by DiAnn Mills
“I appreciate everything you’ve done. I couldn’t begin to list it all.”
Doc shook his head. “Don’t you go bawlin’ on me. It’s my job to heal, and I’m glad I could help. Now go take care of things so you can eat. You’re as white as Morgan. And there’s plenty more food if that doesn’t fill you up.”
She snatched up her hat from a hook near the front door and twisted her hair up underneath it. She tucked in each strand, then lowered the brim over her eyes. As she strode past the cookstove, she grabbed a biscuit and bit into it hungrily. Never had anything tasted so fine.
*****
Casey positioned her jeans and shirt over the cookstove and patted them impatiently. They needed to dry faster. One small bloodstain refused to fade from her shirt. A grim reminder of the preceding day. She yanked on the piece of rope holding up Doc’s pants around her waist, thinking she’d drown in his clothes. The amount she’d rolled up at the ankles could have made her a dress—not that she owned any.
My, she felt good with hot food in her stomach and a clean body from a hot bath—it felt like the sun beating down warm after a cold spell. Morgan still slept, but Doc said he was holding on well.
She glanced about the room for signs of Morgan’s or her belongings. Earlier she’d removed her hat from the hook near the front door and placed it in the bedroom where Morgan slept. Only the drying clothes remained in view.
Soon she must make plans to leave Vernal. When Morgan woke and she saw his recovery, she’d be gone. Without any money, she wondered how she’d pay for the doctoring and medicine. Her only choice was to send it once she found work.
Casey slipped into a huge rocker near the stove and drew her knees to her chest. It must have been constructed especially for Doc, because the size of it swallowed her up. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers through damp hair to speed up its drying.
“You’re quiet.” Doc rubbed his stubbly chin.
“Oh, I’m just thinking.” A smile for Doc came easily. If only Tim had half this man’s qualities, then maybe he’d leave Jenkins, too.
“About what, may I ask?”
“Um, nothing in particular, mostly thinking about life. Right this minute I want to believe I’m safe. Morgan’s still alive. Jenkins isn’t at your door. I’m fed and clean. Looks to me like everything is just fine.” She nodded her head.
“Doesn’t take much to please you,” he said. “If it didn’t mean facing outlaws, I’d ask you to stay. Marry you up. Maybe I could put some meat on your bones. Have a dozen kids.”
“Make me fat and sassy?” Casey closed her eyes and leaned back against the rocker. “I think you just want someone to cook and clean for you.”
“And keep me company and probably do a little nursing when all the chores are done.” Doc chuckled.
She waved her arms in mock ridicule of his suggestion. “Chores? I don’t do chores. Besides, I haven’t made a bed in years.”
“Then what do you do?” He leaned forward on his chair, obviously enjoying their bantering.
“I’m always on the run or waiting to be on the run.” But your offer is tempting, too tempting.
“Guess I could be a traveling doctor. We’d make quite a pair, Miss Casey.”
“Yes, indeed we would.” She captured the warm glow of his soft brown eyes. She could stay here, but it wouldn’t be fair to Doc. A woman needed to love a man before she married him. “Doc, you saved Morgan’s life. He’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for you.” She poked her finger through a cinder hole in the knee of the trousers. “But I’m not sure exactly how I can pay the bill. I can’t stick around and work for you with Jenkins after me.”
“Did I ask for money? As I recall, I asked you to hold the lantern.” He folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Besides, there aren’t any charges.”
“You can’t make a living treating folks for free. And I don’t believe in charity.”
“Doctoring is my job, my life. If I’d gone into this to make money, I’d be in a different part of the country, not Vernal.”
Casey laughed as she looked into his round face. “I promise I’ll send you money as soon as I get work, but I’ve got to get out of here real soon.”
“You’re not rested enough.” He wagged his thick finger at her, as though the little girl in her would cower at his demands. “You’ll be sick and have no one to take care of you.”
