Gambling on the Outlaw

by Margaret Madigan

  “Where’s Nellie?”

  “I don’t know. As soon as we had him on the bed, she disappeared. She’s skittish around white men, you know.”

  I moved to the bedside to get a closer look at him. The girls had removed his boots and his shirt, and I lifted the bloodstained bandage they’d applied to his shoulder to find a ghastly bullet hole high in his left chest. Despite the wound, it was difficult to ignore the sheer maleness of him laid out on my bed. It had been a long time since there’d been any man there, healthy or otherwise.

  “Why did you put him in here?” I asked.

  “You’re the one with medical experience around here,” Daisy offered.

  “I’m a midwife, not a doctor.”

  “Your father’s a doctor, isn’t he?” Lydia asked. She’d followed me inside and hovered just inside my bedroom door.

  I sighed. I’d forgotten that I’d told them about Father.

  “Yes, he is. And yes, he trained me as his assistant. But I’m not qualified to treat this kind of injury. Father didn’t see things like this too often in St. Louis.”

  What I hadn’t told them was that my mother had inherited a large fortune from her family, and that my father had done very well for himself as a doctor in St. Louis, treating the rich and well-to-do. My little brother and I had grown up wealthy, but I’d been bored to death with society. Only after months of whining had Father finally acquiesced and began to teach me medicine.

  I took to it eagerly, but then one day I met Frank at a boarding house while treating a patient there, and everything changed. The first time he saw me he winked and tipped his hat, his smile all the more dazzling on his clean-shaven, boyish face. Between his expensive suit, his dark blond hair, and his charm, I was sunk in an instant.

  “You’re still the best qualified of all of us to treat him,” Daisy said.

  “Why should I treat him? Why not just go fetch Doc Brown? He’d do a better job,” I said, though I didn’t really believe it. We’d be lucky if we found the doc sober enough to stand, much less capable of treating a bullet wound. Though come to think of it, he must have treated Clay’s wounds, and Clay seemed none the worse for wear.

  “He’s too far and he’ll never keep his mouth shut,” Daisy said.

  Standing over the man in the dim light, I acknowledged he didn’t look so well. He’d lost a lot of blood, and his skin, which I remembered as a lovely bronze in the barn, had turned gray and ashen. He didn’t seem as broad or big or mysterious as he had, and I worried that it was too late to save him.

  “Beth,” Lydia said from the foot of the bed, “you know this is Isaac Collins.”

  She looked terrified. Her face was paler than normal, and she had a death grip on the footboard of my bed.

  I nodded. I’d already surmised that. His return shot fear to my gut, mirroring Lydia’s expression. I didn’t imagine things would go well for us if anyone found him here.

  “We have to turn him in,” she said.

  For just a moment the reward slipped into my mind, and how it would solve all of our problems. How easy would it be to turn Isaac Collins over to authorities? But then I recalled his inviting smile and the haunted, hurt look in his eyes, and dismissed the idea, at least for now…

  Leaning closer, I brushed some dark hair from his forehead, a gesture that came dangerously close to a caress, then slid the back of my fingers down his stubbled cheek. His skin was hot and clammy. Not a good sign. I pressed my fingertips to his neck and found his pulse fast and weak.

  “He’s feverish,” I said.

  Clay had said they’d catch Isaac, try him, and hang him. I was sure the trial would be a sham. Dawson may be the law in Palmer, but Clay was clearly in cahoots with him, and he’d as much as said the verdict had already been decided. Either way, there was no reason to trust the two of them. I wanted to hear Isaac’s side before I turned him over.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” I decided. “We’ll keep him here, and when he’s well we’ll hear what he has to say. Then we can decide about turning him in.”

  Lydia’s jaw dropped open.

  “But he’s a wanted man. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to keep him here? You saw those animals in our house this morning. You want them back here? What would they do to us if they found him here?”

  I could always count on Lydia to be the voice of reason. “You’re right. Keeping him here is just asking for more trouble. But I still want to hear his side.”

