by Linda Ford
“More blood,” Sybil moaned. “Lots of it.”
Jayne tried unsuccessfully to block the memory of blood pooling around Oliver’s body. So much blood. Sybil had no idea.
They passed between two table-size boulders and turned by a stand of thick pine trees whose distinctive scent filled the air. The majestic Rocky Mountains rose to her right. Such wild country. Open and free. Had she spoiled it for some poor, unsuspecting man?
She could see down the trail until it turned and disappeared. No rider. No limp body stretched out in the grass. “Guess he wasn’t injured too badly.” Please, God, let it be true.
Mercy chuckled. “If we hear of some cowboy dying mysteriously on the trail, shot by an unseen assailant, we’ll know who is responsible.”
“Mercy,” Sybil chided. “Show a little compassion.”
But Mercy only laughed. “Jayne knows I’m only teasing, don’t you? It’s probably only a graze. No more than a splinter to a man who lives in this country.”
Jayne’s tension relieved by the absence of a body, she tucked her arm through Mercy’s and pulled Sybil closer. “All’s well that ends well. Now let’s go back to the ranch and see if Linette needs some help.” Her sister-in-law was efficiency on two legs even though she expected a baby in four months.
Sybil glanced over her shoulder. “I pray that whomever you shot won’t be bleeding to death somewhere.”
At the teasing, Jayne faltered. “Maybe I should ask Eddie to ride out and check the trail.”
Mercy urged her onward. “Like I said, it’s likely only a flesh wound. If the man needs help he will seek it.”
Jayne nodded. The words should reassure her but they fell short of doing so. She couldn’t get the sight of a large pool of blood out of her mind. The last thing she needed was another death on her conscience.
* * *
Who was shooting at him?
Twenty-four-year-old Seth Collins bent low over his horse’s neck as they pounded down the trail. One minute he was sitting on a rock, enjoying a pleasant moment as he drank from his canteen and ate a couple of dry biscuits. The next, a shot rang out and pain gouged his right leg. It took two seconds and the sight of blood soaking his trousers for him to realize what happened. Then his only thought had been escape.
He glanced over his shoulder. Saw no sign of pursuit.
Why would anyone shoot him? He was just an ordinary, poor cowboy. Except for the wad of cash he carried. Had someone followed him? He’d joined the cattle drive north from Fort Benton to a ranch in western Canada for only one reason—to earn enough money to pay the special caregiver the doctor had recommended for Pa. A man with knowledge of how to manipulate paralyzed limbs. The doctor spoke highly of Crawford, saying he’d seen great success with other stroke patients. Some, he said, had even learned to walk again.
Now he had to get the money to Montana. If he didn’t, what would happen to his pa? Crawford had committed to staying three months. If he couldn’t help Pa in that time he wouldn’t continue on because he’d found he couldn’t do anything more after that. Seth had written the man saying he’d been delayed and would be there as soon as possible with the man’s wages. Crawford’s response had been terse. “I have others interested in my services. Please return immediately.” Seth had written again. “Please stay until I get there. I’ll be home in a week and I’ll pay you extra.” But he had no assurances Crawford wouldn’t leave and Pa would suffer. Pa was all Seth had left and he meant to get home and take care of him.
He spared a glance at his leg. His buff-colored trouser leg was dark and sticky with blood, which dripped from the heel of his boot. He would need to stop soon and tend to the wound.
And hide his money so those who shot at him wouldn’t discover it.
He rode on at the same frantic pace for fifteen minutes then pulled to a stop on a knoll that allowed him a good view of the back trail. After watching a little while he decided he had outrun the shooter. Or shooters. He reined into a grove of trees that provided a bit of cover yet allowed him to keep watch for anyone following him. As he swung off his horse, his leg buckled under him. What kind of damage had the shot done?
