Adelaide’s patience unraveled. She glared up at him and huffed. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Now give me a boost!”
He searched off in the direction from which Solomon had come, concern etched deeply in his features. Yet he still shook his head at her.
“Gideon wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger. Juan’s out there with him. If they don’t show up soon, I’ll send one of the men after them.”
“Who are you going to send? Chalmers? Everyone else is out on patrol, and you have to stand guard over Isabella. I’m the best person to go after him, and you know it.”
James wouldn’t look at her, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. He obviously didn’t want to admit she was right. Well, he would have to physically restrain her if he intended to stop her.
Adelaide gave up on waiting for him to help her mount. Attempting the feat on her own wouldn’t be very dignified, but dignity couldn’t warm her with kisses or brighten her day with a dimpled smile. Only Gideon could do that.
She turned her back on James and gripped the saddle. Solomon stood a good two hands taller than Sheba, but she’d been mounting horses too big for her since childhood—a benefit of having a father in the horse breeding business. She couldn’t quite reach the horn, so she tucked her fingers under the pommel and grasped it tight in her palm. She lifted her knee chest-high and wedged the toe of her left boot into the stirrup. Solomon shifted, obviously unused to such odd mounting methods, and Adelaide hopped on one leg until he stilled. Then she leapt upward and grabbed the saddle horn. Tightening her arms and stomach muscles, she grunted her way onto the horse’s back.
“You’re a stubborn woman, Adelaide Proctor,” James said, shaking his head. A hint of a smile played over his lips, though.
“You can thank me later.” She turned Solomon in the direction from which he had come and touched her heels to his flanks. “Yah!”
As she passed the bunkhouse, she began to pray. “Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.” The repetitive supplication was all she could manage. What it lacked in eloquence, it made up for in fervor.
Solomon surged up a rise, and when they reached the top, Adelaide tugged him to a halt. She scanned the landscape, desperate for a glimpse of Gideon. The sun had nearly disappeared in the west, and shadows swept over the land, making it difficult to distinguish a man’s crumpled body from rocks and fallen trees. She was about to nudge the horse forward again when a movement off to the right caught her eye.
Adelaide stood up in the stirrups and squinted. It was definitely a horse, but from this distance, the shape atop it seemed much too large to be Gideon. What if it was Lord Petchey? She had no idea what Reginald looked like. Lucinda had mentioned he was an avid horseman. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a heavyset man. Adelaide steered Solomon behind a nearby oak and pulled her Colt .38 out of the leather holster at her hip.
She cocked the weapon but kept it aimed toward the sky. Her own breathing echoed in her ears. As the horse approached, the form on its back shifted and sprouted a second head. Adelaide frowned. She squinted, trying to decipher what she was seeing. All at once she gasped. There wasn’t one rider, but two. And the man in front was swaying precariously in the saddle.
Gideon.
Using both hands, Adelaide carefully uncocked her Colt and secured it in her holster. With a squeeze of her knees and a flick of the reins, she gave Solomon his head and raced to intercept them. Fear pounded an equally fast rhythm in her chest. When she noticed Juan’s head turn her way, she slowed and whistled the all-clear signal. He nodded to her but made no move to stop, so she circled around beside him and slowed Solomon to match the mare’s pace. Only then did she notice that the herder wore no shirt. It was wrapped around Gideon’s middle.
Her gaze flew to Juan’s face. He said nothing, but his eyes swam with grief. Adelaide bit her lower lip and pulled a half length ahead to take a closer look at Gideon.
His shirt flapped open to reveal part of a muscular chest, but what drew her attention was the dark red stain soaking the makeshift bandage over his belly. He’d been gut shot. The slowest, most painful way a bullet could kill a man. A whimper rose in her throat.
“Oh, Gideon.”
His body flinched, as if her words had awakened him from a doze.
“Addie?” he rasped.
The pet name pierced her heart. She willed her tears not to fall and fought to keep her voice steady. “I’m here, Gideon.”
