bullet creased your skull and you’ve been unconscious ever since. Doc Wilson wasn’t sure you’d ever come out of it, or what shape you’d be in when you did.”

  Mitch scowled, running a hand through his hair. He frowned when he felt the deep crease. “Who the hell shot me?”

  “One of Trudy’s men, Pete Bailey. You actually managed to get off a shot yourself and you killed him.” She kissed his hand. “Mitch, when you went down, I thought I’d die.”

  Mitch just sat there a minute. “You were with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God, the bullet could have strayed and hit you instead! I could have lost you!”

  “But you didn’t, and you’re back in the land of the living, Mitch. That’s all that matters.”

  “Not if you’re in danger every time we walk out the door together.”

  “Don’t think about that right now. And please don’t get up or move around right away,” she asked again. “I’m scared this won’t last. Wait till Doc has a look at you. You have to be careful for a while, Mitch, till we’re sure this is going to last.”

  Mitch touched her tangled hair. “My God, Emma, what have I put you through?”

  “I’m fine. Mitch, I had so much help. So many people in this town care about you. And Len and Randy and Benny all made sure I was always all right.”

  They heard shouts and running footsteps then, and Doc Wilson barged in along with Randy and Len. They all stopped short, just staring
as though they were looking at a ghost. Emma rose and stood aside.

  “He’s awake, Doc, and he’s talking normally. His memory and everything seem to be fine.”

  Mitch sat there stark naked with only a towel to hide what needed hiding, still looking confused. Doc Wilson, Len, and Randy all burst out laughing, both with relief and at the comical situation.

  “Now, ain’t you a sight?” Len joked.

  “Last time I saw you caught naked like this was when we had that shooting a few months back and I had to come and get you at Hildy’s,” Randy teased.

  They all howled until Mitch reminded them with a scowl that Emma was in the room. They quickly sobered and Randy glanced at Emma. “I’m sorry, Emma. That was a mean remark to say in front of you, but you gotta admit, Mitch looks pretty funny sittin’ there naked as a jaybird.”

  “Randy, I’m so happy to see him back in the land of the living that I wouldn’t have cared if he did wake up in Hildy’s bed,” Emma answered. She glanced at Mitch. “Except I would have killed him all over again.”

  They all broke into laughter again and Mitch pulled the blankets around himself. “All right, you bunch of no-goods, you’ve had your fun. Now get the hell out of my house.”

  “You gonna jump up from that bed and make us leave?” Len joked. “I’d sorely like to see that.”

  They all laughed again, including Emma, who sat down to the table while Doc Wilson walked up to Mitch, putting out his hand. “Welcome back, Mitch.”

  Mitch’s scowl at the laughter softened some as he shook Doc’s hand. “What the hell happened, Doc?”

  Doc took out his stethoscope. “Well, like Emma probably already told you, you were shot. The bullet slammed across your skull, kind of like if somebody had knocked you out with a rock or a hammer.” He stopped to listen to Mitch’s heart. “Head wounds are a funny thing, Mitch. It’s next to impossible to predict the outcome. We had no idea if you’d ever wake up at all, or what shape you’d be in when you did. Everybody has been taking turns helping Emma take care of you, and we’ve all just been waiting it out, hoping for the best.”

  “Mitch, look around,” Emma told him. “Everybody has been wonderful. We have curtains and a real cookstove and a porch with a rocking chair and…” She stopped, tears of joy choking her voice.

  Mitch turned back to Doc Wilson. “I don’t remember a damn thing about how I got here.”

  “That’s normal, but for you to remember everything else, remember all these people and all, that’s a real good sign, Mitch. You should be damn grateful to be sitting here alive and well. I would suggest, however, that you take things really slow, Mitch. Really slow.” He looked over at Emma. “Not too much physical exertion for a while.”

  They all laughed again and Emma put her hands over her face, hating them all for the embarrassment and loving them all for their fierce loyalty to Mitch.

  Randy ran outside and yelled to someone that Mitch Brady was awake and okay. Emma heard shouts and people yelling and even some celebratory shooting. She thought how only in Alder would there be people still up and carousing at three o’clock in the morning. Men and women alike came running, and Mitch scowled at Doc and Len and the others. “For God’s sake, everybody get out of here and close the damn door!”

  Len chuckled, nodding at Emma before stepping outside. “He’s back, all right,” he told her with a wink. “I just hope that head injury hasn’t made him even meaner than he already was.”

  Len and Randy walked out and closed the door.

  Mitch rubbed at his eyes. “I have one hell of a headache, Doc.”

  “Let’s hope that gradually goes away.” Doc rose, putting his stethoscope back into the small leather bag he seemed always to have with him. “I’ll come back in a few minutes with a tonic that should help the headache. It’s good to see you back to your old self, Mitch. You just remember what I said. Take it easy for a while.” He looked at Emma and winked. “I’m counting on you to make sure he does.”

