To her surprise, Jay only nodded, accepting her statement with stoic eight-year-old wisdom.
After a moment, he said, "I'm glad. But I wish I could've helped you. How many were there?"
Allie shook her head. "I'm not sure. And it's over now." A lie, if she'd ever told one.
Jay didn't respond. His body was tense, and he turned worried eyes to her. Now, she heard it too. A horse, cantering in slowly. Finishing the bandaging, she wiped her hands on a rag and rose. She took the shotgun from the corner where it stood.
Cocking it, she lifted the edge of the blue gingham curtain to see what she could by the light of the rising half-moon. The rider stopped several yards from the front porch.
"Allie! It's Doc Wilkins. May I come on in?"
Allie sank her teeth into her lower lip. Truth to tell, she'd be glad to have the older man look at her handiwork with Brandon's wounds. But was he alone? And was he here for that purpose, or had he come to deliver a message from the others?
She crossed the room and opened the front door a crack. "Are you alone?"
"I am."
She pulled the door wider and leveled the gun at the darkness. Her breathing was steady and even. She would shoot the first person through the door if it wasn't Doc Wilkins. He damn well better be alone.
He'd never given her reason to mistrust him. Somehow, she felt he'd been unaware of this afternoon's plans. But one man couldn't have gone up against the entire town anyway, she reminded herself, even had he known.
He walked his horse slowly to the rail at the front porch and dismounted slowly. Suddenly, Allie was aware of the age in the doctor's carriage. His stooped shoulders and slow gait spoke of a man who was no longer young enough to make these evening housecalls. When he crossed the threshold, she saw it in his eyes, as well.
He gave her a steady, reassuring look, motioning at the gun she still held. "Would you mind, young lady?" He held a leather medical bag in one hand. "I brought one of my smaller bags with me. Lighter, you know, since I was on horseback. I didn't want to bring the buggy."
She understood. It would attract more attention, if anyone was watching. Pushing the door shut, she bolted it quickly and set the shotgun back in the corner.
"How's your patient?" He glanced toward the back bedroom and started in that direction, but Allie stepped in front of him.
"I have to know something, Doc." She laid a hand on his arm. "Whose side are you on?"
He eyed her steadily. "I'm here, young lady. That's not easy for an old man to do on these rough roads in the dark."
He was trying to tease her, but she knew there was truth in what he said by the way he'd dismounted so stiffly. He reached out and took her hand in his, and she felt the twisted joints of his fingers, a sign of painful arthritis. A wave of guilt washed over her.
"I'm sorry. It – what happened this afternoon – well, it's been really hard. He's hurt bad." She glanced at Jay, sitting silently beside Big Mack.
"Why, hello, Jay," the doctor said with a quick smile. "I didn't see you there." He looked over the rims of his glasses. "What's wrong with Big Mack?"
"Tangled with a wild cat, Doc," Jay said, a tremor of the anxiety he was feeling in his tone. "Can you see to him too, before you go?"
Doc winked at him. "Sure thing, son. Don't you worry now. It's getting late – probably about bedtime for you, isn't it?"
Allie took the hint. "Yes, Jay, why don't you get cleaned up and ready for bed?"
"Won't you need me to help? I mean, with Mr. Gabriel?"
Allie shook her head. "Doc's here now. He'll see to him just fine. But you'll need to sleep in here again tonight in case Big Mack needs you."
Immediately, Jay got to his feet. Allie smiled at him, running a quick hand over his dark hair as he walked by her.
She turned to Doc. "Ready?"
"After you. I don't want to get plugged." His grin froze and faded at her look. "What's wrong?"
Her voice was low. "I'm not so sure that's going to be something to worry about, Doc, ever again. I did my best on his hand, but…they really hurt him."
The doctor gave her a kind smile and a pat on her arm that brought sudden tears to her eyes.
"Let me have a look."
Chapter 6
Allie opened the door carefully. "Brandon?" No response. She turned the wick of the lamp up, casting a soft glow across the room.
Sinking into the chair beside the bed, she laid her hand on Brandon's cheek. He was burning. The raging fever surprised her so that she started to jerk her hand back before stopping herself, letting her palm settle against his flushed skin to cool it.
