As if someone had read his thoughts, the jolting suddenly stopped, and cool liquid trickled past the crack in his lips and into his mouth.
“I know it’s gotta be uncomfortable, but this is the only way I can get you to the homestead.”
Ben focused his eyes on the person leaning over him. Young Michael Osborne wore a look of deep concern.
“What happened?” The words were nothing more than a slur.
“I found you a day’s ride from where we parted ways three days ago. It looks like you were shot and fell into a hot spring. Your leg . . .” His voice trailed off.
Ben’s concentration on what Michael was saying faded. The pain was too great to focus on anything else. He’d been shot, and fallen into hot water? Ben raised his head. He gritted his teeth and groaned.
“Don’t move, Ben.” Michael’s hand was on his chest, pushing him back. “The bullet isn’t in your leg anymore. I thought about taking it out, but then figured it probably best to wait until we get to the homestead. My mother would have known what to do. She’s taken a bullet out of my Pa before. When I looked at the wound more closely, though, the bullet was already out. You must have managed to dig it out yourself.”
Ben fought for a normal breath. Even inhaling took all the strength he possessed at the moment. How had he managed to remove a bullet from his own leg in his condition? He certainly had no recollection of it.
“What about my other leg? You said I fell into a hot spring.”
The silence spoke volumes. Ben stared up at Michael, fighting to remain conscious and read the youth’s expression. The boy hadn’t ever looked this somber and concerned. He shook his head.
“I don’t know, Ben. I’ve never seen burns like that before. It’s good that you managed to treat your wounds before I found you.”
“Treat my wounds?”
Michael wasn’t making any sense. Ben couldn’t have treated his own wounds. The only thing he remembered was the agonizing pain. He had regained consciousness sometime in the early evening after being shot by the poachers, in more pain than he could even describe. Somehow, he’d managed to crawl to his horse, which had been tethered to a dead tree, hook his arm through the stirrup, and grab a rein.
The animal had dragged him for miles. He’d spent a cold night out in the open, huddled under a tree and battling a fever. Delirium had taken over. Even now, his mind was barely clear.
The golden-haired angel floated across his mind. Who was she, and why had she left? He moved his head from side to side. Had she even been real?
“There was a woman,” he rasped.
Michael’s forehead scrunched. “A woman?”
“She saved my life. She tended to me.” His mind conjured more fuzzy images of the woman as she’d worked over him, telling him over and over that she was sorry she couldn’t do more. Michael stared at him as if he wasn’t right in the head.
“I didn’t see a woman, or signs of one, unless . . .” He broke off as his gaze drifted downward to Ben’s leg.
“Unless what?” Ben raised his head again, but his strength was gone, and he slumped back against the hard wood of the travois. His breaths came in quick, shallow gasps and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.
Michael looked baffled. He knelt beside Ben and offered him more water from his canteen, then stood. “I think its best we get you to the homestead. You’re burning up with fever, and those wounds need to be dressed and treated properly.”
He disappeared, and moments later, the travois lurched forward. Ben gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain ripped through him from the rough movement. He closed his eyes and focused on the images of the woman his delirious mind had conjured to save his life.
“You saved my life? Who are you?” His eyes opened, and he stared up into the smiling face of his golden-haired angel. She smiled back and held a cool cloth to his forehead, then bathed his face with it. He moaned at the soothing touch.
“You’re going to be all right, Ben,” she said. “I sent Michael to Fort Yellowstone to get help from the army surgeon. Josh and I are doing all we can for you.”
Ben’s forehead scrunched. He blinked to focus and stared more closely at the woman hovering over him. It wasn’t his blue-eyed girl, but another blonde woman who was definitely familiar.
“Dani?” he rasped. “What are you doing here?”
The woman’s smile brightened. “I’m glad you remember who I am. In your feverish state, you had me confused with someone else, Ben.”
Danica Osborne, Michael’s mother, removed the cloth from his head, dipped it in a bowl of water, wrung it out, and reapplied it to his burning forehead.
