Iron Will (Grizzly Encounters Book 1)

by Kris Norris

  She glared at him as she untied her bag. “That’s what you think this is?” She squared her shoulders. “Where’s my patient?”

  “This way. And yeah. If you could have seen your face when I told you to leave your pistols here…”

  She ignored the jibe, striking off toward the tents as Buford led the way. His men watched her walk across their camp, lips curled into mocking grins. She kept her expression neutral as she scanned her surroundings, mentally mapping out the area. She needed to get a gist of the layout before the sun sank completely below the horizon, or she’d likely trip later when she found an opportunity to escape. While she didn’t normally run from a possible fight, she wasn’t stupid. And slipping away was a far better plan than taking on a bunch of…

  Damn, she didn’t even know what kind of animals they were. Though, the fact they seemed to co-exist suggested they shared the same species—one that was accustomed to living in packs. Canine, maybe. Unless all shifters co-existed without bloodshed.

  She groaned inwardly. She should have questioned the boys more about their kind, instead of blindly accepting what they were. Now that she thought about it, she really didn’t know that much about shifters—bears included—other than they had increased senses and accelerated healing. Which meant there could be several different animal spirits hiding beneath his men’s tanned skin.

  Buford stopped at the tent in front of him, glancing back at her. “George is in here.”

  She nodded, pushing back the flap then stopping cold. “Christ.” She moved quickly over to the cot, thankful the tent was tall enough she didn’t have to bend over. She placed her fingers on his neck, cursing at the weak thrum beneath the tips. “How long has he been like this?”

  “He managed to ride home last night. Been in here ever since.”

  “And you didn’t think to try to get a doctor sooner? I’m actually amazed he’s still alive. The amount of blood loss alone.” She peeled back the thin blanket they’d tossed over him, staring at the blood-soaked cloths covering his skin. “Multiple bullet wounds.”

  “Three, to be exact. Leg, upper chest and his side.”

  She lifted one of the cloths, holding back another curse. “They’re deep.”

  “Which is why we brought you.”

  “You should have gotten someone the moment he staggered into camp. This…” She shook her head. “I’m not sure how much I can help him.”

  Buford moved in behind her, his breath hot against her neck. “You’d best hope you can save him or it’s not going to end well for either of you.”

  She glanced back at him. “Threatening me won’t change the outcome. I can either save him or I can’t. Most of that depends on how strong he is. If he can survive me treating him. Based on the fact there’s no blood seeping out from beneath him, the bullets all likely still inside.”

  “Again, that’s why you’re here. Even I could stitch up a few holes. But they seem to be making him sick.”

  “Lead doesn’t mix well with the human body. Any kind of body, really.” She sighed, placing her bag on a small table beside the cot. “I need a few bowls of water and more cloths. And a bottle of whiskey. Strongest you have. I’ll also need someone who’s willing to help out. Hold a few items for me while I try to remove the fragments.”

  “I’ll send someone to get you the supplies. I’ll hold whatever you need.”

  She arched a brow. “As long as you keep your mouth shut. I can’t work if you’re constantly reminding me I’ll die if he does.”

  “What’s the matter, Doc? You don’t like my kind of motivation?”

  “You’re nothing more than a bully. And despite how it might look, cuttin’ into a man’s flesh isn’t easy. So, either stand there quietly or get me someone who will.”

  Buford stared at her, his gaze traveling the length of her body before he looked over her shoulder as the tent flaps rustled behind her. “Mac. Get the lady a couple of bowls of water, some clean cloths and that whiskey from my tent.”

  “I believe the years of training and practicin’ medicine has earned me the title of doctor. Just as your endeavors have earned you the labeling as an outlaw.” She motioned to his brother. “Please stand up by his head.”

  “A might touchy, aren’t we?”

  “Perhaps I’m just tired of being judged by my gender instead of my skills. I assure you…you shouldn’t underestimate either.”

  “You mean the way you were able to clip my man without killin’ him from a good ways off?” He leaned toward her once he’d moved to the head of the cot. “Something tells me you might have earned the title of outlaw, yourself.”

