by Joyce Armor
She walked out before he could say a word. She had drugged him again, broken his arm, obviously, since it pained him as it had when he was first injured. Expressly against his wishes she had purposely injured him. He should have her arrested. But a tiny little thought worked its way into his brain. What if she was right? What if this eventually alleviated the pain? Well, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing he saw it as a possibility. A person just couldn’t go around drugging and injuring another person without repercussions.
The object of his ire was at that moment splashing water in her face by the creek. She felt absolutely spent, so exhausted and for the first time since leaving Pennsylvania, wondering if she had done the right thing. What if she had made Karl’s arm worse? What if he never forgave her? Could she ever forgive herself? Maybe he was better off without her. Who was she to burst into his life and try to fix it? His fiancée? Well, there was that.
She rubbed the bruise she was certain was forming on her hip. Landing on the hard floor was not the ideal way to wake up. What was she doing in his bed? Could she be more embarrassed about that? She vaguely remembered feeling so exhausted and lying down to rest her mind and body for just for a moment. Obviously Karl was not pleased with that little turn of events. She wasn’t particularly pleased with herself at this point either.
Was she being too tunnel-visioned, too focused on wanting to be married and not concentrating enough on whether the relationship could work? Time. She needed time. This is not a battle, remember; it’s a war. She would take over some of Per’s chores, help her more with the baby, while Per took over her visits to Karl, making his breakfast and delivering other meals. She would take two or three weeks to back off and reassess her actions, past, present and future. She would not need to remove the splints and check the arm for a few weeks unless he was having a problem. By then she would know if she wanted to stay or go back to Pennsylvania. Why that thought left her feeling like she had swallowed an anvil she had a pretty good idea. Its name was Karl I’m-So-Unbending-You-Can’t-Reason-With-Me Burgen.
* * *
Karl was cranky, and Per was about to strangle him. Bridget had avoided him for nearly three weeks, and if it was even possible, he was surlier than he had been before. But physically she believed he was improving, although God forbid he should admit it. He was holding his coffee cup in his right hand, which had not been possible before Bridget worked her magic. And it may have been wishful thinking on her part, but she swore he seemed to be limping less. His attitude, though? If she was a violent person, he would be on the floor with her boot on his neck.
They had eaten breakfast together and she was straightening up the front room as he read a book. At least that’s what he appeared to be doing while he was complaining about the heat, how itchy his arm felt, how he was sick of being confined to his cabin—as if anyone was forcing him to stay inside except when he visited the privy. He had not asked about Bridget once, although she could tell he wanted to. Just to annoy him, Per rarely mentioned her cousin. When she did, she saw the flicker of interest in his eyes before he covered it with his usual scornful or pained look.
“What’s Gus up to today?”
Per wasn’t fooled. He would try to maneuver the conversation to include information about Bridget. Per could see a light at the end of the tunnel, but Lord it was taking a long time to reach it. While Bridget kept herself busy, helping Per and assisting Gus on the ranch, she obviously was hurting. She wasn’t her usual happy, shining self. And Karl, who should be practically jumping for joy at his physical improvement, was moping around and had turned into a first-rate complainer. She sighed.
“He and Bridget are stringing fence. We lost a few head from a break in the fence and they haven’t found them yet.”
“That’s man’s work.”
Per rolled her eyes. “You did not just say that. Before Henry was born, who helped build the house and barn and who mucked stalls?”
“That’s you. You’re different.”
She sat in the other wing chair by the fireplace. “Sure, Karl, I’m the former heiress. Bridget grew up on a farm, riding and doing a lot of barn and field chores. You’re just critical of her because she was right about your injuries.”
“She’s high-handed and she drugged me.”
Bridget sighed. “And you’re starting to come back to yourself, except for the complaining thing. And don’t even tell me to get out.” She stood. “I’m getting out.”
Just before she reached the door, she heard her brother-in-law quietly say, “Thank you,” and she smiled. He was changing. Now if she could just get stubborn Karl and more stubborn Bridget together.
That happened the next day, when Bridget knocked on Karl’s door. She needed to check his arm to see if it was knitting properly. She desperately wanted to see him and almost just as desperately didn’t. She had to steel herself just to make the walk to his cabin. How long ago it had seemed as if it were their cabin. It was after 10 a.m. and Karl should be awake. She had a moment of panic before she heard him call, “Come in!”
Courage, don’t fail me now. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and walked through the door. Karl was seated at the dining table, whittling of all things. That was encouraging. He never would have been dexterous enough to use his right hand so competently before.
“What are you making?”
He looked up at her. It wasn’t exactly a scornful look. If anything, it was kind of wary. “A horse,” he said.
She studied the partially-completed piece. It was incredibly detailed. “That’s amazing. You’re really talented. Did you do those figures on the mantel?”
He went back to whittling. “What do you want?”
She held back the sigh she thought might be the biggest one she had ever let loose, opting for fake cheerfulness instead.
“I need to check your arm and make sure it’s healing properly.”
“Don’t you want to drug me first?”
