Texas Heart

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  He had heard that sound often enough to know that there was no other sound like it.

  And he knew with icy certainty that the slightest movement of his hand toward his gun would bring death.

  What he didn't know was whether or not the person standing over him would kill him if he continued to pretend to be asleep.

  Was it a trail bum after horses and supplies?

  Or was it the one who'd been eluding him for so long?

  He cOUld smell the stranger.

  He smelled of horses, leather, sweat and the overpowering stench of stale whiskey.

  Cole's hand itched for his gun.

  How would he know?

  With his life hanging in the balance, he had to know who was standing over him, aiming a pistol at his head.

  Did he take the chance that it was someone who would walk away?

  Or did he act on the assumption that it was someone who would kill a sleeping, unarmed man just for the fun of it?

  Jessie.

  Jessie and her brothers.

  Until this moment he'd forgotten about them.

  If the gunman standing over him killed him, he would kill them, as well.

  Or maybe kill the boys and take Jessie with him for sport.

  No matter what the cost to Cole, he couldn't risk all of their lives.

  He had told Jessie that everyone had choices in life.

  His choices had just been narrowed considerably.

  In fact, Cole knew that he no longer had any choice.

  His eyes blinked open.

  In that first split second, he had the impression of a thin man bundled inside a heavy coat.

  The man had long dark hair that reached nearly to his shoulders beneath a broad-brimmed hat.

  He was bending close, straining against the semidarkness to determine whether or not Cole was awake.

  With quick, practiced movements, Cole reached beneath his shoulder for the Colt Army .

  44.

  At his sudden movement, the gunman blinked, straightened and leveled his gun at Cole's face.

  "No! Cole! Beside you."

  At Jessie's cry of alarm, the stranger twisted around toward her.

  In that instant, she saw his eyes.

  They were glittering feral eyes.

  The eyes of a predator.

  The wide, haunted, hate-filled eyes of a monster.

  The same monster who had once threatened to carve his initials into her flesh.

  The gunman pointed his gun at Jessie and she froze.

  Cole felt the gun in his hand, felt the surge of adrenaline as he lifted the gun from beneath his shoulder.

  At the slight movement the gunman whirled back toward Cole.

  With his finger on the trigger, Cole knew he was a second too late.

  He heard the terrible explosion, felt his body rock backward with the force of a powerful blow.

  For long moments Cole felt nothing.

  And then pain seared through him, ripping through his flesh, tearing through his mind.

  He tried to hold on to something, anything.

  But he was falling, failing through darkness.

  He heard voices shouting, crying.

  He heard another terrible explosion.

  And then he lapsed into blessed unconsciousness.

  "Dear God, no!"

  Jessie was on her feet, aiming her pistol at the man as he ran toward his horse.

  She fired and saw him stagger.

  Beside her, Danny sat up, robbed his eyes, then reached for the buffalo gun.

  "It's Knife, the man who attacked me. He's killed Cole. He's stealing our homes."

  Danny heard his sister's plaintive voice and watched as she aimed and fired again.

  The man screamed and cursed as blood spread in a widening circle along the back of his coat.

  With a last desperate effort, he pulled himself into the saddle and caught up the rope holding the string of homes.

  "We have to stop him."

  Danny had never fired his father's rifle.

  In fact, he had never even held it in his hands until the day before yesterday.

  But he had seen his father handle it often enough to know what to do.

  Setting the trigger, he took careful aim and fired.

  The rifle roared like thunder.

  The powerful report sent him flying backward.

  He landed in the dirt with a force strong enough to leave him dazed.

  With a shriek, the man dropped the rope and spun his mount away.

  Within minutes there was nothing left of him but a cloud of dust.

  The horses, free of their ropes, milled about in confusion before slowly drifting back toward the camp fire.

  While Danny and Thad watched in silence, Jessie ran to where Cole lay and dropped to her knees beside him.

  She placed trembling fingers on the side of his throat.

  For a moment she felt nothing, and a wave of terrible desperation washed over her.

  Then, haltingly at first, she felt a feeble, thready pulse.

  "He's still alive."

  She looked over at her brother.

  "We have to save him, Danny. We have to."

  Cole heard a voice very close to his ear.

  But the words made no sense.

  They drifted in and out of his mind like the soft musical notes of a bird.

  Maybe it was a bird, he thought.

  Or maybe it was the voice of an angel.

  Maybe he had died.

  It had always been Danny who had been called upon to practice his healing arts when any member of the family had been hurt.

  But the worst thing he'd ever had to deal with was Pa's busted leg when the mule had kicked him through the wall of their sod shack.

  Danny knelt beside Jessie and looked down at the blood spilling out of Cole.

  He knew that the gunman had missed Cole's heart, because Cole was still breathing.

  But from the blood and ragged tissue, it looked as if half of Cole's shoulder and chest had been blown away.

  This was no simple cut or scratch or broken limb.

  This was a man's very lifeblood slowly slipping away.

  Danny would hold a man's life in his hands.

