The man himself wasn’t in any better condition than the rest of the room. He was way too thin. He looked to Sunny like he hadn’t shaved in at least a week, nor bathed, either. And his movements led her to believe he was much weaker than he should have been. It had been more than two weeks since the shooting, yet he acted as though he could barely lift his head. His hands fell limp and his head dropped heavily onto the bed. His pillow, she noted, lay on the floor.
She didn’t know if she made a noise, or if some sixth sense of McCord’s told him he was no longer alone, but he rolled his head toward her and blinked slowly.
“Hello,” she said.
She watched, amazed, as a dull flush crept up his face. His expression hardened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Footsteps sounded behind her in the hall. Doc was coming.
Sunny swallowed. “I, uh, came to see how you’re doing.”
“Well now you’ve seen. Get out.”
Chapter Five
Coldness seeped into Sunny’s bones. She shouldn’t have come. She should have stayed home. He didn’t want or need her thanks, her concern. It had been her own need that had driven her here. She realized now how selfish it was to want to thank him for what he’d done in order to ease her own sense of responsibility.
Responsibility, ha. The truth, Sunny girl. It isn’t responsibility you’re feeling, it’s plain ol’ guilt.
Maybe she’d wanted to hear him say it was all right, that he didn’t blame her for what happened. Didn’t blame her for his present circumstances. That he forgave—
Forgiveness? Is that what she’d been after?
Well she wouldn’t find it here, and she’d had no right to come. Get out, he’d said.
She shivered.
Doc halted next to Sunny. “That’ll be enough of that, McCord. Miss Sunny came to visit you. The least you can do is be polite.”
One side of McCord’s upper lip peaked in a sneer. “Go to hell. Both of you.” He turned his face toward the wall.
Bewildered by McCord’s attitude, Sunny looked at Doc Sneed.
The doctor glowered a moment at the back of McCord’s head, then slowly faced Sunny. “I’m sorry, Miss Sunny. Our patient isn’t at his sociable best these days. I was just going to put on a pot of tea. If you’d care to join me in a cup, at least your visit won’t have been a total loss.”
Sunny looked at McCord again, but he still stubbornly faced the wall. She hated to leave him like that, lying there angry, wet, and obviously miserable.
Doc took her by the elbow and led her down the hall to his tiny kitchen at the rear of his quarters. She sat at the small table while he filled a tea kettle and lit the stove.
“Why does he look more like the town drunk than a recovering patient?” The question was out of her mouth before she even knew it. She blushed.
Doctor Sneed took his time answering. Finally he said, “He won’t let anybody get close enough to help him. I suspect he resents needing help from people he thinks despise him. I know I would.”
Sunny heard the front door open and close with a bang. Doc heard it, too.
“Doc? Doc Sneed? You here?” a voice called.
“Back here, Colley,” Doc answered.
A moment later Colley Hadley huffed into the room waving a piece of paper. “Telegram for you, just came.”
“Thanks.” Doc took the paper, read it quickly, and sighed. “Wire them back and tell them I’ll be on the afternoon stage.”
Colley nodded once, then turned and left.
“You’re leaving town?” Sunny asked.
“They’ve got the typhoid over in Mason County. Even their doctor’s got it now. I have to go.”
Sunny glanced down the hall toward Ash McCord’s room, then back at Doc. “What about Mr. McCord? Who’s going to look after him? Whoever was supposed to do it this past week didn’t seem to do too good a job.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should say. Doc’s murmur seemed to be an agreement of some sort. She plunged on. “Ella says you think he might someday walk again. How is he supposed to do that when he doesn’t even get proper care?”
Doc ran a hand down his face in a scrubbing motion. “What can I do, Sunny? I’ll ask someone to bring him his meals and look after him. I don’t have much choice, do I? He’s alive. Quite a few in Mason County won’t be if they don’t get some help.”
“You call that alive?” she said waving her hand toward the hall. “I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t think so.”
