Abducted at the Altar

by Charlene Sands

  Mrs. Whitaker smiled wistfully. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it’s so. Believe me. It’s not so easy trying to turn Dorie into a lady. She’s young and impulsive. And she’s…well…” Shane began, but couldn’t finish his thought. What he wanted to say would shock Mrs. Whitaker down to her high-topped boots.

  Mrs. Whitaker bobbed her head once for him to continue. “She’s what, Shane?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Mrs. Whitaker sat thoughtfully for a moment, daintily slipping a forkful of pie into her mouth. “She’s a handful for you, isn’t she, Shane?”

  Shane grunted, watching the door. Dorie should be busting in soon, hopefully dressed in those loose-fitting garments she wore. He’d seen enough of her soft skin and wild loose hair to last him a dozen lifetimes.

  “She’s pretty, in her own way,” Mrs. Whitaker acknowledged.

  Shane grunted again.

  “And I’ve always admired her gumption,” she said. “It wasn’t easy on her when her mama died. She’s all but raised Jeremiah.”

  “That’s why I’m trying to help her. She loves that boy fiercely. She’d be crushed if he was taken from her.”

  “I know you’ve done your part in trying to help those two whenever you could, Shane.”

  “I’ve been neighborly, but Dorie read more into it and now I’m afraid I’m committed to this pretense.”

  Mrs. Whitaker strummed her fingers, deep in thought. “Tell me what you were going to say earlier, Shane. I’m an old woman. I think I could stand to hear it all. What is it about Dorie that worries you most?”

  Shane stared down at the crumbs left on his plate.

  “She’s a temptation you can’t afford,” Mrs. Whitaker said softly. “Is that it?”

  Shane closed his eyes. He wouldn’t have used those words exactly, but she’d come close enough. “As I explained earlier, I’m destined to marry Marilee Barkley. Her father is certain he’ll find her and bring her home. If she’ll have me, I’m going to go through with that marriage. I can’t be, uh…”

  Alberta nodded in understanding. “Dallying with Dorie. You want to leave her reputation intact.”

  Shane heaved a big sigh of relief. The older woman had put into words what Shane couldn’t. “That’s right, Alberta,” he said quietly.

  “And she’s here, alone with you, more than you’d like, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, then. I think I have a solution for you.” She set her napkin down and smiled wide. “Since you’ve shared your secret with me, I think I’d like to help. Let me take over some of the teaching with Dorie. Lord knows, that girl could use a woman’s guidance in such matters. I’ll help her with her speech and manners and other such things.”

  Shane gulped down the last bit of his bitter coffee. “You’d do that?”

  “I would love to help, Shane. I can spare an hour or two a day for Dorie’s noble, yet deceitful cause.” She chuckled. “And the time she spends with me, she won’t be spending with you.”

  Shane scratched his head and grinned. “I like the way you think.”

  “Now, all we have to do is convince Dorie.”

  “Convince me of what?” Dorie entered the room and Shane couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her face framed in a fiery halo of loose tresses, she wore her hair pinned up at the sides, the shiny coppery locks in back bouncing in curls against her shoulders. And even though she wore her old wrinkled clothes, she smelled as fresh as summer rain.

  “Dorie, don’t you look pretty,” Mrs. Whitaker said.

  Dorie smiled wide and Shane realized that there probably weren’t too many compliments in her life. She’d had a tough time of it and now, instead of being courted by young smitten beaus, she had to settle for a temporary pretend husband, just to keep what little family she had left. “Thank you.”

  “Dorie, won’t you sit down and have some pie?” Mrs. Whitaker smiled graciously.

  Dorie shot a curious glance at Shane before sitting down. “Looks delicious.”

  Alberta cut a piece of pie and placed it onto a plate. She handed the plate to Dorie. “Here we go, dear.”

  Shane cleared his throat. “Uh, Dorie, Mrs. Whitaker knows about our deal.”

  Her eyes went wide and she focused solely on Shane. “She does? How?”

  “I told her.”

  Dorie’s face twisted with accusation and betrayal. For a moment she became speechless. Then she spoke softly as if Mrs. Whitaker wasn’t in the room. “Why would you do that, Shane?”

