by Jane Shoup
Charity beamed a smile. “You’re so welcome.” She turned and left again.
“I didn’t even think to introduce you,” Em said as she reached for the spoon.
“She did.”
She brought a spoonful of broth to his mouth and he took it. “Doll has toiled over a fresh batch of broth every day,” she said.
“How long have I been out?”
She bit on her bottom lip, hesitant to answer. She brought another spoonful to his mouth. “Everything is fine,” she said soothingly.
“How long?”
Her gaze connected with his. “Nine days.”
“Nine days,” he repeated under his breath. He looked down at her stomach. “Are you alright?”
Her eyes welled with tears. “I am now.”
“The baby—”
“Will be fine. Charity examined me, and she said everything is fine.” She fed him another bite. When he’d finished all he could, watching her warily the whole time, Em picked up the glass and brought it to his lips. His hand closed around hers and he drank. Em had just set the glass down when Doll cleared her throat from the door.
Em grinned at her. “Come in.”
Doll came forward, her hands clutched together. “Honey, you are a sight for sore eyes.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Tommy said.
Doll leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, swiped at her eyes and started to leave, but there was now a small crowd at the door.
“Tommy!”
“I can’t believe it,” Wood said as he pushed his way through the others. “You look good!”
“What do you mean you can’t believe it?” Tommy teased weakly.
Laughter rang out and Wood grabbed Tommy’s hand in both his.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Hawk said.
“You look great,” Jeffrey added.
The other men hung back at the door. They were part of the crew, but not part of the family yet and they felt it.
Wood pulled up a chair next to the bed. “We won’t wear out our welcome or nothing, but I just got to look at you for a minute.” He shook his head. “It’s so good to see you.”
“How do you feel?” Jeffrey asked.
“Puny,” Tommy admitted.
“I bet,” Wood said.
“You been out a long time,” Jeffrey said.
“We should send word to Emmett,” Em said, directing her words to Wood.
Wood nodded. “And to Howerton,” he said.
“I was going into town tomorrow,” Hawk said. “But I can go today.”
“Tomorrow will do,” Doll said.
Tommy looked confused. “I don’t even remember what happened.”
It grew quiet.
Tommy looked at Em. “Last thing I remember . . . I was worried about you. It felt like you were in danger.”
“Damnation,” Wood exclaimed. “It just occurred to me that she was, too. Okay, nobody ever, ever, questions Tommy’s instincts again.”
Charity eased back into the room. “That’s enough excitement, I’m afraid. We need to let him rest.”
There were good-natured complaints, but everyone passed on words of encouragement and quickly filed out. Charity was the last to leave, shutting the door behind her.
“It was Blue who shot me, wasn’t it?” Tommy asked quietly, as if just recalling what had happened.
Em nodded.
Tommy was quiet for a moment. “Why?”
Em sucked in her bottom lip, worried this was too much, too soon. She picked up a strawberry and fed it to him. “It was an accident. He was up to no good, but he didn’t mean to shoot you.”
“Why am I in the bunkhouse?”
“So everyone could help watch over you.” She reached for the bread and pinched off a piece, which she fed him.
“Did the tobacco all get planted?” he asked after he’d swallowed.
She laughed quietly and then shook her head. “Yes. Everything’s fine. Even the men you hired for the planting—they’ve worked out fine, Wood says.”
Tommy thought about it. “Malcolm, Davis, Joey and Edward,” he recalled slowly.
Em nodded and smiled. His mind was fine. It was just fine.
He reached out and put his hand on her stomach again. “Did we pick out the baby’s name?”
She shook her head and fought tears. “No. Not yet. We still have to do that.”
An hour later, Tommy and Em walked into the dining room. He moved haltingly, leaning heavily on Em for support. Charity’s jaw went lax.
“Oh, I like this, seeing you on your feet,” Wood exclaimed, clapping his hands and jumping to his feet.
“’Fraid I’m going to hurt Em,” Tommy worried in a raspy voice.
“You’re not,” she assured him.
Charity watched in astonishment. Naturally, he was weak, but he was so much better and stronger than she’d expected. Brain damage had seemed a good possibility given the injury, but he’d escaped it. And to already be on his feet? It was astonishing.
“Not to be unsociable,” Em said, trying to sound casual. “But we’re going home now.”
Everyone burst into renewed applause and Tommy and Em both laughed.
“Can I help?” Wood asked, stepping next to Tommy. “I know you want to do everything all at once, but—”
“Yes,” Tommy replied.
“I can help, too,” Jeffrey offered enthusiastically.
“Not a chance,” Em laughingly exclaimed, before the three of them moved on.
“Hey, Tommy,” Doll called, “can I interest you in some apple cobbler for supper?”
“Yes,” five voices sang out at once.
The screen door bounced shut.
“And you,” Doll said, directing it to Charity. “You get anything you want.” She shook her head in wonderment. “We will never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done. You and Jack. Never.”
Charity smiled and ducked her head, more emotional than was reasonable. “It has been a great pleasure to be part of this,” she said when she could trust the strength of her voice.