“I know he doesn’t think so. From what I’ve heard, as soon as Ella couldn’t bring him his meals, he all but quit eating. Wouldn’t let anybody help him shave or bathe. Ella’s just about the only person he’ll let get near him. Doesn’t even want much to do with me.”
Sunny stared at the scared tabletop for a moment. “I owe him, Doctor Sneed. I owe him my life.”
“I doubt he sees it that way.”
She knew what she had to do, what she wanted to do. She wasn’t sure if she was capable or qualified, but apparently she was McCord’s only chance for decent care. “Can he be moved?”
“Moved?” Doc squinted at her. “Moved where?”
She took a deep breath. “To the ranch.”
Doc’s eyes widened. “You mean you’re offering to take him to your ranch and look after him?”
She nodded. And swallowed.
“You realize how this whole town feels about him, don’t you? It won’t be a popular thing to do.”
“Who else is going to take care of him? Ella can’t, and I’m willing. Can he be moved?”
“You sure you’re up to this, Sunny? He won’t be a very pleasant patient. You’ve got your hands full these days with your sisters and the ranch. You sure you want to take him on?”
A hysterical giggle threatened to break loose. Sure? She was supposed to be sure? Heaven help her. She swallowed the inappropriate giggle. “I’m sure. It won’t hurt him to move him?”
“Not if we line a wagon bed with straw and lay him in it, mattress and all. You’d have to take it real slow going home.”
Sunny stood up. “Tell me what needs to be done for him. Ella said something about exercises?”
Doc stood and removed the tea kettle from the stove. He shook his head. “No, you can’t do that part of it.”
She grabbed him by the hand and tugged him back down to McCord’s room. McCord glared at them a moment, then turned his head toward the wall.
“Show me,” Sunny demanded.
“Now, Sunny, I can’t do that. If you just keep him comfortable and fed, that will be enough until I get back.”
She shook her head. “You could be gone weeks, and you know it. Ella mentioned the exercises needed to be done now. Show me.”
McCord rolled his head back to face them. His dull blue eyes glared at her.
“I can’t, Sunny. Believe me, you don’t want to worry about it.”
Sunny kept her gaze locked on McCord’s. “Doctor Sneed, is there a chance he’ll get the feeling back in his legs, that he’ll walk again?”
McCord cursed and rolled his head toward the wall again.
“I believe there is,” Doc said slowly. “But…”
“But what?”
Doc shook his head and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “The longer he goes without treatment, the more doubtful his full recovery.” She started to speak, but he raised his hand to stop her. “You can’t do it, Sunny.”
She could feel her temper rising. “Why on earth not?” She was not going to live with this feeling of guilt the rest of her life. She was going to help Ash McCord. “Just show me how.”
“Now that I think about it, you shouldn’t even be taking care of him. I’ll find someone else.”
“What is it you think I can’t do?” Doc tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him. “Tell me.”
“You can’t bathe, massage, and exercise a man, Sunny. It’s just not right, a young girl like you.”
From the cor
ner of her eye she saw McCord turn his head again. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
Sunny ignored him. With her hands planted on her hips and her toe tapping on the plank floor, she glared at Doc. “What’s not right, Doctor Sneed, is this man being shot in the first place. And it’s not right that he lay here with no care because you don’t have anyone to help you. Now tell me what to do.”
Doc Sneed pursed his lips and strolled over to the bed. “All right.” His tone sounded smug. Sounded like, I’ll show you just how bad you don’t want to do this. “You’ll have to strip him, because he’s got bedsores on his backside that need treating.”
Sunny stifled the urge to look away from Doc’s piercing gaze. This was a test, she knew, and she did not intend to fail. She felt McCord’s glare, but ignored it.