“I’ll be fine.” She massaged the back of her neck. “When Morgan wakes up and I know he’s out of danger, I’m leaving.”
Doc stood and paced the floor. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in arguing with you. I declare, you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. Makes me want to tie you up.” He towered over her, and she grinned. “If you’re bent on leaving, there’s got to be a way I can help.”
Casey shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll be just fine.” A thought struck her. “Yes, there is something.”
He raised a brow.
“A Bible, Doc. Do you have a Bible?”
He eyed her strangely. “Well, as a matter of fact, I do. What do you want with it?”
“To read. I want to read it.” Her own words startled her. With her limited knowledge of the Good Book, she knew God had answered her prayers about Morgan. Maybe there were a few other things she needed to know. Like how to live right.
A wry smile spread over his ample cheeks. “Let me fetch it for you.” He disappeared into the bedroom where Morgan lay and returned with a worn, black leather book. With his huge hand, he wiped the dust from the cover as though the contents were pure gold. “This belonged to my father. I reckon I don’t get it out enough.”
She reached for it with both hands and carefully laid it in her lap. “Thanks. I’ll be real careful.” She ran her fingers over the rough grain of the binding. A bit of fear assaulted her. She understood her life had not been as this book directed. Slowly she opened it and gingerly leafed past the pages of personal information about Doc’s family until she found the listing of all the Old and New Testament books. Confused, she glanced up into his face. “Where should I begin? My ma used to read stories to me and Tim before she got sick and lost her eyesight. I remember her telling us about three men in a lion’s den, baby Jesus, and a blind man getting healed.”
Doc took in a deep breath. “I believe it was Daniel in the lion’s den and three men in a fiery furnace. But anyway, it depends on what you’re looking for.”
“I want to be certain God is really there, or if we’re on our own from the day we’re born to the day we die.”
“What are your feelings about God right now, this very minute?” Doc kneeled on the floor beside the rocker. The big man looked humble, the sound of his voice solemn.
“I’m not sure. Maybe I want to believe because I’m so miserable with my life and so scared about the future. I remember when Morgan got shot, I asked God to spare him. I told Him I wanted to change, and I planned to live right whether Morgan lived or not. Now he’s doing much better, and I’m grateful. I want to trust and believe like my ma, but I don’t have any idea where to begin.”
Doc nodded and lifted the Bible from her lap. “I suppose you could start at the beginning with the creation. Hmm, that would probably be the best. Yes, read the book of Genesis, then go to the first book in the New Testament called Matthew.”
“What’s this all about?”
He licked his forefinger and turned the pages. “I’m no preacher, but the Old Testament is full of trustworthy accounts about how God helped the Jewish people. He blessed them when they were obedient and punished them when they weren’t. They were His chosen people, His children. All the way through the Old Testament, He speaks about a man sent from God who would save the people from their sins. In Matthew,” he pointed at the book, “Jesus is born. He was God’s Son.”
“So is the New Testament all about Jesus?”
“Yes, His life, His teachings, and those who followed Him.”
“Like the stories I remember my ma tel
ling.”
“I imagine so.”
“What happened to this Jesus?” she said. “Ma took sick about the time I should have been paying attention, and I couldn’t tell whether she was serious or the fever made her talk strange.”
“His own people killed Him.”
“Why?” It made no sense that folks would kill someone who came to help. “Didn’t God send Him?”
“Yes, but they didn’t like what Jesus said. Those folks chose to keep living wrong rather than change.”
“Sounds like a number of men I know.” She stared at the Bible in his hands and eased her feet to the floor. Curiosity seemed to get the best of her. “Doc, how did you learn so much about God?”
He patted her shoulder and placed the Bible in her lap. “My father was a circuit ridin’ preacher, and a good one. He devoted his whole life to telling folks about the Lord. In fact, he didn’t take care of himself. Took sick when I was sixteen years old and died. I blamed God and decided I wanted to heal people’s bodies, not their souls. Funny thing, you can’t do one without the other.”