  Lydia huffed. “You’re putting us all at risk.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a knot,” Daisy said, propping a fist on her hip. “They’ve already searched here and my guess is they’re too stupid to come check again, certainly not any time soon. They’ve got plenty of other citizens to harass. Other rocks to turn over before they think of coming back here.”

  Nellie appeared in the doorway.

  “I’ve prepared a poultice for his wound,” she announced.

  “Nellie, do you think we should turn him in?” I asked. Since, as Lydia pointed out, keeping him there was a risk we all shared, it was only fair that we all had a say in the decision. Nellie watched him sleep, and we waited for her opinion which was, as always, slow to come.

  “Although I agree with Lydia that it’s dangerous to have him here, I don’t trust those men who were here this morning, and I don’t trust the sheriff. They’re all bad men.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re the law and that means we do what they say,” Lydia said.

  Nellie settled her dark brown gaze on Lydia.

  “There is a big distance between what is right and following the rules. Beth is right. We must wait to hear this man’s story. Even if he is a man, and a white one at that, I won’t be responsible for his death only because I’m frightened for my own skin.”

  “What about your son?

  “What happens to Shiye will happen.”

  Lydia fussed with the ends of her shawl, fidgeting under Nellie’s calm scrutiny, but she held her tongue all the same. I suspected that not only was she uncomfortable with Nellie’s philosophies, but she just plain didn’t understand them. Lydia suffered from a strict religious upbringing and had a difficult time overcoming that when it came to other people and the choices they made.

  “The first thing we need to do is make sure he survives,” I said, breaking the silence. “Lydia? Will you please boil some water and some cloth strips for the wound, then bring me a bowl of cold water fresh from the pump so I can try to get his fever down.”

  After Lydia left, Nellie entered the room and took up Lydia’s place at the foot of the bed, holding the bowl of poultice she’d prepared, and some scraps of rag. Whatever she’d come up with would probably do as much to heal him as anything I could do, so I was grateful for her help.

  She offered her bowl of foul-smelling goop to me.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked, taking it from her.

  “The dressing will purify the wound while it heals. It will need to be changed every day for four days. If his fever breaks in the next few days, he will survive.”

  With that she turned and left.

  “I’ll never understand her,” Daisy said.

  “She’s had a difficult life,” I said. “I can’t even imagine living through what she has. I’m just glad we can offer her a place to belong. Now, help me turn him so I can see his back.”

  Daisy circled to the other side of the bed and while I pushed, she pulled him toward her. Our effort earned us a groan.

  I leaned in just above his ear and said, “Hold still, Mr. Collins.”

  His lids fluttered, and he searched for the source of my voice, but the effort cost him energy and he passed out again. The ugly exit wound at the back of his left shoulder seemed to have clotted for the most part and only oozed a little bit, rather than gushing, though by the large red stain on the sheet he’d already bled his fair share.

  “Looks like it went clean through, but probably put a messy hole i
n the scapula,” I said, as much to myself as to Daisy.

  I packed some of Nellie’s poultice into a scrap of fabric and placed the plaster on the exit wound, grinding it in with the heel of my hand, to work it into the injury.

  Isaac gasped in pain and his eyes flew open, this time focusing on me. Up close his eyes were deep brown and, aside from pain and feverish panic, I thought I saw a plea for help in their depths.

  “Shhh,” I said, trying to sound as comforting as possible. “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of you.”

  His hand flew to my arm and gripped tight, right before his eyes rolled back up into his head and he went limp.

  “Lay him flat again, now,” I said, and Daisy helped me ease him onto his back.

  I went through the same procedure with the entrance wound, eliciting only a mild groan from him this time, then wrapped the whole thing in bandages and a sling.

  “Well,” I said, grinning at Daisy. “Looks like Nellie was as qualified to treat him as I was.”

