The big man doubled over with an arm looped protectively around his middle. The moment her pa talked about was here. He wasn’t disabled, but he was stunned.
She ran. She ran straight toward Mitch. Oh, she’d almost reached him. She was so close. Guns clicked. She spun toward the sound. Bullets drenched with dread flew through the cabin. Her shoulder exploded. Blood bloomed in a flower of hideous red. Her vision clouded to gray, grayer, black before she collapsed at Mitch’s feet.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” Mitch’s voice pled. He pressed a blood-soaked cloth to the bullet wound in her shoulder.
Melody’s eyes drifted open. “What happened?”
Mitch brushed the hair from her face. “Melody, you’ve been shot. After you got away, Silas fired and hit you. Then all hell broke loose. I guess everyone who had a gun used it.”
“Help me sit up,” she implored.
“Slowly, Melody. You might faint. You’re mighty pale,” Mitch cautioned.
“Me? I never faint,” she replied. But when he lifted her a strange tingling ran down her arms and her feet seemed to disappear. Melody closed her eyes and leaned into Mitch’s chest. When the black spots dancing across her vision receded, she gave a weak laugh. “Almost never,” she amended.
Mitch leaned her against his chest. Bodies lay on the floor like puppets with their strings cut. “What happened?” she asked.
“The mayor and that lawyer, Brad Martin, are dead.” Mitch tipped his head at the two survivors. Madame T gripped the mayor’s hand in her own while tears soaked the bodice of her dress. Silas sat at the table, head hanging, hands tied behind his back.
“Lars and Sven?” Melody twisted her head and scanned the cabin.
“They’re fine. They went to gather the horses. I want to get you to Doc as quick as we can.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “When you were hit, I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you that I love you.”
Melody closed her eyes and offered up a little prayer of gratitude. He wanted her. He loved her. He saved her.
“I don’t mean to push you, sweetheart. This isn’t the right time,” Mitch apologized.
“I love you, too.” Her voice was thin and reedy. Exhaustion, dark and determined, sucked at her remaining strength.
Lars entered the cabin with a clatter of boots. “We’ll tie the mayor and lawyer to their horses. This varmint,” he pointed at the bound Silas, “we’ll escort to the jail. What about Madame T?” he asked.
Madame T raised her tear-streaked face. “We wanted to run away together. Start over. Get married.” She gulped a sob. “We brought Melody here to talk – just talk. We were wrong to try to finance our future with your Melody’s ranch. I’m sorry.”
“I guess when all is said and done, her only crime was being greedy. If we put every greedy person in jail, it would clear the streets,” Mitch declared.
“I’ll leave Oakville. I couldn’t stay without Melvin.” She patted the mayor’s hand and more tears flooded her already ravaged face.
Melody sat cuddled in her husband’s arms while the horses were sorted out. He handed her to Lars only long enough to mount his horse before he settled her before him.
Pain radiated down her arm and the motion of the horse sent sharp slivers of agony racing from her shoulder. “Oh, Mitch, it hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart, hold on. I’ll get you to town as fast as I can. Don’t try to talk.” He cradled her to his body absorbing the movement as best he could.
Folks lined the wooden walk as they entered Oakville. They were a grisly sight – two men draped lifeless over their horses, one man with hands tied to his saddle, Madame T sobbing, and Melody lying unconscious in her husband’s arms.
The sheriff strode across the dusty street. His mouth set in a grim line. “What the hell?” he exclaimed. “Who shot the mayor?”
Lars held Melody while Mitch dismounted. Mitch reclaimed the limp bundle.
“Get Melody to Doc,” Lars instructed. “We’ll explain to the sheriff.”
Chapter 13
Mitch hurried toward Doc’s office. Melody lay boneless in his arms. Her face a white disc. Her honey hair had escaped its pins and swung in time to his marching feet.
“Doc,” he yelled. “Open up.” He gave the door two good kicks and waited.
“Is that little Melody Williams?” he exclaimed.
“Well, she’s my wife now, Melody McBride. Doc, she’s been shot.” Anguish laced words burst from his throat.
