But so was Kane.
Chapter 15
He lay on his side. Somehow she was on her knees next to him. Blood welled through the fabric of his shirt, thick and oozing. Alarm erupted inside her. She pressed her hands against his chest. Her fingertips came away crimson. "He's bleeding," she cried, feeling as if she were flying apart inside. She began to sob. "Oh, God, help him! He's bleeding!"
Suddenly Dillon was there, shouldering her aside. He ripped Kane's shirt apart, revealing a blackened hole in the flesh of his left shoulder, perilously near his heart. Bile rose to Abby's throat. She pressed ice-cold fingers to her mouth to keep from vomiting.
Dillon's expression was hard and intent. "Jesus," he breathed. "We've got to stop this bleeding." He cursed. "Damn! There's no exit wound. The bullet's still in there."
Abby began to shake. Kane's eyes were closed, his lashes a dark crescent against skin that was white as a sheet. All she could think was that he looked just like Pa, in the very instant the Lord had taken him away.
"He's going to die," she moaned. "Oh, God, he's going to die and it's all my fault."
"Abby, there's a clean shirt in my saddlebag. Get it—and hurry!" When Abby didn't move, he turned on her. Grabbing her shoulder, he shook her hard. "The nearest town is a four-hour ride from here," he told her sharply. "He'll be dead by the time we get him there. If he's going to live, you're going to have to help me!"
Somehow that penetrated Abby's daze. She listened intently to Dillon's low instructions, then scurried to obey. When she knelt down once more beside Dillon, Kane stirred at last. His lashes fluttered but didn't open. Abby laid her hand against his unshaven cheek. "Kane," she whispered. "It's okay. You'll be all right."
He gave a low moan. A spasm of pain twisted his lips.
Dillon uncapped the whiskey bottle she'd brought from his belongings. In his other hand was a small, vicious-looking knife with a curved tip. The blade gleamed silver in the sunlight.
'The bullet has to come out," Dillon said tersely.
Abby's jaw went slack. "Don't tell me you're going to take it out!"
"It's you or me," he said grimly, ripping the shirt into strips. "And I don't think you're in any shape to do it."
"But you're not a doctor!" she cried. "Dillon, how—"
"Abby, didn't you hear me?" He wound a swath of cloth into a small pad as he spoke. "We don't have any choice. There's no time to get him to a doctor. If there's any chance at all for him to make it, we have to do it now. I've seen it done a dozen times before—I'll just have to do the best I can."
Her stomach pitched violently as he began to wipe away the blood, then held the pad firm in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. She had helped out at the ranch a hundred times for different injuries. Normally she wasn't so squeamish. She fought the wild panic that surged within her, struggling for calm. Dillon was right. They had no choice if Kane had any chance at all of survival.
She smoothed her hands on her knees. 'Just tell me what to do," she said levelly. Lord, she prayed, don't let Kane die. Please, just help me through this. Help him.
When the bleeding had eased off, Dillon liberally doused the knife with the whiskey, and Kane's shoulder as well. Abby's eyes widened as he straddled Kane, sitting squarely atop his legs. Gripping the knife, he nodded at Kane's head.
"Try to hold him as still as you can," was all he said.
The knife descended. Abby tried hard not to look.
As Dillon began to probe the wound with his knife, Kane's head jerked up off the ground. He let out his breath in a low, whistling sound that was almost a sob. Her lungs burning, Abby wanted to cry along with him. Instead she cleared her mind of all thought and concentrated on holding him still. The only way she could do that was to brace her knee on his good shoulder.
Dillon probed deeper. Kane's entire body convulsed. Abby thought fuzzily that he must have sensed what they were doing. Although his arms and limbs went rigid as a stone pillar, he didn't try to fight them. His eyes squeezed shut. The tendons in his neck stood out. A sound that was inhuman ripped from his throat. Abby bit down so hard on her lip she tasted blood. She darted an anguished glance at his face. His flesh was colorless beneath his tan, stretched taut across sharply jutting cheekbones. His lips were contorted in pain. Then, mercifully, she felt his body go limp. He lost consciousness.