  Lydia returned with the bowl of cold water and some rags. I soaked one in water and wrung some of it onto his open lips, hoping he’d swallow it, then placed the cold rag on his forehead.

  “Why isn’t he dead?” Lydia asked.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood, but I don’t think the bullet hit a major artery. He would have bled out and died by now if it had.”

  “Hmph,” Lydia said.

  “I know you’re unhappy about this,” I said, “but doesn’t he deserve as much chance to defend himself as anyone? You asked me if I wanted the posse back here again, and no, I don’t, but they’re not real fussy about the law, Lydia. You know that. They make it up as they go and ignore the real laws when it’s convenient. Should we let them ride roughshod like that?”

  She studied the floor and shifted from one foot to the other before meeting my gaze again.

  “I’m not fond of what passes for the law in this town, either, but they are they law, and you know how I feel about breaking rules. They’re there for a reason.” She paused, watching Isaac’s uneven breathing. I felt her warm hazel eyes on me as I turned and dipped the rag in the water again, replacing it on his forehead. “But you’re right that he deserves a chance to defend himself. I’ll agree to let him stay until he’s well enough to tell his side.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Someone needs to sit vigil with him,” Daisy said. “I’m willing.”

  “I have school in the morning, so I’ll be retiring,” Lydia said, and left.

  “I don’t have anywhere to sleep since he’s in my bed,” I said. “I may as well sit with him through the night.”

  Drying my hands on my skirt, I crossed the room and wrestled a rocking chair from under some of my dresses, which still needed to be folded and replaced in the trunk. I dragged the chair across the room so I could sit near the bed.

  Daisy collected a quilt for me from a nearby pile of my things still left on the floor. Cleaning up the mess Robert Summers and his posse made would take a good half day. My temper simmered at the extent of their audacity and disrespect.

  “We all owe you a debt. Without your generosity, who knows where we’d be?” Daisy said, her expression uncharacteristically solemn as she handed me the blanket. I watched her for a moment, gratitude pooling in her eyes, and I forgot my anger at Summers. Daisy’s remark warmed my heart—not the gratitude itself, but that these women brought love back into my life. After Frank died, I stopped feeling anything.

  I hadn’t opened my home to the ladies so that I could collect compensation, or even their gratitude. It had just felt like the right thing to do to offer a haven to other women like me who needed help, or who didn’t fit in anywhere else. To my surprise, they made me feel again.

  But a serious Daisy, especially after all the events of the day, made me uncomfortable, so I responded to her seriousness with humor.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Then I giggled at her surprised expression.

  I ducked the swat she aimed at my shoulder, and settled into the rocker, spreading the blanket over my lap.

  Daisy sauntered over to Isaac, who slept quietly, covered only by a sheet.

  “You have a man in your bed. When was the last time that happened?”

  There was the Daisy I was used to.

  “Before Frank died.”

  “That long?”

  She tsked me, then with a sly smile she drew the sheet back, the better to study him.

  “Now that is a fine-looking man,” she said. “Even forgiving his not-so-clean condition.”

  “Daisy! He’s wounded and fighting for his life, and all you can think about is ogling him?”

  She crossed her arms under her sizable breasts and cocked a skeptical eyebrow at me.

  “I saw you doing just the same earlier. You were anything but professional in your examination. I do believe your fingers even strayed over his considerably masculine chest.” Her gaze lingered on his chest as she made her point. “Right after you caressed his face.”

  All I could do was roll my eyes at her, mostly because she was right. It didn’t hurt to look—and maybe touch once or twice—as long as it didn’t go any further than that. “I’m just surprised you didn’t manage to undress him completely before I got home,” I countered.

  “I’ll admit, the thought did cross my mind,” she said, looking back at me, “but it didn’t seem appropriate given that the wound was in his shoulder. But there’s still time.”

  I suspected that the wicked twinkle in her eyes was a dare, and I had to admit, he was certainly a tempting specimen.

  She covered him then, and turned to me, leaning in and cupping my face in her hands.