What I’d like to do is smack you a good one. “No. And I’m truly sorry about that, Karl. I know how you feel about taking a drug. But I couldn’t in good conscience break your arm with you conscious.”
“I expressly told you not to do that.”
“Yes, you did, but you were wrong and I couldn’t let your bone-headed and narrow-minded attitude ruin your chance for recovery.”
Was that a smile trying to make its way onto his face? Surely she was mistaken.
“Are you going to let me check the arm or not?”
Karl gazed at her. She had her hands on her hips and was actually tapping her foot impatiently. He fought the urge to laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like laughing. Before. Before the accident. Before everything changed.
“Well? I haven’t got all day.”
Karl set his carving down. “Busy schedule, have you?”
“I’m meeting Gus in the north pasture in an hour to search for more missing cattle.”
“I should be doing that.”
“If the arm is healing properly and you’re doing your leg exercises, you will be riding again soon.”
“Oh, all right. Do what you need to.”
Like he was doing her a favor. The man was impossible. She had to concentrate to keep from being too rough with him as she untied the cloths and carefully removed the splints. Even after being confined for so long, his forearm was still muscular and so attractive she was surprised she didn’t bend over and kiss it. Concentrate! She set the splints on the table beside the strips of cloth and gently held his arm in one hand. With the other hand, she slowly ran her thumb down the healing limb.
He watched her concentrating and felt his heart quicken at her tender touch. He had to grudgingly admit, to himself at least, that she was a gifted healer. He should tell her that his arm barely hurt anymore. He should tell her a lot of things.
“You stopped coming around.”
“I knew you didn’t want to see me. And I had some thinking to do.”
>
“Oh, about what?” Was she planning to leave? That’s all he had wanted for so long, and now he felt panicked to think she might be going. More than once he wished he had not shoved her out of his bed. He wanted to apologize but didn’t want to seem weaker than he already was.
She moved her thumb over his arm again and smiled. “It’s back in alignment and healing well. You need to wear the splint for another three or four weeks.”
Right on cue, Per knocked and entered the cabin. Bridget gave her the good news about Karl’s arm, and Per held the splints in place while Bridget retied the cloth strips.
“Would you like me to make you a sling?”
“No. It’s fine like this.” Karl didn’t miss the fact that Bridget hadn’t answered his question on what she was thinking about. “Thank you,” he added.
Per raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like the surly Karl since the accident to be appreciative. What was going on? She noticed Karl watching Bridget when she wasn’t looking and Bridget studying Karl without him knowing it. She fought an urge to roll her eyes. If they spent half the energy trying to prove they didn’t care for each other into growing their relationship, they would be married in a trice. Cussed, bullheaded relatives.
Bridget gathered up her bag of medicinal remedies and left, bidding farewell under her breath. Per gave Karl her most disapproving look.
“What?”
“Well, you’ve managed to do what no one has ever been able to accomplish.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve taken the sparkle out of Bridget, the most cheerful, kind, energetic person I know.”
“I told her not to come,” he said stubbornly.
“And you should thank your lucky stars she did.”
With that, Per took her leave. Once she was gone, Karl wallowed in his shame for longer than he should have. He knew Bridget O’Hara was everything he had ever dreamed of in woman, and because of her, he could see good things again. Maybe he would have worked out of his depression alone, though he had his doubts about that if he was still in the constant pain he had been experiencing for weeks. That kind of thing wore a body down. It was as if inertia bred inertia. And once he was immobile, he couldn’t seem to function without anger and bitterness, and sweet Bridget was the recipient of much of his wrath. All she was doing was trying to help him.
Although she had told him to stay in bed on days he had a headache, he actually felt pretty good. Yes, the arm throbbed a bit, and he had the headache. He looked at the packet of powder she had once again left. It wasn’t exactly a drug, at least in the narcotic sense, so he tore it open and poured the tincture into a glass of water, downing it quickly. He leaned his head back, giving it time to work. Today he would finish whittling the horse, and maybe he would walk down to the barn and see how his real horse was faring. If he happened to run into Bridget this fine day, he would try to make things right with her. Maybe he would pick some of those wildflowers down by the creek and give them to her as a peacemaking gesture. With that thought and a smile on his face, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 4
It was still early, just past 7:00, when Gus and Bridget dismounted near a gully about a half mile from the damaged fence. They had tracked cattle and horses, which meant the cattle hadn’t wandered off because of a break in the fence. Someone—two people, actually—had damaged the fence and driven the cows off.
Once he knew they were dealing with rustlers, Gus had ordered Bridget to go back to the ranch. She had looked at him like he was crazy.
“Gus, I can probably shoot better than you, and I’m just as good a rider. You can’t do this alone, and Jeff and Marty went to Vale for supplies. Unless you want me to go get Per instead, I’m your help today.”
At least the feisty Bridget was back. He had been concerned about the mopey version of his wife’s cousin. But he didn’t want to put her in any danger. It would take two days to get the sheriff back here, he imagined, and by then the cattle could be in China. Their ranch was small potatoes in this neck of the woods. He sighed.
