The two women entered the saloon, letting the doors swing shut behind them.
***
Angel helped her aunt climb aboard the buggy seat, then walked around to climb up herself. Releasing the hand brake, she got the two-horse team underway.
The early November night was cool and breezy, the air scented with the sap of the towering pines and spruce lining either side of the dark road. The lit lanterns hanging from either side of the buggy cast a soft glow on the hard-packed earth beneath the wheels of the vehicle. Around them, only the sounds of the insects and frogs, and the rhythmic cadence of the horse's hooves, disturbed their companionable silence.
"So, what did you think of my quilting circle? Not as dull as you thought, eh?" Myrna tugged at afghan she's thrown over her lap.
Angel could only shake her head. "Not dull at all. I never dreamed you and your friends would talk that way."
Myrna chuckled. "What, you didn't think old ladies talked about coupling? Come now, dear. We may be old, but we're not dead yet."
That made Angel let out a laugh of her own. She certainly had received an "education" on sex from the elderly ladies of town, one she hadn't been expecting. But she had to admit, even with their brash talk, the older women of town had a lot of wisdom to impart about relationships, motherhood, and life in general. It would probably be another month or more before she had time to attend another quilting circle meeting with her aunt, but she was already looking forward to it.
They moved at a steady pace up the road leading toward town, and home. No other vehicles were on the road, at least not within sight. Angel kept her focus on guiding Cocoa and Caramel, the two mares pulling them along.
Suddenly, the thundering sound of fast moving horses began to echo around them.
Myrna sat up a bit in the seat, turned her head to look behind them, in the direction of the sound. "Someone's in a mighty big hurry."
She agreed. "Sure sounds that way. Can you see them yet?"
"No, but I should any minute. They're coming on fast, whoever it is."
"Well, let me know when you see them, in case I need to pull over so they can hurry on by." Angel kept her eyes on the road ahead, knowing her first responsibility was to drive her own vehicle as safely as possible, even if others thought it prudent to ride their horses as if their tails were on fire.
The thundering became louder as the horses moved closer to them. Angel still didn't turn around, but she did feel a chill run down her spine.
There was something ominous in the air, a charge of negativity that made her feel unsafe.
As suddenly as the sensation came on, she heard a gunshot ring out in the darkness.
Myrna shouted, "Good Lord, Angel! It's two riders, and their bearing down on us fast!"
She still didn't turn around-there was no need. All she wanted to do was put as much distance as she could between her buggy and the two lunatics on horseback. So, she slapped the reigns, pushing Cocoa and Caramel to a run.
The buggy shook and shimmied as it picked up speed. Behind them, another shot rang out, followed by the shouts and hoots of the mounted men pursuing them.
"Get out of town, troublemaker!"
"Yeah! Run away, bitch!"
Angel didn't take kindly to being slurred, and a mixture of fear and anger heated her blood. She fought down the shivers running through her body, glanced over at her aunt. Myrna was pale faced, but looked angry as well. Angel decided in that moment that she would not allow those jackasses to harm her dear, sweet aunt. The woman hadn't lived nearly seventy years to be terrorized by the likes of them. With a shout of her own, Angel snapped the reins again, urging the horses on.
The buggy continued to wobble as the two mares charged down the road at full speed. With each stone or dip in the road they hit, both women were jostled around in the seat. The small buggy wasn't meant to be driven at such a high speed, but in this situation, there was no other option. Jaw set, Angel held tight to the reins. She could see the blacksmith's shop come into view, just a few hundred yards away, and she felt a modicum of relief. If she could make it into town, she'd ride straight up to the sheriff's office for help.
Behind her, the shooting stopped, but the men continued to yell all manner of threats and insults at them. She couldn't tell how far away they were, or if they might be gaining on the buggy. So, she twisted her head for only a moment, to gauge their proximity.
In that split second, the buggy ran over a fallen log laying across the road.
