by Kris Norris
She glanced at the injured man. “Your barber was right about one thing. That kind of wound won’t heal itself. Without treatment, that man will be dead within the hour.”
“Which is why we could use your assistance.”
“No fucking way she’s touching my brother.” Frank pushed upright, only to be held back by Lucas when the other man darted across the room.
Cullen shook a finger at him. “Shut. Up.”
She smiled at him. “Again, I’d like to help, but…”
Cullen exhaled, fisting his hands at his side. “Fine. Consider yourself officially hired. Now, if you’d kindly take a peek…”
Hollis placed her feet on the floor, rocking onto her heels. She glanced at the surrounding men, noting the firm scowls gracing their faces. Damn, she knew those looks, and it generally meant she’d have to prove herself in more ways than one before the night was over.
She skimmed her palms over the handles of her guns before bending and grabbing one of her bags. Then, she made her way over to the other table, arching her brow. “Goddamn. Don’t you men know even the basics about keeping someone alive? You need to put pressure on the wound. Stem the bleedin’. Christ, he looks like a bloody ghost.”
She placed her bag beside Jack, reaching for the guy’s shirt when a hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her backwards. She managed to catch herself against another worker a moment before a fist connected with her jaw, tumbling her against a table then onto the floor. She hit hard, sending black dots swimming across her vision as the metallic taste of her own blood filled her senses. Shouts erupted around her, followed by the sounds of fighting.
Years of training took over, and Hollis rolled onto her hands and knees, quickly gaining her feet. Cullen and Lucas each had two guys by the shirt, doing their best to toss them toward the swinging doors as more men threw punches at each other. Frank appeared in front of her, arm cocked backwards as he readied his next strike. She gauged his attack, dodging the punch as she spun out of the way, then landing one of her own. Then, she kicked the back of his knee, dropping him hard to the ground. Another punch had him face down, blood trickling from his nose.
A hand landed on her shoulder, but she elbowed the guy firmly in the chest, following the strike with a hit beneath his jaw, snapping his head up and away. The movement broke his grip, giving her enough time to grab a chair and slam it against him, crashing both to the floor. She used the momentary distraction to draw her guns, cocking them then pointing them point blank at two more men as they closed in on her.
The men stopped, the sound of the hammers clicking into place spreading silence throughout the saloon. The shouting died away as all gazes focused on her.
Hollis blew the wisps of hair out of her face, endlessly scanning the room as she glared at the surrounding men, sweat stinging the cut across her lip and forehead. “Enough! I swear to God, I’ll shoot the next man who so much as looks at me the wrong way.”
She kept surveying the crowd, searching for anyone who might challenge her, when a flicker of movement caught her attention near the bar. She cocked her head, firing a single shot when the barkeep raised a rifle in her direction. The bullet hit him in the hand, knocking the gun from his grasp. He howled and reeled backwards, grabbing his hand as blood seeped out between his fingers. A hushed gasp passed through the crowd, all focus returning to her.
She didn’t flinch, keeping the weapons aimed at the men closest to her as she arched a brow. Her gaze clashed with Lucas’, the amused tilt of his lips catching her off-guard. She didn’t linger, fixing her attention on Frank as he staggered to his feet.
“Let’s get a few things straight, gentlemen. I’m not here on some holier-than-thou mission from God to save your souls. If you want that kind of salvation, I suggest you see the preacher. And I don’t appreciate it when men try to take advantage of me because they think I’m weak. I’m not.”
She made a point of meeting each of their gazes. “So, in case there was any confusion… I’m not your mother. Or your sister. And I’m sure as Hell not some two-bit whore you can manhandle whenever the feeling strikes you. I took an oath to help those I could, but if you ever challenge me again, I’ll just as soon kill you as save you. Now, as I see it, you all have two choices. You can sit the Hell down and let me treat this man before he bleeds to death, or I can send a few of you to the undertaker, because I promise you my next shot won’t be an injury I can fix.”
She focused on Frank. “Well, Frank? Are you going to join your brother in a pine box or plant your ass on that chair so I can try and help him?”
