My Heart Burns (Bandit Creek Book 24)

by Marlene Renee

“Hettie was on the train?” His voice was tight and high.

  “Yes.”

  Uncle whistled low and long. “That’s who you back talked?”

  “Yes.” I huffed out an exasperated breath. “Why do people get so bothered about Hettie?”

  Uncle stopped, grabbed my upper arms and said, “Mackenzie, Boyd is bad, read bad, but Hettie is mean as a snake. She is one enemy you don’t want to make.”

  Daddy always said If three people tell you you’re a horse, then you better check your mouth for hay. Uncle’s was the third warning about Hettie.

  I looked into Uncle’s concerned eyes and admitted in a small voice, “I may already have.” Chills ran down my spine. Maybe I had been a touch impulsive. But what was done was done. I squared my shoulders, ignored the uneasy knots of muscles between my shoulder blades.

  Uncle shook his head. “And about paying for your things, no worries Mackenzie. My investment in the Gold Mine is paying off handsomely.” We continued to stroll past the Powder Horn Saloon, then a Boarding House. Uncle said the Sheriff stayed at a second Boarding House across the street by the stables. For some reason, he seemed compelled to fill me in on the Sheriff’s life. As we neared the next building a smell from heaven drifted our way. My stomach growled.

  “Hungry?” Uncle slid a smile my way.

  “Very.” Other than the food I had packed with me from Chicago to Missoula, I hadn’t eaten. I was ravenous.

  The Bakery and Coffee shop or as the locals called it - the B and C - was clean and quaint. Small square tables covered with red gingham clothes dotted the front half of the building. Ovens and cook stoves lined the back with a long glass fronted counter separating front from back. Most of the tables were occupied. Uncle and I took a table by one of the two large windows flanking the front door.

  “Mackenzie?”

  It was Carly! She hustled to our table, a big apron over the dress she’d worn on the train.

  “Carly?” I looked pointedly at the apron.

  “Got a job in the first five minutes in town. I’m staying at the boarding house next door.” Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkled. She looked younger, energized, unlike the tired blond who’d befriended me in Missoula.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  She eyed me up and down. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Then I realized you were the green dress Mackenzie, not the red dress.” She winked at me before she looked at Uncle Rob.

  I made the introductions, pleased that Carly’s eyebrows rose in surprise when I explained that I would be helping Uncle Rob with the doctoring for the month.

  “You really are a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  A yell from the kitchen sparked Carly into taking our order for our evening meal. Before she whipped away from our table, she whispered, “If you could get my bag back to me I’d appreciate it. I have some underthings in it.”

  “Of course! Sorry Carly.”

  To Uncle Rob I said, “Would you mind if I gave some of Anne’s clothes to Carly? I fear she doesn’t have many.”

  “Of course.”

  We’d barely finished our meal when a distressed man exploded into the B and C. He gasped, “Doc. My wife. The baby. Neighbor lady said we need you fast.”

  Uncle Rob sprang from his chair, tossed coins on the table, and ordered the soon-to-be father to grab Uncle Rob’s horse from the stable. As Uncle and I ran to his house, I asked if I could go with. But speed was crucial. Since I didn’t have a horse or a saddle, I was relegated to the office.

  Uncle Rob yelled over his shoulder as he dashed out the door, “You’ve had excellent training, Mackenzie. If you get a patient, go with your knowledge, your common sense. You’ll be fine.”

  I waved them off. I admit I felt frustrated to be left behind. But Uncle said I’d be fine. That perked me up a bit. It’s a slippery word – fine - one dependent on a person’s perspective. To Uncle Rob it meant I would cope.

  I decided fine meant I would do very well. I strode into Uncle’s office opposite the parlor. Prickles of excitement rampaged over my skin as I did a slow turn in the middle of the room. This space was lived in, used, loved – the heart of the house. I felt Uncle’s presence here, in the meticulously folded bandages, the shiny tools, the broken spines of medical texts. I inhaled the medicinal perfume of the air, held it deep in my lungs. That scent morphed into a flutter, grew so big I thought it would burst through my ribs. I hugged myself tight to contain the flurry of excitement. I was going to practice medicine! Inexorably I felt like I had come home.