  Shane took a deep breath. “Dorie, at times, you leave me no choice. You come outside dressed like you were dressed, without thought to who might see you, giving the wrong impression. I had to explain to Mrs. Whitaker so she wouldn’t think the worst about you…and me.”

  Alberta Whitaker placed her hand over Dorie’s. “I understand your dilemma, dear. And I’m willing to help.”

  Dorie shot Mrs. Whitaker a surprised look. “You are?”

  She smiled. “Yes. I can help you make a fine impression on these folks. They will not doubt you for a moment. You know, dear, I was raised in New York myself. I married there, for the first time. My husband was a prominent doctor. We had social gatherings and celebrations every month. I know something of decorum and etiquette. Will you permit me to help you?”

  “Oh, uh…” Dorie looked over to Shane for approval.

  He nodded.

  “You don’t think it’s terrible, what I’m trying to do?”

  Alberta chuckled, the soft sound making her seem younger and more vital. “The truth is always a better option, dear. But I won’t judge you. I know how hard you’ve worked these past few years and I also know you’re doing a fine job of raising Jeremiah. If you see this as the only way to keep Jeremiah—”

  “I do. Oh, yes I do. They’d never let me keep him if they saw how we lived. Not that Jeremiah wants for anything. We have food and…and a house. And he’s schooled. But they’re rich, Mrs. Whitaker. They’d fight me and I’d lose my brother.”

  Alberta’s brown eyes softened on Dorie. “Sometimes people can surprise you.”

  “How?” Dorie seemed truly puzzled.

  “What I mean to say is that we never know how things will really turn out. Twenty years ago I’d never have believed that I’d be a ranch wife, living in Nevada with a gruff man like Iggy Whitaker. But here I am.”

  “You love him, right?”

  “Do I love him? Why, I’d have never left the comforts of New York if I hadn’t fallen head over heels with the man. A few years after my first husband died, I traveled to Kansas to visit with my cousins. Iggy was at the end of a trail drive, and I met him quite by accident on the main street of town. He nearly knocked me over. I thought he was the crudest, rudest man I’d ever met.” She stopped for a moment to smile. “Two weeks later, I married the cowboy. So you see, sometimes life can surprise you.”

  “Oh my,” Dorie said, a winsome look on her face.

  “Yes, it’s quite a story, but let’s get back to your situation. Would you consider allowing me to help?”

  “Yes, yes. I’d be honored if you’d help me. But what about Shane? I still need to—”

  “You will. You’ll get accustomed to each other in due time. We won’t neglect that. You and Shane will spend time together.”

  Dorie smiled and dug into her pie. Mrs. Whitaker watched her plow into the crust then shove the fork into her mouth. She grinned at Shane and he knew a moment of great relief.

  Dorie was off his hands, at least temporarily.

  Two afternoons later, Shane took off on Sassy and headed toward a cluster of longhorns that the Boyd brothers had claimed had taken sick. The cattle had been infected by blowflies burrowing deep into their brand wounds, and the screwworms that hatched as a result created enough pain and illness to cause death. Shane had precious few cattle as it was; he couldn’t afford to lose any.

  He had a salve he hoped would cure the few in his herd that had taken sick.
Shane rode hard as the Nevada sun beat down and, after riding for an hour, he finally found the infirm cattle.

  Shane dismounted and grabbed for his saddlebag. He unfastened the strap and took out the round container, thick with salve. The trick of it was to get the medicine on the wound, without riling up the herd.

  Shane had only done this once before and he’d had quite a time of it. Cattle didn’t take to this medicine much. So he took his time, walking up slowly and looking over all ten steers that seemed to have the worst of the wounds. “Okay, we’re gonna do this,” he said softly. “I can’t promise it’s gonna feel so good, but it should help.”

  Shane worked on three steers gently applying the salve and all seemed to be going well. Once he headed for the fourth one, a ruckus broke out and Sassy whinnied loudly as a bald eagle swooped down, flying low enough to panic his mare. The horse bucked up, her front legs lifting high in the air. She snorted and ran straight for the herd.

  Shane, stuck in the middle of a cluster of cattle now, raced to get out of the way of shuffling and confused steer. He’d almost made it, too, but for the last flustered longhorn, which lowered its head and rammed Shane’s side with a horn to move him out of the way.

