Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2)

by Margaret Madigan

  “Yes they can,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “He just said he was going to kill you.”

  “Only if Ernie dies. So I guess I need to keep Ernie alive.”

  “Fine, then, I’m going with you,” she said, determined, apparently, to get herself killed too.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” I hissed.

  Clyde peered at me, then at Lydia, giving her a slow once-over. He shot me a lewd grin, before turning back to Lydia. “Lady, you’re surely more trouble than you’re worth, but if you’re so determined to defend the Doc, here, you can just ride along with us. I’m sure you’ll come in handy keeping him in line. And if not, I’m sure you’re good for something.”

  He grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her out the door with us. Another man waited outside with horses loaded down with heavy bags slung over either side. Perhaps the train had been hauling some sort of payroll.

  “Let’s ride, boys,” Clyde said.

  “Where are we?” I whispered over my shoulder.

  Emmett rode behind me on the same horse, the one I assumed belonged to Ernie. He rode slung over the saddle of his brother’s horse. All things considered, I wouldn’t be very put out if he died before we reached our destination.

  On the other hand, if he did, Emmett wouldn’t be of much use. Grudgingly, I thought it might be prudent if the man survived.

  “I have no idea. Somewhere in Wyoming,” Emmett said.

  “Thanks, that’s a big help.”

  His laugh rumbled against my back. “If it helps any, we’ve been heading northeast all morning.”

  He was far more calm than he should have been. His life, and now mine, depended on Ernie surviving. I didn’t think Clyde cared one whit for Ernie’s life, but Emmett had showed him up in front of his men, which meant he had to pay one way or another. I understood men like that far too well; I’d grown up in a household with two of them, and now I was headed back to one of them. Well, I would be after this detour, assuming Clyde didn’t kill me.

  My fingers had been numb for what seemed like ages, and I couldn’t tell how long we’d been riding, but dawn had come and gone and the sun had begun its crawl up the sky. I was hungry, and needed to empty my bladder before it emptied itself.

  “What kind of thieves rob a train in November in Wyoming?” I grumbled, shoving my fingers into my armpits, seeking what little heat my body had left.

  “Desperate ones?” Emmett said, wrapping his coat as far around me as it would go, and wrapping his arms the rest of the way.

  “Stupid ones, if you ask me,” I said.

  Lyle urged his horse up next to Clyde’s and asked, “When we gonna stop and have the Doc look at Ernie?”

  “You want to just lay him out here in the snow? He’ll freeze before the Doc can save him,” he said.

  “He won’t make it back to the hideout. He needs help now.”

  “We’ll stop at the old Johnson homestead. It’s not far from here,” Clyde said.

  He gave his horse his heels and cut to the west heading around behind a rocky outcrop. The rest of the horses plodded along without much enthusiasm through the foot or so of snow on the ground.

  The traitorous sun, despite shining bright in the sky, was far too stingy with its heat.

  “What are we going to do after you do what you can for that man?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” Emmett said. He’d leaned in so his lips were right next to my ear. The shiver that wiggled down under my coat and slithered down my back could have been because of the cold, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think so. Emmett’s hot breath on my neck heated a spot on my skin against the otherwise cold air. It spawned intimate images of the warm tip of his tongue tracing the ridge of my ear. Sitting so snuggly tucked between his thighs with his arms wrapped around me, the length of his chest nestled close to my back, I had a hard time making my imagination behave, even given the cold and distinctly un-romantic situation.

  Still, my skin remembered the sweetness of his lips on my cheek.

  I cleared my throat and pushed the memory aside. “Well, I hate to bring it up, but if Ernie dies we’re in deep trouble. Do you think you can save him?”

  I remembered his panic at treating the boy’s injury on the train. I’d have thought it fatal from Emmett’s reaction. He’d said something about making mistakes and had seemed terrified to even touch the boy. I wondered what he’d done to warrant that kind of reaction. I’d told him I trusted him, and I did, as far as I knew him. But still, what secrets darkened his past?