“Where am I?”
“You’re at the homestead in the Madison Valley. Michael brought you yesterday.” Her features turned slightly somber. “Josh and I are doing everything we can for your leg, but I’m afraid it’s going to take a surgeon to fix you up completely.”
“What’s wrong with my leg?” Michael lifted his head. The effort proved too great. Black spots appeared before his eyes, and he slumped back onto the soft mattress on which he lay.
“The bullet wound should heal fine. It’s the burns on your other foot that have us worried.”
“Burns?” Images of his encounter with the poachers returned. He’d fallen through some thin crust and his leg had been badly scalded. He’d wanted to die from the excruciating agony.
Gritting his teeth to the pain that was sure to come, Ben raised his head, then his upper body.
“Lie back, Ben. You’re not strong enough to get up.” Dani’s voice was gentle, yet firm and commanding. Her hand on his chest stopped him from sitting up completely, but he refused to lie back.
“I need to take a look,” he insisted.
Danica Osborne stared at him with worried eyes. He didn’t falter. The woman had a strong mind, but he wasn’t about to back down. After several seconds of quiet, she relented. Her hand fell away from his chest, and she nodded to indicate that she conceded.
Ben swallowed. His mouth and throat were swollen and parched. He sat up fully despite the pain that ripped through both his legs. His right thigh was bandaged, presumably where the poacher’s bullet had hit him. His other leg was covered in wet bandages. He sucked in a deep breath. Maybe it was a good thing that he couldn’t see the extent of his injuries.
“How bad is the foot?”
“It’s not pretty.” Dani stood beside him. She held up a cup of water, which he accepted with a murmured “thanks.”
He drained the cup in several swallows and handed it back to her, then eased himself back onto the mattress and closed his eyes. He was weaker than a newborn elk calf.
“Michael told us that you removed the bullet yourself and managed to put some flour and wraps around your burns.”
Ben’s eyes opened, and he stared up at Dani. He shook his head. “I don’t recall any of that.”
Dani disappeared from view for a moment. When she returned to his bedside, she held some strips of linen out to him. “This was wrapped around your foot.” She smiled, and a twinkle lit up her eyes. “Didn’t know you had a sweetheart, Ben. Michael never mentioned it.”
“Sweetheart?” Ben shifted weight but cringed at the resulting pain in his thigh. He scoffed. “Now where would you get such a silly idea? Where am I going to find a sweetheart at Fort Yellowstone, of all places?”
“Then who is Cay?”
Ben shook his head. “You tell me.” Was he still delirious that his mind was having trouble making sense of this conversation?
“These pieces of cloth were embroidered with the letters C-A-Y. I thought maybe you’d know who that is. And, whoever sewed them definitely has skills. I wouldn’t think anyone would use such pretty cloth to bandage a bloody foot, but clearly you had nothing else to use.”
Ben took one of the pieces of fabric from Dani. He squinted to focus. The white linen had obviously been washed to get the blood off, but a few stains remained on the white material. The edge
s had been intricately stitched in a flower pattern. In one corner, the letters C-A-Y had been stitched in pink yarn, as Dani had said. Who was Cay?
Right before he’d lost consciousness after he’d been pulled from the hot water, he could have sworn he’d seen a woman’s face hovering over him. It had to have been the pain making him delirious, but that didn’t explain who had tended to his wounds, and why.
“You’re saying these don’t belong to you?” Dani stared at him.
Ben shook his head. “Never seen these before in my life.”
Michael’s mother scrunched her forehead and looked to be deep in thought. “Then who removed your bullet and wrapped you up? Whoever it was, they clearly didn’t want to be found out.” Her gaze returned to him, and concern filled her eyes. “It’s a miracle you survived.”
“Good thing Michael came looking for me, since I didn’t show up at the patrol cabin on the agreed-upon day. I have him to thank for my life. And you.”
And a mysterious woman you thought was a figment of your imagination.
