A few minutes later when she heard Kitty on the other side of the door, Rebecca was actually relieved. Too bad he wasn’t awake to sip his broth, but she’d heat it later. She returned the cloth to the basin just as the door opened.
She turned to her friend, except it wasn’t Kitty. At the sight of the bearded Ranger, Rebecca’s insides twisted painfully. She recognized him right off. Corbin. He’d been one of the men who’d rescued her just over two weeks ago. She tried not to cower. She tried not to think about how much she wanted to stick a knife between his ribs.
“Well, looky here, ain’t you the good little nursemaid.” Mud caked his boots and soiled the plank floor she’d scrubbed this morning. “Why ain’t you with the rest of ’em taking customers above the saloon?”
“Doc Davis isn’t here,” she said, giving him her back so he couldn’t see the disgust in her eyes. He’d slapped her once, and if he did it again, she’d have to break her promise to Kitty.
“Do I look sick to you, girl? I don’t want Doc Davis.”
The floor creaked close behind her. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”
Gritting her teeth, she slid a glance at the small bedside table. Nothing there that passed for a weapon. She reckoned she could hit him with the basin if she had to.
“Ya hear me, girl?” He was close enough behind her now that she could smell his fetid body odor, the sour whiskey he’d been drinking. He probably hadn’t washed his filthy Levi’s or overcoat in weeks.
Slowly she turned to face him, keeping her hands fisted in the folds of her skirt. “Yes?”
“Why ain’t you across the street?” He stood but a foot away, the yellow crustiness at the corners of his mouth and around his nostrils making her stomach turn.
“Doc Davis is out making calls. I’m looking after the patient,” she said, calm as could be, but hating that her knees had started to wobble.
“Says who?”
“Kitty.”
“You take your orders from Wade. Or me. Not that old whore.”
“I believe Captain Wade is the one who told Kitty to—”
“You sassin’ me?” His bearded face darkened, his bloodshot eyes narrowing to slits as he swayed toward her.
If he touched her…if he even breathed on her once more…
“Rebecca?”
Jake’s voice startled her. She spun toward him, accidentally brushing the other man’s arm. At the vile touch, she shivered.
“Did you want some water?” she asked Jake.
He lifted a hand to rub his eyes, and then blinked. “Please.”
The bearded man snorted. “Please?” He mimicked the word in a high-pitched voice, and then glared down at Jake. “About time you woke up. What the hell were you doing out in the desert with no horse and no gun like you ain’t got no sense?”
Jake looked past her and stared at the man, his intense gaze slowly going to the gun belt riding low on Corbin’s hips. She couldn’t imagine what was going on in Jake’s head. He looked as befuddled as a preacher in a whorehouse.
He shifted, as if he wanted to sit up again. “Are you Slow Jim?”
The other man scoffed. “Shit, no.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I look like a half-breed to you, boy?”
Jake didn’t answer, just kept his sights on the other man with what Kitty would call a poker face.
Rebecca quickly poured the water for Jake and carried the cup to him, purposely wedging herself between him and the Ranger. As grateful as she was for the interruption, she didn’t like that Jake was lying there weak and defenseless. No telling what might set the Ranger off. Didn’t take much when he was drunk.
Jake lifted a hand toward the cup, but Rebecca knew he couldn’t drink by himself. She also knew he didn’t want to appear weak in front of the other man.
“Let me help you,” she whispered, sliding her hand underneath his head.
Behind her, the Ranger barked out an evil laugh. “Hell, looks like you might be good for something other than being a whore, after all.”
She stiffened and met Jake’s stunned eyes. Disbelief passed like a dark cloud over his features. His gaze roamed her face, searching, growing desperate.
Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, unable to provide him the denial he sought.
4
SILENCE HUNG IN THE ROOM, thick as the smell of burnt bacon. Rebecca lowered her gaze, and Jake concentrated on sipping, trying not to spill the water all over the sheets. Not easy with her hand being none too steady. Rebecca couldn’t be a hooker, no matter what that guy said. Hell, he looked like a damn nut case who’d been raiding the Dumpster behind a vintage clothing shop. Except the gun hanging off his hip looked real enough. And he was obviously drunk and spoiling for a fight. Is that why she hadn’t rejected his outrageous claim?
