“Happy to help,” he replied when Charlene apologized for Harold taking him away from his work. “Can’t have some drunken maniac and wild boys harming you folks.”
“I’m making sandwiches,” Olivia said brightly from near the kitchen. “I hope everyone is hungry.”
Thus, by the time Harold returned late in the day, Barker itched to get out and chase down his escaped prisoner. Clearly annoyed that Harold didn’t return until far too late to begin a manhunt, Sheriff Barker’s mustache constantly quivered, his brows lowered, and he paced the store’s floor like a chained and agitated hound.
“Well?” he demanded when Harold returned.
Without being asked, Jean brought him cool tea to drink, and Charlene soaked a towel in water, wrung it out and handed it to him to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. “Before I say anything,” Harold began after taking a long drink of the tea. “I spotted Tyler riding this way, so I’ll wait until he gets here.”
Charlene frowned as Sheriff Barker began to bluster and protest, then quieted when he saw Tyler halt his horse outside. Entering the store, Tyler removed his hat and stopped, staring around at the silent tableau of people watching him.
“What?” he asked, baffled.
“Come in, Tyler,” Harold said, waving him in. “I want you to hear what I have to say.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Barker snorted. “Harold, he’s here now, get on with it.”
Drinking the last of his tea, Harold wiped his sweaty face and neck again, then said. “Most of you probably don’t know I served during the war. On the side of the Confederacy. Now there are about a dozen others who settled here after peace was called.”
He took another drink. “We all know and trust each other, and seldom talk about the war except amongst our loved ones. I went around town and the farms outside asking them to meet with me. All of us, to a man, agreed to post watches around the Quinn house until we catch whoever is trying to harm them.”
Charlene breathed in deeply. “Harold, that is far too much to ask. These men have their farms and businesses to run.”
He nodded. “We agreed to four-hour shifts so we can all get enough sleep and still work to feed our families.”
“Too bad I can’t get them to help me run down Johnson,” Barker muttered, stroking his mustache.
“Do you know which way he went?” Harold asked. “Is he on horseback? He’s had an excellent head start if he simply wants to run. And if he’s still lurking around here hoping to slice some throats, then we’ll be waiting for him.”
“I expect that’s true enough.”
Harold looked at Charlene, smiling. “Well, little girl? Will you let us safeguard you and your mother?”
Charlene glanced at Tyler, seeing a tiny grin crossing his face. No doubt, he liked the idea. She nodded. “Yes, I agree, for my mother’s sake and the Indian boy. I am under too much obligation to you already.”
Jean huffed. “This does not obligate you to anyone or anything, dear. You know that we here in Bandera look after our own. When one is under attack, we all are.”
Harold put his arm around Jean’s shoulders. “That’s exactly it, Charlene. We’d do the same for anyone who cannot defend themselves from a knife in the dark.”
She grinned, feeling a great weight tumble off her shoulders. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
Sheriff Barker grumbled something under his breath, then said, “I’ll stand my watches with y’all, as I ain’t gonna run off after my prisoner. Too doggone late now, anyway.”
“We’re glad to have you, Vic.” Harold glanced at Tyler. “When you’ve recovered enough, Tyler, you may join us if you want.”
He nodded after flicking a quick grin toward Charlene. “I’ll resume sleeping outside the boy’s room at night. If something happens, I’m already there.”
“Good man.” Harold hugged Jean closer for a moment. “Now, wife, I need some food, as I am standing the first watch tonight. Feed me, woman.”
Chuckling, Charlene strode quickly to the back room to grab her bonnet, then, as she put it on, walked back through to the front door. “See you in a while, Harold,” she said cheerfully, waving at Jean. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, sweetie,” Jean called as she opened the door.
With Tyler and Barker on her heels, Charlene entered the furnace that was south Texas, the sweltering heat and humidity striking her in the face like a brick. “And it isn’t even as hot as it will get,” she muttered sourly.
“Yup,” Barker agreed. “Still spring here. But with it this hot so early, I expect we’re in for a god-awful summer.”
“That’s what I like about you, Vic,” Tyler replied, his tone sardonic. “So encouraging.”
“You’ll wish you had stayed in Colorado before long, son.”
Wanting to hold Tyler’s hand in public, Charlene strode through the street, not seeing many people at all. If I chose to, no one would see anyway. Still, it was far too hot for that, and she wiped her already sweating palms against her skirt.
Josiah Jones rose from the couch as Charlene, Tyler and Barker trooped into the house, his shotgun in his hand. Tosahwi sat in an armchair, his splinted leg sticking out ahead of him, gazing around at the sheer number of people filling the small house.
“I reckon I’ll head on home then,” Mr. Jones said, forcing Charlene to tilt her head back to see into his face. She had forgotten what a huge man he was.
“Are you one of Harold’s fellers?” Sheriff Barker asked him, stroking his mustache.
