Tears stung in her eyes. All of that travel and marriage for naught, for she refused to live as a bounty-hunter’s wife, stuck out there alone and fearful of every stranger that rode down her laneway.
Chapter Nine
For reasons of his own, the gunslinger helped pull Jethro to the bottom step of the cabin. He bent over, lifted the unconscious form over his shoulder, and carried him inside. Sarah cringed at knowing that somewhere in Jethro’s being, he felt the hurt of such careless handling.
She raced ahead to the spare room and pointed at Nick’s bed. “Lay him there, please,” she added. No sense for the both of them to act like heathens, Sarah determined.
Sarah hurried ahead to the kitchen, but before she could gather the items necessary to nurse Jethro back to health, Nick’s words came rushing back to her; “Promise me you’ll put the signal in the window.”
She grabbed the centerpiece from off the table, flung the curtains open wide, and placed it in the middle of the wide ledge, not because she expected her husband to come rushing in to save them, but because she’d promised. Sarah filled a wash basin with warm water, grabbed some clean rags, and the tin box from the pantry that contained their medical supplies.
When she returned to the room, she noted that the scamp was sitting casually on a chair, staring out the window. He glanced at her. “Don’t expect no help from me, little lady. I’d just as soon plug him again and have a round with you before your husband gets here.”
She should have sneaked into her room to retrieve the house pistol but she wasn’t thinking clearly. The stranger was crazy, and there would come a time when she might have to worry about defending herself. For the time being, he seemed content to let her tend to Jethro’s injuries and stare out the window.
Thoughts of Sandy popped into Sarah’s mind, and she wondered if her sister-in-law would take it upon herself to come over to check on her man’s whereabouts, especially when he didn’t show up for the noon meal. Sarah sent prayers heavenward that she’d stay at home—unless, of course, she was a better nurse—and that, unfortunately, would not take much. As inexperienced as she was, Sarah was more scared about taking a bullet out of a man than she was of the scoundrel sitting in the same room. She placed Jethro’s recovery firmly in the Lord’s hands, for He was the ultimate healer, and despite her lack of medical skills, He could make the patient better.
Sarah ripped his shirt, and it came off in shreds, landing in a bloody heap on the floor. Soiled rags joined the mounting pile. She dipped a clean piece of cloth in alcohol before swiping the injured area one last time. The hole was raging red, and the skin around stained a rosy-pink. In the box, she found long tweezers with blunt edges and dipped the tool in the alcohol.
Jethro’s eyes were still closed, and although he’d flinched on occasion during the clean-up, he had not awoken, and for that, she was grateful. Sarah sent one last prayer heavenward that Jethro would remain unconscious and immobile throughout the procedure before she leaned over the hole and dove inside with the instrument.
The bullet was visible, and she suspected that this was the best of all possibilities for an inexperienced surgeon. Sarah drew in a sharp breath and gently pulled the tongs, which securely gripped the end of the bullet. Only when the shell stared her in the face did she believe that she’d somehow done it. Sarah then went to work to clean the area again, and using a needle and thread, sewed the hole closed. She secured a medicated bandage to his side, and she then collapsed in a chair next to the bed.
“You done over there?” the man muttered.
Sarah sighed, grateful he’d stayed clear during the operation but sorry her victory rest had been so short-lived. “Not fully. I need to get blankets and wash the sweat from his face. I’m sure he’s in shock. Then there is a soup broth I need to boil for when he wakes up.”
“Or if he wakes up, more like it,” he said with a chuckle. “Haven’t decided if I’ll let any of the Traftons live to see another day. Now, killing you will be a sorrowful thing, but if duty calls—”
“Duty? Who do you work for?”
“Cretis hired me to get rid of the bounty hunter who killed his brother.” The man raised his head from picking under his nails with a knife. His grin revealed a missing tooth, which made his appearance even more horrifying. “Seems he thinks his wife is good bait for me to win the day—not that I need it. Killing is my life, and I don’t think twice.”
