My Heart Burns (Bandit Creek Book 24)

by Marlene Renee

  The gang members, instructed by me, slid Boyd off the stretcher and gently lay him on his back on the operating table. During the hubbub, I noted Sheriff Dan quickly slide on his holster, settle his gun on his hip. Opposite him, Hettie leaned against the wall behind my back, gun held ready seemingly oblivious that Sheriff Dan had armed himself.

  When her gunmen stepped towards the doorway, she halted one with a sharp order, “Keep your gun on the Sheriff.”

  The others went outside. I guessed they would guard the house and themselves. After all they were all wanted men.

  I wasted no time, grabbed my scissors and cut away the fabric surrounding his wound. I wet the blood-soaked fabric closest to the wound, hoping to ease it off without causing any more damage to the skin. When I’d cleared the area, I offered Boyd a short length of inch-thick leather.

  “This will be painful. You can bite down on this.”

  He glared and his voice was pungent with distrust. “Hettie, why the hell are you letting this whore operate on me?”

  “Sheriff says she’s a doc, not a whore. And the only doc in town.”

  Boyd’s black eyes flicked back to me, then to Sheriff Dan whose hard gaze was steady on Hettie. “Hettie, if I die, kill them both.”

  “I plan on it, Boyd.”

  Great. Now both of our lives hung on my untested skill. I looked over at Sheriff Dan, sent him a silent apology.

  “You’ll pull him through, Mackenzie.” His smile warmed me through. “You did a fine job getting Hettie’s shot out of my butt.”

  Boyd choked out a strangled laugh. “So Hettie did get you.” His second laugh morphed into a grunt of pain. “Let’s get on with this.”

  I held the chunk of leather up to his face, raised an eyebrow.

  Boyd spat his answer. “Don’t need no sissy leather. I’ll handle the pain. You fix me up, like you did the Sheriff. At least I know you’ve operated before.”

  I kept my gaze on Boyd’s wound, afraid if I looked at Sheriff Dan, Boyd would see the truth in my eyes and shoot me when he realized I was a novice doctor.

  True to his word, Boyd managed the pain of my forceps probing into the torn and ripped muscle searching for pieces of fabric and the bullet. The sole indicator of his agony was his pale face and the drip of sweat from his forehead. I gave Sheriff Dan a cloth to dry Boyd’s brow.

  As Sheriff Dan stood across from me and swabbed Boyd’s brow, my tight chest eased and my hands relaxed. I felt like we were a team. His murmured encouraging words gave me further strength. My thoughts settled, flowed. In some ways, Sheriff Dan reminded me of the mountains.

  Unfortunately, my mind jumped to another comparison: Sheriff Dan and Tepid Tom. I dug my teeth into my bottom lip – hard enough to draw blood – as an insane desire to giggle struck me. I was mortified. I knew the absurd urge was caused by stress. Hettie would likely kill me in a blink if a single snicker passed my lips. But the unlikely visual of Tepid Tom in this situation refused to budge from my mind. Unlike Sheriff Dan, Tepid Tom would be incapable of bolstering my confidence. Not that he wouldn’t want to. No, he’d just be unable. You see, Tepid Tom would be prostrate on the floor, struck down by his first glimpse of blood.

  A single strangled sound escaped me.

  Sheriff Dan flicked a glance my way. His eyes narrowed on my mouth. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he rubbed the blood from my bottom lip.

  I may not be drawn to all things feminine as my sisters are. But I do love the feel of silk on my skin. That’s what the slight pressure of Sheriff Dan’s thumb felt like: soft, light . . . exciting in a bone-melting way. A sigh flowed through my parted lips.

  What would Sheriff Dan’s embrace feel like?

  Luckily, Boyd’s wound yanked back my focus before my thoughts travelled down the wrong path. My initial assessment proved correct. Boyd was lucky. The bullet had missed his internal organs. I sutured the wound as best I could. The muscle, with time and due care on Boyd’s part, would grow back together.

  But the hardest part was yet to come.

  Boyd’s exit wound. I had yet to determine whether or not the bullet or fragments of it remained.