As much as Jake wanted to believe that, he couldn’t deny the flush of guilt that stained her cheeks or the way she kept her eyes averted. He was good at reading people. It was a big part of his job. Rebecca was hiding something.
“You don’t wanna keep your back to me, girly,” the man said. “I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”
Jake moved his head, indicating he was done drinking. He’d never been more frustrated in his life, laid up like this, when all he wanted to do was pop the guy in the mouth.
“The thing is,” Jake said slowly, wishing he had his gun beside him. “I believe she’s done talking to you, buddy.”
“No.” Rebecca set the cup aside and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s all right.” She pulled away and spun toward the other man. “I’m sorry. I was rude to turn away from you.”
With the back of his arm, the man shoved her aside and glared at Jake. “Well, now…” His mouth hiked up in an oily smile as he hooked his thumbs into his gun belt. “I ain’t one to pick a fight with a cripple but—”
“Just women,” Jake cut in.
Rebecca gasped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand go to her throat. “Please, stop.”
The other man swayed but his bloodshot eyes lit with the thrill of the hunt and fixed with intent on Jake.
He used every ounce of strength and adrenaline he had and pushed up to his elbows. He had no friggin’ idea what he was going to do from there, but he figured that unless the guy tripped and passed out, it would all be over in a few seconds.
“Stop it!” Rebecca grabbed the man’s arm.
“Goddamn little bitch.” He tried to shake her off, but she stubbornly clung to him.
“Don’t, Rebecca. Stay out of it.” Jake grunted with the effort of sitting upright, but he made it, clutching the side of the bed to keep him from going back down.
The door opened and a blast of cold air momentarily broke the tension.
“Kitty!” Rebecca spun toward the door. “Oh, Doc Davis.”
A stooped man with white hair, a heavily lined face and wire-rimmed glasses set a big black bag on the floor. He frowned at the tall bearded man, and then at Rebecca’s two hands wrapped around his arm.
“What are you doing here, Corbin?” the doctor asked, removing his hat and wearily rubbing the back of his neck. He was a small man, too thin in his oversized brown coat, clearly pushing seventy, but his voice was calm and unconcerned as he faced the taller, stockier man.
“This ain’t your business, Doc.” Corbin refused to take his menacing gaze off Jake.
“You’re standing in my house and smelling worse than a pig in slop, spouting off and upsetting my patient. I’d say that’s plenty my business.” The doctor hung his hat on the rack, and then shrugged out of his coat. “You can step away from him now, Rebecca. He’s leaving.”
“Watch it, old man.” Corbin jerked his arm out of Rebecca’s grasp, and something flashed inside his coat. “You don’t want to piss me off.”
Jake stared at Corbin. Was that a badge Jake saw pinned to the man’s shirt? It almost looked like the star, a Ranger’s badge. Jake blinked hard. He was losing it. These people meant well, but
he had to get to a hospital.
The doctor chuckled wryly and opened the door. “Get out, Corbin, before any more cold air gets in here and you really get me riled.”
Corbin had turned away from Jake and advanced on the doctor. “Who the hell—”
“One more word and the next time you get banged up or shot, don’t come to me to patch you up.” The older stooped man stood calmly with his hand on the doorknob. He hadn’t raised his voice, or moved a muscle, but there was a steely glint in his eyes that said he meant business.
After a tense pause, Corbin muttered a few strong curses as he headed toward the door. “You wait, old man, one of these days it’s gonna be you and me.”
“If the cold don’t get me first,” Doc said flatly, and quietly closed the door behind the retreating man. “Holy mother of God,” he murmured, waving a hand in the air. “I hope it doesn’t take till spring to get the stink out of here.”
“I’m sorry, Doc Davis. I couldn’t keep him out,” Rebecca said.