He twisted his head to the side, grimacing only slightly. Then he smiled at her. The dimple in his cheek nearly undid all her hardearned control.
“Don’t worry … sunshine. God’s not … going to take me … yet. We made a deal.” He shuddered as he drew in a shallow breath. “You and Bella will be safe. I … promise.”
As if she and Isabella being safe were all she needed. She needed much more than that. She needed him, and he had no right to sound so resigned, as if he knew he wouldn’t survive and had made his peace with it.
Disobedient tears rolled down her face, and tremors coursed through her jaw. He couldn’t die. Not now. Her whole body shook as the remains of her composure began to crumble—until his gaze bored into hers and anchored her. She immediately straightened. The crazy man didn’t have enough strength to be trying to hold her together when he could barely stay in the saddle himself. There would be plenty of time for her to fall apart later. For now, she’d be strong—for Gideon.
Adelaide wanted nothing more than to stay by his side, but her being at hand wasn’t doing anything to help him. In fact, she was probably hurting him, draining what little strength he had as he struggled to put on a brave front for her.
“I expect you to stay conscious until Juan can get you home,” Adelaide demanded. He looked like he was going to topple to the ground at any moment, his face devoid of color, his head lifelessly bobbing in rhythm with the mare’s gait. “Don’t you go falling off that horse, Gideon Westcott. You hear me?”
The smile that had faded reappeared momentarily. “Yes … ma’am.”
“Good. I’ll ride ahead and ready everything for you.” She gave a sharp nod and then reined Solomon in a bit so that she was once again even with Juan.
“Take care of him,” she ordered.
The herder bent his head. “Sí, señorita.”
Having collected his promise, Adelaide urged Solomon into a canter. Gideon might have made a deal with the Lord, but she planned to make one of her own. If God would just show her how to keep the fool man alive, she would love and cherish him for the rest of her days. And while the loving and cherishing would be easy, the keeping him alive part had her worried.
Chapter 28
By the time Juan’s mare straggled into the yard with her precious burden, Adelaide had gathered everything she could think of for tending Gideon’s wound. She had laid two quilts over the kitchen table for padding and covered them with an oilcloth to prevent stains. Rolled cotton bandages cluttered the counter, along with a bottle of spirits, needle and thread, a pair of shears, and every medicinal ointment and elixir she could find in the house. A pot of steaming water sat on the stove, nearing a boil.
The kitchen door banged open and Juan and James pushed into the room with Gideon’s arms draped over their shoulders. They each held tightly to one of his wrists to prevent him from slipping away. His limp body hung between them, and the toes of his boots scraped the floor as they dragged him in. Adelaide’s heart ached at the sight. Gideon had always been so strong and vital, a man who took care of those around him and always had a smile at the ready. Now his mouth was twisted in an agonized grimace and his weakened body could not even support its own weight.
Adelaide rushed forward. “Lay him on the table.” She grabbed hold of his feet and helped the men lever him onto the flat surface.
“Was it Petchey?” James asked.
Gideon rolled his head slightly from left to right. “No. It was Jo—” His eyes darted to Adelaide, then returned to James. “
A hired gunman.”
Her brow crinkled in confusion. Why was he trying to hide something from her? He’d been shot, for goodness’ sake. She cared more about repairing the damage than learning who did the deed.
“I got a bullet into him, though.” Gideon’s face contorted with pain as he struggled to speak. “Fled … with a wounded arm … Won’t be back.”
“Thank God for one less thing to worry about,” James said. “I’ll go for the doctor.”
He turned to leave, but Gideon caught his arm. “No. Need you … here.” He gritted the words out between clenched teeth. “Juan will go.”
James frowned but nodded.
“Take Sheba,” Adelaide called out to Juan as he reached the doorway. “She’s well rested and fast. She’ll run for miles.”
“Gracias.”