  I would need strong arms to turn the large-framed Boyd. The silent gang member called in a couple more men from outside. Three of us managed to slide Boyd to the edge of the table, tip him up on his good side, before the others stabilized his front and lowered him face down. Boyd let loose a string of curse words that turned the air blue as we moved him. His obvious distress seemed to rattle his men. But it was the bloody mess on his back that did them in. Their faces blanched and they beat a quick retreat back outside. Of course, Hettie’s backup remained in the room but he slid as far away from the operating table as possible.

  Thankfully, Boyd succumbed to the pain and lost consciousness.

  I was glad. Knowing Boyd could no longer feel the pain allowed me to check the exit wound with meticulous care.

  But put Hettie more on edge. She clenched and reclenched the gun handle, shuffled from foot to foot until finally she spat, “You digging for gold? Or trying to kill him?”

  I spared her furious face a quick glance. “I need to recover any fragments of bullet, other foreign matter and possibly the bullet itself.”

  “Looks to me like you’re making a bigger mess!”

  Sheriff Dan interrupted. “Hettie, she knows what’s she’s doing. She’s well-trained, smart, and capable. Leave her to her work.”

  A flush warmed my cheeks as Sheriff Dan defended me. I slanted a smile his way as I continued to examine the wound.

  “Then she should quit sending you lovey looks and focus on the job.”

  Lovey looks? My shoulders drew back, stiffened like someone had slammed their hands into my chest. Had I?

  From the raised eyebrows on Sheriff Dan’s face, I wasn’t the only one surprised by Hettie’s comment.

  Boyd’s unconscious groan interrupted my mental query.

  I swiped a bare forearm across my damp brow as I prepared needle and thread. To distract Hettie, I instructed, “The bullet passed through Boyd’s side. No internal organs have been damaged. He has a slight fever. Give him plenty of fluids for the next few days. Other than that he needs rest, time to heal.”

  But Hettie wasn’t satisfied with that.

  “People die from fevers.”

  She’d honed in on my one concern. “Sometimes. But Boyd’s fever isn’t out of control. It’s his body’s defenses kicking in. Do what I told you, keep a close watch on him, and he should be fine.” I kept my voice light, hoping she would let that topic go, and focused on moving Boyd out of the office. If Boyd’s fever intensified, caused his death, it would be on Hettie’s hands, not mine. “Your men can load Boyd back onto a stretcher, place him in the wagon.”

  Secretly, I marvelled at how easily the operation had gone. How quickly the danger of the Boyd gang would be over.

  I figured wrong.

  Chapter Ten

  “Get your buggerin’ hands off me! And watch who you’re pointing that gun at!” I heard a couple grunts and some groans before a solid weighty thud hit the porch floor.

  Good lord Daddy was here.

  Uncle Rob’s front door slammed open and in a few thundering footsteps Daddy stood in the doorway of the operating room - six-feet of fuming male - rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, breathing like some crazed wild beast.

  “Mackenzie Rose Delaney, what in the hell is going on?”

  “Daddy, I’m dealing with a patient.” I was proud of how calm I sounded when inside I was screaming. How in Hades had he walked through the gang outside unscathed?

  “Patient!” His gaze flashed over the unconscious Boyd, the number of blood soaked cloths, my blood-stained arms and he snapped, “You operated on that man! You’re barely out of medical school. You’re more likely to kill him than to save him!”

  Oh damn. Even when he wasn’t trying Daddy could stir things to a fever pitch. And a fever pitch is so not what Hettie needed.


  “You bitch!” she screeched, gun levelled and trigger squeezed in the blink of an eye.

  The bullet went high. Well, high enough. It stirred the hair on the top of my head before it lodged in the wall behind me.

  Hettie had a reputation for being fast and accurate. At this close range the bullet should have gone right between my eyes.

  But Daddy was faster. In his 20’s and 30’s Daddy had held the local boxing title. To this day, his feet were light and his fists a blur.

  Hettie was knocked out cold on the floor. Mouth gaping wide I looked up at Daddy.

  “Who in the hell was that?” he demanded. The skin over his knuckles was split, blotchy with blood.

  “Hettie Larange,” a deep amused voice answered. It was Dan.

  Daddy’s entire body tensed as he sized up the man holding a gun to the patient’s head. “And who the hell are you?”