  She probed George’s injuries, deciding to tackle his upper chest, first. “The term outlaw implies you’ve been caught. Or at least discovered.” She glanced up at him. “So, no, Mr. Buford, I was never an outlaw.”

  He shrugged. “Outlaw. Gunslinger. Mercenary. It’s all the same to me. And there’s no way you learned to shoot like that by chance.”

  “Guess we all have some mysteries about us.” She removed her chloroform, pouring some over a piece of gauze. “Please hold this lightly over his mouth and nose until we’re done.”

  Buford twisted his head. “That reeks.”

  “Would you prefer I cut into him without making sure he’s asleep?”

  The man glared at her, the tips of his canines peeking out beneath his lip. He did as she said, though he clearly wasn’t amused by her comment. He glanced behind her, again, nodding to someone before focusing on her. “Where would you like your supplies?”

  “Up here beside my instruments.”

  A bowl clattered off to her right as she tested George’s responsiveness then turned to thank the other man, only to freeze as her gaze locked on his. Gray hair highlighted a mass of messy brown locks, more coloring his beard. Deep lines crinkled his blue eyes and the corners of his mouth, but there was no mistaking the shape of his face. The firm line of his jaw—the same one she’d stared at for sixteen years. The man narrowed his eyes, giving her the once over before taking a step back. His mouth quirked as he stood there, staring at her.

  Buford cleared his throat. “Something wrong, Doc? You look paler than George.”

  She forced herself to swallow, nearly choking on the lump clogging her throat before shaking her head. She grabbed one of the cloths, wetting it down then twisting back to her patient. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  She huffed, steadying her hands then cleaning away the blood and dirt from George’s skin. “You mean besides being forced to come here and treat a man who clearly needed a doctor twelve hours ago? Or the fact you keep threatening to kill me if I don’t save him? Yes, I’m sure. Hold that cloth steady. Wouldn’t want your brother to wake up in the middle of me diggin’ out this slug.”

  Hollis focused on George’s wound, all too aware of the man still standing silently beside her. Years without knowing if he was alive or dead, and now, he was no more than four feet away. Though, it might as well have been a hundred for all it mattered. She’d ceased being a part of his life long before he’d left, and she doubted anything would change that, now.

  She worked slowly, doing her best to minimize the blood loss as she opened up George’s wound enough to remove the misshapen bullet, along with bits of his shirt and a few pieces of lead. She flushed the hole with more whiskey then stitched it closed, layering one of her salves over the incision followed by more gauze—tying it in place.

  Then, she repeated the procedure with his leg, thankful that one had merely gotten stuck just beneath his skin. It wasn’t until she moved to the last wound that she spared Buford a quick glance. The man’s gaze clashed with hers, no hint of compassion in his eyes.

  Hollis straightened, gently dabbing at the hole in George’s side before using her tweezers to judge how deep the bullet had penetrated. “Slug’s really deep and angling in toward his stomach. Might be best if we left this one for now. See how he does. Let him get some stre
ngth back before I do more damage than good.”

  Buford grabbed her wrist, clenching to the point of pain. “I know as well as the next person that he’ll die of infection if you leave that in there.”

  “He’ll likely die by my hands if I open him up enough to dig that hunk of metal out.” She grunted. “Breakin’ my wrist won’t improve the situation any.”

  He growled, the sound not quite as deep as Cullen or Lucas, but with the same gravelly tone that most likely mimicked his inner animal, then released her. He motioned to his brother. “Take it out.”

  She rolled her shoulders, shaking out her hand. “I really think it would be better if I left—”

  “I said take it out!”

  His voice resonated around them, the dark undertone coloring each word. She glanced at her patient. The man’s skin was deathly white, with beads of sweat lining his brow. Chances were he already had an infection—one the whiskey and salves might not counteract.

  She nodded, giving Buford a new chloroform-soaked gauze to hold over his brother’s face. The last thing she needed was to have the effects wear off while she was still digging around. She reached for one of the cloths, washing the area, again, then pouring on more alcohol. George’s legs twitched as she opened the wound slightly, trying to do the least amount of damage possible.