“Yes, sir. Harold told me what was going on, and I am very happy to help out.”
He grinned and touched Charlene’s cheek with his knuckles. “We can’t lose these lovely ladies to some drunk with a vendetta.”
“You come back any time, Josiah,” Olivia called from the kitchen doorway. “I’ll make you a cherry pie.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mr. Jones put his hat on, shook Tyler’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Price. Heard a lot about you today.”
Tyler shook his hand. “Thanks. And thank you for looking after them. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to these ladies.”
“Nothing will,” Mr. Jones assured him. “Not now.”
With a friendly nod all around, the big blacksmith took his leave, closing the door quietly behind him. Charlene stepped up behind Tosahwi, resting her hands on his shoulders. Turning his head, he grinned up at her. “Thank you for bringing him the crutches, Sheriff,” she said. “It’s made quite the difference for him.”
Sheriff Barker harrumphed. “Can’t let him lie abed all day. Stunt his growth.”
“Don’t tell me you actually like the boy,” Tyler said, sitting in the other armchair. “Not you.”
“Never said I did.” Barker replied gruffly. “Said it would stunt his growth.”
“And you’re a very poor liar.”
“Not so. I happen to be a very good liar.” Barker stole a glance at Charlene. “When I want to be.”
“I expect you’re staying for supper, Sheriff?” Charlene asked, hiding her smile at Barker’s discomfiture.
“I suppose as I been eating at your table so much,” he said, still gruff, “perhaps y’all should start calling me Vic. All this sheriff nonsense is a mouthful.”
“Then, Vic, you may address me as Charlene and Mother as Olivia,” Charlene said. “The less formality, the better. I’ll tell Mother we have another guest for supper.”
The five of them crowded around the small table, dining on Olivia’s sumptuous fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cornbread, and boiled cabbage. Tosahwi ate as though having been starved for a week, often talking in his native tongue. Olivia nodded as though she understood every word.
“Perhaps he’s healed enough to go home to his father,” Tyler mentioned, glancing between Charlene and Olivia.
“Absolutely not,” Olivia declared, her tone fierce. “He cannot travel yet, and I c
ertainly don’t need that dreadful doctor returning to set his leg again.
Charlene shrugged, happy to have Tosahwi stay a while longer. “I love having him here. And now that we have added protection, I won’t worry so much about his safety.”
Tyler nodded, smiling a little. “I’m giving reports to his father, who also seems willing to have him stay until he can ride.”
“Then we’ll hear no more about him leaving,” Olivia stated.
Her arm still burning as though constantly on fire, Charlene knew it was healing without any sign of infection. Olivia changed her bandage under the curious eyes of Tyler and Vic, the old linen coming off caked in dried blood. She winced as Olivia peeled it away, but the pain was not as bad as it had been.
Red surrounded the long gash in her upper arm, but the wound itself was not as deep as it was when fresh. Victor peered at it. “Healing from the inside out. That’s good.”
Olivia rewrapped it after applying a cool ointment, but the wound continued to pain her despite the new dressing. Outside the window, darkness had fallen, and through the open windows, a freshening breeze hinted at rain.
“A good storm is just what we need,” Victor commented. “Cool things off for a day or two.”
Olivia nodded. “It’s been so dry.”
At that moment, a loud shout from outside the house was followed by a gunshot. Instantly, Tyler and Victor bolted from the house, grabbing their rifles that stood beside the door. Charlene followed.
“Charlene, no,” Olivia cried.
Chapter Seventeen
In the distance to the north, lightning flashed on the black horizon. Many seconds later, thunder rumbled, dim with distance. Storm soon. Aaron absently wondered if they should seek shelter from it, gazing into the embers of their campfire. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does. He glanced at Franklin lying beside him, his eyes closed, his breathing fast and shallow.
Though it was hotter than Hades at high noon, Aaron had covered him to his chest with a light blanket. It just didn’t seem right to leave him exposed when he couldn’t care for himself. During those times when Franklin woke, he restlessly threw it off with his hands. His legs never moved.
A breeze that felt cooler than any of the others caressed Aaron’s cheek as he stared into the fire. A scent of rain lay upon it. He had fed Franklin pieces of hot meat from the deer they shot, and since then his brother slept. Or appeared to be sleeping. One could never tell with an injury like Franklin’s.
After escaping the town’s trap, the Dawson Gang rode on through the day, Franklin unconscious, until finding this sheltered spot high upon a rocky wall with a curving overhang. From here, they could see anyone approaching save from the south. Aaron couldn’t make himself care that someone from the San Antonio area might have ridden north to find them after the gunfight that morning.
Franklin was dying.
Turning his head, Aaron found Franklin’s eyes on him. “Hey, brother,” Aaron said, trying to raise a welcoming grin.
“Aaron.” Franklin’s voice sounded weak, quavering. “Where are –”
He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “George. Elmer.”