  “Sheriff Wilson.” Dan didn’t look at Daddy. Dan’s eyes were focussed on Hettie’s back up man, who wisely sheathed his gun at Dan’s pointed glare. To the gang members who rushed through the door, Dan ordered, “Haul Boyd and Hettie out. Do it fast before I blow another hole in Boyd.” He added with a twitch to his lips, “Or I let the Doc’s daddy deal with you.”

  Boyd and Hettie were cleared from the room in record time. Dan walked beside the stretcher, kept his gun on Boyd even after he was loaded on the wagon. Daddy stepped back from the group, pointed Hettie’s gun at the various members as they hustled through the house and outside. And me, I yanked up my skirts, grabbed my trusty derringer and happily trained it on Hettie’s head - which, by the way, was dangling beside one man’s back end when he’d tossed her over his shoulder. That gang member eyed me uneasily, “Be careful with that thing.”

  I replied with considerable frost on my words, “Don’t worry. If it goes off, I can always remove the bullet from your butt.”

  Within five minutes they were on their way - Boyd and Hettie in the wagon box, the gang surrounding the wagon, with nary a gun in sight as they rolled out of town.

  We three kept our guns up as we backed one by one into Uncle Rob’s house. I lead the way into the small parlor across the hall from the medical office, plunked down onto the sofa. For some reason, my legs had gone to jelly. The two men trailed behind me. Dan stood – for obvious reasons. Daddy paced like a caged bear.

  He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Mackenzie Rose, you have some explaining to do.”

  I pretended ignorance. “I’m not sure what you mean, Daddy.” Besides, if I was going to have a showdown with Daddy I didn’t need an audience. I glanced at Dan, gave him an apologetic smile and said, “Sheriff, thank you for breakfast and for your help with Hettie.”

  Daddy bristled. I knew that look. His jaw got all tight, his brow furrowed and he stretched himself to every inch of his six feet. He was bursting with his opinion and the need to set things his way.

  And Dan, he didn’t seem all too inclined to leave. In fact, I would have bet he was intrigued as heck with Daddy and me. He gave me one of those slow, lazy smiles that slipped down to my core and set things aquiver. “You’re welcome. Glad I didn’t miss such an entertaining morning. I just hope Hettie doesn’t decide to return for her gun.”

  I swallowed a groan.

  Daddy shot a look from Dan to me and called out as the Sheriff stepped towards the doorway. “Sheriff, I think you better stay awhile. I’d like another man here if that gang comes back.”

  From behind Daddy’s back Dan raised his eyebrows at me, silently asked my opinion. Surprised but pleased warmth glowed within me that my opinion - not Daddy’s – was the one he sought. But Daddy and Dan were right. Hettie’s temper made her unpredictable. Three would be safer than two.

  I gave Dan a smile and a nod.

  Daddy, ever watchful of details, frowned. “Where is Robert?”

  “Helping a woman give birth.”

  “Since when?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “When will he get back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So you’re here alone until he returns?”

  Lord above I felt like I was playing verbal tennis with Daddy smashing the ball harder with every question. I shrugged my shoulders back, threw up my imaginary shield for the inevitable lecture my response would spur.

  “That’s right.” I was proud that my voice was devoid of tremors.

  “Mackenzie Rose, have you done any thinking in the past few days?”

  Daddy’s explosion was worse than any I’ve experienced before. He yelled, stomped around the room so hard the floor shook, wagged his finger, breathed fire in my face, used the ‘you have obligations to your family’ and ‘what about Tom’ lines, stomped some more until I worried he would fling me over his shoulder and strap me there until we got back to Chicago.

  As I’ve mentioned before, Daddy’s rages put the entire Delaney household into a careful zone. Everyone tiptoes. Everyone whispers. Everyone stays out of Daddy’s way.

  That engrained reaction tugged at me, whispered to me to bow my head, murmur submissive platitudes, to PACK MY BAGS. I do owe my Daddy for everything I have and am in my life. I should obey him.

  But as I watched Daddy’s tirade, a part of me stepped back, threw an iron bar across my shoulders to keep them straight and locked the shoulda’s away. I saw Daddy for what he is - a loving frightened father who freely uses intimidation to keep me safe. In Daddy’s world his approach is perfectly normal, perfectly accepted. All he knows.

  I’m no longer part of that world.

  My time in the West has been brief but sometimes significant change happens in an unexpected breath, a glimpse of granite strength, or in a whispered challenge.