Another thought gripped her, carving away at her hard-earned control. She needed James’s strength to help her tend to Gideon, but that would leave them unguarded. Even if the gunman who shot Gideon was no longer a threat, Petchey still was. What if Reginald had planned the attack on Gideon and was even now stalking Isabella? They needed more protection.
“Juan?” Adelaide called out to the retreating herder.
“Sí?” He caught the door at the last second and stuck his head back into the kitchen.
“If Miguel is still on patrol by the road, send him to the house. He can stand guard here while James helps me with Mr. Westcott.”
He nodded, then disappeared.
Adelaide returned her attention to Gideon. The amount of blood saturating the cloth around his middle made her knees shake. She glanced around. James was the only one left in the room, and he was looking to her for instructions.
Mrs. Garrett had taken a dinner tray up to Mrs. Chalmers and Isabella before the men brought Gideon in. The cook had hastily explained that she could butcher a chicken without a qualm, but the sight of human blood made her head spin like a whirligig. Chalmers was out on the porch, assuming James’s post, and Juan was on his way to fetch the doctor. That left Gideon’s care in Adelaide’s sadly inexperienced hands. Until the doctor arrived she was all that stood between him and death. What if she couldn’t do what needed to be done?
“God, grant me wisdom and healing hands.” She murmured the request under her breath. James added his own quiet amen to the prayer, drawing her eyes to his.
“This is no time to lose your stubborn streak, Adelaide. You can do this.”
She stared at him for several seconds, needing to believe him. “All right.” She looked back down at her patient. “First, help me get him out of his shirt.” A blush warmed her cheeks, but she refused to let embarrassment get in the way of tending his wound in the best way possible.
Adelaide didn’t know much about doctoring, but while she lived in Boston, she had often accompanied her aunt on charitable visits to the hospital near their home. She hadn’t really done more than hand out baked goods and read aloud to the long-term convalescents, but she remembered how adamant the nurses had been about cleanliness. Everything that touched the patients had to be clean—bandages, bedding, even the room itself. It had something to do with germ theory. They were convinced that such hygienic precautions promoted health and decreased the chance of infection and the spread of disease. Adelaide decided that until the doctor from Menardville arrived, she would clean everything that came near Gideon’s wound. And if she could overcome her squeamishness, she’d clean the wound, too.
James lifted Gideon’s back off the table, and Adelaide worked quickly to remove the blue-checked shirt. The veins in Gideon’s neck bulged as he tried to muffle his groans. As soon as the last sleeve slid over his hand, she helped ease him down and was relieved to see his facial muscles relax, if only a little. Very gently, she lifted the bottom edge of the bandage to check on the bleeding. Gideon hissed in response.
Adelaide winced and instantly dropped the bandage.
“Sorry.” She couldn’t fathom the agony he must be suffering, and what was worse, she knew she was adding to it. Perhaps she should just leave everything alone and wait for the doctor. But what if she could prevent infection? What if she could increase his odds of survival?
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the edge of the bandage a second time. Gideon clutched the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she held to her course. She needed to be sure that the bleeding had stopped. A lot of blood had dried on his skin and clothes, but she didn’t see any new seepage. She stopped short of uncovering the actual wound for fear of tearing away a clot. However, she examined enough of the area to convince herself that the bleeding was under control.
“I can’t do much about the hole in his stomach, but if he survives the bullet, I don’t want infection to take him. We’ve got to clear away all the dirt and grime.”
“Just tell me what to do,” James said.
“Take some of that hot water from the stove and pour it in a basin. Mix it with just enough cold that it won’t burn you. Then roll up your sleeves and wash to your elbows. I’ll do the same after I retrieve a couple sponges.”
Adelaide unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves as she rushed over to the broom closet. Facing a view of buckets and rags instead of Gideon’s bloody torso, she took a moment to inhale several deep breaths and calm the emotions rioting in her breast.
God would see her through this. He would. She just had to ignore her fear of what might happen and focus on the here and now. Do what she could and let God take care of the rest.