“Don’t fret, child. He’s gone now.” He walked toward Jake, peering closely. “You look a mite better than when I left yesterday. You sitting up by yourself now?”
Jake half grunted, half moaned. “Yeah, sort of.”
“He eat anything yet?” the doctor asked Rebecca, and without warning, used his thumb to pull down Jake’s lower eyelid and then bent his head to examine the white of his eye.
“Kitty went to get him some broth.”
He switched eyes. “You look good.” Nodding in approval, he stepped back. “When was the last time you changed the dressing, Rebecca?”
She told him, and while they went back and forth comparing notes regarding Jake’s condition, he studied the man’s clothing. He, too, looked as if he hadn’t entered the twenty-first century, or the twentieth for that matter. He wore a string tie, suspenders and a homemade shirt. Even his glasses looked old, and a pocket watch was tucked into his vest pocket. It was as if everyone had come in costume.
“His name’s Jake,” he heard Rebecca say. “Jake Malone, but that’s all we know about him.”
Her gaze darted between him and the doctor. She still looked flushed and agitated. Either she was still rattled by the incident with Corbin, or the man’s words had struck a nerve. Jake sincerely hoped the reason was the former. Although a lot of lowlifes like this guy used the term whore loosely, pretty much pinning the label on a woman who plain wasn’t interested.
He clutched the edge of the bed for support, feeling something hard beneath his palm. He looked down, and for the first time realized that it wasn’t a bed he’d been lying on but a cot.
“You want to try sitting on a chair?” The doctor moved closer, extending his arm for support. “Rebecca, drag that chair over here, will you, child?”
Jake felt stronger, in spite of the jolting he took trying to sit up. The pain was still there, but his head wasn’t so fuzzy any more. He watched Rebecca set the chair beside the cot, her gaze carefully lowered.
“I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude, Doc Davis,” Jake said. “You, Rebecca and Kitty.”
“It wasn’t me taking care of you these past two days. I’ve been too busy delivering babies and tending a passel of gunshot wounds out past Carter’s Creek. Easy there, son.”
Jake grimaced as he got to his feet, swaying slightly before lowering his backside onto the hard seat. It wasn’t the pain that had thrown him off but rather the remark about gunshot wounds. If this was a religious sect, there would be little to no violence in the community. Nor was this a city where gang activity could result in multiple gunshot wounds.
“You all right?” The doctor peered worriedly at him.
“I’m good.” No shirt, but he still had on his jeans, bloodstains and all. “You mentioned treating a lot of gunshot wounds. What’s going on?”
Amusement crossed the man’s face. “You’ve got enough of your own troubles, son. The bullet only grazed you, and I reckon your ribs will heal just fine with some rest. The problem was you being without water and losing so much fluid out in the sun. Good thing it’s winter. Four months ago and you would’ve been buzzard food for sure.” He took the cup of water from Rebecca and handed it to Jake. “The more fluids you get down your gullet the better.”
Jake nodded and drank greedily.
The man turned to Rebecca. “When was the last time you gave him some morphine?”
“It’s been a while,” she said, ruefully. “I’ll get some more.”
“Hold on. Only if he needs it. I don’t expect another supply to arrive for a month.”
Jake nearly choked on the water. “What did you say you gave me?”
“It don’t help to get excited.” The doctor took the cup from him, pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “Morphine is for the pain.”
“I know what it is.” These people were crazy giving him something that strong. No wonder he’d been groggy and disoriented.
“Is that so?” Doc Davis studied him with new interest. “You must be from back East. Most doctors this far southwest still use laudanum.”
“I’m from Houston.” And if they came near him with morphine again Rebecca wouldn’t think him so well-mannered.
“Houston?” The man’s bushy white eyebrows went up. “You don’t say.”
“How far away are we from the city?”
“The city?” Davis smiled and then thoughtfully pursed his lips. “A couple days’ ride on a fresh horse. Now, if you’re going by buggy—”
“Wait.” Jake held up a hand. “Do you people not use cars at all?”
“I hired a sleeping car when I rode the train to see my sister, if that’s your meaning.”
