Promise Me Texas (A Whispering Mountain Novel)

by Jodi Thomas

“Are you hurt?” Travis yelled at Teagan, who was still on top of their guest.

  “No. How about you, Bethie?” Teagan rose from an unconscious Lamont. “I thought the bullet went wild, but did it clip you?”

  Jessie was kneeling in front of her daughter, already moving her hands along Beth’s arms.

  “I’m fine. He didn’t hit me.” She fought to control her anger. “He tried to kill me. Oh, Momma, he tried to kill me. If Andrew hadn’t stepped in front of me, I might be dead.”

  She moved into her mother’s arms as fear shook her.

  Andrew still stood beside her, silent, unmoving, his hand pressed against his wrinkled trousers. “It’s over,” she whispered as she reached for his hand.

  Warm blood trickled between their fingers. She looked down and saw crimson spreading across his leg and onto the rug.

  “Andrew?” She looked up.

  He let go of her hand and stared down at his leg. “I fear, dear, that I may have been shot.”

  His eyes closed as he crumpled to the floor.

  CHAPTER 26

  EVERYONE MOVED AT ONCE AROUND THE SMALL PARLOR, which was designed for women’s teas and not gunfights. The uncles lifted Andrew and moved him slowly down the hallway to the study.

  Jessie ran ahead of them to clear the desk. She yelled at the housekeeper and Madie standing on the stairs to bring towels and sheets, then put water on to boil.

  Beth followed the others, her heart pounding so wildly she feared it might break her chest. Andrew was hurt because of her. He’d acted, as he had before, to save her. This was all her fault.

  “I’ll go get the wagon.” Teagan lifted Lamont’s head and let it drop with a thud on the floor. “As soon as we check the wound and tie it off tight, we should be on our way to Sage’s hospital in town.”

  “No,” Tobin said. “I’ll ride to get her. One horse, going through the back way, will be twice as fast as traveling overland in the wagon. I’ll have her back here in no time.”

  Travis looked at Tobin. “Bring Drum back. We’ll need the sheriff to haul Lamont off.”

  Everyone circled around Andrew. When Beth raised his head, she cried softly. He looked so pale. He was losing blood again.

  Travis lit the fire in the fireplace as Madie rushed in with a mountain of towels, blankets, and bandages. The girl took one look at the blood dripping off Andrew and started crying. Her yelling brought Andrew back, and Beth fought the need to hug him.

  He smiled weakly and took a breath, as if allowing himself a few seconds to come into his right mind. “It’s all right, Madie. I’m not dying. I’ve only been shot.” Andrew looked at Beth. “Everyone calm down, including you, wife.”

  Teagan cleared his throat, as if hinting that he might not allow any man to talk to his daughter so, but Jessie touched his arm, silently telling him to back away.

  Beth almost laughed. She would have bet that the McMurrays couldn’t have cared at all about her new husband, but she’d have been wrong. They liked him enough to worry.

  “Lie back,” Jessie ordered Andrew. “I’ll take a look at the leg. The least I can do is have it cleaned when Sage gets here.”

  “Sage?” Andrew managed.

  Beth answered, “My aunt. She’s a doctor in town. Do you have any problem with a woman doctor?”

  “None.” Andrew gritted his teeth. “It hurts like hell.”

  While Andrew leaned his head back, silently taking the pain, Teagan slid his knife into the hole in his trousers and cut them open with one slash.

  Andrew leaned on his elbows, suddenly having something besides the pain to worry about. “You cut my pants?”

  “You weren’t saving them, were you, son?” Teagan looked confused, then glanced at Beth. “I hope Tobin hurries up with Sage. Your husband’s talking out of his head.”

  Beth moved beside Andrew before her father stripped any more clothes off. “It’s all right, Andrew.” She patted his arm. “You’re going to be fine.”

  He looked at her as if she’d joined the crazy gang in the room trying to kill him. “I know I’m going to be all right.” He said the words slowly, as if hoping she’d hear him. “Could you get me my journal? I don’t want to miss getting any of this down. I’ve never been shot before.”