  Would I be fine with a patient? Darn straight I would be.

  By the early hours of dawn, I would discover the answer to my question. And I’d gained another definition of fine: to agree with extreme reluctance.

  Chapter Five

  The soft snorts of horses outside my open bedroom window woke me from my sleep. Hurriedly I stripped off my borrowed nightgown, slipped on my new dress, strapped on my derringer. As I grasped the front door handle, I heard a male voice ask, “You okay, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff? I opened the door a crack, peered outside. Dawn’s pink and gold fingers had only begun their reach into town. Caught between night and day the light clearly outlined two men but disguised their faces. One eased another, prostrate across the saddle, off the back of a horse. He groaned when his heels hit the ground, then bit out, “I’m good.”

  I didn’t need the knots twisting in my stomach to confirm that deep voice belonged to the Sheriff.

  “I’ll go inside and wake Doc Rob. Can you walk?” asked the man who stood close by the Sheriff’s side.

  “Yes damn it. I might have shot in my ass but I’m not an invalid.”

  Shot in his behind! Oh my. I clamped a hand over my smiling mouth. I felt for the Sheriff’s pain but really, there was humour in the situation. I took a quick step back from the slightly open door, ran my hand down my long side braid mussed from sleep, smoothed my skirts, checked that I’d managed to fasten all of my bodice buttons and put on my professional face.

  Two solid raps on the door had it swinging open. “Doc Rob?”

  I pulled the door wide, looked into the astonished face of a mid-30’s man and said, “I’m Dr. Delaney. How may I help you?”

  “Is ah . . . howdy ma’am . . . is Doc Rob here?”

  “Good morning. No he isn’t.” From his frown, I guessed I’d confused him.

  “Any idea where I can find him?”

  “He’s at an emergency.” I injected an extra dash of authority in my voice. “I assure you I can help. What’s wrong with the Sheriff?”

  “He has . . . he has shot in his . . .” Luke choked and sputtered a bit and then asked, “When did you say Doc Rob will be back?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t know. Bring the Sheriff in.”

  From the moment Luke entered and doffed his hat, he’d been running his fingers around the brim. Those fingers froze at my order. “Think I’ll let the Sheriff make that decision, ma’am.” He ducked back out the door, slapped his hat back on and called out, “Ah Sheriff, I think there’s something you should know before you go in.”

  “What?” The Sheriff’s voice was cranky. “Is Rob hiding a woman in there?”

  I stepped out onto the covered entry and answered, “Yes, except I’m not hiding. I’m working here. I’m Doctor Delaney.”

  Sometimes the universe gifts a person a bouquet. This was one of those moments for me. I admit I enjoyed the struggle of emotions flashing across the Sheriff’s face and the sweet idea that what goes around comes around.

  The Sheriff may have flattened my plans and me on the train, touched me, embarrassed me. But now it was my turn. “Come in, Sheriff. Sounds like I need to remove some shot from your buttocks.”

  The shot had shortened his stride, caused him to step lightly as if the ground beneath his boots might break if he pushed down too hard. As he drew nearer he took a closer look at my face and dug in his heels. “Jesus, I don’t believe it. Who are you today? Th
e woman in green or the woman in red?”

  I gave him a saucy smile, dropped my voice to a husky purr. “You decide, Sheriff. But like I said - come on in. You can drop your pants and climb on up on the examining table.”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t think I will. What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Doctor. Isn’t that what you suggested?” Irritation colored my tone. Luke’s surprised expression had me wondering if I’d gone too far - that and a ping in my conscience. I normally- with the exception of the past twenty-four hours – didn’t let my feelings get the better of me. I slipped back into a brisk professional mode. “I’m Rob Delaney’s niece from Chicago. And I am a qualified doctor.”

  I wondered what thoughts hid behind the Sheriff’s narrowed eyes. It didn’t take long to find out.

  “I’ll check with my deputies, maybe one of them could deal with my problem.”