With those words, her respect for Doc grew another notch. “How long did it take for you to figure it all out?”
“Too long.” He laughed and stuck his thumbs in his suspenders. “Still don’t have all the answers. You go ahead and read. I’m going to check on our patient.”
She wanted to follow, but he’d let her know when Morgan awoke. Settling back into the rocker, she thought about Doc’s life—believing in God and practicing medicine in a town full of lawless men. He had a special kind of faith, the kind she desperately wanted. She wondered what God thought about outlaws and all the things she’d done. Most likely He didn’t have much use for her, but she’d like to give it a try. Maybe this Bible had a list of what she was supposed to do. And she could get started right away on doing good things for folks instead of being one of those who hurt them.
“Casey,” Doc called from the other room. “You’d best step in here.”
Chapter 6
A chill raced up Casey’s spine. She closed Doc’s Bible and again ran her fingers across the rough binding. Morgan might have died. She’d viewed dead men before, men she’d grown to care for, and she could do it again. Rising to her feet, she laid the Bible on the chair.
“Casey.” Doc’s tone was urgent.
“I’m coming.” She hated her reaction to Morgan, a man she barely knew. He even admitted to using her. But the bullets in his body spoke of something else. Only one other man had ever made her feel that way, and he was dead.
Her boots clicked across the wooden floor to Doc’s side. He smiled. “Morgan wants to talk to you.”
His eyes were open, but his pallor shook her senses as though she looked into the face of a dead man.
“You’re alive.” She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
His eyelids fluttered, but he managed a slight grin. “You crazy girl. How did you get me here?”
She wondered where he found the strength to speak. “Made a travois and tied you to it. I’ve done easier things, but I was too stubborn to let you die.”
He wet his lips. “I wanted . . . to.”
“Oh, I remember.” Her whole body relaxed. “You begged me to leave you.”
A twinge of pain swept across his face, and he gasped at its severity. “I . . . bet I did. I—I feel like I fell over a cliff and bounced all the way down.”
Casey touched her finger to his lips. “Please, you’re too weak to waste your time on words. Rest, and do what Doc says.”
“She’s right.” Doc’s gruffness layered every word. “I’m going to let Casey spoon-feed you some clear soup and have you take a dose of laudanum, but understand it’s gonna take time to get you back on your feet again. You’re one lucky—”
A pounding at the door stopped Doc’s orders in midair. Without a word, Casey hurried into the kitchen. Her body quivered as she snatched up her drying clothes and coffee mug before scurrying back into the room with Morgan. She stuffed the items, along with her rifle, under the bed. In seconds, she had her gun belt strapped to her waist and the Colt in her hand. Doc took the bowl of broth and eased the door shut. Shadows closed in around her. Again the hammering against the door thundered in her ears, and she heard a haunting voice.
“Open up, Doc.”
Her heart hammered against her chest until she feared Tim might hear.
She stole across the room and waited. The idea of shooting her own brother sickened her, but she could threaten.
Her gaze flew to Morgan, who peered at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes. Tim would pump one bullet after another into him. She stepped across the room and covered his head.
“Doc, if you’re in there, open up.”
“Who’s there?” Doc said, and Casey realized he searched for any traces of what might have been left behind.
“Tim O’Hare.”
“What’s the problem?”
The front door creaked open.
“Jenkins got a bullet in his leg, and it’s busted. The bone’s sticking out. Hurting him powerful bad.” Tim sounded tired, and that meant a short temper.
“Where is he?”
“Outside of town, about two hours’ ride from here. I tried bringing him in, but he’s carrying on like a madman.”
The familiar agitation in her brother’s words caused her to shudder. He couldn’t be trusted when he was riled.
“Just let me get my bag and pack a few things.”
“Make it fast. I’m tired of hearing Jenkins bellyache.”
Doc must have lifted his black medical bag onto the table. From the sound of clinking bottles, she assumed he was rummaging through its contents.