That made it easier—at least for Dillon. He gave a triumphant whoop as he extracted the bullet and gave it a toss. By then silent tears streaked Abby's cheeks. She wiped them away as Dillon began to carefully bandage Kane's shoulder with the strips from his shirt.
Finally he rocked back on his heels, wiping away the beads of sweat that dotted his upper lip. He glanced over at her and flashed a crooked grin. "We did it." He rubbed his jaw, frowning suddenly. "Christ, who is he anyway?"
Abby took a deep breath. Her fingers curled unconsciously around Kane's hand where it rested on his chest. "His name is Kane," she whispered. Softer still, she added, "He used to ride with Stringer Sam."
"Stringer Sam!" Dillon leaped to his feet. "What the hell—! Did the bastard kidnap you?"
Her gaze slid to Kane. She shook her head. The merest hint of a smile crossed her lips. "It wasn't like that at all, Dillon. In fact, you might say it was the other way around . . . "
Her smile withered. She swallowed convulsively. "Dillon," she whispered. "Pa's dead."
Later Abby reflected it was the longest night of her life. She wept in Dillon's arms as she told him how Stringer Sam had killed Pa and was hot on his trail. But his lips were thin with disapproval by the time she'd finished.
"An outlaw, Abby! Didn't you realize what he might have done? He could have killed you! What the hell made you think you could trust a man like that?"
"At first I wasn't sure I could," she admitted. "But Kane isn't—well, he's not evil, not in the sense that Sam was evil." She shivered. "You had only to look at Sam and know he was a horrible man."
She paused, staring out where dusk gathered along the horizon, pink and amber and glorious. "Kane said he wasn't a wanted man in this territory," she said quietly. "I don't know why he's wanted by the law elsewhere. Maybe he's a horse thief, or a bank robber—I don't know. But whatever it is, I-I have this feeling it weighs on his conscience—that he regrets it. He saved me from those awful men, Chester and Jake. And he killed Sam. My God, Dillon, you'd be dead if it weren't for him! As far as I'm concerned, he deserves another chance." She met her brother's gaze, her own anxious. "I promised him you wouldn't put him in jail. You won't, will you?"
Dillon's eyes narrowed. There was something in her tone he couldn't quite place. He glanced from the man lying prone near the fire back to his sister. "You don't have any doubts about him, do you?" he said slowly.
"I trusted him with my life," she said quietly. "And I trusted him with yours."
Dillon hesitated. Abby wasn't flighty and frivolous, like some women. She had a good head on her shoulders. She wasn't one to place her faith lightly in someone else. She wasn't one to place her life in someone else's hands.
He sighed. "I can't very well jail a man who saved my life. That sure as hell would weigh on my conscience."
A rush of relief so intense it was almost painful swept through her. Abby kissed his cheek, then checked on Kane, who had yet to regain consciousness. Though she wanted desperately to curl up beside him, she didn't dare. Their physical relationship was the one thing she hadn't shared with Dillon. She shook out her bedroll near the fire and soon fell into an exhausted sleep.
Dillon left at dawn to ride into town to notify the authorities of Stringer Sam's death. Kane still hadn't roused, and Abby was beginning to get worried. Mid-morning she set a pot of coffee on to boil. When she straightened, she discovered Kane's eyes trained on her.
His gaze was bleary and pain-filled. She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside him.
"Jesus," he muttered, "it feels like somebody stuck a branding iron into my shoulder. What the hell happened?"
"Stringer Sam and Dillon were struggling. Dillon got knocked to the ground. Stringer Sam grabbed Dillon's rifle and turned it on Dillon. You shot Sam, but then he turned the rifle on you."
"I remember now." Kane's eyes half-closed. He winced as he tried to move his shoulder. "Did the bullet go clean through?"
"No. Dillon... He took it out." Just thinking about it made Abby shiver all over again.
It was a moment before Kane spoke again. "I take it Sam's dead."
"Dillon buried him yesterday evening," she said quietly. "He rode into town to send a telegraph to the territorial sheriff and bring a doctor back to look at you."
He grimaced. "Don't need a doctor if the bullet's out." He tried to prop himself on his elbow to raise himself up. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow.