  “All teasing aside, be careful of this one, Beth.” The concern in her eyes nearly took my breath away it surprised me so much. “He’s handsome, that can’t be denied, but he’s an accused killer. That’s not something even I’d take lightly.”

  I tucked a loose russet curl behind her ear.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, reassuring her. “I haven’t fallen head over heels. He’s just a handsome man, that’s all.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Daisy said, clearly skeptical. To be honest, at least with myself, she had plenty of reason to be. My heart had a mind of its own, awakened as it was by a dangerous stranger in need of mending, and I feared that I would be at its mercy. I’d have to steel myself against my own weaknesses, for once.

  She kissed my cheek, then stood and headed for the door—but before she left she turned and grinned at me. “Since by your own admission he has no effect on you, maybe you can do something about cleaning him up. He looks like he’s been sleeping with the pigs.”

  “He is a sight, isn’t he?”

  She laughed and I realized she’d mistaken my meaning. “Indeed he is, my dear.”

  Her giggles receded as she left me alone with Isaac Collins, wanted man, in my bed.

  I settled into the rocker and snuggled under the quilt, ready to sleep for the night, but not before giving Isaac wary consideration. He slept peacefully, his even breathing the only movement he made. But Daisy’s teasing left me uneasy. Given my attraction to him, I felt the need to remain cautious, just in case I let my guard down and he woke up unexpectedly.

  I didn’t take her suggestion to clean him up seriously, at least not at first. Instead, I watched him carefully, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and found myself caught somewhere between worrying about whether or not he’d ever regain consciousness again, and puzzling over why he’d tried to kill Clay.

  Sleep refused to come, no matter how hard I tried to calm my mind, so I left my chair to check on him, removing the damp cloth to check his fever. His skin had cooled some, though still not to normal, and as I watched him sleep, I rationalized that not only was it thoughtless and unkind to leave him lying in such an unclean state, but it was just plain uncharitable. While my conscience argued that touching him would be akin to courting temptation, logic dictated that he was noth
ing more than an injured patient, and I’d do the same kindness for any patient, no matter what he—or she—looked like.

  I sat on the bed beside him, one leg tucked underneath me, the length of my thigh resting against his ribs, with only the thin gauze of my nightgown separating us. After dipping the cloth in the water again, I brought it back to his skin and did my best to be clinical as I wiped dried mud and dirt from his face, arms, and hands. It didn’t take long, though, for me to fall victim to my own imagination.

  Daisy was right. He was a very fine man, indeed, perhaps the best I’d seen in a year.

  I reached for him, then, stroking the dark hair at his temple to brush it out of his face. His hair was longer than popular style, and wavy. My fingers craved to bury themselves in the dark silkiness of it; instead, I let them wander over the bristled stubble on his jaw. The roughness of his beard stirred the embers in my belly, setting a liquid fire glowing down deep inside.

  I snatched my hand back. What was I thinking? How could I be so unsettled by a man I didn’t even know? Yet, here I was, overcome in ways I couldn’t even begin to explain. I’d worked hard in the last year to settle down, be responsible, and provide for my family. Even if some people still looked down on us, we were happy together, and my life had been stable and calm without a man in it.

  Still, fighting my nature might be harder than I thought.

  I swallowed hard and dipped the cloth in the water again. Wringing it out, I continued cleaning him, wiping mud and grass from his body. He stirred, a low groan rumbling in his chest. Through the cloth, I felt the vibrations of the dying groan tingling in my palm. The black hair that covered his chest, and grew in an arrow pointing straight down his body, was only slightly less coarse than his beard, and images of his masculine body draped over my softer female form, swam in my mind. Long-ignored parts of me clenched with yearning and drew a sympathetic groan from my lips.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. This had been a bad idea. Daisy had dared me, and like a fool, I’d taken the bait. She knew me too well. She was right, though, it would serve me well to remember no matter how handsome he was, how much he stoked my desires, he was still a potentially dangerous man.