“Just because I don’t think you have to do a man’s job doesn’t mean I don’t think you could manage a fair approximation.”
She pulled the thread through another stitch. “There you go.”
“There I go where?”
She tied off the knot. “You just admitted you think I’m useless.”
“Hell, you’re determined to twist everything I say!”
“Don’t swear, and I am not.”
“You saying you can tail a full grown cow?”
“Well…”
“You saying you can wrestle down a bull for castrating and branding?” Her “no” was long coming. He pressed on. “You saying that, when you ride the range, men don’t see you as fair game?”
“Men get robbed, too.”
“But they don’t get raped and they don’t become targets just for the opportunity.” She didn’t have a ready argument for that. “And before you trot out some lame argument that you’re not afraid of being caught and violated, reconsider. You’re too damned smart not to have sweated the possibility.”
She closed her mouth. He had to suffer another stitch before she responded. “It doesn’t mean I’m useless.”
“I never said you were, but you’re not a man, and whether you see it as fair or not, that’s the bottom line.”
She didn’t have an answer to that one either.
“When Aaron came over, I bet he didn’t talk about branding or the roundup.”
“No, but he was concerned. He knew we were being rustled. He wondered how it was affecting our ability to pay the bank note.”
“He knew about the note?”
“Of course he knew. If he hadn’t spoken for me, Mr. Dunn would have never honored his agreement with my father.”
“Your father negotiated the bank note?”
“Yes, but he died before the paperwork was done. Mr. Dunn didn’t want to honor it.”
“What would have happened if he hadn’t?”
“Do you mean would the ranch have gone under?”
“Yeah.”
“No. We were solvent.”
“Then why the hell go through with the deal?”
Pain made the exclamation sharper than he wanted. He’d be damned glad when they were done with this stitching.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look that sorry to him. “My father wanted to expand the breeding program. A lot of ranchers have been talking about crossbreeding Herefords with Longhorns. With the railroad coming through, he saw it as a way to capture the beef market back East.”
“What does Aaron have to do with that?”
“They were partners.”
“And he didn’t talk you out of it?”
She gave him a pitying glance. “You just got done pointing out how I can’t work a ranch like a man. If my father’s and Aaron’s plan worked, in a couple of years, I’d have enough money not to have to scrape.”
The needle touched his flesh again. “How many more stitches we got left?”
“Two.” Her voice was tight. No doubt because she’d just put the damned thing through his wound again.
“So Aaron and your father worked together on this?”
“Yes.”
Wheels began to churn in his brain. “Water would be pretty important to a plan like that.”
“Yes. The drought made it tough for Aaron. The cross isn’t as hardy as longhorns.”
“I noticed your father let Aaron use the waterholes here.”
“Yes.”
“There isn’t a written agreement?”
“No, but Aaron knows he’ll never be denied water.”
Aaron hadn’t struck him as that trusting a sort.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You haven’t been thinking of cutting him off?”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” Today, he added silently.
“Did Aaron have to borrow to finance his side of the operation?” he asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know. Probably not.” She made quick work of the next stitch. “He always seems to have plenty. Rumor is his wife has money of her own.”
Asa made a mental note to check that out. A man who could lose everything if water rights were taken away, was a man who bore watching.
“There.” Elizabeth sat back with a huge sigh of relief. “It’s done.”
He looked at the neat row of black stitches angling up his side. “Neat as a pin.” Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he let on how obscene he thought it looked.
She dipped the needle back in the bowl of whiskey. “As long as you don’t get an infection, you should be right as rain in no time.” She reached out and placed her hand on his forehead as if she expected a fever to conjure itself on suggestion alone.
“I’m too mean to catch a fever,” he told her, completely confident in his assertion. “One look at this ugly mug and fevers tuck their tails in pursuit of easier game.”
Her smile was weak. Uncertain.
He motioned with his fingers. “Bend on down here and give me a kiss.”
“Don’t you ever think of anything else?” she asked, yet doing as he bid.
His smile broadened as her lips touched his. “Not when you’re around, darlin’. Not when you’re around.”
Chapter Eighteen
He was burning with fever. Elizabeth bit her lip and dipped the cloth in the cool well water. She ran it over his face, then down his neck to his torso. Too ugly for a fever, indeed. Ha! The man was more like a God than a troll, and the proof lay in his festering wound.
Footsteps on the stairs indicated the return of Clint. A slower step followed and she figured it was Old Sam.
“Doc’s at the Hennessy’s,” Clint said after a soft knock.
She bit her lip. “He’s not coming?”
He shook his head. “Can’t, ma’am. Seems like Mr. Hennessy’s got some kind of poisoning. They don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night.”
She placed the cloth in the water. “Poor Jenna.” Hennessy wasn’t worth much, but he was still worth more alive than dead.
“Dorothy’s with her,” he said. “Jenna’ll be fine.”
She probably would, Elizabeth decided. Doc’s wife Dorothy was a beautiful woman who radiated caring and warmth. She’d see Jenna through.