“Josh rode out to look for any sign of the poachers. He should be back in a few days, around the same time Michael ought to get back with the army surgeon.” Dani handed him another cup of water and held a fresh cool cloth to his forehead.
Ben clenched his jaw. He cursed silently. As soon as he was able, he was going to go after those poachers himself. Dani’s hand on his shoulder brought his eyes to meet her gaze.
“I understand your anger, Ben, but right now, you need to think about getting better.”
Had she read his mind? Danica Osborne was a tough woman, and a force to be reckoned with. From the stories Michael had told, she and her husband had seen their share of violence and dealing with outlaws.
“Yeah, I’ll bide my time for now, until my foot is healed,” he mumbled.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the pain. He hadn’t asked outright how bad his foot was burned. There was no need. If Josh and Danica Osborne had thought it best to bring in the army surgeon, it had to be bad. This could be a career-ending injury. Ben squeezed his hand into a fist at his side. No matter what it took, he would find those responsible and bring them to justice.
Chapter 4
Elk Lodge, Montana, Three months later….
* * *
“I’m sure glad you were able to get that farm. It’s a nice piece of land with good grazing and water. Ideal to raise some horses.”
Ben glanced at Sam Hawley, the man he’d thought of as his brother. Sam stood next to him, watching the festivities around them, and talking about his favorite subject – horses and horse racing. He’d come to Montana to see his cousin, Trace Hawley, and to attend the wedding of an acquaintance’s relative from Kentucky.
Sam and Trace had come to pay a visit to Ben at Fort Yellowstone several months ago, only to find that he’d sustained career-ending injuries in an incident with poachers and had been in the fort hospital for nearly a month while the surgeon tried to save his leg. It had been Trace who’d recommended the farm that had been for sale in the Deer Lodge Valley.
“Nice place to start your own horse breeding enterprise when you’re well enough to leave the army hospital.”
“Maybe you ought to come home to Kentucky,” Sam had suggested. “Your father would be glad to see you.”
Ben had shaken his head. “I’m not ready to come home.” He’d scoffed. “I wasn’t ready to end my career in the army like this or leave Yellowstone, but I have no choice.”
He’d glanced down at the thick bandage around his left leg and foot. The surgeon had performed an amputation to remove all of Ben’s toes. They’d been scalded badly enough from the steam and water in the thermal pool in which he’d fallen that there had been no saving them.
The burns had been over his entire lower left leg, and over his left hip. The damage wasn’t as bad along his thigh, but he’d lost much of his sensation, except when he bore weight. That’s when the pain came, and he’d compensated by using a crutch.
Trace Hawley walked up to him and Sam at that moment, holding up his glass of champagne in greeting.
“Nice wedding,” he said. “Lance and Ellie look happy.” He nodded toward the new Mr. and Mrs. Taggart standing with several other people on the far side of their new home’s large room where the wedding festivities were taking place.
Ben glanced around the room, tuning out the conversation between Sam and Trace. What was he doing here? Sam had asked him to come, since the couple had ties to Kentucky and they had mutual acquaintances. It was also a chance to meet some of his future neighbors. He leaned heavily on his cane.
It seemed like such a small world, and everyone appeared to be in festive spirits. Ben pressed his lips together and shifted weight. His left hip was getting sore from standing. He adjusted his cane and bore more weight on his right leg, then immediately gritted his teeth. A curse nearly escaped his lips.
To conceal his growing frustration, he drained his champagne glass, then grimaced at the taste. He’d never taken a liking to the stuff, but at the moment, he needed something in his system to help with the pain. The army surgeon had given him morphine early in his recovery but had cautioned him that there was evidence that the drug was addictive, and it would be best to use it only when absolutely necessary.
“Can I get you another glass?” Sam grinned, knowing full-well what the answer would be.
“I think I’ll stick to punch instead.”
“Does the leg still bother you much? I noticed you were shifting weight a lot. Maybe you oughta go sit down for a while.”