  Shane grunted a profanity as he was lifted into the air. His hat went flying. Pain exploded inside his head. Blood spurted out of his gut. He dropped to the ground, gripping the left side of his stomach.

  The earth grumbled as the small herd raced away. Shane lay alone now, but for Sassy who’d wandered over to nudge his head. “Give me a minute, girl,” he huffed out, his breaths coming with great difficulty now.

  Shane knew he’d bleed to death from the stab wound if he stayed out on the open range tonight. He had to get up. He had to stop the bleeding. He needed to get some help. With a grunt and all the strength he could muster, he rose to his feet and struggled out of his shirt. Wrapping his shirt around his body, he tied a knot around the deep gash to curtail the bleeding.

  Sassy nudged him again and he grabbed onto the saddle horn. He stood a moment, willing himself to do this, then inhaled sharply, before putting his boot into the stirrup and using the right side of his body to lift himself up onto his mare.

  That move nearly sapped all of his strength. With a click of his heels, Sassy took off. He reined her toward the one person he knew would help him. The one person whom he’d been thinking about for the past two days.

  The only person he needed right now.

  Dorie.

  Dorie cut a pattern of the finest red raw silk and fashioned the pieces against each other, pinning the right sides together and, once the gown fit like a perfect puzzle, she lifted the needle. She’d been gifted with this talent as a youngster, her mama exclaiming her abilities were far more advanced than even her own. It was her talent with needle and thread that kept Jeremiah in clothes and food and for the most part, kept their homestead from total ruin.

  Dorie sewed.

  For the prostitutes of Virginia City.

  She’d been commissioned by the best whores in the county. And she managed to keep her employment a secret from the fine citizens of Silver Hills. It was a firm condition of the agreement she’d made with the ladies of the night.

  They’d been so taken by her expertise that they’d agreed. No one would ever know where their fine gowns were made. Or by whom.

  “Ouch! Dang it!” Dorie stuck herself with the needle for the third time today. It wasn’t at all like her. She never missed a stitch. Never. Except that she was overly nervous lately, worrying over the Parkers’ visit coming up real soon. And she missed Shane. It surprised her how much.

  She hadn’t seen him since that day at his house when Mrs. Whitaker had come by to visit. Thinking of Mrs. Whitaker made her amend her last blurted out comment. “A lady doesn’t use foul language. She doesn’t curse, or scream out. She doesn’t say ‘dang it.’ Dorie, when is it gonna sink into your head.”

  Dorie had spent two afternoons under Mrs. Whitaker’s tutelage. She’d taught her the fine points of walking like a lady and talking like one. Dorie didn’t have much trouble with the first, but her mouth had always run off and she had a hard time remembering what was proper language and what was not.

  She knew to sit with her hands folded in her lap. That a lady doesn’t cross her legs, but may cross her ankles at times. A lady smiles coyly at a man, but never out and out laughs like a hyena. “It’s a whole lot to remember,” she said again, the sentiment never far from her mind.

  If only she could see Shane soon. He seemed to settle her, make her feel that all would work out for the best. Dorie had faith in Shane. More faith than she had in any other person, except maybe Jeremiah.

  Dorie sat at the kitchen table and sewed for hours, each stitch as perfect and as even as the next, until she got to the point were the raw silk dress was ready for its lace trim. She gazed down at her creation feeling a sense of deep satisfaction. Too bad no one but the prostitutes would ever acknowledge the work she put into each dress, but it was enough that Dorie knew. She smiled and settled back in her seat, taking a break, wiggling her cramped fingers.

  Jeremiah burst in through the back door. “Dorie, come quick! It’s Shane. I found him about half a mile from here. He’s hurt bad, Dorie.”

  Dorie’s gut clenched. Jeremiah was near tears. It’d been a long time since her brother had showed such raw emotion. She pushed aside the gown and jumped up. “What’s wrong with him? Tell me quick!”

  Breathing heavy, Jeremiah blurted. “Looks like he’s been stabbed. He’s bleeding all over. I didn’t know what to do. He was slumped over on his horse. I pulled Sassy in with me. He’s right outside, Dorie.”