Frank sneered at her, falling onto his backside when Lucas grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him onto a seat.
The sheriff shook his head, moving over to her. He grinned, nodding at her pistols. “Guess that answers our question as to whether you know how to use those Colts of yours. That was one Hell of a shot, if I do say so. Haven’t known many lawmen who have that kind of accuracy. And you don’t have to worry. The next person who tries to challenge you will have to deal with me.”
“I don’t need your protection, Sheriff. I can take care of myself.”
“Didn’t say you did, darlin’. Just making sure everyone in here understands my position.” He nodded at Jack. “Now, if you’re done making more work for yourself…”
She ignored the slight flutter in her gut at his use of the word, “darlin’”, scanning of the room before easing back on the hammers and lowering her weapons. She holstered them then moved over to the table. The bloody patch on Jack’s shirt had increased, the bright color openly mocking her.
“Damn.” She ripped the sides apart, cursing at the puckered hole on his upper chest. “Did you even think to clean his wound?”
Jack groaned as she rolled him enough to see the back of his shoulder, sighing at the unblemished skin.
“Bullet’s still inside, which means he’ll die of infection if I don’t remove it, though there’s a fair chance that’ll happen, anyway.” She gazed around the room. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of moving him into the clinic? This place… It’s not close to being sterile let alone clean.”
Frank hissed out a breath. “You say you’re a doctor, so fix him. Here. Where we can all see you.”
Lucas swatted the man in the back of the head. “Shut up. If she says she needs to move him—”
“It’s fine. He’s probably too damn weak to move, anyway, seeing as his brother wasted too much time fightin’ when he should have been helping.” Hollis leaned toward Lucas. “Can you get me some whiskey, please? Strong.”
Lucas arched a brow but strode away, the clinking of glass filling the air. Hollis opened her bag, placing a cloth on the wood before laying out some instruments.
She nodded at Cullen. “I need another table beside this one for his legs. So he’s flat.”
Cullen didn’t question her, just did as she asked, helping her arrange Jack on the surface. Once he was positioned, she poured some liquid onto a cloth, handing it to Cullen.
He turned his head, scrunching up his nose. “What the Hell is that?”
“Chloroform.” She whistled. “Using ether in here might just blow up the entire saloon. And the chloroform will knock him out until I’m done. I’ll need you to hold it loosely over his mouth and nose until I tell you to stop. Okay?”
Cullen frowned but nodded, placing it on Jack’s face. The man groaned again, then went limp.
Lucas returned with the whiskey, handing her the bottle. She offered her thanks, pouring a healthy dose over Jack’s wound, thankful she’d already knocked him out. Last thing she needed was the man screaming in pain. His body tensed, but his eyes remained closed. She bit back a curse. This wasn’t how she preferred to disinfect wounds, but the circumstances had left her with few options. And she didn’t have the necessary supplies in her personal bag.
She motioned to Frank. “Your canteen.”
The man mumbled something under his breath but handed it to her. Sh
e nodded, pouring some of the water over her hands before giving it back to him. Then, she grabbed a scalpel. She drizzled a bit more whiskey over the blade, then set to work.
No one spoke as she opened the wound slightly, dabbing at the blood before finally digging out the lead slug. She placed it in a bowl, gently probing the open laceration, again, as she searched for any fragments. She’d removed several pieces before she felt confident she’d gotten all of them. She motioned for Lucas to give her the whiskey again, pouring another healthy amount over Jack’s shoulder, hoping the alcohol would combat against infection, or her efforts would be wasted. Then, she readied a needle, meticulously stitching up the various layers until she’d closed the wound.
Hollis straightened, surveying her work. Though Jack was still deathly pale, the bleeding had stopped, and the wound no longer looked as red around the edges. She motioned for Cullen to remove the cloth from the man’s face, then turned back to her bag, grabbing another jar.
Lucas cursed once she’d opened it, twisting his head away. “That smells even worse than the chloroform.”