“This is a great day,” Doll rejoiced. “I just wonder if we shouldn’t let the others know right away. I know I said tomorrow would do, but—”
“I could go to the ranch,” Charity offered with a small shrug. “And let Mr. Howerton know.”
“Now, that is a good idea. Then he can send one of his men into town to tell Emmett, who’ll pass the good news on.” She nodded, liking the plan. “I’ll have one of the boys hitch a wagon for you.”
“No, that’s alright. I think I’ll ride.”
Doll considered her and then gave a smug smile. “You do that.”
Charity left with a light step, buoyed by the thought of a trip to the Triple H. Her pleasure was all due to Tommy’s recovery, of course. It would be a thrill to pass on good news for once.
Tommy leaned back against a mass of pillows. He was in his own bed in his own room, where he was supposed to be, and Em sat facing him. “This is better,” he sighed.
She nodded and tears glistened in her eyes.
“Lie next to me,” he said, patting the bed. “I need to feel you next to me.” She slipped off her shoes, letting them drop, and then stretched out beside him, clinging with a strength he wished he had. Nine days. He’d lost nine days. He couldn’t fully grasp it. “If the baby is a boy,” he said quietly, “let’s name him Ben.”
“I’d like that,” she murmured. “Do you want a boy?”
“I want a life with you. It doesn’t matter to me if our baby is a boy or a girl.”
Her grip tightened. “Me, too,” she whispered.
He relaxed and then jerked his eyes back open, having started to doze.
“It’s alright,” she said as if sensing his fear. “Don’t fight it.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” he murmured thickly, although he was already being pulled away.
“I’ll be right here with you. We’ll nap and we’ll wake u
p together.”
“Promise?”
She kissed his stubbled cheek. “I just got you back, Mr. Medlin. I’m not letting you go anywhere without me.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
As Charity rode into the Triple H, it appeared to be quitting time. The hands, making their way to the bunkhouse or chow hall, watched her with unabashed interest. Gregory Howerton emerged from the house, and he looked pleased to see her. “Is there word on Tommy?” he called.
She smiled, but didn’t reply.
He hurried down the steps. “He came to?”
She reached the house. “Yes. He is awake and he was on his feet before I left.”
Howerton huffed in surprise. “On his feet.” She dismounted and he took the reins from her. “What about his—” He paused and tapped his head.
His eyes narrowed with concern and she noticed the crow’s feet. He really was a very handsome, compelling man. “There’s no brain damage,” she assured him. “I believe he’s going to heal completely.”
Howerton smiled broadly and then looked around before calling out, “Tommy came to! He’s going to be alright!”
A cheer went up and echoed again and again as the news spread, and Charity smiled along with Howerton.
“Come have a drink with me,” he said to her. “We’ll have champagne.”
“Is there anyone you could send to town to tell Emmett?”
“Who wants to go into town?” he called.
More than a dozen affirmatives came at once.
“Go! You can all go. But, first thing when you get there, find T. Emmett Rice and tell him about Tommy.”
“Yes, sir!”
Given the rush of activity and excitement, she guessed going into town on a weekday was not a common occurrence.
“Think she can take a look at Coy, sir?” someone asked from behind her.
Charity turned and saw three men coming toward them. She looked at Howerton.
“One of my men is down,” Howerton explained hesitantly. “Gored by a bull a couple of days ago. Caught it in the backside.”
“How badly was he hurt?”
“Bad,” he replied grimly. “I wanted to send for you but, you being a woman and all, he felt more comfortable with Doc Simmons.”
“So the doctor did see him?”
“For all it was worth. Doc claimed he was lucky because the bull missed his spine, but Coy’s got a helluva lot of pain and this swelling in his gut.”
Foreboding filled her. “That’s infection.”
Howerton nodded slowly. “That’s what the doc said yesterday. He already said nothing could be done.” He glanced at his men. “They’re just hoping for a miracle.”
“I’ll certainly take a look at him.”
Howerton shifted on his feet and didn’t reply.
“You don’t want me to?” she asked, surprised by his reticence.
“He’s going to die soon,” Howerton stated quietly. “There’s nothing to be done or I would have already seen it done.”
“She is here, though,” one of the men said. “What could it hurt?”
Howerton looked up at the men and then waved them on. But not unkindly. It was apparent he cared.
“They have a point,” she said after the men had walked on. “I can, at least, make sure his pain is being managed.”
Howerton sighed with reluctance. “I don’t want this to be the first thing you do here. As it stands, it’s on the other doc. I mean it was accident and all, but—”
He was trying to protect her. She felt dumbfounded and strangely flattered. Perhaps vaguely insulted, as well, but there was no time to sort out conflicting emotions when a man was injured and possibly suffering. “I’m here and he’s injured. Take me to him. Please.”
He gestured toward the bunkhouse and they started toward it. “I don’t have my bag,” she realized as they walked.
“Why don’t you take a look at him? If you think you need it, I’ll send someone for it.”
She stopped and looked at him. “You really think there’s no hope.”
He nodded slowly and seconds of silence elapsed.
“What’s his name?”
“Coy Jones. He’s only eighteen, maybe nineteen. I just hired him at the beginning of the season. Good kid. Good worker.”
“I have to see him.”