“Shot? My God, bring her in.” The doctor opened the door and motioned Mitch through. “Take her to the room at the end of the hall and lay her on the table. I’ll get supplies.”
Mitch laid her on the table and arranged her skirts to cover her legs. He held her hand to his chest and stroked her hair away from her forehead. “Hang on, Melody,” he whispered.
“Let me get a look. Where was she hit?” Doc hustled into the room.
“Right shoulder.” Mitch pointed at her blood-soaked dress.
“I need to cut this dress off.” He inserted a pair of scissors at the neck of her dress, sliced the material in two and pulled the fabric away from the wound.
“Young man, she won’t die from a shoulder wound. Infection is our real enemy. Go get a pail of fresh water and heat it on the stove while I remove all traces of fabric from the wound.”
Mitch vaulted from the room eager to be of use. When he returned, Doc had cut the dress to Melody’s waist and sliced the sleeve. The right side of her body lay exposed. The bullet hole a violation on her unblemished skin.
“Go get that hot water, and there’s a bottle of whiskey in the desk. Get that, too.”
When he returned, Doc issued his instructions. “Hold her down, Son. I’m going to disinfect the wound.”
“But she’s unconscious,” he protested.
“This will burn like the very devil,” Doc said. “Might bring her around. I don’t want her thrashing.”
Mitch stood at the head of the table and held Melody’s shoulders. The Doc poured whiskey into the wound and, sure enough, she woke with a howl and tried to rise.
“Shh, shh, Sweetheart,” Mitch murmured.
“Hurts,” Melody whined.
“I know, but Doc is going to fix you up.” He hoped his smile was reassuring.
Doc removed an instrument from the hot water. “Melody, the bullet is fairly shallow. I’ll get it out as quick as I can. Now, I want you to take a few swallows of that whiskey. This will hurt some.”
Mitch lifted her shoulders while Doc tipped the whiskey bottle. Melody swallowed. A spray of golden liquid spewed from her lips.
“You probably never had whiskey before.” He wiped her chin. “It’s strong, but it’s going to help. Try again. Just a sip this time.” He tipped the bottle again and Melody took a cautious swig. “Good girl,” Doc praised. “Now one more.”
Doc leveled a steely glare at Mitch. “Hold her still.”
Mitch placed a kiss on Melody’s forehead before pressing her shoulders to the table. He gave a nod. Doc inserted the instrument into the wound and moved it gently from side to side seeking the elusive, slippery bullet.
Melody shrieked. Blood drained from her face leaving the pallor of fresh snowfall behind. Her head dropped to the side and eyelids fluttered closed.
“She’s passed out,” Mitch told the doc.
“Good.” Mitch heard a metallic ping as Doc dropped the bullet into a waiting bowl. “I’ll stitch it up quick and pour more whiskey over it to disinfect the wound. She’ll need to stay here over night.”
True to his word, Doc worked fast and finished before Melody’s first groan.
“How are you, Sweetheart?” Mitch asked when her eyes flickered open.
“I’ve had better days,” she replied. “But my brother’s killer is well and truly caught.”
“He is,” Mitch agreed. He sat in a chair next to the doc’s table and took her hand. “Doc wants to keep you over night. There’s a room with a bed
just down the hall. I aim to stay with you. If the wound looks good in the morning, I can take you to Journey’s End.”
“Journey’s End?” she queried.
“Please, Melody. I want to help you recover, and then I’d like to talk before any more decisions are made.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Will you do that?”
Doc bustled into the room. “Your husband can carry you to the room down this way. Oh, Lars stopped by. He and Sven are headed home, but one of them will come tomorrow with a wagon to get Melody to Journey’s End.”
Mitch cuddled his wife on the narrow bed in Doc’s room and waited for morning. When the first streaks of color appeared on the horizon, he pulled his arm free. Lifting to one elbow, he placed the backs of his fingers on her forehead. Her color was good, and she wasn’t feverish. A sigh the size of a Texas twister rushed from his lips.
Mitch stood and reached for the sky in a bone-cracking stretch. Damn, but that little cot wasn’t meant for two. He needed an outhouse and coffee and breakfast.