“It should haunt your dreams at night. Hired killers—"
“Careful, lady, how you describe men in my line of work. Seems your husband fits the same bill.”
“He brings men in for justice, not the pleasure of killing. I see a huge difference in your occupations, mister—you never said your name.”
“You can call me Striker, ma’am.” He stood and watched her drag an extra blanket from the shelf to cover Jethro. “When you start that broth for your patient here, you can make me some real grub. It’s been a while since a pretty thing like you cooked me a homemade meal.”
Sarah bit her lip. At least it would bide her some time to figure out what to do next. If she did get into her room at some point, she’d slip that house pistol into her apron pocket and use it if need be. And she wouldn’t be digging the bullet out of her captor’s body.
Nick fell in between Sheriff Pike Bewdley on one side and Trace on the other. Deputy Patrick O’Riley had taken a couple of volunteers they’d snagged in Denver to the backside of the cabin.
“Sarah has put the signal in the window. Cretis’s man is holding her hostage in the house.”
“You have a signal?” Trace asked.
“Sure. It came in handy—stopped us from barging in there and getting her killed,” Nick said. He looked at the sheriff. “We have to get her out before Cretis arrives with his cronies. I want my wife clear of the shooting.”
“Cretis might not even come,” Pike said. “He likes to keep his hands clean. That’s why he hires all his lackeys to do the dirty work.”
“Maybe, but it was his brother who swung for his crimes. He might consider that a worthwhile reason to get his hands dirty,” Trace said.
“I just know it needs to finish today, so Cretis had better show up. I want to settle down and make a safe life for Sarah and me.”
“Should have thought that before you went bounty hunting. Nothing safe comes from that line of work.”
Nick stared at Trace. “You’re a fine one to talk. Got my sister involved in that Pinkerton Agency; and that isn’t too safe either.”
“Difference was she got herself involved—her choice, not mine—and we uphold the law, legal-like.”
“Killers don’t care if you wear a badge, come in the name of the law, or get paid to bring them in to hang,” the sheriff said. “Bad runs deep in a man’s veins, and life doesn’t mean much.”
Nick stared at the house. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and he hoped the man was hungry, which would give them more time to make a move. After a few minutes, he saw the door open, and Sarah emerge with a pail in her hand. The scoundrel followed on her heels, his fingers gripping the pistol that hung loosely at his side. He poked the barrel into her back a few times on the way to the utility shed where he stored the wagon, and when they reached the huge door, she dug in her heels. Seemed his woman could only take so much prodding before she turned on a man.
Sarah passed her captor the pail boldly. By her expression, Nick could plainly see that she was the one giving the orders. If the situation weren’t so terrifying, he’d chuckle at the sight. They’d apparently run out of water in the house, and Nick’s smart wife was not going to be caught alone in the barn with her abductor. She pointed inside to where the barrel stood with the water he’d brought from the creek before he’d left. In retaliation, or to satisfy his ego, the man grabbed the pail, pushed her against the building, and pressed a hard kiss on her lips. Sarah fought him off, and when she kicked his shins, he slapped her face.
Nick’s fingers curled into a fist, and he s
tood ready to fight for her honor, but the man turned away and laughed before disappearing inside the shed.
Sarah glared after him and spat on the ground before racing toward the cabin.
“She’s going for the pistol,” Nick said in a panic. “We need to make our move now.”
Suddenly Sarah was gone from view, and Nick ground his teeth. “Where did she go?”
“Over there.” Trace pointed to an area to the left, behind the cabin, where the deputy awaited the sheriff’s signal for action. “Looks like O’Riley made the first move, and Sarah is safe with them. Let’s get to the shed before the killer-kisser discovers she got away.”
Nick didn’t take kindly to that comment, and cast Trace a warning-glance. The three men made their way down the hill to confront him.