They tied their horses to some sturdy bushes and made their way toward the gully, where they had spotted smoke at the far end. And then they heard cattle lowing. They exchanged a look. It might not be all the cattle that were missing, but they would retrieve what they could find. Why hadn’t the rustlers taken off? They should be long gone by now. Perhaps they were overconfident. By Gus’s token, at least a dozen cows had disappeared two different times from two separate breaks in the fence. The cattle they heard now could be all of them or just the second batch taken. Well, the rustling days of these hombres were about to end. Gus was still uncomfortable letting Bridget participate in this confrontation, yet almost chuckled at that. There was no “letting” Bridget do anything. She was as uncontrollable as his wife, and he wouldn’t change a thing about Per, so he could hardly fault her cousin. Too much.
Gus whispered that he would head toward the other end of the gully, between the men and the cattle. She should slowly approach, and wait until he made his move. Then they would face the thieves from both sides. If it turned into a gun battle, they would have an advantage.
“Just don’t shoot me,” Gus whispered.
“Same goes,” Bridget whispered back.
The plan worked well as they closed in on the two rustlers. The men looked like they had ridden a rough trail. They were unkempt, unshaven and just overall appeared hard and badly in need of baths. And they were caught dead to rights, drinking coffee and smoking cigars. They didn’t even have a chance to draw their pistols. Bridget was feeling an inward sigh of relief when a third man came out of the woods and all hell broke loose. He began firing, and when Bridget and Gus turned their attention to the immediate danger, the two other outlaws dove to the side and drew their pistols. Bridget took down one of them with a bullet to the leg and felt a sting in her side as she threw herself to the ground. Gus winged the third outlaw, who disappeared through the woods, and both of them shot the other man. One bullet hit him in the leg and other in the chest. Meanwhile, the cattle at the far end of the ravine got spooked and started bawling, trying to climb out of the gully.
“Bridget, are you all right?” Gus backed up and tried to settle the cattle down as he waited for her answer.
“I’m fine,” she called back. “You?”
“I’m good.”
Bridget picked up the pistols from the two men near the campfire. One was writhing and bellyaching about his leg wound. The other’s breath was raspy, blood spreading across his chest and trickling out of his mouth. As she turned to him to see if she could help him, he took a last rattled breath and his head fell to the side. She checked the pulse on his neck. There was none. Although he had done wrong, she said a quick prayer for the dear departed.
The other cowboy watched. “You kilt Hobie’s brother. He’s gonna be pissed.”
“We didn’t want to kill anybody. You shouldn’t have stolen our cattle. In most places, you know, they hang rustlers.”
“What do you need with all them cattle?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To feed our family maybe? To make an honest living?”
She shook her head as Gus approached. “Give me your bandana,” she instructed.
He untied it and handed it to her. She folded it up and pressed it against the surviving outlaw’s wound. He bellowed.
“Do you want me to stop the bleeding or not?”
That shut him up. She took off her own red bandana and tied the padding in place. Then she looked up at Gus. “What about the third one?”
“I tracked him a little ways. He had a horse and took off.” He eyed the wounded outlaw. “Your pal deserted you.”
“You’ll be hearing from him,” the man said through gritted teeth. “You kilt his brother.”
Bridget didn’t know which of them had fired the fatal shot. The man had turned both ways firing at them, and it had all happened so fast. She felt sorry that he was dead, that a life was w
asted, but not too guilty that she may have killed him. Still, it was better not knowing.
“I need to take this one,” Gus motioned toward the wounded man, “and that one to the sheriff, but I don’t want you to have to ride back alone. Maybe you should come with me.”
Bridget shook her head. “Someone needs to drive the cattle back to the north pasture, and you can’t be two places at once. I’ll do that.”
Reluctantly, he nodded, and Bridget headed toward the horses at the other end of the gully. Now that her adrenaline level had eased off, her side started to hurt. She looked down, opened her brown vest and saw blood spreading along her blouse and riding skirt and was actually surprised. She had been shot. With her heart rate and her heightened concentration level getting back to normal, she could feel it. The bullet went through the vest, which was why the blood wasn’t that obvious. If Gus had seen it, he would have had a fit.
Well, he had enough on his mind. He didn’t need to be worrying about her. The first thing she did was feel around her back for an exit wound. There wasn’t one; the bullet was still in her. That was not good. Next, she needed to stop the blood flow but wasn’t wearing a petticoat to rip. Ah, she had a spare shirt in her saddle bag. That would do the trick. Once she reached her horse, she ripped the shirt into a couple of strips. She folded up one to use as a pad and tied it on with the other, flinching as she secured the knot. That really hurt. She blew out a breath and called on her inner strength. She needed to get those cattle back. They wouldn’t stay in the ravine forever and might be impossible to find if they strayed too far.
She covered the wound and bandaging with her vest and mounted, intent on showing Gus she was fine and capable. She pulled Gus’s horse along with her. At the campsite, he had bound the prisoner’s hands behind him and tied him on his horse. The man was still whining and complaining. He really made a poor outlaw. She watched as Gus hefted the dead man onto his horse after rolling him in a blanket. He pulled out another length of rope and began tying him to the saddle.