  “Oh, I will,” she answered. “You can be sure of that.”

  Doc Wilson left, and Emma walked over to the bed. “Lie down, Mitch.”

  “Get me some damn clothes, woman.”

  Emma grinned, going to their one and only chest of drawers and taking out some long underwear. She knelt down to help him put them on, but Mitch grabbed them out of her hands. “For God’s sake, Emma, I can put my own clothes on!”

  Emma blinked, looking at him as though he’d hit her. Mitch threw aside the blankets and leaned forward, wrapping her into his arms as she burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry, Emma. I’m just confused and I’m damn embarrassed you’ve had to take care of me like this.”

  “You’re my husband. I would have taken care of you for years if I’d had to.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” He kissed her hair and Emma pulled away.

  “Doc is coming back,” she reminded him.

  Mitch wrapped himself into the blankets again. “Emma, I’m just upset that something could have happened to you when I was shot, or afterward.”

  She wiped at her tears, sitting down in a chair beside the bed. “Mitch, we have to think of right now. I’m fine and you are recovering. That makes both of us very blessed. And if you never came back to me, so many people in this town would have made sure I was all right. People can say what they want about Montana’s vigilantes, but I know any of them would have done anything for me if I needed it. You should rest easy knowing that.”

  He nodded. “I’m just not used to depending on anybody else for anything. I’ve been fending for myself since I was six years old, Emma, and I’ll be the one to look after you.”

  Emma folded her arms. “Mitch Brady, count your blessings. I know there isn’t a better man in all of Montana, but sometimes even the best of them needs help, and there is nothing wrong with that. You make sure to thank Len and Randy for all they did—and Sarah and Hildy and a lot of those other women. If not for the humor they used around me when helping take care of you, I would have gone crazy. It’s time for you to come to realize you’re not alone in this world, Mitch, not just because of me but because of a lot of people out there beyond the door.”

  He moved a hand from under the covers and Emma took it. Mitch squeezed her hand. “Help me get these damn long johns on, will you? I have such a damn headache, I’m afraid I’ll fall over when I stand up.”

  Emma smiled. “And you really think I could hold up a man your size if you started going down?”

  He thought a moment. “Let’s wait for Doc Wilson to come back.”

  Emma kept hold of his hand. “Don’t let go yet.”

  Mitch finally smiled in the way that always melted her. “Oh, I won’t let go, Emma Brady. I’ll never let go.”

  Thirty

  Emma welcomed her husband inside her soul, taking in his rich, deep kisses, offering herself to him in sheer ecstasy and in the joy of realizing Mitch Brady had not lost any of his ability to please a woman in every way.

  “Am I back in working order?” he asked softly, moving inside her for a second time.

  Emma breathed deeply, grasping his hard-muscled arms. “What do you think?” she whispered, arching up to meet each deep thrust.

  Mitch reached under her hips, thinking how he could grasp most of her small bottom in both his hands, relishing every curve, every soft place, the look of pure pleasure in her eyes, and the feel of her spasms of climax that made him penetrate her with a gentle rhythm that led to that moment when he could no longer hold back. His life spilled into her again, both of them hoping that soon it would take hold and Emma would have the baby they both wanted.

  He relaxed then, pulling her close. Emma snuggled against him, neither of them wanting to get up and wash just yet. She kissed his neck. “These last five days of more bed rest that Doc ordered were worth the wait, Mitch,” she teased. �
��Are you okay?”

  “Oh, lady, I am just fine.” Mitch ran a hand over her breasts, leaning down to kiss them tenderly.

  Emma pushed at him playfully. “Time for a break, Mr. Brady. You shouldn’t exert yourself too much at once.”

  “Oh, but this kind of exertion is good for a man.” He kissed her lightly as Emma smiled with the sheer joy of knowing her husband was back in every way.

  “Mitch, I was thinking today as I looked around our little home what a contrast it is to the kind of home I grew up in…a mansion with maids and a butler and fine china and silver, all the beautiful clothes a young girl could want…and that I’ve never been happier than right here in this uncivilized little town in my hastily built little cabin made of fresh pine—just one room and three windows.”

  “I wish I could give you all those other things, Emma.”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I don’t want them. I just want you beside me at night, making me feel safe and loved. Whatever we do from here on, wherever we go, how we live, none of it matters as long as we have each other.”

  He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that…about the vigilante work. I have some money saved up, Emma. I could start a business as a gunsmith. David Carlson told me a couple of weeks ago that he’s thinking of moving on to California, so Alder will need a gunsmith, and one thing I know is guns. If I work with something like that, I wouldn’t feel quite so far removed from being a lawman. I worry about you getting hurt because of what I do. It still bothers me that you were with me the day I was shot.”