She resisted the grin tugging at her lips. “It’s a salve that helps prevent infection. Seeing as Jack’s buddies decided to drag him through every damn mud hole on the trip over here, I need to do everything I can to guard against a fever.”
Lucas shook his head. “It smells terrible. Where did you get it?”
“It’s made from various plants. I was shown how to make it from a shaman at my last post. And I promise you the benefits outweigh the smell.”
Frank sprang to his feet, crowding closer. “You’re trustin’ my brother’s life to some native remedy? I thought you were a doctor?”
Lucas fisted Frank’s shirt, shoving him back into the chair. “Already warned you about disrespectin’ the lady.”
Hollis rolled her eyes. Hadn’t she already told the good sheriff she didn’t need protecting? And where had this sudden concern for her wellbeing been when Frank had punched her in the jaw? “A wise person doesn’t limit their resources. We could learn a lot from the people who called these lands home long before we can along. This salve has saved more than a few lives. If you’re lucky, it might just save your brother.”
She smeared on the ointment, covering the area with a clean bandage, before taking a step back. “I assume, now that I’m done, I won’t face any resistance on having the man taken to your clinic? He needs to be monitored for a fever for the next day or two. He’ll need the bandages changed, as well. But if all goes as hoped, he should be back on his feet inside of a week.”
Frank stood again, waiting until Lucas gave him a nod before moving over to his brother. He ran his gaze the length of the other man, avoiding eye contact with Hollis as he motioned for his friends. They each took a limb, hoisting up the injured man.
“Gently.” Hollis released a forced breath. “I’d rather not have to re-stitch his shoulder. Especially since he can’t afford to lose any more blood. Now, take him to the clinic and place him on one of the cots.” She glanced at Cullen. “I assume you have cots in there. Or was everything cleaned out?”
Cullen crossed his arms over his chest. “There are cots. A room in the back you can stay in, as well. It doesn’t have much, but it’s a place to sleep and store your belongings until we can find you something else, if you’d prefer.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t need much.”
“I don’t know what supplies are there. You can take stock tomorrow and let me know. I’ll have what you think you need shipped in.”
She waved at the men, cringing at the way they haphazardly carried the man. “Christ, I’ll be happy if they don’t drop the poor bugger.”
Lucas cupped her shoulder, giving her an odd arch of his brow before removing his hand and stepping back. He stared at her as if he hadn’t met her earlier, his gaze finally straying to Cullen then back. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
She frowned. “You’ll be damned about what, Sheriff Quinn?”
CHAPTER THREE
Lucas Quinn stared at Hollis—their missing piece—and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or curse. Her display in the tavern had been nothing short of awe-inspiring. The way she’d handled herself with the men. Christ, he’d wanted to kiss her when she’d cracked one of them over the back with the chair, giving herself enough time to draw her pistols. And her marksmanship—he hadn’t been lying. He didn’t know many lawmen, Hell, gunslingers, who could have shot the rifle out of the barman’s hand. But what had truly amazed him had been her skill with a scalpel. She’d cut into Jack’s shoulder without hesitation, methodically cleaning out the wound then stitching him back up. And all while a few dozen people watched. Not even their previous doctor had been that calm under pressure. The woman was like a bat out of Hell. He just wasn’t sure if her feisty nature would work for them, or against them.
Hollis snorted, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Sheriff Quinn?”
He smiled, wishing he could take her hand in his, hold it against his chest as he drew her close, breathing in her scent. It matched her personality—fiery with a hint of sweetness. He hadn’t picked up on it until he’d cupped her shoulder a few moments ago, finally sifting through all the other aromas until he’d pinpointed hers. Now, he couldn’t focus on anything else.
Cullen gave him a swat on the back, shaking him from his thoughts. His partner raised a brow, opening his mouth when he stopped. Cullen tipped his head back slightly, nostrils flaring before his gaze landed on Hollis. His eyes widened, the hazel color darkening to a burnished bronze.