"Fever's not uncommon with these kinds of injuries." Doc set the bag down beside the bed.
Allie leaned close to Brandon, stroking his cheek. He stirred, moistened his lips as he struggled to open his eyes. "The doctor's here—"
That brought him awake quickly and completely. He managed to glare up at Doc and move out of Allie's caress all at once. "Get out," he muttered.
Allie stood up at the doctor's urging, gentle pull on her arm. Brandon's left hand disappeared under the pillow, searching for his gun. Doc laid a firm hand at his wrist.
"You don't need that, son. I promise, I'm here to help. I took an oath, you know."
"Did you fix Smith's knee?" Brandon asked cuttingly.
Doc nodded. "Sure did." He laughed as he reached down for his bag, laying it on the bed beside Brandon. "Allie blew a hell of a hole in him. He might not ever walk without a cane. But it serves the son-of-a-bitch right for what he did." He took Brandon's bandaged right hand in his and began to unwrap the muslin strips. "I only want to help you, Mr. Gabriel. Now Allie, she's a passable assistant, but you know, I'm the one went to medical school…"
Brandon winced as the doctor finished unwrapping the bandages. They had begun to stick already. "I'm sorry, son." Doc laid the bandages aside and Allie gathered them, putting them in a basin, and headed for the kitchen.
Just as she was about to re-enter the room, Brandon asked quietly, "Well, Doc? What's the verdict?"
Allie held her breath, just outside the door. Piecing Brandon's hand back together had been the most important operation she'd ever performed. Working alone as she'd been forced to do, she wasn't sure she had done a perfect job of getting everything into place and holding it there to mend.
"It looks damn good!"
At the genuine surprise and approval in Doc's tone, she let her breath go on a sigh of relief.
"But not good enough for that, Brandon," he warned sternly as Allie stepped on into the room. "Don't try that again, or you might undo all her hard work."
Allie peered over the lamp at Brandon.
His face twisted, and he let go a low groan.
The doctor met her eyes. "Tried to flex his muscles here a bit." He pointed to Brandon's thumb and wrist area. "Just got to let it mend, first. Then, when I say, you can start working those muscles again."
Doc stood up and drew the cover back, his breath hissing inward. "Those bastards." After a moment, he laid a hand on Brandon's dark hair very gently. "They handled you pretty rough, didn't they, son?"
Brandon closed his eyes for a moment, and Allie knew he was remembering every punch and kick he'd been dealt. "More than 'rough,' Doc. But I don't forget. Ever."
Doc nodded grimly. "I think that's what they're afraid of. We need to get you healed up as soon as possible."
"Do they know…you're here?"
"Don't know. Don't care." Doc took Brandon's left arm in his hands, gently feeling for breaks.
"You better care, Doc," Brandon muttered, wincing as the doctor's fingers expertly glided over, then retraced the area.
"There?"
Brandon nodded. "Yeah."
"I don't think it's broken. Could be a deep bruise, or a small fracture. We'll wrap it." He reached for a strip of bandaging. "Why do you say that? I'm in no danger."
"You are if you side with me."
"I treated Arnie Smith.
And I treated him first. I knew you were in good hands." There was a twinkle in the doctor's blue eyes as he spoke. "Can you turn, Brandon? I want to see what damage Tom Carver did with that damned whip of his."
Brandon's eyes narrowed.
"Heard all about it, after the fact. But I tell you what. The next time they come, there won't be many of them. Most of the men that – uh – took part, are ashamed. They went slinking on home." He winked at Allie. "You keep that Henry you took from Anderson's, Allie. I'm paying for it." He laughed aloud. "What I wouldn't have given to see you blow Arnie Smith's kneecap away! Damn fine shooting, young lady!"
"I wish—" Allie began harshly.
"Nah. You don't." He gave a dismissive wave. "You did what needed doin'. Did it well, too. It was enough – and Smith has a boy to raise."
"Better stay here tonight, Doc." Brandon's voice was low and measured, holding the pain at bay as the doctor examined the lashes across his shoulders.
"Why?" He touched a raw welt, and Brandon jerked. "Sorry, son. Need a little more salve here."