Knowing he had to stop the blood flow, he yanked the neckerchief from his neck and tied it around his thigh. He needed something to tighten it so he hobbled toward the nearest tree, biting back a groan at the pain snaking up his leg and wrapping around his entire body. He broke off a finger-thick branch then plopped, as much as sat, on the ground, stuck the length of wood between his leg and the neckerchief and twisted until the blood stopped. Resting his back against a tree trunk, he held the tourniquet tight and considered his plight.
The wad of money was his major concern. Seemed someone had discovered he carried four months’ worth of wages in his pocket and decided to lighten his load. He stared at his feet, trying to decide what to do. Hard to hide anything on the horse. He had his saddlebags, but that was the first place a thief would look after searching Seth’s person. No hiding a secret pocket in his ruined trousers. He continued to stare at his feet. Hadn’t he once heard of a man who hollowed out the heels of his boots to hide something?
He didn’t fancy trying to pry a boot off his right leg. Figured it might start bleeding again. For sure, it would increase the pain that even now hammered against the inside of his skull. Ignoring the protest from his injured leg, he used it to pry off his left boot then took his knife from his pocket and set to work. He glanced down the trail every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t being pursued.
By the time he’d worked the heel off and dug a hollow in it, his head had grown wobbly. He brushed at his eyes to clear his vision. Then he rolled his money into a tight wad and wedged it into the hole he’d made.
Now to put the heel back on. He found a rock the size of his fist to use as a hammer. Getting the heel on proved harder than removing it but after ten minutes he decided it would do. Had his foot swollen? Must have because he could hardly pull the boot back on.
His head seemed full of air. He swiped his eyes again. Tired. So tired. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard the past two days. Now he was paying for it. He’d rest before he moved on. Just a few minutes.
* * *
“Mister, wake up.”
Seth squinted against the blare of light assaulting his eyes. Awareness of his surroundings came slowly, reluctantly. First, pain. Then thirst. Then the persistent questions of the man kneeling at his side.
How long had he been lying on the ground? Asleep? Unconscious? Either way, he’d wasted precious time. He tried to sit up but the world spun and he decided against the idea. “Who are you?” he managed to croak.
“Eddie Gardiner. Who are you?”
Gardiner? The name seemed familiar but Seth couldn’t place it. “Water,” he croaked.
The man held a canteen to Seth’s lips and he drank greedily before he gave his name. “Seth Collins.”
“Let’s get you on your horse. I’ll take you where you can get help for that leg.”
Seth wanted to argue. Needed to. He had to get to his pa. But his leg hurt like twelve kinds of torture. A little tending wouldn’t go amiss so he let Eddie Gardiner push him onto his horse and lead him away.
He clung to the saddle, which took far more effort than he would normally exert. He managed to tell Eddie about someone shooting him. “Didn’t see them.”
They approached a ranch. A pretty place with a big house on a hill overlooking the outbuildings. Among the structures below the house were a couple of two-story buildings, a cluster of red shacks all alike, a log cabin and a barn. All laid out nice and neat. A bridge spanned a river on one side, leading to more pens and small buildings beyond.
They approached the big house. “This is where I live,” Eddie said. “You’ll get help here.”
Seth managed to swing himself off his horse but didn’t protest when Eddie grabbed his arm and steadied him.
A young woman opened the door.
Seth’s vision was clouded with
pain but he was alive enough to note the brown eyes that seemed to smile even when her mouth didn’t, a thick braid of rich brown hair coiled at the back of her head and a flawless complexion. Peaches and cream, his ma used to say.
“This man is injured. He needs our help.”
Someone shoved a chair under him and he sat. Several women clustered around him.
Eddie answered their questions. “His name is Seth Collins. He’s been shot. I found him a few miles to the south.” He gave a wave in that direction. “He didn’t see who did it.”
One of the women addressed Seth. “You’re welcome here. My name is Mrs. Gardiner. This is my sister-in-law, Jayne Gardiner.” She indicated the young woman who had answered the door. Again, the Gardiner name seemed familiar but his brain couldn’t find any more information.
“These are her friends, Mercy Newell and Sybil Bannerman.”