Cullen clenched his jaw, looking pointedly at Lucas before taking a healthy step back. “I’ll see to it Frank doesn’t drop your patient. And make sure the clinic’s in decent shape while you clean up here.” His gaze shifted to Lucas, again, before he spun and followed the other men out.
Hollis spared Lucas a quick look, shaking her head as she watched Cullen leave. “Are the men in town like this all the time?”
Lucas chuckled. “Not really. Sometimes, they get nasty and violent.”
She lifted one side of her mouth. “Then, I’ll be sure to keep my guns fully loaded.”
“From the way you handled them, you might make more work for yourself.”
“Beats the alternative. You didn’t answer my question. What are you damned about?”
He gave her an easy smile. “You. You’re definitely more than we bargained for.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She spun, crossing her arms as she stared at the barkeep. “I’ll stitch that hand if you’d like.”
The man cradled it against his chest, eyes wide, the white in them impossible to miss.
She sighed. “Damn. Sheriff Qui—”
“It’s Lucas.”
“Fine. Lucas, then. Would you be so kind as to get the barkeep and have him plant his ass in this chair? I can tell from here he’s not fairin’ well.”
“Perhaps it’s because you shot him.”
“The man was aimin’ a rifle at me. I’m not much help to others if I’m the patient. Besides, I don’t like being shot at.”
“That would imply some people do.”
He smirked at her as he made his way to the bar, strong-arming the other man back over to the table. Lucas shoved him into a chair. “Behave, Caleb, or I’ll be the one taking the next shot.”
“I already told you. I don’t need your protection. Not to mention the fact your sudden show of support is more than a bit late.”
Lucas bit back any reply. She wasn’t wrong.
Hollis grabbed a clean cloth, sitting in the opposite chair as she reached toward the barkeep. “Your hand.”
The man glared at her.
Lucas sighed. “Just give the lady your hand before she gets upset and lets you bleed to death.”
Caleb huffed, begrudgingly placing his hand on the table.
She dabbed at it. “It’s not that bad. Bullet went all the way through. If you think you can stand the pain, it’d be bes
t if I stitch it.” She reached for the whiskey, holding his wrist tight when he tried to pull his hand back. But instead of pouring it on the wound, she handed it to him. “Take a few swigs of that. It should help.”
Caleb downed several gulps, finally handing her back the bottle. She smiled then poured some on the wound, ignoring the way he cursed.
He sneered at her. “You did that on purpose.”
“If you don’t like my bedside manner, then perhaps you should avoid being my patient, again, in the future.” She readied another needle. “This will go much faster if you try not to move.”
Lucas grasped the man’s shoulders, holding him firmly in the chair as she quickly closed the wounds, wrapping his hand in a clean bandage.
She sat back, finally releasing his wrist. “Try to keep that clean and change the dressin’ if you get it dirty or wet. I’ll cut those stitches in about a week.”
Caleb mumbled a curse as he walked away, not bothering to thank her, not that Lucas had expected it. Hollis snorted, humming to herself as she gathered up her supplies. He took a moment to study her. Admire the soft lines of her face and the way her beautiful blue eyes seemed to continually scan the room, as if she wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t have to defend herself, again.
He growled at the thought. While watching her best the other men had made him smile, another part of him had wanted to rip their throats out for daring to touch her. And that was before he’d realized who she was—what she was to them. Now—now, his inner bear wanted to stalk down the street to the clinic and strangle Frank’s scraggly neck for hitting her.
Lucas frowned at the split along her lip, the cut across her forehead. He moved in closer, nudging her arm. “You’ve got a cut along your temple. And your lip looks swollen.”
She shrugged. “Neither feels that serious. I’ll clean them before I go to sleep.”
“Shouldn’t you clean them now? What if that cut gets infected?”
The smile she flashed him dropped his damn stomach. “I’ll be fine.”
He merely nodded as she wrapped the leather strap around her bag. “You’re the doctor.” Though he secretly wondered if her refusal to clean her wounds stemmed from something deeper. That to do so might make her appear weak. The thought made his other half huff. She was anything but weak.