"Those roads…might be more treacherous than you bargained for…in the dark."
Doc stopped for a moment, then removed a swab from his bag. "You think they'll be waiting? For me?"
"Could be. You never know where they'll hide…and wait."
Doc grimaced as Brandon did when he began to apply the salve. "Like the livery stable," he said, disgusted. "Got a new partner coming to Hobart tomorrow. I need to ride over and meet him. I'd intended to bring the buggy – but I'm halfway there."
"Spend the night here, Doc," Allie put in. "You can borrow our buckboard if you want – not as fancy as your buggy, but you're welcome to use it."
Doc shook his head. "No. We'll rent one there, Allie. You need to lay low for awhile." He looked over his shoulder at her. "And so does the boy."
"But – school—"
"He'd never tell you this, but I've seen those older boys bullying him – especially Jimmy Smith. Why, with you shootin' Arnie's kneecap off, Jimmy'll make fast hash of Jay."
Allie didn't reply. She hadn't thought of that. Stupid. How could she not have considered it? She moved away slowly. "Do you need anything, Doc? I'll go change Jay's bedding for you. He'll want to sleep on the settee."
"And you? Where will you sleep?" Doc turned a narrowed gaze on her. "You look worn out."
"Here," Brandon whispered, his eyes closing. "With me."
Suddenly, it seemed as natural as if they'd done it for years – the only solution. Allie nodded, her gaze resting on Brandon. "Yes. In case he needs me." She smiled at Doc's owlish stare. "We're old friends, Doc. Very old friends. It'll be fine."
* * * * *
When Allie left the room to settle Jay in for the night, the doctor turned a keen eye on Brandon.
Brandon recognized that look. He was about to hear something he didn't want to hear. He figured, in spite of the doctor's earlier praise, it had to do with his mangled hand.
"Brandon—" Doc broke off and let his breath go on a long sigh.
"Spit it out, Doc," Brandon muttered. "My hand?" He was in no mood for games. Someone was pounding on his head with a hammer from inside, and his body continued to absorb the effects of the beating he'd taken. Every square inch of him ached, and there was no position he could find that would ease it, no matter how he shifted in the bed. Best to just hear the truth, plain out, and be done with it.
Doc nodded slowly. "Your hand, yes. I'll be honest. I don't know if I could've done any better by you than Allie has. She pieced your hand back together just as it should have been. But, I'm not sure it's going to matter. There's…a lot of damage."
Brandon's heart raced. From the expression Doc Wilkins wore, he was leaning more toward the thought that it wouldn't heal properly rather than that it would. He closed his eyes again for an instant.
"I'm sorry, son. I'll do everything in my power to help you regain full use of your hand, but it's not going to be easy. And," he added, "it may not be in time."
Brandon gave a disgusted snort. "I figured that. Hell, yesterday wouldn't be 'in time'. Those bastards will be out here to finish off what they started soon enough, I guess. Or try."
"Well, Arnie won't be with them. That son of a bitch will be laid up for a good while. I conveniently ran out of my laudanum supply when he asked for a bottle, too. Let him suffer a little. Might do him good." Doc gave a short chuckle.
Serious once more, he cocked his head. "No, what I'm thinking is Tom Carver and Abe Johnson might head out here. Now, I may be way out of kilter here, but it's just a thought. Then again, without their leader, they may do nothing for a few days. You're…gonna need to be careful, son."
At that, Brandon grinned faintly. "Thanks for the advice, Doc."
The older man began to place the items back into his medical bag. His smile was grim. "I bet you're just wishing I'd told you that this morning, aren't you?" He shook his grizzled head. "Never dreamed Arnie'd try to pull something like that. So stupid."
Brandon grimaced. "I walked into it."
Doc laid a fatherly hand on Brandon's upper arm. "You walked out of it, too."
"Had a little help in that, Doc."
Doc laughed. "I don't mind buyin' that rifle one bit, either, as a thank you gift to Allie for what she did. Never did like Arnie Smith. Tom Carver, well, his daddy was just trash. Looks like the acorn didn't fall far from the tree." He latched the bag and set it on the floor beside the nightstand. "Yes sir, I'd've give a lot to have seen that. Allie with that rifle aimed at Arnie and him just pushin' one step too far." This time, his laugh was gleeful. "The whole town's talking about it."