“And while you’ve got him stripped,” Doc jerked the covers from the foot of the bed and tossed them aside, “you need to massage his leg and hip muscles—all of them. “Then,” he said picking up one of McCord’s feet, “you need to exercise each joint for several minutes, twice a day.” Using both hands, he rotated McCord’s ankle in demonstration. “His toes, ankles, knees, and hip joints. Twice a day. You’ll spend most of your time taking care of him, and he’ll be naked as a jaybird. You’ll have to put your hands on him, you’ll have to see and care for every inch of his body. You can’t do it, Sunny.”
He hadn’t said anything to make her change her mind. He’d only made her more determined. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she let it out. “Does he have any feeling at all?”
“Not from the hips down, but I suspect he will before long, if you follow my instructions. And when the feeling starts, it’ll start with muscle cramps. Bad ones. You’ll have to drop everything you’re doing and come running. Rub deep and hard to ease the cramp.”
It slowly dawned on her as Doc spoke that he was no longer saying she couldn’t do this. He wasn’t challenging her nerve; he was instructing her. “What can he eat?”
“Anything he wants. He’s got control of his digestive tract, and fortunately for both of you, he also has control of his bowels and bladder. He’ll need a bedpan, of course.”
She felt heat sting her face. “Of course.” She forced herself to look at McCord and smile. “Well, Mr. McCord, it looks like you’re going home with me.”
“The hell I am.”
Doc had said McCord wouldn’t be a good patient. So be it. She was going to help Ash McCord recover in spite of himself. She squared her shoulders. “The hell you’re not, Mr. McCord.”
What am I doing?
Sunny asked herself that question a thousand times during the long drive home.
She knew virtually nothing of taking care of an invalid. And this particular invalid made it more than clear he didn’t want to be taken care of by anyone. Least of all by her.
Sunny had left the doctor’s to deliver her eggs to Miller’s and to have her wagon loaded with loose straw and McCord’s horse tied on behind. No use leaving the poor beast at the livery for however long McCord would be at the ranch. Before going back for McCord, she’d stopped by Ella’s, told her what was happening, and borrowed extra blankets to help keep her passenger warm on the trip home. Ella had also given her more clothes for him.
The words spewing from Ash McCord’s mouth when she’d returned to Doc’s weren’t new to her. Growing up on a ranch, she’d overheard her share of swearing. But this was different. This was her fault. If she hadn’t interfered, if she’d left him alone and never suggested taking him home with her, he wouldn’t have been so angry.
I had no choice, she told herself for the thousandth time. If she didn’t take care of him, who would?
She glanced over her shoulder to check on him. Was he cold? Doc had called in some help and dressed McCord, including a coat, gloves, and boots. Yet even with the added blankets from Ella, she wondered whether he was warm enough.
But in the very next instant, she asked herself again, What am I doing?
She was still asking herself that when she pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the house late in the afternoon.
“We’re here, Mr. McCord.”
As usual, he didn’t answer. Her passenger hadn’t said a word during the entire trip, no matter how she’d tried to get him to talk.
Tom and Larry came out of the barn just as Katy, Rachel and Amy barrelled out of the house onto the porch. Amy grabbed the railing and swung beneath it, then let go, dropping the final two feet to the hard-packed ground. “Sunny’s home!” she cried.
Tom tipped his hat to Sunny. “‘Bout ready to ride out lookin’ for you, you were gone so long. Thought maybe you’d run into trouble.”
Sunny wrapped the reins around the break handle and let Larry help her down. “No trouble,” she answered. “I brought home a guest.”
All eyes swept to the bed of the wagon. Tom let down the tailgate. McCord, tight-lipped, glared first at Sunny, then Tom.
Larry peered over the side of the wagon, then glanced sharply at Tom. “She’s done brought home the back-shooter!”
Sunny went rigid. She clenched her fists at her sides to keep from punching Larry in the nose. He stood not more than three feet from her, sneering down at Ash McCord, who sneered right back.
“That’s one word I don’t ever want to hear again, Larry. Mr. McCord is a guest. He’ll be treated as such.”