  Disappointment welled in me but I clamped it down before it reached my face. “Very well.” In a swirl of skirts I turned towards the door. Luke’s voice stopped me.

  “Sheriff, no offense, but I think you’d be better off with Doctor Delaney looking at your butt.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing.

  Luke flushed a bright red that clashed with his orangey hair, turned his hat in a rough and hurried circle. If he didn’t cure that habit, Luke would be buying a new hat before long.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am . . . Doctor . . . what I meant was . . .”

  “No worries. Sheriff, are you coming in or not?”

  He looked hard at Luke who shrugged his shoulders and dropped his head. “It appears I have no other choice.” His tone was lighter than I’d expected, considering his initial dismay. When a twinkle sparkled in his eyes, I knew he was up to something. He added in a tone as smooth and potent as quality whiskey, “It would be a pleasure for you to . . . examine my butt.”

  My inner femme fatale batted her lashes at his flirty manner. My practical outside narrowed my eyes. This man was as lethal as a rattlesnake. No woman in her right mind would allow herself to be alone with him. Unless she wanted to sample the heat and promise his tone implied.

  The operation should only be an opportunity to prove my skills. It felt more like a relational shift between the Sheriff and I.

  My inner woman fanned her heated face.

  “Luke,” I gave him my most commanding look, “I’ll need you to assist.”

  Chapter Six

  The surgery went well enough. I brazened through it as though I’d operated on hundreds. My composure on the other hand was pretty much in tatters by the time I dropped the last small chunk of lead and copper into the metal bowl - all because my concentration was abysmal. You see, I’d never seen a man’s bare buttocks before. Medical school had provided many diagrams of all parts of the human anatomy so I knew what to expect. And I had observed one cadaver prosection completed by a doctor at the university, but this was my first flesh and blood patient.

  The sight of skin that rarely saw the sun made my mouth go dry. The sight of a buttocks fit for a sculpture emphasized the vast difference between text sketches and reality. I guess you could call me a virgin doctor. I paused, flushed at my double entendre. As my forceps dug for and extracted buckshot from Sheriff Dan’s fine behind, I tried to focus on the reason for the buckshot – Hettie Larange – instead of the firm muscularity that sent an odd sort of thrill through me. I covered as much of the pinky white flesh as possible with cloths in a criss-cross fashion but that didn’t stop me from my secret admiration.

  Or my mind from comparing. Vaguely I wondered if under Tom’s rather flat and droopy pants, if his behind were as taut as the Sheriff’s. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be. Quietly I puffed out my disappointment. Tom was a good man, I reminded myself. As a husband, he wouldn’t be too demanding. Besides, he was the sole man ever to offer for my hand. If not for Tom, I’d be a spinster the rest of my life, a complete and utter disappointment to Daddy. And to my mother of course.

  I resorted to asking questions to get my mind back on my work. “How did this happen?”

  Luke answered, “We found Boyd’s gang about half ways to their mountain base. It was late, black except for the faint light from a fingernail moon. We’d been walking the horses for a while when we spotted the flickers from their campfire in a small clearing surrounded by bush. Covered by the dark, we approached their camp from two sides.”

  “Unfortunately, Hettie wasn’t with the others. She was coming back to camp when she surprised us, opened fire.”

  I continued to swab away spots of blood, rinse with alcohol and pick out any denim blue that had entered the wounds along with the pellets. “Did Hettie shoot anyone else?”

  Again Luke answered, “Mostly the sheriff. He had his back to her and was right in her line of fire. The rest of us were on the other side of their campsite. A couple men suffered grazes along their arms but not much else. The Boyd gang scattered pretty fast when Hettie started shooting. So did we.”

  To the Sheriff I said, “You were lucky. The thick material of your denim pants slowed down the pellets, prevented them from going deep.”

  “Thank the Lord for small blessings.”

  I smiled at his sarcastic tone, knew the sting of my work put that edge of grumpiness in his tone. “Did you capture any of the gang?”

  The sheriff stiffened as I removed another piece of metal but he never uttered a growl or moan or any sound that indicated his discomfort. I admired his fortitude. I’d flinched the first time I pulled out a small bit of pellet, twitched at the second but by the third my work wasn’t bothering me anymore.