“They went to find a town where they could steal medicine for you. They’ll be back soon.”
Aaron stroked Franklin’s hair back from his damp face. “We’re gonna get you well again, you’ll see.”
Franklin’s eyes latched onto his. His head rolled slowly back and forth. “No. I can’t – I can’t feel my legs.”
“Not now, brother, but you will. I promise.”
“Aaron.” Franklin reached weakly for his hand, grasping it. Franklin’s flesh felt so cold, as though his life were already leaving him. “I hurt. So bad. I can’t stand. This pain.”
He licked his dry lips. Aaron turned around, seeking his canteen of water. Kneeling, he held it to Franklin’s lips, lifting his head with his free hand so his brother could drink more easily. “There. You see?” Aaron said brightly when Franklin could drink no more. “You’ll be good as new soon.”
Franklin swallowed again. “No. Let me go. Please.”
“Let you go?”
Aaron half smiled, pretending to himself he had no idea what it was his brother meant. ‘We’re staying right here until you get better, Franklin.”
Franklin closed his eyes, a long slow groan emerging from behind his clenched teeth. “I’m in agony. Kill me, Aaron. I beg you. Kill me.”
Aaron tried to scoff even as a bolt of pure terror ran through him. “Kill you? I can’t kill you, you’re my brother. I love you.”
“I. Forgive you. It’s all right. Please.”
Aaron turned away from the pleading in Franklin’s eyes. “No,” he said, rocking back and forth. “No. I’m gonna get you better, I swear it. I made you a promise, and I’ll see it through. I’ll get you to a doctor, make him help you.”
“Let me go, Aaron. I want to go.”
Rocking back and forth, Aaron covered his face with his hands. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
Tears leaked down his face beneath his hands, shame that he wept filling him. I’m ashamed to cry in front of my brother, but I am selfish enough to keep him here when he should have left me this morning. Taking his hands away, he wiped his tears away on his sleeve, observing that Franklin mercifully had fallen asleep again. Or passed out from the pain.
Though he himself knew little about severe back injuries, Elmer had been happy to inform him. Elmer read more than Aaron did. Franklin’s spine had broken, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. He could not move his legs, nor feel anything below the injury. Yet above it, he could feel every agonizing movement of his splintered spine, the bones grinding together.
Aaron recognized it as his fault. Franklin knew he had been too badly hurt to survive, could stand on his feet and shoot those that had sought to trap them. But Aaron’s insistence of putting him on a horse had sealed his fate. His brother’s spine, once fragile but intact, allowed him to stand, Elmer throwing him onto his horse finished shattering the bones in his back.
“I’m so sorry,” Aaron said to the fire. “I should have let you die then, as you asked me to. I didn’t listen, out of my own selfishness, out of the need to never leave one of my blood behind.”
“So, you finally acknowledge it, then.”
Aaron, crouching, spun, his revolver out and the hammer pulled back. Elmer and George emerged from the shadows and into the firelight. “You gonna kill us, too?” Elmer asked, his tone sardonic. “Go ahead. Seems like that’s all you can do. Kill your own flesh and blood.”
Aaron shoved his gun back into its holster and stood. “Shut up. What did you get?”
Elmer tossed a leather satchel at his feet.
“Wound stuff. Splints. Bandages. Iodine. Laudanum.”
Shoving past him to the fire, Elmer squatted beside it, staring at Franklin. “Too much of it will send him to sleep,” he muttered. “The sleep of the eternal.”
Aaron watched as George edged away from him, almost skittering, the whites of his eyes showing. “What have you been telling George?” Aaron demanded.
“Nothing,” Elmer replied, not looking at him. “He figgered it all out by himself.”
“Shut up, Elmer,” George tried to snap through his shaking voice. “I ain’t stupid.”
“I never said you was.”
Aaron didn’t like the way George stared at him, as though Aaron himself had snapped Franklin’s spine like a twig in his own two hands. “What’s your problem?” he raged. “You jumped from the window same as me. And you’re fine. This was an accident.”
“Y-you shoulda let him get shot,” George said, stuttering in his fear. “That’s better than –”
George stared at Franklin, his eyes wide with terror. “I’d rather be shot dead than that,” he whispered. “I am done scared to get shot. But that is far worse.”
Elmer ceased squatting and sat beside the fire with his legs crossed. “So now what, big brother?” he aske
d, not looking at Aaron. “We lug him around while we rob banks and search for Benji?”
Aaron sank down by the fire as well. “I don’t know yet, dammit.” He ran his hands through his shaggy hair. “What if you’re wrong and he can be fixed?”
“He can’t be fixed, Aaron.” Elmer glared at him, his voice almost imperceptible. “You gonna let him suffer like some coyote in a trap, dying by inches? In agony?”
“Make him. Let me. Go.”
Franklin’s voice, still weak, filled the tense silence over the crackling of the fire. “Elmer. I want to go.”
An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance) Page 16