“A guest!”
“Easy does it, boy,” Tom told him.
“Easy my ass. It ain’t right, her bringin’ that back-shooter out here!”
Tom started forward, but Sunny motioned him to stop. From the corner of her eye she noticed Amy moving toward the back of the wagon where she could peek in if she stretched herself tall enough. Rachel and Katy stood frozen on the porch, their faces pale, eyes wide.
Sunny faced Larry squarely. “I’m going to say this one time, then never again, so you’d better listen, Larry, and pass the word. First, I will not have you swearing around my sisters. Ever! Second, if I ever hear of one of my hands using the word ‘back-shooter’ again, he can draw his pay and get off the Cottonwood. That goes for you, and every man on the place. Do I make myself clear?”
Larry stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. She really couldn’t blame him. Her little speech must have been a shock. She’d never been anything but pleasant and friendly with the men on the ranch. She’d had no reason to be otherwise. Her father had been in complete control of everything. Sunny had actually had very few dealings with the hands.
She knew from overheard conversations she had interrupted a few times since her father’s death that the men were wondering and worrying about what would happen to the ranch now that Ross Thornton was gone. Making Tom her foreman hadn’t stopped the questions. Apparently it had never dawned on the men, at least not on Larry, that she was the new owner, the new boss. If she didn’t make him understand that here and now, she’d never have any authority on her own ranch.
She asked Larry again, slowly, one separate word at a time, “Do I make myself clear?”
In the tense silence that followed, McCord’s horse snorted.
When she’d begun to despair of getting any response from Larry at all, he swallowed and nodded. “Yes ma’am,” he muttered.
Sunny nodded in return. “Good. Now, you two,” she said indicating him and Tom, “get a couple of other men to help you carry Mr. McCord into the house.”
She turned toward the porch, intending to ignore Ash McCord for a few more minutes, but she couldn’t help noticing the look of stunned speculation on his face. She quickly looked away and faced her sisters. “Katy, go turn down Daddy’s bed. Make sure the sheets are clean. Rachel, Amy, you go help her.”
But Amy wasn’t listening, which was nothing new. She was busy scampering up the wheel of the wagon, over the side, and into the bed, where she landed in the straw next to McCord.
“Hi, Ash!” she cried.
Take that, you ol’ sourpuss, Sunny t
old McCord silently. She dared him to resist that snaggle-toothed grin. He’d already shown it could get to him, his first day in town.
Sure enough, an instant later his lips started to curve. “Hi, Button.”
The child patted him on the shoulder. “Are you still hurt where that mean ol’ bank robber shot you?”
Sunny rolled her eyes. There were no secrets around Amy.
“I’m all right,” he told Amy.
“No, Amy,” Sunny said quickly, “he’s not all right. That’s why I brought him home with me, so we can look after him. You’ll have to help me, okay?”
Amy grinned, first at Sunny, then at her new friend. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “Sunny’ll take care of you. Sunny can fix anything.”
I hope you’re right, Amy, Sunny thought. She sent Amy into the house. By then Larry and Tom were back with Erik. The three men lifted McCord from the wagon. She followed as they carried him into the house, down the short hall, and into her father’s room.
When they placed him on the bed and started back out the door, Sunny took a deep breath for courage. It was time to start. “Before you leave, I need you to do one thing more for me.”
“Sure thing, Miss Sunny,” Tom said. “What’ll it be?”
She glanced at McCord. Whatever brief pleasure Amy had given him was gone. If looks were bullets, she’d drop dead on the spot. So be it. “Strip him.”
Tom’s brows shot up and his mouth dropped open. “What?”
“You heard me. I can’t very well take care of him when he’s bundled up in three layers of clothes now, can I?”
Larry snickered and started toward the bed.
“Don’t even think about it,” McCord said, his voice as frigid as the ice that had covered the ground for the past week.
Wild Texas Flame Page 7