  “Help me get him!” Dorie raced out the back door and stopped up short with a gasp. “Oh!” She found Shane slung over his saddle like a rag doll, his face ashen with blood oozing out from a crimson stained shirt tied around the side of his stomach.

  “He’s breathing, isn’t he?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Lord in heaven,” Dorie said softly, placing her fingers to his throat, measuring his shallow breaths. “Yes, he’s breathing.” And she planned to keep him breathing. Dorie couldn’t lose Shane. Not Shane.

  “Help me get him inside, Jeremiah. We’ve got to be careful helping him down from his mare. Whoa, Sassy. Be still, girl.” Dorie comforted the horse as best she could, trying to keep panic from overtaking her, as well.

  “Shane, can you hear me?”

  An incoherent grunt was all she heard from him.

  “We’re gonna bring you into the house. It might pain you some. Sorry, Shane. So sorry. Okay, Jeremiah. Grab him.”

  “I’ve got him,” her brother announced, holding Shane under the arms. For thirteen, Jeremiah McCabe was as strong as an ox. Dorie felt a moment of pride seeing him take the brunt of the burden without flinching.

  Dorie helped and they half pulled, half dragged Shane’s body across the yard and into the house. “Let’s put him in my bed. It’s bigger than yours.”

  And once they reached her bedroom, Dorie flipped off her quilt and adjusted the pillow so that Shane would have a comfortable place to rest. “There,” she said, watching Shane’s face contort in pain as they lowered him down. “Now you take Sassy and go fetch the doctor. Hurry, Jeremiah. I’ll do what I can for Shane.”

  Jeremiah stared down at the only man with whom he had ever felt kinship. “He ain’t gonna die, is he, Dorie?”

  “Not if I can help it. Now run. Go get Doc Renfrow.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “Keep him alive, Dorie.”

  Dorie planned on doing that very thing. She raced to the kitchen, gathered up fresh linens, a bowl of clean water and soap then returned to Shane.

  “The doc will be here soon, Shane. You hang on.”

  Gingerly, Dorie unwrapped the blood-soaked shirt from Shane’s body. She dipped some fresh linen into a bowl of warm soapy water and cleansed his wound. The bleeding had stopped, so she thanked heaven for small miracles and continued to wash him.


  Shane’s eyes opened then. “Dorie,” he muttered so quietly she might have imagined it.

  “I’m here, Shane. You’re gonna be all right.”

  He closed his eyes and drifted back into oblivion. Dorie figured that was a good thing. He needed his rest. With utmost care, she continued to dab his body gently, cooling his skin and sending up silent prayers to the Almighty. She stayed with Shane until Dr. Renfrow arrived, just before sundown.

  “He’s gonna be all right, Doc, isn’t he?” Jeremiah asked, before Dorie could get to it.

  The town’s aging doctor took a deep breath. Standing outside Dorie’s room, he nodded. “He’s lost a good deal of blood, but lucky for him, the stab wound didn’t pierce an organ. I think with rest and proper care, he’ll be up and around in a matter of days.”

  “So, he’s not gonna die?” Jeremiah asked.

  Dorie’s heart went out to her little brother. For as big and strong as he was, Jeremiah had a kind soul. He’d lost a great deal in his young life. Losing Shane would be hard for him to accept. But Shane wasn’t going to die, thank goodness. She supposed Jeremiah just needed to hear it from the doctor.

  “No, I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Who stabbed him?” Dorie asked.

  The doctor placed his black bowler hat on his head. “Well, my guess is that he’s been gouged by one of his longhorns. I’ve seen it before and I’ll see it again, I imagine. He’s got a good-size gash there, but the stitches will close that up real quick. He’s young and strong, and I suspect he’ll heal just fine. Remember to apply that salve on his wound three times a day. I’ll come out again day after tomorrow to check on him.”

  “So keep the wound clean, dress it with fresh bandages and apply the salve. Anything else?” Dorie asked.

  “No, that should do it. When he rouses, make sure he gets some nourishment. He’ll need to keep up his strength.”

  “When will that be?” she asked.

  “I’d keep a close eye on him. He might sleep through the night and into tomorrow, but I suspect he’ll wake up within twenty-four hours. Give him a shot of whiskey for the pain.”

  Dorie gulped. “Whiskey? We don’t have—”