  “He’s gone loco,” Teagan said. “We need to get some whiskey down him.”

  “No,” Beth demanded. “If he wants his journal, I’ll get it for him.”

  Her papa shook his head. “Why would a man want such a thing at this time? Whiskey, even a gun, I could understand, but a journal?”

  Beth ran down the hallway, across the kitchen, and up the back stairs. In panic she rummaged through both their cases, trying to remember where she’d stuffed his journal. He’d filled one on the train and stepped off at a quick stop to grab another one. Now she couldn’t find it.

  When she’d gone through everything twice, she ran back downstairs and found his saddlebags. Pulling out dirty clothes, she remembered stuffing it in the side, thinking it would be safe there until they made it to the ranch.

  With the cook watching her as if she thought the entire household had gone mad, Beth ran back to the study.

  When she returned, her mother had cleaned the wound and wrapped it tightly to keep the bleeding down. Her papa had stuffed enough logs in the fireplace to keep the house warm for days, and Andrew lay back on the desk, now covered with a sheet. Uncle Travis was missing.

  “Andrew,” she whispered, and was relieved when he opened his eyes.

  The pain was there in his brown eyes, but he hadn’t made a sound.

  “I brought you the journal.” She laid it on the table and offered her hand. “Can I help you sit up?”

  He locked his fingers around her forearm and as he sat up slowly, she pulled, careful not to move the leg. “The bullet went in about halfway between my hip and knee.” He seemed to be forcing words out. “If you’ll help me get to the chair, I could elevate it and still be able to write.”

  Everyone in the room watched as Beth helped him move the few feet to the chair by the fire. Apparently they saw no need to coddle an insane man by offering help.

  When he was settled with the journal across his lap, Beth turned to this family of fighters she loved so dearly. “Andrew is a writer. He wants to get what he’s feeling on paper.”

  Her papa frowned. “A writer? I thought he was unemployed. Don’t tell me he makes a living writing those articles for the paper he told me about.”

  Beth didn’t want to say no, or worse, lie, so she added, “He also writes stories.”

  Uncle Travis yelled from the parlor before anyone could comment. In all the excitement no one had noticed Lamont. The man must have revived during the excitement and run from the room the minute everyone moved to the study. He was nowhere to be found.

  Uncle Travis was shouting orders as if he still commanded a company of rangers. “Search the house!” He pointed at Madie and the two little boys sitting on the main stairs watching. “Tell one of the men to saddle fresh horses!” Beth jumped, knowing her order. “We’ll need a few days’ supplies. If he’s made it past the bridge, we’ll have to track him. If he can ride—”

  “He can ride,” Beth finished. “He wrote me once that on a fast horse not a man alive can catch him.”

  Uncle Travis frowned. “My guess is he’s on a McMurray horse by now, but he’s wrong. I’ll catch him.”

  Teagan and his brother grabbed their hats and coats. Her papa took the time to lean into the study and say to Andrew, “Don’t die before we get back, son. I want to talk to you about what you write. Damn! I’ve always wanted to meet a writer, and now, when I’ve finally got one right here bleeding in my house, I got to go chase the worthless bum who shot him.”

  Beth and her mother laughed, and the house settled. There was nothing to do but wait now. The few inches of snow that had settled over the land during the night would make Lamont easy to track; unfortunately, it would also slow Sage’s progress.

 
Madie brought them breakfast, but no one in the study ate.

  The boys came in, but when Andrew refused to let them see the bullet hole they lost interest and went to the kitchen.

  Beth sat across from him and watched her make-believe husband. He was hurting, probably more than he would admit, but he kept writing. Her mother offered him several things to drink, but he kept shaking his head. When Beth changed the bandage, the blood had soaked through the layers of cotton.

  “You’re bleeding again,” she said as she knelt beside him to wash the wound gently. “It’s lucky you found a wife who doesn’t faint at the sight of blood.”

  He looked up from his journal and brushed his hand over her head. “Lucky.” He winked at her.