  “I’m not too worried about it,” Emmett said, far too confidently in my opinion, given the situation. “A doctor’s always valuable. What I’m more worried about is them not letting us go.”

  “I’ll just worry for both of us, then. Clyde doesn’t seem very rational. If Ernie dies, Clyde’s not going to consider how valuable your skills are. They’ve managed fine so far without a personal physician. Why would he care about it now?”

  I didn’t mention my concern about whether or not he’d panic again when faced with treating Ernie. On the other hand, I had a hard time believing this group could keep anyone prisoner for very long. Our back trail in the snow would lead the law right to us.

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  He came across as casual, but tension coiled his body tight. It warmed my heart he wanted to protect me, and soften the danger, but it also made me fuming angry. Did he really give me so little credit, that he thought I needed to be protected? Couldn’t he trust me enough that we could deal with the danger together? Ugh. Men.

  A homestead, which I had to assume was the Johnson place, came into view as we rounded the rocks. It didn’t look occupied, nor did it look abandoned. I wondered what had happened to the Johnsons, because it didn’t appear that they still lived there.

  We reached the house and the men scattered. Emmett slid off the back of our horse and helped me down, then a couple of the men—whose names I’d learned while eavesdropping on their conversations were Slim and Jed, took the horse—along with the others—to the barn. Lyle dismounted and he and another man named Pete maneuvered Ernie off the horse. Ernie groaned as they hauled him up onto the porch and into the house.

  Clyde shouldered his way through the men and horses, unholstering his gun as he did. He pointed it at me, but spoke to Emmett. “You do anything squirrelly, she’ll pay for it.”

  Emmett’s eyes narrowed and the rest of his face hardened. “You don’t have to threaten her. I’ll do what I can for your man. I said you didn’t need to bring her.”

  “I believe in insurance,” Clyde said.

  “I thought you were going to kill me if Ernie died,” Emmett said.

  “I’ll just kill you both.”

  Oh great. Now poor Emmett had my life hanging over his head too. The pained look on his face said he felt the weight of the added burden.

  Inside the cabin, another man had lit the fireplace and a couple of oil lamps. Lyle and Pete had dumped Ernie, rather unceremoniously, onto a bed in a room at the end of the cabin. I had no idea how all nine of us were going to crowd ourselves into this house for very long. It wasn’t much to look at with a large central room that served as living space and kitchen, a stone fireplace and chimney that separated a small bedroom from the main room, and a loft above. A fine layer of dust covered everything, as if the place had sat empty for a while, confirming my feeling that the Johnsons were long gone and perhaps the house now only served as a temporary layover between stops.

  “In here, Doc,” Lyle said from the doorway of the bedroom.

  “Follow me, Lydia,” Emmett said. “Stay close. I don’t want you out of my sight.”

  He took my hand and I went with him to get our first good look at Ernie’s injuries. Emmett’s fingers were damp with sweat, belaying his nerves.

  I stayed at the foot of the bed and watched Emmett as he examined Ernie. In my limited experience, Ernie didn’t look so good. Sweat slicked his pale skin as he la
y unconscious, and blood soaked his shirt, sticking it to his chest. Frankly, I was surprised he was still alive.

  Emmett opened Ernie’s shirt to reveal a hole in his upper right belly. It oozed blood, and when Emmett palpated around it, Ernie’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned. Emmett pressed on the wound, and blood welled.

  “Well, Doc?” Lyle asked, hovering over Emmett’s shoulder, wringing his hat in his hand.

  Emmett tucked a finger into his collar and pulled to loosen it. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple. He closed his eyes and swayed forward a bit. To me, he looked dizzy, like he’d topple, but then he swallowed hard and stood, arranging his features into a confident expression.

  “It’s hard to say. He’s gut shot. There are a lot of important organs in there, and without opening him up and digging around, I won’t be able to tell exactly what’s what.”