“Elly?”
She took a breath and faced Old Sam. “Yes?”
“McKinnely sent me up here to tell you he’s going to take over rounding up those brush tails.”
God! She hadn’t even considered the cattle. “Would you thank him for me?”
“Already been handled.” Old Sam crushed his hat in his hand. “I’ll be going with them.”
“Of course.”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable in the bedroom door. “You gonna be all right?”
Before, no matter what the result, her answer would have been an unequivocal “yes”. Now, she wasn’t sure. If Asa died, would she be fine?
Her silence dragging long enough, Clint answered for her. “She’ll be fine.”
“Glad you think so, young’un,” Old Sam snapped, “but last I saw, Mrs. MacIntyre had a mouth on her face. From that, I figured she could speak for herself.”
“Can’t you see she’s busy, you old coot?” Clint shot back. “She’s got more on her mind than—”
Elizabeth pasted a smile on her face and leapt into the middle of the fray before it could become an argument. “I expect Asa’s fever to break tonight.” Old Sam cast Asa’s supine body a skeptical look. She firmed her voice with an extra dose of conviction. “Everything’s going to be all right. Thank you for asking, Sam.”
He smoothed the brim of his hat. “Guess we’d better get those critters gathered up then. Asa’ll be screaming blue thunder if we don’t.”
“Yes.” She looked at Asa’s flushed face, damp from her sponging. She’d give anything right now to see him rumble, let alone generate thunder. She infused all the confidence she could fake into her voice. “He will.”
Elizabeth looked at Clint. He stood twirling his hat in that way he had, slow and unhurried. “Aren’t you going with him?”
“Nah.”
“Don’t they need you?”
“We figured I’d be better served here, what with my doctoring knowledge and MacIntyre being sick.”
He made it sound as if it were a reasonable decision based upon illness. It didn’t ring true. She looked at him again. “For this, you’ve come into my house wearing guns?”
Her question didn’t disturb the laconic twirling of his hat. His answer reflected the same unconcern. “Must’ve forgotten to take them off in all the excitement.”
She didn’t believe that for an instant. “Mr…?”
“Just Clint, ma’am.”
“Mr. Clint. I am not a fool. I don’t believe Asa fell off his horse anymore than I believe you forgot to take off your guns.”
“Asa said you kept a man on his toes, ma’am.” His hat continued to twirl at the same lazy pace.
“I’m not finding it particularly difficult when you all persist in treating me like a child.”
His chuckle at her wry statement was as easy as his manner. He was really beginning to irritate her.
She took another breath, picked up the cup of willow bark tea and coaxed a bit down Asa’s throat. “Mr. Clint?”
“Yes?”
“Are you any good with those guns?”
“Fair to middlin’, ma’am.”
Which she took to mean he could hit whatever he wanted. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If anyone approaches this ranch, I want you to shoot them.”
“Any particular place?”
“Between the eyes would be nice. If you can’t manage that, try for the heart.”
There was a slight jarring in the twirl of the hat before he answered in his usual calm manner. “I take it we’re not asking questions?”
“If you do your job right, there won’t be any need.”
“No disputing that.”
She lifted the poultice over Asa’s stitches. If anything, the flesh looked angrier.
“Any improvement?” Clint asked.
“I think the swelling has increased and there are red streaks beginning.”
His resigned “damn” said it all.
Crossing to the hearth, he put another log in the fire. With the hand bellows, he pumped the flames high and hot. The three steps it took Elizabeth to reach his side seemed like an eternity. She handed him the long straight knife. He took it from her, his expression grim.
“I was hoping the poultice would work,” he said as he put the knife in the fire.
“So was I,” she admitted.
“We’re going to have to cut and burn out the infection.”
It was an unnecessary statement as they were halfway through the procedure. She watched the blade heat. The tip glowed red. Soon, the whole blade would glow and she’d have to lay it against Asa’s flesh. Listen to him scream. Smell his burned flesh. Her vision blackened at the corners. Her stomach rose.
“You want me to do it?” Clint asked.
She pushed back the nausea. “We’ve already been over this. I’m not strong enough to hold him down. You are. Therefore, I’ve got the job.” She took a deep breath. “We’re going to have to do it twice due to the way the wound curves.”
“You checked?”
At least five times. “Yes. I can’t get a clean line in one try.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “Wish that bullet that creased him had stayed flat rather than bouncing off that rib.”
“If it hadn’t bounced off that rib, he’d be dead.”
Clint pushed to his feet. “You got a point.”
Part of her wished she didn’t. She didn’t know if she could do this.
“I’ll hold him down,” Clint said. “You cut out the infection.”
Elizabeth picked up the smaller knife. Working carefully, she cut away the dead and angry tissue, blocking her ears to Asa’s moans, knowing what she was going to do next would make this seem like a picnic. As she wiped at the fresh blood running down Asa’s side, she glanced at Clint. His face was as white as hers felt. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He handed her another cloth to replace the one she’d dropped on the floor. He nodded to the fireplace. “As soon as that blade’s red to the hilt, you grab it up and place it over the cut.”