He noted Mercy had reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. Sybil was a pretty thing with blue eyes and blond curls. He hadn’t seen any white women in days and now he was surrounded by them. And him in such a sorry state.
“I wish the circumstances of your visit were different,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
The other three women had been whispering together and now Miss Jayne Gardiner cleared her throat. “I think I might have been the one who shot you.”
Seth stared at this sweet, young thing. His mind couldn’t make sense of her confession. “Why would you shoot me?” How would she know about the money he carried? He pushed aside the remnants of his fatigue. Refused to acknowledge it was pain that clouded his mind. Had someone at the ranch heard he’d collected his wages and ridden south? Were they all in this together?
“It was an accident. I wanted—” she swallowed hard “—I wanted to learn how to shoot a gun so I could protect myself and the ones I care about.”
Eddie jammed his fists on his hips. “I warned you about messing around with guns. I told you to leave them alone. Now do you see why?” He glowered at his sister.
Jayne tipped her chin up and faced her brother. “I must learn how to defend myself. I refuse to be a helpless female.”
Eddie sputtered but before he could get out a word, his wife intervened. “Let’s get this man upstairs so I can look at his wound.”
Jayne brought her attention back to Seth. “It’s my fault. I’ll take care of him.”
Mrs. Gardiner made a protesting sound that ended abruptly. “That would be fine.”
Eddie helped Seth regain his feet and steered him up the stairs that swept to the second story. At the top, he turned them right and into the first bedroom. Seth settled himself on the edge of the bed.
For the first time he gave his leg a good, hard study. It throbbed clear to the top of his head. His trousers were blood-and dirt-caked. He didn’t anticipate the skin beneath looked any prettier.
Mrs. Gardiner and Jayne had followed into the room.
“Eddie, he’ll need to remove those trousers so we can get at the wound,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
“Not my pants.” Seth’s protest sounded weak and he clamped his teeth together. Weakness was not something he cared to reveal.
“We’ll wait outside until you’re decent,” Mrs. Gardiner said as the ladies left the room. He heard them murmur in the hallway, Mrs. Gardiner asking Miss Jayne about the shooting.
Eddie knelt at Seth’s feet. “I’ll help you with your boots and pants.” He tugged at a boot.
Seth would have protested but had to bite back a groan. Cold sweat beaded his forehead.
“Can’t you simply roll up my pant leg?” Seth asked through his clenched teeth.
“Seems to me you’d welcome a clean outfit. Do you have another pair in your saddlebags?”
He grunted in the affirmative.
“I’ll get them later. First, let’s get you cleaned up.” Eddie helped remove the second boot and the soiled trousers then eased Seth to the bed and covered him with a sheet, but not before Seth saw the dirty, bloody wound.
“I’ll send the ladies in to tend that.” Eddie piled Seth’s boots and pants beside the door. Good. So long as the boots were where he could see them.
Jayne and Mrs. Gardiner again entered the room, Jayne carrying a basin of water.
He closed his eyes knowing he must endure having the wound cleansed. Ironic that it was at the hands of the same woman who had inflicted it.
Mrs. Gardiner eased back the sheet to expose his leg. “This doesn’t look good.”
Seth nodded. “I saw it.”
“It’s very dirty.” She shifted her gaze to Jayne. “When did you shoot him?”
She swallowed hard. “It was yesterday.”
Yesterday? He hadn’t realized he’d slept through the night. The urgency of his task struck him. He could not afford this delay. He half sat then fell back. Wouldn’t hurt none to have the wound cleaned up before he moved on.
Jayne pressed to Mrs. Gardiner’s side. She gasped as she saw the wound. She looked at Seth, her eyes wide as she met his gaze. Whether he saw distress, regret or something else entirely, he couldn’t hazard a guess.
“It was unintentional.” She sounded so defensive that in spite of his pain and the awkwardness of being flat on his back with two women in the room, he grinned.
“Seems you should have tended it a little sooner,” Mrs. Gardiner offered.