Adelaide lifted her chin and reached into a box on the side shelf. She pulled out two round yellow sponges that felt soft and new. Tucking them into the crook of her arm, she turned around to face what must be done and returned to the table.
“Addie?” Gideon’s hoarse voice startled her. He had been so still, she’d thought him unconscious.
She leaned close. “Yes?”
His chocolate eyes peered up at her, full of grim determination.
“Take care … of Bella.”
“You know I will.” A lump of despair clogged her throat momentarily, but she ruthlessly choked it down. “Right now, though,I need to take care of you.”
Hope was the only weapon at her disposal, and she wasn’t about to surrender it. She smoothed his sweat-dampened hair off his forehead and lightly kissed his brow. His eyelids drifted closed again, and she headed for the basin. Once her hands and arms were clean, she and James set about washing away all the dirt and dried blood from Gideon’s chest, neck, face, and arms. Using the shears, Adelaide cut away most of the improvised bandage. She left the handkerchief directly over the wound untouched, but set the rest aside so that she could better bathe Gideon’s skin.
“We should probably check for an exit wound,” James suggested.
Adelaide glanced up at him. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She looked at Gideon lying still on the table. “It hurt him so much to sit up last time.” She bit her lip in indecision. “Perhaps if we rolled him to the side it wouldn’t be as painful.”
James nodded. “Let’s try it.”
Adelaide bent near his face and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Gideon, are you awake?”
He grunted in response and dipped his chin slightly.
“We’re going to roll you over now.”
James grabbed hold of Gideon’s right shoulder and hip. Gideon clamped his jaw tight in preparation.
“One … two … three!”
James pulled, and Adelaide helped by pushing on Gideon’s shoulder blade. Once James had him propped up at a perpendicular angle, Adelaide retracted her supporting hand. She took up a sponge and wasted no time washing Gideon’s back. The loose ends of the cut bandage had fallen free, but some parts were still clinging to his skin. She gently drew the bandage away from his back until it resisted. Blood was clinging to the fabric, and if it was indeed from a secondary wound, she had to be careful not to set it into bleeding again. She cut off the loose ends on either
side and then faced the task of removing the rest. She needed to loosen it somehow.
Holding her sponge against his skin directly above the stuck fabric, she drizzled a bit of water over the cloth. After moistening it, she tugged at one corner until it started to pull free. She repeated the procedure until the entire bandage was removed. A hole about the size of the tip of her finger marred Gideon’s lower back. Adelaide fought off the queasiness that roiled in her stomach. A trickle of new blood seeped from the opening. Her eyes followed its trail and she began to feel woozy. She quickly rinsed the red line away with a squeeze of her sponge. And thankfully her head cleared.
“Well, the good news is the bullet went through you,” Adelaide announced, her voice shaking only slightly. “The bad news is that we’re going to have to disinfect two sites instead of one.”
“Just … get it done,” Gideon ground out.
Adelaide’s hand closed over the neck of the whiskey bottle. She wiggled the stopper out and held her breath against the sour smell that wafted into her face. Angling her nose away from the bottle, she breathed in through her mouth and returned to Gideon’s side. She held her sponge below the wound and positioned the bottle above it. Then, with a whispered apology, she poured the alcohol down his back and over the bullet hole.
All of his muscles went rigid, and his strangled cry echoed in the quiet room. Battling tears, Adelaide stopped pouring and set the bottle aside. She grasped a clean roll of bandages and fashioned a compress. Nodding to James, she held it in place over the wound while he rolled Gideon onto his back once again.
Having done it once didn’t make the task any easier as she repeated the procedure in the front. By the time she’d cleared away the old bandage, flushed out all the dirt she could see, and sanitized the wound with another dose of whiskey, she felt like yelling right along with Gideon.
At some point during the ordeal, Miguel must have arrived, for when Adelaide next looked up, Chalmers was standing in the corner, his eyes moist as he regarded his employer’s suffering.
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