He expected to see tears well up in her eyes, as they had the day Dirk had been shot. Although her face seemed haggard and there were dark circles under her eyes, Rosemary’s expression remained stoic, ready for whatever he might say. Clay placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice calm.
“We won’t worry about that yet. His breathing is normal, heartbeat strong, and there’s no sign of infection. I have every reason to believe he’ll wake up soon.”
“There was so much damage. Do you think he’ll be able to return to work at the ranch?”
“Dirk has a robust constitution. A lesser man wouldn’t have made it this far. If I were a betting man, which I am on occasion, I’d say he’ll be back to work within weeks.” He took a better look at Rosemary, studying the color of her skin and her frail appearance. “When was the last time you ate something?”
She shook her head, her gaze locked on Dirk. “I’m not sure. Maybe yesterday.”
“That’s not acceptable, Rosemary. You can’t help our patients if you don’t keep yourself fed and healthy.” Digging into his pocket, he pulled out some money, holding it out to her. “I’ll stay here while you go to Suzanne’s to eat.”
Glancing up at him, she bit her lower lip. “Would you mind getting something for me? I don’t want to be away if he wakes up.”
He sighed, but nodded. “If it will make you feel better. I won’t be gone long.”
Rosemary watched as Clay left the clinic, then turned back to Dirk. His features were calm, almost boyish as he slept. The lines of worry usually etched on his strong face were smooth, as if he hadn’t a single care.
She thought back on the day he and Bull had found her, her brother, and the other two orphans rustling a few head of cattle. He’d been furious, treating her as a common criminal. He’d even threatened to turn her over his knee if she didn’t do as he and Bull said.
Even after the Pelletiers and the sheriff had come to an agreement on having the orphans work off the debt, Dirk hadn’t let up on her. He treated the other three boys as any other ranch hand. His attitude was markedly different with her—more demanding, critical, and impatient. They’d argued over everything, until she’d come to expect a confrontation each time they saw each other. She’d hated him, wanting nothing more than to leave the ranch and get away from such a boorish soul.
Once she moved into a small room at Suzanne’s boardinghouse to learn about nursing from Doc Worthington and Clay, it hadn’t taken long for her to miss their lively encounters. She’d wake up thinking she had to prepare herself for another skirmish with Dirk. Then she’d look around her room and deflate a little, knowing it could be days or weeks before she’d see the insufferable man again. Rosemary had yet to figure out the reason for her reaction.
“Water…”
She jumped at the raspy voice. Standing, she hovered over him, staring at his closed eyes. “Dirk? Can you hear me?”
His face scrunched into a frown, his eyes opening to slits. “What are you…” He coughed, shaking his head when Rosemary attempted to lift it. “Water.”
Pouring a glass, she held it up. “You’ll have to let me help you.” This time, she slipped a hand behind his head, refusing to let him shake her off, then pressed the glass to his lips. “Drink this.”
Taking a few tentative sips, he choked a little, then took some more. Clearing his throat, his glazed eyes fixed on her. “What are you doing here?” His voice was as gruff and unforgiving as she remembered.
Setting down the glass, she glared down at him. “Helping you stay alive.”
His eyes widened. “Stay alive?” Trying to sit up, he groaned in pain, then fell back. “Where am I?” The gritty voice sounded as if he’d swallowed a cup of sand. Picking up the glass, Rosemary helped him take more water.
“You’re at the clinic. You were shot by one of the outlaws.”
“That’s plum crazy. I don’t remember any…” He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them quickly, letting out a ragged breath. “The Dawsons.”
“According to Gabe, you killed two of them before another one shot you in the chest. You’ve been here for several days.”
“Days…” He ground the word out before trying to sit up again. “I have to get back…” He winced in pain.
“You aren’t going anywhere.” Rosemary placed her hands on Dirk’s shoulders, gently pushing him back down.
“Leave me be, girl.”