  “You got any guesses?”

  Emmett took a deep, pained breath, like he didn’t even want to speculate. But given the situation, he had no choice. “Worst case is the bullet’s pierced his liver—maybe shredded it—and it’s only a matter of time before he dies.”

  “That can’t be. Look again,” Lyle said.

  “I didn’t say that was the actual case,” Emmett said. “I said it was the worst case.”

  “What’s the best case, then?”

  Emmett glanced at me and his eyes told me there wasn’t a best case. I started thinking the only way we’d get out of the cabin alive was to escape. He shifted his gaze back to Lyle.

  “Best case, the bullet missed all the important stuff and it’s just a matter of waiting for Ernie to heal from a simple bullet wound.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek at Emmett’s monumental understatement. Poor Ernie would never achieve the best case.

  “So which is it?” Lyle asked. “Worst or best?”

  Emmett shrugged a shoulder. “Probably somewhere in between.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  By this time Clyde had joined us, leaning in the doorway quietly observing, with a gleeful look of anticipation, as if he already imagined killing us both. He reminded me of the children at school who enjoyed crushing bugs and wringing the necks of the birds they caught.

  “It means just what I said,” Emmett said, his words measured and patient. “There’s no way I can know for sure exactly what’s going on inside him without opening him up and looking.”

  “What the hell good are you, then? Why’d we bring you with us?”

  “I suppose you’re going to have to open him up,” Clyde said from the doorway.

  All eyes went to Clyde.

  Emmett looked horrified. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “I’m not doing surgery on this man under these conditions. Not only do I not have the proper equipment, but this is so far from being a sterile environment it’s a joke. Opening him up will kill him; if not from the trauma then definitely from infection.”

  “Lyle’s right, then. What good are you?” He reached for his gun. “I told you if he dies, so do the two of you. You just said he’ll die if you don’t do surgery, and he’ll die if you do. So I may as well kill you both now.”

  “He did not say Ernie would die if he didn’t do surgery,” I said. “He said he wouldn’t know exactly what the damage is without it. So put your darn gun away. For all we know Ernie’s injuries aren’t serious and doing the surgery will only make him worse.”

  We all looked at Ernie, and none of us believed me. He already looked like he had one foot in the grave.

  Lyle shuffled his feet and ran his hand through his greasy hair. “I don’t know, Clyde. Seems awful drastic to cut him open. If the Doc’s nervous about it, maybe we should wait a while. See how he does.”

  Clyde didn’t hide his disappointment. He looked like someone had offered him a juicy rare steak, then taken it away. “Hmph,” he said, and turned to leave the room.

  I struggled to keep the bile down where it belonged, but I did it only because vomiting would be bad form for a doctor, even one like me. I also didn’t want to provoke Clyde any more than necessary.

  I stayed by Ernie’s side, trying to be as confident and imposing as possible by ordering the rest of the men to fetch clean cloths, hot water, and anything else I could think of to maintain the illusion I was doing something useful. The truth was, Ernie was dead, or would be soon.

  Lydia, with her practical nature, took it upon herself to seize control of the kitchen and feed everyone. She managed to distract them all with food and the authority I imagined all teachers and mothers have, despite being a petite woman among grown men.

  After she’d fed everyone else, and they were settled and satisfied, she brought me a plate of beans and bacon, and a biscuit with butter and honey.

  “You have to be hungry,” she said, sitting in a chair at the end of the bed with her own plate.

  “I’m starved,” I admitted, digging into the meal.

  She checked the door, then asked, “How’s he doing?”

  By her look she wanted to know his real condition. I shook my head. Not so good.

  I moved my chair closer to her so we could talk without being heard from the other room, although the rest of the men were making enough noise I doubted they’d hear us anyway.

  “He’s not going to make it,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I don’t know how long I can keep him alive.”

  “So we need to figure out how to get out of here before he dies?”

  “Looks that way.”