On impact, the buggy lurched violently, tossing Angel and Myrna to the right. Angel stuck her hand out, leveraging herself against the seat back to keep from sliding into her aunt. Then she whirled back around, struggled to regain control.
Myrna, wide eyed, shouted, "Heavens!"
Cocoa's harness snapped, and the horse continued at a run, leaving the buggy behind. Caramel yowled, and the vehicle veered off to the right side as the two left wheels lost contact with the surface of the road. They were jostled again as the buggy swung into the brush.
Angel screamed, reached out for her aunt.
The buggy overturned, tossing them both from the wooden seat like a pair of rag dolls.
She hit the ground on her back, landing in the damp grass with her aunt's frail form on top of her.
She tried to scream again, stuck her hands out to try to brace against what was coming.
But the buggy crashed down on top of them, plunging her world into thick, inky darkness.
Lupe pulled her cloak a bit tighter around her body as she walked up the road toward town. She'd agreed to come in early today to help Angel inventory the saloon's supply of spirits. Though the sun shone brightly, dappling the road's surface with the light filtering through the canopy of trees above, the morning air still held a chill.
About two hundred yards outside of town, something caught her eye. She took a moment to ascertain what she saw, and when realization hit her, she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Oh, my Lord!"
She ran toward the overturned buggy, which lay in the brush and bramble on the right side of the road. The closer she got to it, the more familiar the vehicle looked—
Until she realized it was Angel's.
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. Not wanting to get any closer, because she was afraid of what she might find, she turned her feet toward town again, and ran as fast as she could to get help.
* * *
Chapter 12
Gregory pored over the last of a stack of reports he'd been writing up, checking to be sure he'd included every pertinent detail. With his feet up on the big desk, he reclined comfortably, holding a quill pen in one hand as he reviewed the papers. Thaddeus was in the rear of the building, and he could hear the strokes of the broom as the young officer worked to clear the cells and hallway floors of dust and dirt.
He sat up, lay the paper on the surface of the desk, intent on affixing his signature. He dipped the tip of the pen in the inkwell.
Lupe ran in, screaming, "Angel's been hurt!"
He knocked the inkwell over as he jumped to his feet. His heart climbed into his throat. "What?"
Lupe, breathless and panting, leaned forward at the waist and placed her hands on her knees. "I was walking to work, and I found her buggy, overturned on the side of the road!"
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he hurried to grab his vest and hat from the hook above the desk. He called to his light horseman. "Thad! There's an emergency! Keep an eye on the place while I see to it."
Thad stuck his head around the corner, peering curiously at Lupe. "Yes, sir. But what's going on?"
Gregory was already donning his hat and stepping out the door with Lupe. "No time to explain now."
Outside on the walk, Gregory hurried around the corner to Doc Wilkins's clinic. The petite Lupe struggled to keep up with his long strides, but he couldn't slow down, not when he knew his Angel was in danger. His brow furrowed as disturbing thoughts e
ntered his mind. How had the buggy come to be overturned? How long at it been there? Was she even still alive? Picturing her lying there, alone and injured in the cold, damp grass, threatened to be his undoing.
Once at the clinic, he pounded on the door.
The old bespectacled Doc Wilkins answered almost immediately. In his black medical coat and broadcloth trousers, he peered up at Gregory with concern lining his face. "Heavens, what's happened?"
Lupe spoke up. "Doc, come quick. Angel's buggy is upended on the side of the road at the edge of town."
Doc Wilkins' eyes widened. "I'll get my bag. Meet me out back at my buckboard."
He disappeared inside the clinic, and Gregory and Lupe did as he asked, rounding to the back of the small cabin-like structure to the spot where the doctor kept his buckboard parked. The vehicle was a simple one, with a seat accommodating two or three folks, and a flatbed in the back, suitable for hauling patients who were to infirm to sit up. On some sad occasions, the bed was used to haul the bodies of folks who'd expired, in absence of or despite the doctor's treatments. Looking into the bed of the vehicle, Gregory fought off the chill that coursed through him. Will my sweet Angel May be taking that final ride?