Her hand against his good shoulder, Abby pressed him back. "Oh, no you don't," she admonished firmly. "You're in no condition to get up just yet."
He didn't argue; that alone was testimony to his weakened state. Abby wet a handkerchief with water from her canteen, then returned to bathe his brow. She frowned. He was so warm!
She ran the cloth down the tendons of his neck. "You were lucky." She hesitated, her voice very low. "It scared the life out of me when I saw you lying there. I—I thought you were dead."
His eyes opened to stare directly into hers. "I may be yet when your brother finds out who I am."
Abby returned his gaze steadily. "He already knows—" A hint of a smile curved her lips. "—though he didn't until after we dug the bullet out."
"Jesus," Kane muttered. "I'm surprised he didn't push me in alongside Sam then."
Abby's lips firmed. "I told you he won't put you in jail—and he won't. Even if he wanted to, I wouldn't let him."
Another time, and Kane might have voiced his skepticism. As it was, he was simply too damn tired to care right now.
Abby watched as he drifted off to sleep once more. He woke again near noonday. She managed to get him to eat some of the beans she'd fixed, but he hadn't finished more than a few mouthfuls before he'd dropped off again. She hovered near his side until Dillon returned early that evening. A stab of dismay shot through her as she saw he was alone.
"Where's the doctor? Why isn't he with you?"
Dillon dropped to the ground. He rubbed his hand across his forehead with a grimace. "He wasn't due back until tomorrow morning. His wife gave me some bandages, and some salve that's supposed to help it heal. She said to watch for redness and a green discharge—said that's what you don't want to see."
Abby looked ready to cry. Dillon patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Look, she said if he made it through the first day, likelier than not he'll make it through okay."
Abby didn't argue. She couldn't bear to think that Kane might die. He roused when she changed his bandage and spread the pungent salve on the wound; he ate and then slept once more. Her fears eased somewhat when he awoke the next morning looking a little less haggard. He sat up to eat, refusing any help from her or Dillon.
When he'd finished, Abby took his plate, then excused herself to go wash up in the stream. Dillon poured a cup of coffee. Wordlessly he handed it to Kane.
Unsure what to expect from the other man, Kane watched Dillon resume his place on the other side of the fire. Every sore, aching muscle in his body was on guard.
"Abby tells me you used to ride with Stringer Sam."
Kane braced himself and met the other man's gaze. Surprisingly, he discerned neither accusation nor condemnation. But the unwavering directness he read in Dillon's eyes made him only slightly less uneasy.
A faint red flush crept into his cheekbones. "I won't lie to you," he said shortly. "I was framed for something I didn't do. I ran and eventually hooked up with Sam. I rode with him for almost a year. We parted company six months ago."
Dillon rested his forearm across his knees. "Mind telling me why you left?"
"I did what I had to do to stay alive," Kane said evenly. "Sam would just as soon kill a man as look him in the eye. But his way wasn't mine. I got out before I got dragged down any further."
Dillon's ice-blue eyes never strayed from Kane's features. There was no doubt that Kane could be a dangerous man—hard, maybe even cold. But that very same instinct told him it was just as Abby believed. Kane wasn't evil, not in the way that Sam had been.
"Abby said you're not a wanted man in this territory. Is that true?"
Kane nodded. "Don't ask me why. Maybe because we spent a lot of time in the Dakotas. Or maybe because every lawman this side of the Mississippi was itching to get his hands on Sam." Kane gave a harsh laugh. "God knows I'm sure as hell not lucky."
"Oh, but I think you are." Dillon's tone was matter-of-fact. "There's a sizable reward out for Stringer Sam. You're entitled to it. But I'm afraid you'll have to make the trip to Laramie to get it."
Kane's lips pulled back over his teeth. "What! Collect a reward so you can throw my hide in jail? Thanks, Marshal, but I'd like to stick around a few more years."
Dillon didn't bat an eyelash. "I promised Abby I wouldn't do that, and by God, I won't. You took care of my sister and you saved my life. I'm willing to turn a blind eye to whatever happened in the past. But you cross the line in the future, now that's another story."