“I know. I get that. You came how far when you learned a man had been shot in the head? You had to know there was a good chance he’d already be dead by the time you arrived.”
“Of course.”
“But you came anyway. Dropped everything, left your life and traveled . . . what, four hundred miles to save the life of a stranger if you could. Knowing he might already be dead or, if he wasn’t, he probably soon would be. Who survives being shot in the head?”
“People can survive all manner of illness and injury. It happens. Since we’d had a similar tragedy befall us—”
“Your father.”
She nodded.
“I heard as much at the farm.” He sighed. “I truly do admire your passion to heal, but I’m pretty damn sure Coy is past saving. But . . . we’ll see what you think.” She nodded her agreement and they began walking again. Howerton took a quick step to reach the bunkhouse first. Opening the door, he called, “There’s a lady present,” before opening it wider for her.
A lady. A woman. They didn’t forget what she was for an instant. Gender was so much more distinct and primal here. She followed Howerton inside, but stopped abruptly when she saw Coy Jones. His color was dramatically off and he appeared to be in great pain. The few men sitting around Coy stood.
“Coy, this is Dr. Werthing,” Howerton said. “I want her to take a look at you.”
“Why?” Coy asked in a breathy voice, as if it hurt to speak. “Doc said it’s over.”
“You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” Howerton asked. “Dr. Werthing here just brought a man out of a coma.”
Charity gave Howerton an accusing look. She had not brought Tommy out of a coma, nor was she a miracle worker, and he knew it. He had just built her up and given this young man false hope. Shrugging off her frustration for the moment, she stepped in closer and felt the young man’s head. He was burning with fever.
“I said we should get his fever down,” one of the men said. “Dunk him in a tub with ice from the ice house.”
“Fever actually serves a purpose,” she replied as she pressed her fingers against Coy’s carotid artery to determine the strength of his pulse. “The body heats when it’s trying to burn off an infection. May I?” she asked Coy as she took his bedcover in hand.
He gave a brief nod.
She pulled it back and saw that his abdomen was distended. “I need to take a look at the wound.”
Coy looked up at Howerton as if to plead for help.
“Gentlemen,” Howerton said.
The men quickly filed from the room.
Howerton sat in a chair beside Coy’s bed. “Listen to me, Coy. She’s a doctor. She’s seen more naked bodies than we’ve got cattle grazing. Just turn over and let her see you. If I need to make that an order, it is one.”
Coy gave in with a grimace. He sucked in a breath as he turned, obviously in agony.
Charity bent closer, pulled off the bandage and inspected the wound, already knowing the swelling in his abdominal cavity indicated a massive infection. The horn of the bull had likely punctured part of the bowel. Gut instinct warned that he could not be saved, and yet her mind raced through options. She straightened and looked at Howerton before squatting to address Coy face-to-face. “I want to be honest with you, Coy. It’s not good. I think the horn of the bull punctured part of your intestines.”
“Can you fix it?” Coy whispered. It hurt too badly to speak louder.
“I can try,” she said hesitantly. “But infection has already set in and there’s nothing much we can do for that.”
“Try,” he grunted. “Please.”
She squeezed his arm lightly
, and then stood. Howerton rose at the same time. “I need my bag.”
He nodded and started out, walking quickly.
“Do you have any medical supplies here?” she asked, following him.
He turned back. “Like what?”
“Carbolic acid?”
“No.”
“Chloroform? Ether?”
He shook his head again. “No.”
“Does anyone have any laudanum or morphine?”
“Not that I know of. But I’ll ask.”
“Did the doctor leave no pain medication for him?”
“He gave him some morphine, but the pain got worse, and it’s gone.”
“I need my bag,” she said urgently. He nodded and hurried out, his expression grim. She walked back to Coy, pulled a chair close and sat, leaning forward to touch his cheek with the backs of her fingers. He was a fair-haired young man with a youthful face.
“I wish I’d seen you in the first place,” he whispered. A tear slipped out the corner of his eye and ran down the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Howerton wanted me to.”
“The important thing is to stay strong and hopeful,” she gently returned. “Can you do that?”
“It hurts,” he breathed.
“I know. And I’ll give you something for the pain as soon as I get my bag. It won’t be long.” A soft grunt was his only response. “I’ll be right back,” she said softly. She stood and left the bunkhouse, then leaned against the side of the building, dazed at what she’d just committed herself to. Howerton was already coming toward her, his stride long, his expression somber. “Someone’s gone for your bag,” he said. “And we’re looking for laudanum. Maybe one of my maids.” His gaze raked her face, and there was concern in his eyes.
“I don’t think I can save him,” she admitted just above a whisper.
“I don’t think so, either,” Howerton replied. “He’s too far gone. It goes to show why we need you, though. You’d have at least found the problem and tried to save him.”
“I don’t know that he could have been saved,” she objected with a slow shake of her head, “and quite frankly, I have never done what I’m about to do.”
Howerton gripped her arms. “You’ll be fine.”
Perhaps it was meant as nothing more than a show of support, but it was too much like an embrace. It was personal and possessive. “I appreciate your support, Mr. Howerton,” she murmured, stiffening.