The gunslinger was quick on his feet, and he darted to the house before the posse closed in.
With guns blazing, they barged onto the porch only to see the hired killer step outside with Jethro leaning in front of him. His brother appeared unsteady on his feet, and the executioner’s tight grasp around his waist turned Jethro’s face a ghostly sheet of white.
“Stop right there, fellas,” he said, trying to hold Jethro up and hold the gun to his head at the same time. “Got me an unsuspecting Trafton here. Caught him keeping the lady company while her husband was away.”
Nick seethed. Jethro was a lot of things, but running around on his wife was not one of them. He and Sandy were tight and sappy in love. Love; the act of giving one’s life for another. Nick loved Sarah, and his heart ached for the mess created after only a week of marriage to the woman. He did not deserve her, and it would serve him right if she packed her bags and left on the next stage.
Nick lifted his pistol in the air slowly and tossed it on the ground over the railing. “Jethro is not involved in this. How about you come and fight me in the yard like a man?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, your brother is my ticket out of here for the moment, but you do know, Nick, old boy, that I’ll be back when you least expect it. Cretis paid me to do a job, and I don’t give up on my man. Besides, me and your misses have some unfinished business to tend to after I wipe your carcass off the face of the earth.”
How could it end like this? Nick’s mind raced, and he looked at the sheriff for a signal. He nodded and threw down his gun. The gunslinger had the upper hand, and the law was all about keeping as many men safe as possible in a shoot-out.
The man dragged Jethro, his heels digging into the ground and his head flopping around. Jethro was hurt, maybe trying to protect Sarah. He’d never live that one down, but it didn’t matter. Nick only cared that his brother had somehow lived through the disaster. He’d gladly leave the family farm if he insisted—there was no reason for him to stay if Sarah deserted him, too.
In his mind, Nick’s life crumbled.
When they reached the stranger’s horse, he tossed Jethro off to the side, slid on the animal’s back, and with his head low, rode like the wind chasing a fire down the laneway. Shots fired from the group behind the cabin, but the painted pinto sped on and out of sight.
Nick raced to Jethro’s side and rolled him over. His brother’s eyes had glazed over, but when recognition sparked between them, he relaxed and dropped unconscious into the crook of Nick’s arm. Nick scooped him up and hurried toward the cabin. He spotted Sarah move toward the door. Expressionless, she held it open and ushered him into the room the bridegroom had occupied since their wedding. The space reeked of acidic medicine, alcohol, and the undeniable stench of blood. He dropped him on the bed, and Sarah spoke, but it was not the forgiving, loving tone reserved for a husband returning home. Instead, it was an order.
“I need more water. Jethro’s wound has opened again.”
Nick sprinted from the house to the barn to retrieve the pail of water that had spilled on the ground after the hired killer had realized his victim had given him the slip. He rinsed the sand from it, filled the bucket with fresh water, and rushed back to the house. The heat outside caused the water to be tepid, so he filled the washbasin and brought it to Sarah.
His eyes searched her unreadable expression, but she merely said, “You need to fill up the reservoir.”
Unanswered questions burned from within him over the next ten minutes as he raced back and forth from the barn to the house. The posse of men from town sat around on the porch, waiting for him to join them and make a new plan, but guilt drove him to do Sarah’s bidding.
“Near finished there, lover boy?” he heard the sheriff say as he passed through on one trip.
Finally, when he joined the men, he was no wiser as to what had gone on in his absence or why his brother lay with a bullet wound on his bed in the cabin. Sarah remained tight-lipped, and he could see the hurt and rebuke on her countenance. He’d have a tough time turning this episode around in his favor—if she’d even listen at all. Danger from the job she hated had invaded their home, and there was no taking that back.
“So, what have you come up with, boys?” Nick asked. “I’m eager to get this over with to see if I can mend some bridges here on the home front.”