“No, I’m talking about a regular car, or a truck.” Jake sighed at the perplexed looks on their faces. “Like a four-door sedan.”
“Can’t say that I heard of any such thing.” The doctor frowned, then looked at Rebecca, who shrugged. “Must be something new they started back East.”
Frustrated, Jake rubbed his stubbly jaw. Nobody lived that far away from civilization, not in this country. Were they putting him on? They looked serious enough, though, even their confusion seemed genuine. “Cars aren’t new,” he muttered. “They’ve been around since the early nineteen hundreds. Maybe even before that. History wasn’t exactly my favorite subject in school.”
Rebecca looked helplessly at the doctor, who exhaled loudly and scratched his head, appearing far more worried than he should.
An eerie feeling crawled down Jake’s spine. “What’s going on?”
“Wish I knew how hard you hit your head, son,” the doctor said, sympathetically, ”but I expect you’ll come back to rights before too long. You remembering your name and that you come from Houston is a real good sign.”
“I’ll take care of you,” Rebecca said softly, looking as if she’d given up on him.
“I’m not crazy.” Jake’s stomach knotted. How could he be sure he wasn’t hallucinating? The way these people talked and dressed. There was too much detail for this to be a dream.
“We’re not saying you are. Just confused.” The doctor made a motion with his head, a private message meant for Rebecca, who gave a small nod and quickly crossed the room with the empty cup. “Tell me what year you think this is, son,” the older man said gently.
“I know exactly what year this is…it’s—” He cut himself short, not sure why, except if he gave the wrong answer they might think he was crazy and who knew what they’d do with him.
“Maybe I need to lie down again.”
“I think it wise.” Doc Davis helped him to his feet and then onto the cot. “We’ll get some food in you later. But for now, it’s important you keep drinking water.”
Rebecca handed the doctor the tin cup, which he brought to Jake’s lips. He knew the man was right. Judging by the desert that used to be his mouth, he was still dehydrated, which could easily cause mental confusion. He took a sip, but the water tasted nasty. Was that his imagina
tion also? The cup was again tilted to his lips, and he swallowed.
“That should help you rest,” the doctor said, as he guided Jake to a horizontal position. “We’ll talk more later.”
“Help me rest?” Shit. Not more morphine. Jake wanted to spit it out but it was too late. He knew the fog would descend soon. Maybe it already had started because he felt light-headed, or maybe it was his insane imagination playing with his mind.
He watched the doctor head for the door. Not the one that led outside, but a door Jake didn’t recall noticing before. A narrow door just past the wood-burning stove.
“Rebecca?” He couldn’t see her. Had she left, too?
“I’m here.” She was beside him in a second, laying her cool hand on his arm.
“Stand where I can see you.”
She moved to face him, her smile both sad and sweet.
He maneuvered his hand so that their palms met. “Tell me what year this is.”
Her eyes widened slightly and the sadness overtook her face. “It’s eighteen hundred and seventy-seven.”
DOC DAVIS HAD LEFT at daybreak. There had been another hanging, Kitty had told Rebecca when she brought over a couple of biscuits for breakfast an hour ago. A rancher most of the townspeople knew was found dangling by his neck from a tree, but unlike the others who’d been hanged in the middle of the night over the past two months, Otis Sanford was still alive.
Using a rag, Rebecca removed the hot iron kettle from the fire and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her hand was shaky and she spilled some of the brew onto the floor. For the third night in a row, she hadn’t slept well, but weariness wasn’t what had her jittery. Worrying about Jake had her nerves frayed. He hadn’t woken up since last evening. Had she given him too much medicine? She’d done just like the doctor had ordered, given him the exact amount she had before.
Or maybe Jake was sicker than Doc Davis thought. That’s why he wasn’t waking up. That’s why he was so confused about where he was. Heaven help him, the poor man didn’t even know what year this was. She sank onto the chair beside him, right where she’d kept vigil most of the night, in between dozing and reading. Wrapping her hands around the cup for warmth, she took a small sip.
Lone Star Lover Page 4