“Good morning, Mitch,” Melody said. Her voice low and firm.
“How do you feel?” Mitch squatted by the bed and brushed her hair from her forehead with gentle fingers.
“My shoulder is a might sore, but I aim to live.” She tried to rise but fell back to the bed with a moan.
“Stay still, Sweetheart. Doc will be angry as a bear in spring if you bust those stitches. “I was just headed to fetch some breakfast for us. Do you need anything else?”
A blush to match the colors of the sunrise spread across her cheeks. “I need the chamber pot or help to the outhouse.”
Mitch nodded understanding. His bladder was screaming for attention too. “I’ll get the chamber pot. Until Doc gives the go ahead, you’d best stay close to the bed.”
“Are any women around?” she asked.
“Just us,” Mitch answered. “It’s all right, Sweetheart. I’m your husband.” Well, he hoped he’d still be her husband when the dust settled. She’d left him, after all.
Mitch retrieved the chamber pot from the corner of the room and set it near the bed. “I’m going to lift you. Are you ready?” He slid an arm under her knees and another under her back. Melody laced her arms around his neck.
Once on her feet, Melody surveyed her ruined dress. Her right arm was strapped close to her body and was in a sling.
“Doc had to cut your dress,” Mitch explained. He frowned at the long skirt that fell to the floor. “If we take your bloomers off, I can slide the pot under your skirt. Hold onto my shoulder to keep steady.”
The bloomers emerged and were tossed aside. Mitch slid the pot under her skirts and moved to stand behind her. “Lean back. I’ll hold you.”
Melody lowered her body and the sound of her relief echoed.
“Thank you, Mitch.” Her cheeks flamed scarlet.
“No call to be embarrassed, Sweetheart. I’m your husband.” Maybe if he repeated that often enough, she’d believe him. He helped her back to bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
“Will you be all right if I go for food?” Mitch asked.
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” The rumbling of her stomach emerged from beneath the blanket. They both laughed. “Breakfast sounds perfect.”
When Doc arrived, Melody was propped on pillows, an empty tray of food lay at their feet and they sipped coffee from chipped cups.
“You look bright as a penny this morning,” Doc declared. “Let me take a gander at that shoulder.”
He peeled the dressing away and examined the skin beneath. “You’re healing nicely.” Doc pulled the bottle of whiskey from his bag and poured some on a clean rag. “This will sting some, but it helps prevent infection.” He dabbed the liquid onto her shoulder.
“Can I take her home?” Mitch asked.
“Yes, but for the next three or four days the arm remains in a sling. That will prevent pulling on the stitches. Change the dressing morning and night and pour a little whiskey on the wound. Infection can be deadly. If you see redness, swelling, or pus, bring her back right quick.”
Mitch nodded understanding.
“If you don’t need me before, come back in a week. I’ll remove the stitches.” He patted Melody’s hand. “I know you haven’t always been keen on following instructions, but you need to stay quiet for a bit.”
“I will.”
“She will,” Mitch and Melody answered simultaneously.
“Good,” Doc declared. “I saw Lars coming with the wagon. He should be here any minute.”
Sure enough, wheels crunched through the dusty street and a brake squealed when being set. The big, blond man appeared in the doorway.
“You’re looking a site better, Melody,” Lars declared. “Ready to come home? The women are chomping at the bit to get you back.”
Mitch turned troubled eyes to his wife. “Will you, Melody? Will you come home with me? If you’d rather, I can send word for Thomas to take you to the Bar W.” He ran a hand through his red hair. “But I hoped you’d come with me.”
“Please,” he added.
He shifted from one foot to the other and back again. The decision must be hers. If she chose her girlhood home, he’d be hurt and miserable, but the choice had to be hers.
Melody’s gaze locked with his, and he held his breath.
“Journey’s End,” she declared. “I’ve been aching for it.”
“Ellie sent you this.” Lars held out a blue shawl. “She figured your dress would be worse for wear. What with the bullet hole and all.”