  Not so Luke. When I looked up at him, I caught him wincing each time a pellet hit the metal bowl. And again it was Luke who answered my question. “No but when Hettie started shooting a few of us got off a few rounds at the scattering bandits. I heard someone yell. I think somebody got hit.”

  “I had Boyd in my sights – think I may have hit him,” the Sheriff grunted.

  I looked up. My eyes collided with Luke’s. If what everyone said about the Boyd gang was true, and Boyd was shot, there’d be hell to pay.

  There went that ominous shiver up my spine again.

  By this time I’d checked every part of Sheriff Dan’s gluteus maximus and found six pellets total. (And yes, I’m calling him Sheriff Dan now. After being up close and personal with his anatomy, Sheriff just seems wrong.) I covered him with a larger, fresh cloth then walked to the end of the table where I’d earlier slipped a pillow under his head. “I’ve removed six pieces of shot. I think that’s all of them.”

  “You’re damn sure?” His tone was gruff. If I were him I’d want me to be sure also. Shot pellets would feel like permanent bee stingers, not something a person would want to sit on every day, so I changed my response.

  “Yes, I’m sure. You can get dressed now. I put a pair of Uncle Rob’s pants for you to use on the chair. Call me when you’re ready.”

  I left Luke to help Sheriff Dan and hurried into the small attached room that Uncle Rob used for an office. Perhaps it was inappropriate but I couldn’t help my reaction - I danced the last couple of steps into the room. My first patient! I wanted to shout it to the world and to my father! Instead I pulled Uncle Rob’s heavy patient book towards me, uncapped the ink bottle, dipped in the pen and wrote, Daniel Wilson, buckshot wounds to buttocks, six pellets removed; expect full recovery. With a flourish I added the date and my initials.

  I stared at the words with a stupid grin on my face. A tiny part of me wished that someone else had been shot, that I could have used my knowledge to treat another patient.

  It was a rash wish as I would later learn. It seemed the mountains were even privy to my thoughts.

  A rumble erupted from my stomach, demanded attention.

  Smiling, I wondered if the Universe heard that.

  “Miss Delaney,” someone called from the other room.

  It was Luke.

  I pulled my professional guise
around me and strode into the other room. Uncle Rob’s pants were a good fit for Sheriff Dan. Both were tall, lean men. Both were . . .

  Why were these two men looking at me with expectant expressions?

  Mentally I slapped my forehead. Of course, they were waiting for my advice! In my best doctor’s voice I said, “Avoid pressure on the injured area for a few days. Keep the area clean and you should be as good as new in a week.”

  “No sitting?”

  “Only with a soft cushion.”

  “No riding?”

  The frustration in his voice was almost palpable. The look of disgust on his face spoke louder than his words. “It would be painful,” I said.

  Luke shifted his feet, flicked a look at the door. “Sheriff, you want me to walk you back to the boarding house?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m not a bloody invalid!” the Sheriff snapped. Then followed just as quickly with, “Sorry Luke.” The Sheriff ran a quick hand through his hair, plunked his hat back down on it. “You go on home to your wife. Thanks for the offer.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” My impromptu offer surprised not only me but also the two men from the stunned looks on their faces. I added hastily, “I’m headed to the B and C for breakfast. It’s on the way . . .” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t getting any response here, not even a flicker of emotion. Which, I admit, rankled and prompted me to add, “Besides, someone should be with you in case you faint.”

  Luke coughed. I suspected he was covering a chuckle. Especially when he tipped his hat to me, thumped the Sheriff on the shoulder and clomped out of the room and out of the house in under five seconds.

  “I’ll grab some money,” I said to the Sheriff.

  “No. Breakfast is on me.” Emotions flashed across his face in a finger snap. Surprise (at himself or me, I couldn’t tell). Irritation (Ditto). Humour (It was nice to know he had a sense of one).

  And then he added, “What do I owe you?”

  My mind blanked. “Owe me?” I echoed.

  “For removing the shot,” he continued.

  “I have no idea.”