“Neither of us is that lucky, and I’m not a girl. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. Doc McCord left me to take care of you, and you’re going to behave.”
Dirk turned his head, trying to focus on her with glazed eyes. He didn’t have to look too hard to know she was right. Rosemary wasn’t a girl. A fact he’d been doing his best to ignore since the day he’d caught her rustling.
“Sounds as if our patient has decided to join us.” Clay walked into the room, his arms laden with food for him and Rosemary. “It’s good to see you awake, Dirk. How do you feel?” He set down the items in his arms.
Dirk grimaced. “How do you think?”
“Dirk.” Rosemary’s face darkened at the disrespect in his voice.
Clay chuckled. “It’s all right, Rosemary. I’d feel the same if it were me.”
“How bad is it?” Dirk’s voice had calmed, his features expressing an amount of worry Rosemary hadn’t noticed before Clay returned.
Clay didn’t believe in watering down the truth. “Bad. We didn’t think you’d make it, but you fooled us. Since it appears you’ve been trying to sit up, let me take a look. I don’t want the bandages to loosen.”
Rosemary stepped away, giving Clay ample room to inspect the wound. She’d done her best to hide the enormous relief she felt when she heard his raspy voice. It didn’t take him long to transform from an unresponsive patient to his normal, cantankerous self. The change gave her an enormous sense of comfort, but she couldn’t explain why.
“All looks good. You’ll need to stay here a few more days, of course, but I do believe you’ll live long enough to see your grandchildren.”
Dirk choked, his face grimacing in pain. “I don’t plan to marry again or have children, Doc.” He winced at the slip he’d made, hoping neither Clay nor Rosemary caught it.
“I didn’t know you were married.”
Closing his eyes, Dirk let out a breath. “She’s dead.”
Clay’s voice softened. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a while now.” Opening his eyes, Dirk refused to look at Rosemary, not wanting to see her reaction. “Why can’t I go back to the ranch? Rachel Pelletier knows what to do better than the girl you’ve got here.”
Clay ignored Rosemary’s quick intake of breath. “Rachel is pregnant and doesn’t need another chore added to what she already does. Besides, this young woman has come a long way in a few months. She’s quite qualified to help me take care of you.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”
Rosemary almost missed Dirk’s mumbled response, her face turning to stone at the insult.
“Well, Dirk, I’m afraid Rosemary and I are all you’ve got. Now, you’re going to stay in here one or two more days. If you’re still doing all right, we’ll move you to the other room where there’s a more comfortable bed.” He turned to Rosemary, nodding toward the food. “Why don’t you take that into the house and eat? When you’re done, come back here and I’ll take my turn.”
Rosemary couldn’t move fast enough to get away. Scooping up the wrapped plates, she disappeared outside.
Clay turned back to Dirk, his eyes taking on a hard glint. “Rosemary is turning into a fine nurse. I know you two have a history of not getting along, but it’s best for your recovery if you do. You may not know, but she refused to leave your side for days, hardly ate, and wouldn’t allow me to relieve her. It’s up to you, Dirk, but if it were me, I’d show her some respect.”
Closing his eyes, Dirk nodded. “I’ll do my best, Doc.”
“I hope you will.”
&n
bsp; Chapter Twenty-Two
Beau struggled to sit up, nauseous from the pain radiating in his head. The rope binding his wrists made it hard to move, while the extreme darkness made it difficult to see. Worse, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here, who had attacked him, or if he’d been here for minutes, hours, or days.
Cursing roundly, Beau forced himself to fight through the pain and right himself against the wall behind him. Once settled, he felt the cold seep through his shirt. The sensation made him wonder where his coat had gone and why he was in a place with dirt walls.
Blinking a few times, he forced himself to concentrate. He remembered being with Caro at his place, riding toward her ranch, seeing her place in the distance. An image of the house was the last thing he recalled before his memory failed.