  Buford grunted. “Why is he moving?”

  She didn’t look at the guy, focusing on her task. “Chloroform has that effect, sometimes, especially when he’s been breathing it in this long. It’s nothing. He’s still asleep.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ve had to hold people down before from the tremors, despite the fact they weren’t conscious, so, yes. I’m sure. Now, are you going to shut up and let me work, or should I just stop with your brother’s guts hangin’ out while you question my every move?”

  He answered with a snarl but remained silent as she carefully cut her way to the bullet.

  She sighed, placing the mangled slug in a bowl. “Damn thing hit a rib. Shattered everywhere. I’ll get as many pieces as I can.”

  She dug around, searching for the small pieces of metal and cloth before finally retreating. Despite her efforts, the wound looked even worse than before, more blood oozing down his skin.

  Hollis looked over at Buford. “I need a bullet.”

  The man frowned. “You need what?”

  “A bullet. He’s bleedin’ more than simply stichin’ will solve. So, I need to cauterize the wound. A bullet, please.”

  Buford muttered under his breath but handed her the bullet. She used a small knife to separate the head, pouring the black powder into George’s wound. The powder ignited with a flash when she placed a match against it, the scent of burnt flesh wafting around them.

  “Bloody Hell.” Buford covered his mouth. “Are you crazy?”

  She leveled a glare at the man. “Do you want him to have a chance at survivin’ or not?” She readied a needle. “I’ll clear off some of the damaged skin and stitch the rest closed.”

  He watched her work, still cursing under his breath. Tension hunched her shoulders as she smeared on a couple of her salves, hoping the combined effort might increase his chances, then covered the wound with more gauze.

  “You can remove that cloth, now.” She stepped back, finally looking at Buford. “He needs to rest and have those bandages changed regularly. He also needs to be kept cool. A steady supply of clean water will help with that. I have some medicine I can give him once he wakes up. To help with the pain. But other than that…”

  “So, he’s gonna live?”

  She met his questioning gaze. “I don’t know. If he makes it through the night, his chances go up slightly. It all depends on whether the infection spreads or if I managed to drain it.”

  He snorted. “Is that your way of saying I should keep you alive? So, you can keep tendin’ to his needs?”

  “It’s my way of saying he isn’t anywhere close to walking out of here anytime soon. You might want to keep that in mind the next time you get into a shootout. Bullets have a way of killin’ regular folk.” She rinsed off her hands and instruments then packed up her bag, leaving a vile of clear liquid out. “You can give him a few drops of this every few hours once he wakes. Now, if you think you and your men can watch over him, I’ll be on my way.”

  He laughed, snagging her wrist, again. “Do you really think you’re walking out of here? It’s not just your skills as a doctor I wanted. You’re bait.”

  “You asked me to treat your brother, and I’ve done all I can. I suggest you let me ride out of here before this whole thing erupts into a bloody battle. Because it will if I’m still here when he shows up.”

  His smug smile made her clench her fists to stop from punching him. “Do you really think I’m afraid of one bear? I have ten other shifters to back me up. And in case you didn’t know, a bear’s one true enemy is a pack of wolves. So, don’t get any romantic notions that he’ll be saving you. He’s coming here to die.”

  Fear settled hard in her gut. Eleven wolves. Even with Cullen’s help, she wasn’t sure if they could take on that many. She needed to get ahold of a pistol. Anything to help out.

  The tent flap fluttered behind them as one of his men poked his head in. “There’s a guy walking up the path. Isn’t even trying to hide. Same scent as what’s all over her.”

  Buford’s smile widened. “Perfect. Let him come all the way into camp.” He jerked her against him, pulling a knife from his belt as he spun her around.

  Mac glared at Buford, stepping in front of him. “Thomas. What have I told you about hurting ladies? Your score is with the man outside, isn’t it? You’d be wise to let her go.”