“That was very kind,” Melody accepted the shawl she knew was her friend’s favorite. “If you’d just turn your back, I’ll get decent.”
When Lars, Mitch and the doc turned, Melody laughed. “Not you, husband. I need your help.”
Mitch’s smile near broke his face when he turned about. “My pleasure, Sweetheart,” he murmured.
When the shawl was draped around her shoulders and secured with a pin, Mitch carried her to the wagon. Lars had a pallet of blankets prepared in the back, and Mitch lowered his bride with care before jumping into the back himself. He sat down and took her hand in his.
The wagon tilted as Lars climbed aboard and took up the reins.
“Next stop, Journey’s End,” he called over his shoulder.
Mitch’s heart lurched. He arranged the blankets around his wife. Patting here and tucking there.
“Next stop, Journeys End.” The words echoed through his mind. He wanted it to be the last stop. He yearned to turn his marriage in name only into the real thing. He brushed honey blonde hair from his wife’s face and secured it behind her ear.
Last stop. Please, Lord, let it be. He offered up a silent prayer.
Last stop, Journey’s End.
Chapter 14
“They’re here,” Micah yelled as he stormed toward the wagon with Chase barking at his feet.
“Wait till we’re stopped, Micah,” Lars shouted. “Don’t get close to the wheels.”
The child slid to a stop inches from the churning dirt. “Sorry, Uncle Lars.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.” Lars jumped to the ground and took the boy’s small shoulders into his large hands. “You know better,” he grumbled. “What would your pa do if he were here?”
“Dust my britches.” Face red with shame, Micah stared at the hard-packed dirt between his small boots.
“I guess you’re lucky he’s out tending the cattle.” Lars released his hold on the child.
Ellie emerged from the cabin and hurried to the wagon. Lars surrounded her shoulders with one long arm and tucked her close to his side.
“Are you up to mischief, Micah?” Ellie enquired.
“If he gets that close to a moving wagon again, I’ll spank him myself,” Lars declared. “He took ten years off my life just now.”
Ellie gave the boy an affectionate hug to take some of the sting from his uncle’s reproach. “We’re all so excited to see Melody, but, Micah, you mus
t be more careful.”
Ellie tried to see over the top of the wagon, but even on her tippiest of toes, she was too short. Lars lifted her until her head cleared the side. “Hello, Melody. We’re so happy you’re back. How do you feel? Where were you hit? Can I help?”
Mitch laughed. “One question at a time, Sister. It was her right shoulder. I believe she’s mighty sore, and yes, she will need help for a bit.”
Melody lay pale faced in the wagon. She knew Lars had done his best for a smooth ride, but it was a rutted country road after all. The jarring, shaking and bumps had stirred up a hornet’s nest of pain.
“I’m going to carry you to our cabin if you can stand to be moved. You can lie there for a bit and catch your breath first if you’d rather.” Deep lines bracketed his mouth.
“I’m ready,” Melody replied. She braced herself for the discomfort of movement.
Ellie hurried ahead. “I’ll open the door.”
When Melody lay secure in his arms, he followed. Chase zipped into his usual spot by Mitch’s leg, tail wagging so hard his hindquarters swayed side to side.
“Mitch, look,” Melody tipped her head toward Micah. His little face was scrunched into a frown fit to break a heart. He looked like he’d lost his best friend, and clearly he felt that way.
“You can come, Micah,” she said. “I think Chase will miss you if you don’t.”
The boy ran across the yard and laid a possessive hand on the dog’s glossy back. “Me and Chase do near about everything together when you’re away,” he informed them.
When they reached the cabin, Chase and Micah sat together in front of the unlit fireplace. Mitch carried his wife into her room and laid her on the bed.
“I’ll get Ellie,” he said.
“Thank you,” Melody said. “I appreciated your help this morning, but I’d rather a woman…” Her words drifted to a stop.
He placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I know.”
Mitch sank into a chair. Micah lay stretched out next to Chase running his hand down the dog’s silky length. He’d asked the boy to care for the dog while he was gone, and he’d done a fine job. Didn’t seem quite fair to separate them.
Melody (Journey's End Book 2) Page 12