Voices from above had him straining to listen. He didn’t know if the sounds came through a door to the space where he was held prisoner or through the ceiling above. Shifting, he tried to stand. His boots slipped on the damp dirt, causing him to topple over. Mumbling more curses, he righted himself and tried again. This time, using the dirt wall as leverage, he achieved success.
At over six feet tall, he touched low spots of the ceiling, causing bits of dirt to fall onto his head. At least they hadn’t taken his hat. Again, he heard voices. Beau couldn’t make out what was being said, but the exchange had risen in intensity, indicating a possible argument. As they spoke, he began to understand small pieces of the conversation. When he heard Caro and Davis, a cold chill ran through him.
Then the voices stopped and heavy footsteps moved across the floor above. Beau turned in circles, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. After a few more minutes, a sliver of light appeared across the room, maybe six feet away. Thankful they hadn’t bound his feet, Beau crossed the small space, halting when his boots hit a hard surface. Stairs, he thought. Looking up, he saw light coming through small slits in the wooden door. A door made of old wood he recognized. Caro’s house. They were holding him in the root cellar completed a few weeks before.
His mind sorted through the possibilities. He wondered why anyone would take him prisoner, especially men hired by Caro. Merritt and Gus Teal had worked for Ty Murton, who recommended them. As far as he knew, they’d never given her any cause for alarm.
The Smith brothers, John and Joe, were a different story. Cash had been suspicious of them from the start, not comfortable with the story they spun. Beau had dismissed them as unfortunate casualties of the war and economy. The fact they’d been born in Alabama seemed more coincidence than threat. He’d never heard Caro utter a word of disappointment in their work. Instead, she’d praised them for their desire to build a better life, citing their idea to go after the wild horses in order to build a herd, which excited her.
Whether the Teal or Smith brothers took him captive didn’t matter as much as the reason why. Ransom was one possibility. There could be a good deal of money made by holding him, counting on Caro to pay the sum demanded.
Even in his current situation and the pain in his head, he chuckled. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have taken a bet that Caro would pay to save his ornery hide. Much had changed since the shooting.
After the war, he’d made enemies as a bounty hunter. Families and friends of the men he’d captured or killed often threatened revenge. He and Cash had been the object of their grief and hatred more than once. No one had ever made good on their threats, and Beau believed if someone wanted to track him down, it would have happened long ago.
That left the shooting of Lieutenant Perry Eldridge as a possible motive. His family paid Pinkerton to locate Beau, verify he lived in Splendor. There could be just one reason for their inquiry—they intended to kill the man responsible for their relative’s death. He doubted the Eldridge family would do the deed themselves. People such as them would hire somebody, paying handsomely for the service.
He heard voices outside. A few minutes later, the sound of horses riding away thrust him into action. He glanced around the room and up the stairs to the door that would provide his freedom. Leaning forward, he balanced himself against the rails on either side as he took each step. His head pounded, screaming for some type of relief. Beau knew the only relief he’d get would come from escape.
Reaching the third step from the top, he braced himself with both legs, touching his head to the door. Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew would follow, he pushed up with all the strength he had left, cursing when the door didn’t budge.
With his wrists tied behind him and the steep steps, he had no other options. Knowing it was a waste of time, he braced his legs on the steps once more, pushing his head against the door. As happened the first time, he gained nothing. Before Beau could step down, the door flew open, the butt of a gun coming down hard, generating an explosion of pain, knocking him to the ground and into blackness.
“Noah, I need to ride out to my place. Would you mind saddling my horse?” Caro steadied herself against the wall of the livery, her face strained with concern.
Noah wiped his blackened hands on a rag, stuffing it into a pocket as he studied her features. “Are you sure you feel up to riding? You don’t look so well.”
She, Gabe, and Noah had grown up together, been friends most of their lives. No matter how hard they tried, there was little they could get past each other.
“Beau rode out to my place this morning. He planned to return by mid-afternoon, but he hasn’t.” She swallowed the ball of concern welling in her throat. “I’m worried about him.”
Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he turned Caro away from the livery. “You need to talk to Gabe. He’ll take care of finding Beau.”
She didn’t protest as Noah escorted her the short distance to the jail. Pushing the door open, he let her pass in front of him, hearing her let out a relieved breath when she saw Gabe at his desk.
“Caro. What a nice surprise.” Taking a closer look, Gabe frowned, gesturing toward a chair. “Sit down and let me know why you’re here.”
Shaking her head, she stayed standing. “It’s Beau. He left for my place this morning and hasn’t returned.”
“I understand you’re concerned, but it isn’t that late. There’s still a couple hours before the sun sets.”
Biting her lower lip, she lowered herself into a nearby chair, hands clasped in her lap. “You think I’m overreacting.”
He glanced at Noah before standing to walk around the desk. Leaning against the edge, he looked down at her. “I think you’re worried, as I would be if Lena weren’t back by the time I expected. Did Beau say when he planned to return?”
Letting out a sigh, she tried to relax. “He didn’t give me a time. Just said he’d be gone a few hours. It’s been over six.”
Noah walked up to her chair and crouched down, taking her hand in his. “You know how Beau is. He probably stayed to help your men with something. The weather’s clear, so we know he’s not caught in a storm.”
She looked at Noah, then Gabe. “Noah’s right, isn’t he?”
“I think so. I’d give him a couple more hours. If he still hasn’t returned, I’ll ride out and look for him.”
“And I’ll go with Gabe.” Noah’s face softened. “Why don’t you let me walk you back to Beau’s place? I’ll stay in town until Gabe and I know if we need to start looking for him.” He held out a hand, helping her to her feet.
“Thank you both. I’m sure you’re right and he’ll be riding back to town any time now.” Linking her arm through Noah’s, she let him escort her to Beau’s home. “Thank you, Noah. I think the shooting has affected me more than it should.”
“Don’t apologize, Caro. Getting shot would upset anyone. It did me.”
She knew Noah still struggled with using his left arm after being shot by the Dawson brothers months before. Thankfully, no one had to worry about those outlaws any longer.
Giving him a wry smile, she stepped inside the house. “You can’t fool me, Noah Brandt. Getting shot made you
angry, not upset. I believe the anger got you through the worst of it.”
Nodding, he stepped back onto the street. “You may be right. Anger and Abby’s unwavering support got me through it.”
Closing the door, Caro leaned against it. She wanted to believe Noah and Gabe. They didn’t seem at all worried about Beau, believing he’d gotten distracted with work at the house. Her instincts said otherwise, but she’d go with their counsel. At least for now.
Beau didn’t believe the pain he’d experienced earlier could’ve gotten worse. He’d been wrong. Being kicked in the head by a horse couldn’t be worse. Every muscle ached when he tried to shift positions, and now they’d bound his legs. The blow had come so fast, he hadn’t had a chance to see his attacker. A vague recollection of tumbling down the stairs remained, but nothing else. Opening his eyes caused a flash of excruciating agony so intense it made his stomach roil.
“What now?”
“Do what we came here to do.”
Beau tried to match the voices with faces, coming up empty. He needed to push through the pain and concentrate, figure out who these men were and why they held him in the dank root cellar under the house.
“We can’t do it here.”
“Agreed. The others will be back soon. We need to be gone before then.”
Beau stilled as he recognized the voices. He would’ve bet good money against the chance it was these two men. He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to open to slits.
“Why?”
Merritt’s attention shifted from Gus to Beau. “You’re awake. It’ll be more fun finishing this with you knowing what’s happening.”
Confusion swamped Beau. He had no idea what he’d done to these men. “I don’t understand…”
Gus stepped next to Merritt. “It’s simple. We’re honoring a promise to our mother. She demanded your death, and now it will happen.”
“Your mother?”
Gus crouched down beside him. “Mrs. Swanson. You remember the name?”
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