“Got someplace to be.” Again urgency gripped his innards. The last letter from the caregiver, that one Seth picked up a few days ago at the ranch headquarters, had been dated three weeks ago and gave little information to ease Seth’s concern about Pa’s well-being. Expecting you soon with necessary wages. Job here done.
How could a man give so little assurance in his few words? Seth needed to get to Pa before Crawford left. Might be he was already gone. He’d signed up for three months and no more. If he wasn’t there, who would be looking after Pa? The uncertainty burned the inside of Seth’s stomach.
Mrs. Gardiner tsked.
“Is he going to be okay?” Jayne asked. Her eyes filled with concern. And well they might. She’d shot him.
“We’ll fix you as well as we can,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “But you’re going to have to be careful you don’t get an infection.” She turned to Jayne. “You can clean it up.” She gave instructions.
He closed his eyes to endure the pain that would surely come from having the wound tended.
At first her touch was tentative then it grew firm, more assured. She was gutsy. He’d give her that.
“Why is it so important for you to learn to shoot?” His voice sounded hoarse. He hoped they’d put it down to some strong virtue, not the pain that seemed to clutch every part of his body.
“I need to be able to defend myself and others if the need ever again arises.”
He lifted his eyelids. “Again?” He ignored the pain as he eased up on his elbows to watch her.
“You best lie still.” She pressed firm, damp hands to his shoulders. “Moving makes you bleed more.” Her face was so close to his he could see the porcelain purity of her skin, the dark streaks of brown in her irises and something more—the determination in her gaze. He was beginning to think she was a headstrong woman who gave little heed to the results of her actions. Just the sort of woman he normally gave a wide berth to. For now, though, he must submit to her ministrations.
He sank back on the pillow. “You’ve been involved in gunplay before?”
“Only as a spectator. I saw someone shot to death.” Her jaw muscles tightened. “And I did nothing to prevent it because I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t even know how to shoot a gun.” Her gaze had shifted to a distant place beyond the walls of this room. “That’s when I decided I would never again be a helpless, pampered woman.” She gave a decisive nod. “I will learn to shoot a gun and be ready and able to defend myself and those I care about.” Her voice rang with determination. “Nothing will stop me.”
Seth watched her warily. He knew the folly of insisting on doing foolish acts. Good t
hing he would be leaving here in a matter of hours. He wouldn’t be around to see the result of her decision. But pity poor Eddie Gardiner trying to keep a rein on his sister.
He hoped for both their sakes that the job wasn’t too much for the man.
If he had time to spare he might offer to help with the task simply to prevent a worse disaster than having her shoot some innocent passerby in the leg. But thankfully he didn’t have time. Because for a man like him who took his responsibilities seriously, this was the sort of woman who spelled a heap of trouble.
Chapter Two
The ragged edges of the wound were covered with dirt and blood. As she cleaned it, fresh blood oozed out and thickened into globs. Jayne swallowed hard, holding back nausea. She’d never taken care of an injured person. Never even entered a sick room. But she would take care of this injured man. It was her responsibility, no matter how tight her lungs grew or how hard her pulse banged behind her eyes.
“Take the wet cloth and sponge away more of the dirt,” Linette said.
She dabbed at the dirt and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Another step on her journey to move beyond a pampered young lady who couldn’t take care of herself or help others.
“You need to scrub a little harder to get the dried stuff,” Linette said.
She rinsed the cloth clean and tackled the job again. When she’d finished the area around the wound, she turned to Linette. “What about the blood?”
“Clean right to the edges.” Linette leaned past Jayne’s shoulder to inspect the job. “Good. You’ve got it nice and clean. Now we need to use antiseptic on it.” Linette handed her a small container marked carbolic acid.
“Won’t it hurt?” she whispered to Linette.
“For a moment or two. But it’s necessary.”
Jayne turned to Seth. Knowing whatever pain he endured was her fault tore at her innards. “I’m going to use antiseptic. Linette says it might sting.”
Gritting her teeth at what she must do, she splashed the carbolic in the wound.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the bed. His eyes caught and held hers. The dark, pain-filled look brushed a tender spot inside her.