She wrapped her hands in thick strips of sheet. “I know what to do.”
She just didn’t know if she could. What if she passed out? What if she failed? The quivering started deep inside. She swallowed hard and beat it back. She’d do this because she had no other choice. She thought of Asa, the way he stood up for her. The way he smiled when she lost her temper. The way he treated her, like he actually thought she was fine just the way she was. His tenderness and desire for her. She squeezed the tremors into silence. She would do this.
The blade glowed red. She took a deep breath. She grabbed the handle, stood, and swung around. The room spun. She bit her lip, but the black encroached. Pain seared her hands from the heat. It was enough to help her stay focused. She hurried to the bed. She had to do this right. She didn’t want to do it more than twice.
Clint pulled the sheets back. “Now,” he ordered. “For the count of ten, hold it there.”
She told herself she was just searing meat. She applied the knife. The scent of burned flesh rose with Asa’s howl of agony. It seemed an interminable amount of time before she hit ten. She removed the knife and returned it to the fire.
Black crept further into her vision. She knew she was seconds from passing out. It was too much. All of it was too much. She took a deep breath. The horrible scent filled her nostrils. She barely made it to the basin in time.
When the last of the spasms passed, she turned back to the fire. The knife blade glowed red hot. Ready. She moaned despite herself.
“You all right, ma’am?”
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t. She had to be. “I’m fine,” she responded.
She glanced at Clint. He was definitely green around the edges, but he was hanging in there, holding Asa steady. Doing what had to be done. She could do no less.
“Just one more time,” she breathed. She could do that. One more count of ten and she’d be done.
Clint’s voice was a soft echo. “Just one more time.”
She picked up the blade, welcoming the heat this time against her palms. It gave her something to focus on rather than the suffocating wall of black. Her vision was reduced to a small circle that consisted of the wound she was cauterizing and the blade she was going to do it with. She placed the blade across the wound and resolutely counted through Asa’s low groaning agony and Clint’s swearing. By the time she got to ten, she could barely see.
“Looks good,” Clint declared with obvious relief.
She took a blind step back. “We don’t need to do it again?”
“No.”
The last thing she remembered was asking Clint to take the knife. Then all went mercifully blank.
* * * * *
A week later, Elizabeth came down the stairs to find Bryce, the youngest hand, waiting in the parlor.
“How is Mr. MacIntyre?”
She gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “He’s fine. Almost ready to be up and about to hear him tell it.”
The boy grinned ear to ear. “I bet he’s not much fun laid up.”
If she didn’t murder him by sundown, he’d be fortunate. “What makes you say that?”
“My pa was the orneriest thing on two legs when he got laid up with a busted leg,” the boy added cheerfully. “My ma swore he was going to drive her mad trying to do more before it was time.”
/> “Mr. MacIntyre is a bit ambitious in his recovery.”
“But he’s going to recover?”
“Oh, yes.” Maybe not from the wounds she’d be inflicting, but from the gunshot, definitely.
“We’re real happy to hear that.”
She assumed he meant the hands by “we”. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah.” He blushed a fiery red that went with his hair. “Mr. McKinnely brought in those brush tails. We figured on keeping them close to home, but we need a big fenced-in area.”
“Why don’t you take that fencing we set aside for the north pasture and put it around the back meadow? If there’s enough posts, we might be able to corral all of them.”
The boy flushed deeper. “That’s a good thought. Do you think Mr. MacIntyre will think so?”
“I imagine so.”
From the way the boy stood there, she assumed he wanted her to go ask. Frustration ate at her innards. What did the boy think Asa was going to say? They had the same materials to work with. The same open amount of land. The same water supplies. He continued to stare. Finally, she said, “I’ll go ask.”
She stomped up the stairs, walked past Asa’s room, and then stopped. There was no way she was going in there. The first question and he’d be struggling out of bed to supervise the construction of the corral. He was nowhere near healed enough, but, like a typical man, he wasn’t hearing that. She waited two more minutes and went back down the stairs.
“Did Mr. MacIntyre agree?”
“It’s a fine idea. Go with it.”
As the boy loped out the door, she told herself it wasn’t strictly a lie. It was a good idea.
“Elizabeth?”
The bellow came from upstairs. She ignored it, went into the kitchen and made up a tray of soup and bread. She added a glass of water. The apple pie, she ignored. The man didn’t deserve any sweets.
As soon as she cleared the top of the stairs, Asa bellowed again.
She shot him an exasperated look as soon as she cleared the door. “You hollered?”
He had the grace to drop his gaze from hers. “Was that Bryce I heard downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Guess there isn’t trouble or it’d be Clint or Old Sam.”
“Exactly,” she agreed.
She had trouble putting the tray down without spilling the soup. Asa, reaching to help, didn’t improve the situation. She blew her hair off her face in exasperation. “Would you stop that?”
Promises Linger (Promise Series) Page 29