He glanced at Lupe, and from the pallor that had fallen over her face, he guessed she might be filled with the same sense of dread and foreboding.
The doctor came a few moments later, sliding his medical bag beneath the seat of the buckboard. He jogged over to the small barn that sat a few yards behind the clinic, and brought out his stallion. Once the beast was hitched and secured to the board, he climbed onto the seat.
Gregory helped Lupe aboard, and once she was seated next to the doctor, the deputy climbed up and took a seat.
Doc Wilkins slapped the reins, and they were off. He urged the stallion to a quick trot, and as they thundered through town, folks on the walk stopped what they were doing to watch them pass by. Everyone in town knew that when they saw Doc Wilkins hurrying down the road, there must be trouble. To that end, folks who were on the road slowed or halted their vehicles, and pulled out of his path to let him pass. Gregory coughed to clear his lungs of the swirling dust kicked up by the horse's pounding hooves and the rapidly spinning wheels of the buckboard.
It took only a few minutes for them to reach the spot Lupe pointed out. Before the Doc could bring his vehicle to a full stop, Gregory jumped down from the seat and ran over to the wrecked buggy.
When he reached it, he let his eyes scan the brush for any sign of Angel. He squatted near the buggy, opening his ears to listen for something, anything that might indicate she was alive.
Then he heard it.
The shallow, shaky sounds of someone's uneven breaths. The sound emanated from beneath the overturned buggy.
He immediately searched for a handhold to lift the buggy, shouting, "Come on, Doc! She's underneath it, I can hear her!"
Doc Wilkins ran over and knelt beside him. Tossing the medical bag down in the grass, he too grabbed an edge of the buggy. Lupe joined in as well, placing her hands on the side opposite the doctor.
Gregory counted out loud. "One...two...three!"
With a mighty push, the three of them managed to lift the buggy. Gregory leaned into it hard with his shoulder. He managed to push it up and over until it was righted, just to the left of where it had overturned.
Sure enough, there was Angel, lying in the grass on her back. A few of the brass fittings from the buggy were scattered around her.
Seeing her bruised face made Gregory's breath catch. As he reached for her, moving her cloak aside to see if she were further injured, he gasped.
"Dear God," Lupe whispered.
There, on top of Angel, lay the frail and still body of her aunt Myrna.
While noisy, rattling breaths were escaping from Angel, there wasn't a sound to be heard from the old woman.
Doc Wilkins put on his stethoscope, listened to Myrna's chest. Several long moments passed, with only the sound of Lupe's soft sobbing breaking the silence.
Finally, the doc nodded his head. "Her heart's breathing, but it's very faint. We've got to get them to the clinic right away."
Gregory nodded, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Angel's face. He went to the buckboard, and worked with the doctor to unroll the collapsible cloth stretchers he kept in the back. First, they gathered Myrna's slight body onto one, and placed her in the bed. Then, they returned for Angel and lay her next to her aunt.
As her body touched the surface of the bed, Angel stirred. Her eyes opened, and settled on Gregory's face.
"Gregory," she croaked.
He placed a hand against her scratched and bloodied cheek. "Shh. Don't speak, love. Conserve your strength."
Eyes watery, she asked, "What's happened?"
"We'll talk about it later." He stroked the satin skin, careful of her injuries.
She looked as if she wanted to speak again, but before the words could leave her lips, she lost consciousness again.
Lupe sobbed again, obviously worried about her friend.
Gregory found himself fighting back a tear.
What if he lost her?
What if she never opened those beautiful eyes again?
With her contrary, but passionate ways, she'd worked her way into his heart, and now the thought of losing her was more than he could bear.
Knowing there was nothing more to do except see that she got the necessary medical care, he grasped Lupe's slumped shoulders, and guided her back to the buckboard seat. Then he got on, and the doctor cracked the reins to drive them back toward town, and the clinic.