Kane pushed aside a niggling pang of shame. Did he dare tell him there was a warrant out for his arrest in New Mexico—that he'd escaped from jail? He'd been stunned when Abby told him it was Dillon who had removed the bullet from his shoulder. It might be that Abby's brother was a decent sort, even though he was a lawman—it might be that he wasn't. Kane decided it might be wise to reserve judgment for a while. As for going back to Laramie with them, well, that was where this whole thing had started. He might as well return there as anywhere.
That he would soon be saying good-bye to Abby was something he refused to think about.
The next morning he pronounced himself well enough to travel. Abby vented her disapproval as he voiced his intention. He paid no heed, but struggled to his feet with a grimace, shunning both her help and Dillon's.
They headed out an hour later. Abby rode behind Dillon. It was almost noon before they reached the nearest town. Abby suppressed a wry smile as they rode down Main Street. They were a rather disreputable-looking trio, she reflected. The two men were rough and unshaven, distinctly on the unsavory side. Her own appearance was no better. She was covered with dust from head to toe. Her clothes were wrinkled and filthy; they looked like she'd slept in them, which she had, for more nights than she cared to remember.
Dillon insisted they take the stage back to Laramie. Abby was heartily relieved. She hadn't been looking forward to the long ride home, nor was she certain Kane was in any shape to handle it. She held her breath when Dillon made the announcement. She half-expected Kane to argue. She was secretly relieved when he didn't.
Unfortunately, the nearest stage line was another four hours away. It was early evening when they stood on the platform, waiting for the stage to arrive. Dillon had moved away to check on the horses.
At noon, she and Dillon had rigged up a sling to restrict the movement of Kane's shoulder. Abby had argued that he should see the doctor before they departed, but Kane curtly declined.
Now she approached him once more. "The stage won't be here for nearly an hour. There's plenty of time to get that wound dressed properly."
He didn't bother to look at her. "It's fine, Abby."
Her chin came up a notch. "It's hardly a pretty sight, Kane, and I'd say it's far from healed," she said sharply. "In fact, it probably still hurts like the very devil. A doctor could probably give you something to ease the pain, too."
One corner of his mouth curled up. "Consider it penance for my many sins."
Abby's jaw clamped tight. The man was impossible!
Abby settled herself next to Dillon in the stagecoach, while Kane took the seat across from them. They were the only passengers. The hours slid by, one into another. A deep purple haze of twiligh
t draped the earth. Beside her, Dillon was quiet and subdued.
Disturbed by his mood, Abby touched his sleeve. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.
Dillon remained silent. Abby twisted slightly on the seat, straining to see him. His profile was stark and barren, his eyes bleak.
"I thought you'd be glad that Stringer Sam is dead." She spoke tentatively. "Dillon, he'll never hurt anyone again."
At last he spoke. "You're right. He'll never lay a hand on anyone again. But it's too goddamned late for Rose, isn't it?"
Rose. Abby caught her breath. Oh, but she should have known! Since Rose had died, Dillon had been so different! There were times, times like now, when she glimpsed a brooding hardness that hadn't been there before. Abby hated feeling so helpless, but Dillon wouldn't even try to let her help.
"I know it hurts to think about it," Abby said softly. "But Rose is gone. Stringer Sam is dead. Dillon, it's over."
But it wasn't, Dillon thought blackly. Because while the world had rid itself of one less piece of scum, there was still one left. . . And the memory of Rose wouldn't rest easy until that man lay cold in his grave, as cold as Stringer Sam.
"Dillon—" Abby probed as gently as she could. "—maybe it would help if you would just talk about it."
The line of his lips hardened. There was so much Abby didn't know. But he couldn't. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He thrust his hands through unruly dark-gold hair. "What do you want me to say, Abby? My God, Pa's dead! And I keep thinking that if I hadn't gone after Sam, Pa would still be alive."
"And you might be the one dead," she reminded him. "It was you Stringer Sam came to the ranch to kill."
He stared down at his hands. "I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself," he said, his voice so low and so raw she hurt inside. Her chest ached. She knew Dillon felt responsible for Pa's death—maybe even Rose's death—in much the same way that she felt responsible for Kane being shot.
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