  “Bleeding is a good sign, I’ve heard,” Jessie interrupted. “It means the wound is cleaning itself. Less chance of infection, maybe. I’ll go set everything out that Sage might need when she gets here and make more coffee. It’s going to be a long morning.” The little lady smiled down at him. “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”

  “I’ll watch over him,” Beth said as she draped a blanket over his legs.

  Looking up, she watched her mother take the bandages out of the room and added, “Don’t you dare die on me before we get you doctored properly.”

  “I don’t think I have enough blood left to argue.” He tried to act like he was joking when she gave him a worried look.

  “You shouldn’t have stepped in the way. You wouldn’t have been shot.”

  “But you might have.” He tried to make his words light. “There seems to be something in me that doesn’t want you to die.”

  She leaned forward and brushed the hair away from his forehead, feeling the warmth beneath her touch. “Maybe you have a death wish and you figure your best chance for dying a hero is to stand near me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not a hero, Beth. Or at least I never thought I was until I met you.”

  “Are you in much pain?” she asked.

  “No. It’s settled into a dull ache. I want to finish this article before the doctor has to cut the bullet out. I’m afraid I’ll lose my train of thought once I start screaming.”

  “What can I do?”

  He studied her. “Don’t listen if I scream, and if I pass out, make sure you’re the last face I see. I don’t want to float through unconsciousness without you by my side.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “There is something very lovable about you, Andrew.”

  “That stray-puppy look I have?”

  “It’s a shaggy-puppy look, and no, that is not all that makes you lovable.”

  He winked. “Just don’t leave me here with your crazy relatives. Your father would kill me if I died before he had a chance to talk to me. Your mother seems to think scrubbing a wound is part of nursing, and I’m not sure, but I think your Uncle Travis is just here for what he thinks is fun. He looked his happiest during the shooting.”

  Before she could argue that her family was perfectly sane, Madie rushed into the room. “The priest is here, Mrs. McLaughlin.”

  Beth started to ask a question, but a man in a priest’s robe stepped up behind Madie. He wasn’t tall or built for strength, but he was handsome in his way. She’d guess him in his thirties. He had dark hair and eyes that twinkled with laughter.

  “Top of the morning to you.” He stepped into the room, waving hands that looked like he should be directing an orchestra. “I’m Father Benjamin. The men on the road told me there had been a shooting here. They were in a hurry and gave no details, so I feel called to come to offer my prayers for the afflicted.” His intelligent gaze studied the room as if searching for someone who was absent. “The young lady who let me in said it was a Mr. Andrew McLaughlin who had been injured. I presume you are he, so I’ll humbly offer my services.” He made a small bow.

  “That’s kind of you, Father, but I’m not dying.” Andrew studied the priest carefully, but Beth could see nothing amiss.

  “We’re all dying, son. Some of us faster than others. I myself have dreamed of my headstone so many times I swear I’ve seen it.”

  Andrew closed his journal. “Beth, dear, would you get the priest some coffee? While you’re gone, I’d like to ask him to take my confession.”

  Beth stood, feeling confused and a little frightened. What if Andrew knew something she didn’t? He could be hurt worse than she thought. “Yes, of course,” she managed as she stood and moved to the door.

  “And close the door for a few minutes, will you, love?”

  “Yes,” she said, and followed his orders.

  In the hallway, she took a deep breath and fought back fear.

  CHAPTER 27

  ANDREW WATCHED THE PRIEST MOVE FORWARD, REMOVING his thin white stole from his coat pocket and looping it around his neck. One of Andrew’s stepfathers had been Catholic, and he’d attended mass regularly when home that year. Something about this priest didn’t ring true, but no one else seemed to notice.

  “Would you like last rites, my son, as well?” Father Benjamin opened his hands as if releasing doves to heaven. “I know you think it a simple wound, but there are sometimes complications. It is best, before you go into troubled waters, that your bags are packed and you are ready to meet your maker. Death claims us all.”

  Andrew lifted the poker from beside the fire and said simply, “You’ll see your maker before I do, Father, if you don’t tell me right now who you really are.”

  The boots of polished leather, dusty, but not worn, gave the priest away.