  And the boy teetering on the brink of manhood, for all his fascination with doctoring, had never faced anything like this before.

  Jessie, noting the pallor of her brother's cheeks, put a hand on his shoulder.

  "We've got to save him."

  He met her steady gaze.

  "I know."

  Forcing himself not to think about the blood, Danny said firmly, "We'll need to get the fire going."

  Jessie nodded and sent Thad scurrying about for firewood.

  It would be good to give their youngest brother something to do.

  The poor little thing hadn't said a single word since awakening to the sound of a terrifying gunfight.

  Danny thought about all the books he had read: Doctor Coo-they's Guide To Health, A Primer of Home Medicine, Journal Of A Western Doctor.

  In each one, alcohol and boiling water played a major role in healing the patient.

  "Check Cole's saddlebags and bedroll for a bottle of whiskey,'' he said.

  Jessie looked up from the fire and nodded.

  A few minutes later she produced two bottles.

  "Good."

  Danny gently peeled away the last of Cole's shirt.

  "As soon as the bucket of water boils, I want you to bring it here.

  I'll need my pocketknife and some soap and long strips of clean cloth."

  Jessie assembled the items he'd requested, then hauled the bucket of boiling water and set it on a blanket beside the still figure of Cole.

  "We're going to have to roll him over. The bullet's inside him.

  He'll never stop bleeding if I don't get it out. He'll die of blood poisoning."

  Danny mopped at the blood with a rag.

  "What if you can't find it?"

&nbs
p; Danny looked up at her, then brought his attention back to the man who lay as still as death.

  "I'll find it, Jess. I have to if he's going to live. Come on.

  Help me roll him over."

  Cole made no sound as they struggled to roll him on his stomach.

  Even Thad helped, pulling and tugging until Cole was completely turned.

  Jessie found herself wishing he would moan or even swear.

  Then she'd know that he was still alive.

  "Hand me my pocketknife," Danny said.

  With a bent stick, Jessie fished it out of the boiling water and handed it to Danny.

  Thad ducked behind Jessie, peering out every few minutes at the still figure of the man, only to duck once more behind his sister's back.

  Jessie knelt beside her brother, feeling her throat go dry as Danny plunged the blade of the knife into Cole's flesh.

  Blood spurted and flowed freely as Danny probed beneath the skin.

  "Uncork that bottle. Pour some of that whiskey here. Quick," Danny added as her fingers fumbled.

  Jessie poured a liberal amount of the whiskey and watched in horrified fascination as it mingled with the blood to form a river that flowed between his shoulder blades before pooling in the small of his back.

  "Catch that blood," Danny urged.

  Instantly Jessie lifted a rag and began sponging the blood.

  As quickly as the wound was clean, it filled again with fresh blood.

  "Hurry, Danny," she whispered.

  "If he doesn't stop bleeding soon, it will be too late."

  "I'm trying, Jess. I'm trying."

  Jessie glanced at her younger brother.

  His face was stiff from the strain.

  His long and tapered fingers were smeared with Cole's blood.

  With the blade of his knife, he probed gently, gently, until suddenly he felt the tip of the knife scrape against metal.

  "Here it is."

  At his words, Thad peeked out from behind Jessie's back.

  Catching sight of the raw flesh, he quickly moved back and buried his face against his sister's shoulder.

  While Jessie continued to sponge the blood, Danny cut deeper below the bullet and lifted it to the surface.

  Dropping it unceremoniously in the dirt, he wiped his knife on his pant leg, then poured whiskey into the open wound.

  Dipping a small cloth into the boiling water, Danny lathered on some of Jessie's homemade soap, cleansing the wound and the area around it.

  Then he poured more whiskey over it.

  When the wound was clean and disinfected, he bound it tightly with strips of cloth.

  "Now we'll have to roll him over and tend to the rest of this."

  Straining and struggling, the three of them managed to roll the heavy, muscled body over.

  Blood streamed from the gaping hole left by the gunshot.

  Once again Danny washed the wound and poured generous amounts of whisky over the jagged flesh.

  Working quickly, he bound the wound with the rest of the cloth strips.

  With Thad's help, they managed to slide Cole from his soaked, bloody bedroll and into their clean dry blankets.

  "We'll have to keep him warm," Danny said.

  "At least the worst is over," Jessie muttered, glancing at the still figure wrapped in blankets.

  "All we did was remove the bullet and clean up his wounds. The worst is still to come."

  Jessie looked at him with alarm.

  "What could be worse than removing a bullet from all that bloody flesh?"

  "Fever, chills and shock. According to Dr. Cooney, that's when most patients are lost." essie studied the unmoving figure covered with their blankets.

  What if all their efforts had been in vain?

  She turned away quickly, annoyed at such thoughts.

  Cole would live.

  He had to live.

  He had saved her life.

  Now she owed him the same favor.

  Touching a hand to Danny's cheek, she whispered, "You go wash up.

  I'll make us something to eat. We have a long day ahead of us. Thad, you tend to the horses."

  As they walked away, Jessie called, "Danny."