***
Angel lay on her back, floating on the surface of a body of water. The sun above warmed her face, and she could feel its heat on her closed eyelids. She could hear the sounds of ducks or mallards, splashing and quacking nearby. She wanted to open her eyes, wanted to take in the scenery she sensed around her, but her heavy eyelids wouldn't obey. They seemed fused in place, and she suddenly felt uneasy, even afraid. She heard the distant sound of Gregory, calling her name, and wanted to reach out, but her arms wouldn't move, either.
She wept; moaning, crying out for him to come and help her.
Then she felt two large, powerful hands on her shoulders. They gently shook her, and the dream fell away as her eyes finally opened.
She blinked a few times, until the face above her came into clear view. When she saw Gregory looking down at her, she burst into tears.
"Oh Gregory, I was so afraid..." the rest of the words she wanted to say disappeared as the sobs overtook her.
He knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms. "It's alright, Angel. I'm here. Everything is alright."
Sitting up proved painful, and she slumped against his strong torso. As if sensing her pain, he released his hold on her, then helped her lie back down.
"Take it easy."
She started to flex her hands, but pain shot up her right arm. Her eyes fell on her wrapped wrist, where the pain had begun, and was now radiating through her upper body, and let her head drop back on the feather pillow beneath her.
She looked around to ascertain her surroundings. The familiar interior of Doc Wilkins's clinic came into view, and for a moment her foggy mind wondered why she was there. She shifted a bit on the cot, pulled the sheet up around her torso to stave off the chill in the air. But the pains in her arms, neck and shoulders, as well as the burning along her jaw, soon restored her memory. As the events leading to the crash came flooding back to her, her tears began anew. Her whole body shook as she cried, overtaken by a mixture of sadness and anger.
"It's alright, Angel. Doc Wilkins is taking good care of you."
"And Aunt Myrna? Is she..." she let her words fade, unable to finish the question. Her aunt was near seventy years old, and her body wasn't equipped to handle such a catastrophe. Still, she held on to hope, because she didn't want to imagine her life without Aunt Myrna's steadying presence.
He looked somber as he answered her. "She's
hanging on, but she's very weak. Doc Wilkins says the next few hours are very critical."
She released a long breath as relief coursed through her. Aunt Myrna might have a rough road ahead, but at least they were both still among the living.
Gregory placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then stood to his full height, towering over her prone form. "I'll fetch the Doc, and he can explain everything to you."
She nodded, offering him a small smile. "Thank you, Gregory."
He smiled back, an affectionate light dancing in his deep brown eyes. "Thank you for not leaving me, love."
And he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing on the plank floor.
Doc Wilkins appeared above her a few moments later, pulling on a pair of examination gloves. "Afternoon, Miss Lane. It's good to see you're awake. I need to check your injuries."
"How bad is it, Doc?"
He said nothing for a few beats as he lifted the sheet covering her, then reached beneath the thin muslin gown she wore. He palpated her abdomen, and she winced.
"Hmm. You had a gash running across your right hip, but I've stitched it shut. It seems to be starting to heal. That was the worst of it. Everything else was just scrapes and bruises. I've treated them all with some salve."
"So, no broken bones or anything?" She found that hard to believe, considering the soreness than clung to her muscles and joints the way sap clung to a tree trunk.
He shook his head. "No. You did sprain your wrist, and I've wrapped it for you. The soreness you feel is just residual from the impact with the ground. You and your aunt are lucky. The buggy landed in such a way that there was a good amount of space between you two and the solid part of the vehicle. Had it landed on its side the two of you might have been crushed."
She drew a sharp breath. "How is my aunt, Doc? Will she pull through this?"
The doctor looked just as grim as Gregory had earlier. "I can't say for sure yet. She's a fighter, but her injuries are more severe. She has two fractures, one of the middle rib and one of her left hip, and a shoulder sprain. And I don't have to tell you than her age will make recovery more difficult for her."
Electing to Love Page 12