Ben shook his head. He’d done too much sitting and lying around in the last few months.
“It hurts sometimes, but I’ll manage.”
He hadn’t taken any morphine in weeks. To mask the pain in his right leg and foot, he’d started drinking heavily for a while, but he’d given that up, as well. Thoughts of his own death had been his constant companion for weeks after the incident, and alcohol had helped him cope with the almost constant feeling of doom.
Determined not to let it get the better of him, he was not going to wallow in self-pity and drown his misery and fear in alcohol. His life may have changed, but it was far from over. He had survived and overcome much, and that alone should give him pause to celebrate and embrace life, not let the thought of dying drag him into a dark abyss. Even with his handicap, he would go on living, although the dreams he now chased were different than they had been several months ago.
“When Emma and I get back to Kentucky, I’ll pick out some nice mares to send you,” Sam continued. “Might even be able to find a potential breeding stallion.”
Ben nodded absently. He wasn’t really listening to his brother. His mind wandered elsewhere, back to the Yellowstone. Ironic how the land he loved was also the reason he couldn’t serve it any longer.
He gripped his cane as a wave of anger swept through him. It always did when he thought about that day, and the weeks following the incident with the poachers. The lawlessness of those men had changed his life forever.
Someone tapped on his shoulder, pulling Ben back to the party. He blinked, then glanced at the smiling faces of Sam and Trace. Trace leaned toward him.
“Looks like you got yourself a couple of admirers.” He nudged his chin toward a table across the room. Two young women sat with their heads together, smiling and laughing, throwing coy glances at him.
“Frances Halverston and her friend, Maureen Wilkins,” Trace supplied. “Word has it they are quite fond of men in uniform.”
“I’m no longer in uniform,” Ben grumbled. That had been stripped away from him. Another round of anger slammed him, and he took a deep breath. He might be ready to embrace life, but he hadn’t forgiven the men who’d done this to him.
Sam handed him a cup filled with punch. Clearly, Ben had been so self-absorbed that he hadn’t noticed his brother leaving his side and walking to the punch bowl.
“Well, they must have found out somewhere that
you’re a retired officer.” Sam grinned.
“Not by choice,“ Ben mumbled and raised the cup to his lips. It tasted much better than champagne. Too bad punch didn’t do much for the pain in his leg, or the scars that would be a constant reminder of what had happened to him.
What had happened to him? Most of it was still a mystery. Between the need for revenge and seeking justice against the poachers who had been responsible for his falling through the thin crust, there was also the question of who had tended to him afterward.
“Something’s bound to turn up regarding those poachers,” Trace offered. “Criminals don’t simply vanish. They’re going to do it again. Your young scout friend, Michael Osborne, is convinced he’s going to find the men responsible.”
Ben nodded. “There’s not much to go on. Those poachers didn’t even take any part of the elk they shot.”
“They were running scared,” Sam said. “Strange, though, that someone would try and doctor you up, and then vanish without a trace.”
The circumstances surrounding the attack and the aftermath had been rather strange. Why would poachers remove the bullet in his leg and bandage him up? Or put flour on his burns?
“Good thing young Osborne went looking for me, since I didn’t show up at the patrol cabin on the agreed-upon day.”
The army surgeon had taken over his care at Fort Yellowstone after Michael had found him and taken him to his folks’ home. Michael, his father, and several soldiers had gone looking for the poachers, but it was as if they’d vanished into thin air.
According to Michael, the only people who had been anywhere near where the incident had occurred were a group of pleasure-seekers touring the park, and a family of peddlers, and none of them had seen anyone suspicious.
“Something will turn up, and then those poachers will pay for their crimes.” Sam patted Ben on the shoulder.
“Michael promised to keep searching to bring those responsible to justice.” Ben’s hand tightened on his cane. “I’m going to be looking for them, too.” His voice dropped to a whisper laced with firm conviction. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will find them, and not because of what happened to me. They will be brought to justice for their illegal activities in the park.”
In His Thoughts Page 3