  He turned toward her.

  "You did a fine job. You're going to make a good doctor."

  He gave her a weary nod before stumbling away.

  In the bushes he bent over and retched.

  For long minutes he knelt, heaving and retching until the sickness passed.

  "Jess."

  Danny touched a hand to his sister's shoulder.

  In her sleep, she sighed then was instantly alert.

  "Is it Cole? Is there any change?"

  "No. But I can't keep my eyes open any longer. It's your turn to tend him."

  She sat up and shivered in the predawn chill.

  "Don't forget to keep the fire going. He has to be kept warlll."

  / She nodded.

  "I'll take care of it."

  As she stood up, Danny took her place beside Thad in the warm bedroll.

  He was asleep as soon as he stretched out.

  Earlier that day, Jessie had washed Cole's blankets in the bucket of boiling water, and draped them over rocks to dry.

  The three of them would share Cole's bedroll since Cole was wrapped in theirs.

  At bedtime she and Danny had agreed to take turns keeping watch over Cole and keeping the fire going to make certain that he was warm.

  Thad had wanted to take his turn, as well, but Jessie had insisted that he needed his sleep.

  She walked to the fire and threw another log on the glowing coals.

  Flames licked along the bark and blazed skyward.

  Filling a tin cup with coffee, she sat down beside the still figure of Cole and touched a hand to his forehead.

  His skin was on fire.

  The fever raged through his body, leaving him soaked and trembling.

  Despite the heat, his teeth chattered uncontrollably.

  Every so often he mumbled incoherently.

  Jessie leaned close, straining to catch a familiar word.

  "...kill you. Don't...hide..."

  Cole turned his head from side to side like a man possessed.

  Sweat beaded his forehead, and Jessie mopped at it with a cool damp rag.

  Gradually his breathing became softer.

  The words, the torment, abated for the moment: Who was he?

  she wondered.

  And who was it he watched for in the shadows?

  His whispered words disturbed her.

  He spoke of killing, hiding.

  Had she helped save the life of a wanted gunman?

  No matter.

  For now, he was her responsibility.

  Who he was, what he was, made no difference.

  She picked up her cup, drained it and poured a second.

  The hours from now to dawn would be long, but she had to stay awake.

  Walking the perimeter of the campsite, she stooped to pick up fallen branches for the fire.

  In the distance she heard a coyote baying to the moon.

  The mournful sound sent shivers along her spine even as it brought a measure of comfort.

  This vast wild land was home to her.

  As long as she could watch the sun set over a distant mountain peak or hear the much loved sounds of the wilderness, she was content.

  She shivered again, forcing herself to dismiss the fear that tugged at her.

  She would not dwell on the dangers ahead.

  She would get through this night and face another day.

  It was the creed by which Jessie lived her life.

  Stacking the branches near the fire, she warmed herself, then crouched beside Cole's still figure.

  He moaned.

  Bending close, she whispered, "Cole. Are you all right? How do you feel?"

  His eyes flickered open, and he squinted against the light of the fire.

  "Jessie?"

  His throa
t was so dry the words would hardly come out.

  "Is that you?"

  She leaned closer.

  "Of course it is."

  "You're not...dead?"

  She laughed low and deep in her throat, and Cole thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

  "No. And neither are you."

  "I thought..."

  He coughed, and pain crashed through his chest and shoulder, leaving him gasping.

  He had seen the gunman aim at Jessie That was what had caused him to lose his timing.

  Jessie.

  He'd been so desperate to save her from the gunman's bullet, he'd hesitated just long enough to allow the stranger to gain the upper hand.

  So the gunshot hadn't found Jessie.

  At the moment, nothing else seemed important though he didn't know why.

  What the hell was the matter with him?

  She was just a girl, a stranger he'd met along the trail.

  A burden he'd hoped to be rid of as soon as possible.

  "Don't talk anymore," she said.

  "Here. Drink this."

  Cradling his head against her chest, she held a dipper of water to his lips.

  As she laid him gently back against the blanket, he became aware for the first time of the dressings that bound his shoulder.

  "The bullet...got to get..."

  The words were raspy.

  Jessie worried that he was using up too much energy talking.

  "You took a bullet in the shoulder. Don't worry. Danny got it out.

  The wound is clean."

  "The kid?"

  He stared at her as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard.

  She placed a hand on his lips to silence him.

  The touch of her fingers on his lips caused a tiny spark of heat in the pit of his stomach.

  So he wasn't dead after all.

  He could still react to a woman's touch.

  He could still feel.

  "I'll tell you all about it later. After you've slept. Right now, you need to rest."

  Rest.

  Her voice washed over him, lulling him.

  He was so tired.

  So damned tired.

  It was too much effort to keep his eyes open.

  He wanted to ask her if she'd keep her fingers on his lips.

  It would be so nice to fall asleep with her touching him.

  It had been a long time since he'd savored a woman's tender touch.

  But he didn't have the strength to get the words out.

  All he could do was lie there clinging to the thought that the gunman hadn't killed her.