“I can take the boys back to town and keep an eye on the problem. If I see them regrouping and pull out, we’ll follow,” Pike said. “Arne’s agreed to bunk out in your barn for a second gun should the rascal return.”
Nick shook his head. “They want me, and nothing will be over until we face this. I can’t be looking over my shoulder forever.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“Face Cretis in town, force his hand, and end it once and for all.”
“That could get you killed and maybe some innocent bystanders, as well,” Pike said.
Nick glanced toward the door, knowing his family’s life depended on his next move. “How about we give it one day your way, Sheriff? I’ll move Jethro and Sarah over to the main homestead later, and if no one shows up here at the farm tonight, Arne and I will head for town tomorrow.”
“Suppose that will have eyes on both spots.” The sheriff stood and stretched. “You heard it, men. Let’s go to town and keep our eyes open for Cretis and the gunslinger.” He nodded at Nick. “Stay safe. See you tomorrow, either way.”
Nick watched the posse mount their horses and head out.
Arne moseyed to the barn with his mare and disappeared inside to keep watch, which left Nick with the option of going into the cabin to face the emotional firing squad tearing up his insides. Chances were that reconciling with his brother was most likely out of the question now. And his wife—she had every right to hate him.
That hurt ran deep. Nick loved Sarah, and he wanted more than anything to make her happy for the rest of her days. He’d started the marriage on a false footing, and the road to recovery seemed headed down a slippery slope.
Chapter Ten
Sarah sensed him standing behind her in the doorway, and her heart broke. She was relieved he was alive and angry at his willingness to bring danger to her doorstep. As much as she wanted to stay there and be a farmer’s wife with her own kitchen and family, Sarah realized she could not. This was the part of Western life she had not expected to find in Denver. Her protective upbringing had not supplied her with the grit necessary to survive this pioneer existence.
When Nick’s hand touched her shoulder, she wiped away a tear and tossed the cloth she’d been using to bathe Jethro’s brow into the basin. “You can sit here for a while. I’ll get us some dinner ready.”
At the doorway, Nick called out sheepishly, “Arne is watching from the barn in case there’s more trouble.”
“I’ll make him a plate, too,” was all she said without looking back.
In the kitchen, she set a small side of beef to roast in the oven. She peeled potatoes, scraped carrots, and tossed the vegetables into separate pots of boiling water on the stove. Next, she brought out a jar of pickles she’d purchased at the store from the pantry and sliced some cheese and day-old bread to add to the
meal. Soon, the aroma of meat filled the air, and she drained the water from the pan to start the gravy. The thick brown sauce, seasoned just right, was ready to pour over the meat and vegetables. Men liked to drown their meals in a rich gravy, and she would not be leaving the Trafton farm without at least one thing Nick would remember and endorse her for; her cooking skills. Perhaps he wouldn’t focus on the fact that she was a coward, not fit to be a pioneer’s wife, or accept his life of danger.
“Smells good,” Nick’s voice sounded close behind her. “I missed it…and you.”
“You were only gone one day; hardly time enough to miss anything.” Sarah did not turn to face him, but she felt his breath on her neck.
“You’re wrong. I almost came home last night, and now I wish I had,” Nick said. “I figured the showdown would happen in Denver and not here. I am so sorry.”
“I’ll make a plate for your friend in the barn,” Sarah said, and she began scooping a meal from the pots onto a dish.
“You won’t even talk about it?” Nick roared. “What’s my brother doing here? I need to know what happened before my version drives me crazy.”
She spun around, anger biting at her words. Nick’s face was close, and she noted the surprise in his face at her switch to attack-mode. “Your brother dropped by, saw me working in the garden, and took over—like the gentleman he is. When I came to the house to get him a cold drink, that bully shot him.” Sarah inhaled deeply then continued. “I raced out to the plot and dragged him back to the house, while your unexpected caller mocked us and threatened to end it. In the end, even he helped me get Jethro into the house and onto your bed.”
A Match for Sarah Page 8