  “Not now, McCalister. Go join the rest of the men. We might need your marksmanship, yet.” He shoved her forward with him, still holding her firmly against his chest—the blade brushing her neck. “I suggest you stay very still. Now…let’s go say hello to your man.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lucas stopped at the edge of the clearing, sensing Buford’s men flanking him—no doubt hoping to close in behind him. He estimated the outlaw had about fifteen others in the small camp, at least half of which were shifters if the strength of their scent was any indication. Not that it mattered. They were just an inconvenience he’d have to face in order to get to Hollis. One he’d deal with as soon as he knew she was all right.

  He braced his feet apart, waiting for Buford to walk out. It only took a minute before the man appeared on the other side of the open space, Hollis braced against his chest—a knife poised at her throat. Lucas’ grizzly roared at the sight, surging forward just enough he felt the animal’s strength tense his muscles—a line of sorts. It would let him lead as long as Hollis remained unharmed. If that changed…

  Not that Lucas would fight his other half. He’d already made peace with the fact he wasn’t leaving there without shifting. It only came down to a matter of when.

  Buford chuckled, dragging Hollis harder against him as a few of his men lined up in a lopsided arc around him. “Mr. Quinn, right? The sheriff? I should have guessed you were the man beneath the fur and claws. Why that stupid little camp has been so hard to dispense of. If I’d known you were a shifter, I would have challenged your other half months ago.”

  Lucas focused on Hollis, mentally telling her everything was going to be okay. He snorted when she arched a brow, silently telling him she didn’t need to be coddled, she simply needed a distraction to break free. Not that he’d expected any less.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, dragging his gaze to Buford. “Robbin’ the company is par for the course. Raidin’ the town—not gentleman-like, but nothing I didn’t expect. Taking my mate against her will—holding a knife to her throat—that won’t go unchallenged. Let her go, and we can settle this like men.”

  “Men? Is that what you told my crew last night? My brother? That you’d settle it like men?”

  “They attacked us. I was only defending myself.�
��

  “Since when is killin’ nearly a dozen men merely self-defense? From what George told me, you hunted the last few down while they tried to escape.”

  Lucas shrugged. “My mate was nearby. I couldn’t chance they’d come back and harm her, now could I? You shouldn’t start a fight you’re not prepared to see through to the end.”

  “Your mate shot one of my men in the arm from twenty-five yards out without blinkin’ an eye. Something tells me she’s not helpless.”

  He grinned. “The lady has many skills. One of which I assume just saved your brother’s life.”

  Buford sneered, yanking her against him, nicking her skin. Blood welled up along the thin line, making her wince. “That remains to be seen.”

  “It’s a far sight better than any of you deserve. You want me…” Lucas waved his arms wide. “Standin’ right here. Fur. Skin. I don’t care how you want this to go down. But there’s no reason to hurt her when I’m the one who shot your brother. Who killed your men.”

  “All the more reason to take what matters most to you.”

  Lucas fisted his hands, the tingling along his spine foreshadowing his impending shift. He glanced at Hollis, giving her a small nod, praying Cullen was in position, when a gun cocked behind Buford. He stared over Buford’s shoulder, focusing on the older man pointing his weapon at Buford’s back, the man’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

  The guy narrowed his eyes. “That’s enough, Thomas. Even gunslingers have a code. We don’t kill women or children. So, for the last time, let the lady go, then you can settle your differences with the sheriff.”

  Buford growled, twisting slightly to look at the guy. “Damn it, McCalister. I knew letting you tag along was a bad idea.”

  Lucas stilled. Had he heard Buford right? He studied the guy, noting the similar jaw line, the same blue eyes. He just didn’t know if Brett McCalister recognized Hollis.

  McCalister sneered at Buford. “As I recall, you came lookin’ for me. And I’ve held my tongue while you and your brother made fools of yourselves. But I won’t stand here while you use a woman as a shield. The same one who just dug three slugs out of your brother in an attempt to save his life. Ain’t no honor in that.” He arched his eyebrow. “I’m not going to repeat myself, again. Let her go.”