  When he saw the priest hesitate, Andrew added in a deadly whisper, “I might not be able to hit you with this poker, Father, but the Colt under this blanket will strike its mark before you can reach the door.”

  The priest froze and, for a blink, Andrew feared he might have read the signs wrong. Could the man before him really be a priest?

  The man lowered his head. “How did you know? I thought I played my part well.”

  “You did, but rural priests rarely bow in greeting. And your boots were your final tell. Broken in, but not worn out. Gambler’s boots, I’m guessing.”

  The man sat down on the chair across from him. “I didn’t have enough time to steal the whole costume, and an actor should never go on stage half prepared.”

  Sensing no danger, Andrew lowered the poker. “Again, who are you?”

  “I’m Benjamin Smith, Levi and Leonard’s father. When you were looking for me I was going by the name Theodore B. Hawthorne. The ‘B.’ real was a part of my name, but that was all. By the time I investigated and found out you were for real, you’d moved everyone here. If one of the neighbors hadn’t remembered your wife’s maiden name was McMurray, I’d have lost the trail. As it was, everyone in Texas knows the McMurrays own Whispering Mountain.”

  “You’ve come to get your boys?”

  “No. I came to make sure they’re in good hands. I have to move on and get set up somewhere first before I take them on to raise. I pray you’ll keep them for a few more days, a month at the most.”

  “All right, I’ll keep them.” Andrew figured if he said no, the boys would be hanging out at the back of saloons. “But don’t tell the others. Visit with your sons alone and tell them not to mention that you’ve been here.”

  Benjamin smiled. “My sons and I have played the stranger role before. We have a code in place. Many a time we’ve played a scam where we didn’t know one another.”

  “You have?” Andrew was interested both in the man and in his story.

  “Sure, the boys would go in looking for a handout at a restaurant and I’d walk in acting like I didn’t know them. I’d offer to buy their food and several others would offer to help. Then I’d suggest taking up a collection to help the lads get along on their way to their poor mother down the train track.” Benjamin winked. “We’d collect enough money for fares and enough food to last us days.”

  Andrew opened his journal as Benjamin continued. “But that’s not the life
I want for them. As soon as I go respectable, I want them with me. Levi doesn’t mind the traveling so much, but it’s hard on Leonard. He talked when we had a home, but once we started moving, I don’t think he’s said a word.”

  “You’re right. Not even the teacher back in Fort Worth could get him to talk.” Andrew lowered his voice. “Why’d you fake your death?”

  “Oh, you know about that.” He looked embarrassed. “It proved to be expensive. I was working regular last fall, making good money and putting some away. I got in a wee bit of trouble and a lady friend of mine said there was talk of killing me. By chance one night, another gambler took my table and was killed for cheating. It was simple really to put my vest on him; we already had the same build and hair color. Add a near-blind doctor and the die was cast.

  “I thought I’d disappear, reinvent myself, and start over. I was just about ready to step out with my new name and look when you showed up at the saloon asking questions. About that time the lady decided being my friend was more trouble than it was worth. She kicked me out, nameless and homeless, so to speak. If I hadn’t stolen these clothes, I would also have been naked. And, sir, it was all your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “Yes. After she talked to you, she went looking for me and found me quoting Shakespeare in another’s bed. I chose to exit the stage.”

  “She kicked you out the day I asked about you.” Andrew finished the story.

  “Without a dime. If I hadn’t found the priest’s robes in an old costume box at her place, I couldn’t have followed you and my boys. Strange thing, no one gives a down-on-his-luck gambler a ride, but multitudes of folks welcome a man of the cloth. Most even try to feed me.”

  “Then play that role here, Benjamin. Visit with your boys. Stay out of the way, and let me know before you leave.” Andrew hated telling the man to continue to lie, but he wanted to give Benjamin a chance to be with his sons. He didn’t seem an entirely bad sort, more lost in life. Andrew had been there and saw no need to judge.

  “Fair enough.” Benjamin watched Andrew. “If I didn’t know better, sir, I’d think you were also playing a role. I mean you no insult.”