Brandon smiled. No matter how they talked, they'd never see it the way he had. The sun in his eyes, mixed with blood, his body aching and raw. He'd been waiting for that next punch, the one that would've at least rendered him unconscious. The one that never came.
Allie standing on the boardwalk with that rifle aimed at Arnie Smith, and murder in her eyes. The hot breeze ruffling his own hair like a kiss of redemption she'd sent his way. Time had stopped for a minute, and he realized now, he'd had some inkling of recognition, then. Her finger on the trigger, she'd been ready to do whatever she needed to protect him, once again. And she had. Her green eyes had held as much murderous light in them for Arnie Smith as Brandon had seen in Smith's own earlier, when the fight had boiled out of the livery into the dusty street.
"'Old friends,' she said you were," Doc said quietly, as if reading Brandon's thoughts.
"Yeah. From – when we were kids." Another lifetime ago. He glanced up at the doctor, a cynical smile on his lips. "She'll be safe enough with me, Doc, if that's what's worryin' you. I'd never hurt her."
Doc's steady blue gaze locked with Brandon's. "I never thought that, son. Just get well. That's the important thing."
* * * * *
Allie settled Jay on the settee with a goodnight hug. As she started to go, he clung to her a second longer than usual, and she hesitated. "Is something wrong, Jay?"
Again, the hesitation. Then, "No."
Allie gave him a serious look. "What's the matter?"
He took a deep breath. "Do you know who my – my father is, really?"
Allie's gaze held Jay's for a long moment. There was sadness behind the curiosity. The doctor's words came back to her. How long had the other boys been tormenting Jay?
After she had rescued Jay – bought him – they'd kept moving endlessly, it seemed. Until they'd found this place for sale. Traveling with an unruly, abused four-year-old had been tedious. But this place…there was something so right about it. And situated as it was, almost exactly halfway between Spring Branch and Hobart, had been wonderful. She'd sent Jay to Spring Branch to school because it was two miles nearer.
Looking into his deep brown eyes now, she realized it had been a terrible mistake. Her heart ached. She glanced away, pretending interest in Big Mack. But Jay would not be put off.
"Mama? Do you?"
"No," she answered slowly. How much did he remember? Did he remember the filthy cage the grizzled mountain man had kept him in? Did he remember the festering sores across his back? Did he remember that she'd bought him – like a bundle of prized pelts – from the toothless old man at the trading post? And if he did, was going to school so important to him that putting up with the likes of Jimmy Smith actually seemed tolerable?
"Jay – I don't know. Honestly. But it doesn't matter to me who your parents were."
"You are my mama," he answered sternly, his face drawn. "I never had another mama. But I need to know who my pa is."
She didn't dispute him, though his childish reasoning tore at her. She took his hands in hers, watching him as she spoke. "Why is that so important to you, Jay?"
He did his best to appear unruffled, but Allie knew the signs. His fingers tightened in hers. He gnawed on the inside of his lip. His brows drew together. "Well, everybody's got a pa," he said quietly. "Everybody. Even Jimmy Smith. They all say I'm a bastard 'cause I don't have one."
"Who says that?" Allie tried to keep the shock from her voice and her expression, but it was no use. She wasn't ignorant of the cruelty of children, or the rough talk. But it cut her deeply to think of Jay – her Jay – bearing the brunt of it.
He blinked rapidly to keep the tears back. "All of them do. Every last one of them. I try to be nice. I just want one friend. But they won't play with me because they say I'm a bas—"
She couldn't bear it. She put two fingers gently over his mouth, and he turned his head into her palm, just for a fleeting instant. Her Jay, who never needed hugs or kisses, who disdained most every affectionate overture in a mixture of normal little-boy gruffness and a far deeper damage that had been done before he came to live with her. It was as if he couldn't allow himself to trust that he'd found a place in the world where he was safe. She'd broken that trust unwittingly by sending him to school.
"I don't ever want to hear you say that again."
"Is it true? Am I…one?"
"Jay…I – don't know. I don't know. But neither do they."
"Neither do I," he pointed out sagely.
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