  The moment I stepped off the train in Missoula I found my destiny.

  Eventually Daddy’s tirade wound down punctuated with looks of disbelief, surprise and then puzzlement.

  “Where’s my Mackenzie girl?”

  Poor Daddy. My heart squeezed at the melancholy in his voice. I yearned to hug his strong shoulders and promise him his little girl would be his forever.

  With a hitch in my voice, I answered, “She’s grown up, Daddy.”

  For the first time in my life I saw defeat slap Daddy’s face.

  “What have you done to my daughter?” he turns and roars at Dan.

  Dan stood firm, tall, steady. Once again I’m reminded of a sentinel. His easy control smoothed the ripples in my nerves. He answered Daddy with respect and quiet strength. “Your daughter is a strong, courageous woman, Mr. Delaney. I imagine she’s inherited her grit and determination from you.”

  Metaphorically his answer backed Daddy into a corner.

  But he’s my Daddy and he’ll try to fight his way out of any situation.

  “Mackenzie, pack your bags.”

  I wait a heartbeat, and then two, until Daddy turns and looks at me.

  “I’m not leaving.” It’s what I feel. I worry. Not for me but how Daddy will absorb the truth ringing in my quiet words.

  He doesn’t. This time defeat slams Daddy with a sharp uppercut.

  Sorry Daddy! Seeing his face fall, his entire body droop hurts. I want to pull the words back. I can’t.

  Even though I cause him pain, I have to focus on my needs.

  “And Tom?” he grinds out in a dark voice that makes my cheeks flush with guilt.

  “Tom is a wonderful man but he’s not the man for me.”

  Daddy props his hands on his hips, gives me his dark do what I say or else look. “If you make this choice, I’ll cut you off from me, the family. We’ll have no contact with you.”

  I suck in a raspy breath. I didn’t think he’d go so far. “I could come to Chicago for regular visits. We could compromise.”

  Compromise only happens in Daddy’s world when it’s to his advantage.

  His jaw jutted out and up. “It’s all or nothing.”

  I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. My heart is in my throat. Fear drives its
icy arrow deep into my soul. Oh my God. I glance at Dan, seek some solution to my problem.

  He’s still yet as giving as the mountains. His eyes catch mine, wrap warmth and support around me like a cozy shawl.

  I feel his message.

  The decision is mine.

  I don’t want it to be just mine! It’s too weighty!

  My question from four short days ago resurfaces. What do I want in my life? Who do I want in my life? My heart burns to be, to do, to become. I look back at Dan. My heart burns . . . to have.

  In a move that makes my heart sing, Sheriff Daniel Wilson crosses the room, stops at my side, and wraps his arm around my waist.

  “Mr. Delaney, Mackenzie is a fine woman, a fine doctor. If she chooses to make Bandit Creek her home, we’d welcome her as one of our own.”

  I look into eyes that blaze blue, catch my breath at the heat and promise in his smile.

  I know my answer. I’m sure of it.

  Yet agony squeezes every atom of my being as I turn to Daddy and say what must be said, “I love you, Daddy. But I guess this is good bye.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Hettie and the gang didn’t come back. At least not that day nor the next. Boyd must have survived my doctoring skills. But I’m wary of an unexpected visit from Hettie. Somehow I expect payback for Daddy’s quite literal blow to her pride.

  Speaking of Daddy - after I said good-bye - he stormed from Uncle Rob’s house without a backward glance or another word. Dan heard through the grape-vine that Daddy was leaving on the next day’s train. I fretted over seeing him off or staying away from the station altogether. When Rob returned, from a successful but marathon difficult delivery, we had a deep into the night heart-to-heart about Bandit Creek, Hettie, Daddy, and Dan. Uncle Rob was encouraging about every topic but one: Hettie.

  So it’s the next day and I’m standing at the dusty train station with Dan by my side. We’ve come to see Daddy off. Not that Daddy acknowledged me. No, he ignored me. Turned away from me before he boarded the train. Outright pretended I was more invisible than a speck of dust. Not that I should be surprised. He promised no contact. No contact is what I got. Inside I’m a mix of exasperated and sad as I grip Dan’s hand. As we step out of the sun up onto the station’s covered porch I ask, “I wonder if Daddy will ever relent?”