“I have splints and bandages, but I need to get extra laudanum from my bedroom,” he said.
Casey cringed at the thought of the painkiller on Doc’s dresser. Normally it would be in the other room where he treated folks. Would Tim suspect anything? She backed behind the door. Her hand wrapped around the handle of the Colt. Odd how something she knew so well could be what she despised the most. Her palm rested on the butt, worn by use.
Doc opened the door, and Tim’s tall silhouette cast an eerie shadow across the wooden planks. Even in the dimly lit room, Morgan’s body could be clearly seen.
“Who’s your patient, Doc?” Tim said.
“She isn’t a patient. I do have a personal life.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Tim said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Doc rummaged through the medicinal items on his dresser. “I’ll be back in a few hours, honey.” He leaned over Morgan’s covered head and planted a kiss atop the blanket, then turned to Tim. “Does Jenkins appear to have an infection?”
He shook his head. “Cut real bad, but nothing festerin’. Say, have you seen my sister?”
“Casey? Why? Did you send her to fetch me?”
“Naw. She lit out and is traveling with some man. He got himself hurt, so I figured they’d have headed here.” Tim leaned on one leg. How well she knew the stance. “ ’Course he might have died.”
“True. Check the undertaker or the saloons. I heard quite a bit of commotion last night.” Doc walked toward the open door. “I need to saddle up my horse.”
Casey held her breath. She recalled Doc’s earlier request to stable her and Morgan’s horses in an empty shed across the way. Thank you.
The front door squeaked shut with the same grating irritation as when it opened. A moment later, the only sound came from a clock ticking on the dresser. Time. Doc had bought her time.
As much as she wanted to leave Vernal, Morgan needed tending until Doc returned. After latching the front door, Casey carried the rocker from the kitchen to Morgan’s bedside and then gently uncovered his head. She contemplated whether to light the kerosene lamp. After much deliberation, she set a faintly lit lamp on the floor beside the bed and hoped no one could see the light through the shade covering the single window. Wrapping
a quilt around her shoulders, she eased into the rocker and watched Morgan’s face for signs of distress.
The longer she sat, the wearier she became. Sore tired, she labeled it. Every part of her body ached, even after the hours she’d slept the previous night. Sometimes she thought she could sleep for days. But not now.
I need to sort things out . . . figure out where to go, what to do.
No matter how she looked at the situation, staying in Vernal invited trouble. Each moment she lingered became a death threat for Morgan and Doc. The truth, plain and simple, echoed silently throughout the room. She’d seen enough men die in her day, and she vowed not one more grave would be dug for her sake. She knew little about Morgan, but he’d earned her respect. She’d gone over these things before. No point wasting breath to figure another way out of this mess or the answers to the questions about Morgan.
Casey touched his forehead. No fever. He rested so easily, peacefully. A smile tugged at her lips. She eased back into the rocker and laid the quilt over her lap. Soon her body gave in to sleep.
*****
The next morning at daybreak, Casey awoke with a start. Her intentions of keeping a vigil for Morgan had vanished when she’d succumbed to sleep. Standing, she opened the bedroom door to let in a shaft of early morning light. Doc snored in the next room.
Quietly, she placed wood in the cookstove and made coffee. Before the town came to life, she’d be gone. A short while later, she sat in the rocker beside Morgan’s bed and nursed a hot cup of coffee. A bit of sadness settled on her at the thought of leaving Morgan and Doc. She shook her head. Nonsense notions.
Casey studied Morgan’s bearded face while he slept. Many a lonely night lay ahead when she would want to recall his every line and feature. Amber hair hung to his shoulders, with a touch of curl to the ends that softened his rugged looks. Wiry, knotted sideburns were trimmed somewhat even, as though he disciplined himself to keep a part of civilization alive. Tightly twisted eyebrows capped his deep-set eyes, which now sank back into his head, leaving a cavernous pit below them. No matter that they were closed. She’d always remember the intensity of his turquoise eyes.