  I focused on my plate. I didn’t want to think about what escape meant for her. Had it been just me, I’d be fine, but it would be hard on her.

  “You just wipe that look off your face right now,” she said.

  I coughed, and looked up at her.

  “Don’t look so surprised. You’re not that hard to read. You feel guilty, and you’re worried about me.” She leaned in closer, giving her whispered words more power. “Well, don’t be. I’m not much to look at, and most people look right past me, but I’m strong. I can tolerate anything you can.”

  Her little chin came up, daring me to disagree with her. I smiled. “I’m sure you can,” I said. “But escaping here isn’t going to be just a matter of sneaking out in the middle of the night. It’s winter out there, and there’s nothing in Wyoming. No place to run to. Or at least it’s a long way to civilization.”

  “So what are you saying?” she asked, scooping another bite of beans, and checking the door to be sure nobody lurked there listening.

  “I need to keep Ernie here alive long enough to come up with a plan. We need to collect some supplies, we’ll need to steal horses, and we’ll need enough of a head start that these guys can’t catch up.”

  “How long will that take versus how long Ernie will last?”

  “No idea. Let’s just assume we need to act fast.”

  She sat quietly, eating one measured bite after another. She focused on her plate so hard, she was obviously avoiding eye contact. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.

  “What?” I finally asked.

  She looked up at me, innocence etched all over her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh come on, Lydia. You’ve got something on your mind. It’s obvious. Just tell me what it is.”

  “Nothing. I don’t have anything on my mind,” she said, shoving the beans around her plate. “Only, it occurred to me how convenient it would be if they were all…gone…”

  The words were harmless enough, but the look in her eyes made me think otherwise. “Gone how? Like Ernie’s about to be gone, or gone as in they decide they’ve got someplace better to be so they take off?”

  She cast her gaze down at her plate again, and lifted a shoulder in a vague shrug.

  I leaned close enough that her knees were between mine, and I tucked a finger under her chin and lifted it so our eyes were only inches apart. “Are you ready to kill a man, Lydia? Or two, or three? It soun
ds simple enough, but when it comes right down to it, it’s not so easy. Trust me, you don’t want that on your conscience.”

  Her lips set in a determined line. “They won’t hesitate to kill us.”

  “True. But we’re—you’re—not cold-blooded killers.”

  She made a disgusted sound. “Great. So we can congratulate ourselves on our sterling principles while Clyde puts bullets in our heads.”

  I chuckled. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

  “What?” she looked bewildered by the change of subject.

  “You come across on first impression as…”

  “…a sour, grouchy, tedious old maid?”

  “What? No. I was going to say timid, cautious, proper.”

  “I am all those things.”

  Her knees were still between mine and she sat close enough that her breath touched my face. I closed my knees around hers and she held her breath for just a moment, and her eyes grew wide.

  “Oh no you’re not,” I whispered, leaning in until my lips were just a breath away from hers.

  “I’m not?” she asked, swallowing hard.

  “No,” I said. “You’re smart,” I closed the distance between us and brushed my lips against hers. She gasped and pulled back a little. I caught her chin and gently pulled her close. “You’re brave,” I kissed her again, firmer this time. “You’re cheeky,” this time when I kissed her, I felt her smile. “And you’re adorable,” I tried to kiss her again, but she pulled back, a disappointed look on her face.

  “No, I’m not,” she said.

  I reached for her, slipping my hand around the back of her neck, burying my fingers in the hair at the nape. “Yes, you are,” I said firmly, and pulled her back to me, kissing her good and hard. This time she kissed back. It was shy, but she did it, and that bashful little kiss sent a sliver of lust straight south, followed immediately by a bolt of fear.

  What was I thinking kissing Lydia? She was so far off limits she may as well be married, or a nun, or an obligation to Randall.

  Still, her hesitant little kiss hinted at her inexperience. How delightful would it be to be the first to explore her body, to give her pleasure, to watch her realize what her body could do?