Reese got up to his hands and knees, then slowly stood. Hank brandished the knife as if he knew how to use it.
Lucinda couldn’t stand to watch any more. Where were the twins and Gus? They were supposed to be Reese’s friends. She ran down the stairs.
“Do something!”
All three men glanced at her, then resumed watching the fight.
“You have to do something!”
The dolts acted as if they hadn’t even heard her. She decided their code of ethics could use a little fixing. She ran to the bar, but the scattergun wasn’t there. So she dashed back to the men and grabbed a pistol from one of the twins.
He wrenched it out of her hand. “This is Reese’s fight, not ours—and not yours.”
She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but he held firm. Her backside ached with every move. She’d been so worried about Reese, she’d forgotten about her own wounds. She stopped struggling, hoping the man she loved and agreed to marry would be alive in five minutes.
She couldn’t look. She couldn’t not look. But she looked. Reese wobbled on his feet as Hank circled him, waving the knife ominously. One thrust, and her true love would be dead.
Reese turned as Hank circled. Weak and holding his side, Lucinda knew he waited for the final blow. But she held her silence.
He went down on one knee, obviously in severe pain. Surely even Hank wouldn’t take advantage of a man in these dire circumstances!
Hank leapt forward for the kill. But Reese grabbed Hank’s knife-wielding hand and Lucinda heard a crack that made her stomach roil. Hank cried out and started flailing Reese with his free arm. Reese held firm until Hank dropped the knife, then kicked it several feet away.
They fell to the ground and wrestled, first one on top and then the other. Lucinda wondered how Reese could keep up the pace, as weak as the wound had made him.
They both staggered to their feet. Hank hit Reese in the nose and blood sprayed everywhere. She covered her face with her hands, too sickened to watch. But the twins hollered their encouragement and she peeked through her fingers to see Reese return powerful blows to Hank’s chin, who fell to the ground and spit out a tooth. The gore turned her stomach. She didn’t care whose fight it was, it must be stopped!
Reese yanked Hank up and threw a couple more punches to Hank’s gut, then finished with another one to his jaw. Hank fell to the ground again and Reese jumped on top of him, dragging out a piece of rope.
Gus and the twins practically ran over her getting out the door.
Lucinda crossed her arms on her chest and frowned. “So now you decide to help.”
* * * * *
Once the twins and Gus had Hannibal Hank tied, Reese’s knees gave out and he collapsed in the dirt. “Take him in the barn and go get Tucker.” Even talking took effort.
“The bastard’s mouth’s still bleeding. Roll him on his stomach so he don’t choke to death,” Titus instructed his brother and Gus as they lifted Hank off the road.
Then he turned to Reese. “Want me to put that nose back in the middle of your face?”
Oh, Lordy, this is going to hurt. He glanced over to the Palace and saw Lucinda standing on the porch, staring at him, wide-eyed. He deepened his voice. “Yeah, get it over with.”
Placing the heels of his hands on either side of Reese’s nose, Titus squeezed it good and hard. Reese heard a pop accompanied with excruciating pain, and felt warm blood gushing over his lip. “Shit-all-Friday!”
Titus chuckled. “A little tender, eh?” He took a cloth from his leather pouch and pressed it to Reese’s nostrils. “Hold this tight until the bleeding stops. I’m gonna take a look at that wound on your side.” He lifted the frayed shirt. “Just a graze. It’ll need washing and some stitches.” He stood. “I’ll check on Hank. You’ll be glad to know he looks worse than you do, and you don’t look too pretty.”
Reese could do without Titus’ editorial comments. He stayed right where he’d fallen, sitting in the dirt, and pressed the cloth against his nose. He didn’t look up—didn’t dare, because he knew Lucinda watched every move he made. Mustering his strength, he rose to his knees, then staggered to his feet. His muscles tugged against the wound on his side, and pain shot through his chest.
On his feet, he breathed in to get his bearings, but apparently his rib was broken from the impact of the shot, because it felt like someone sank a hot knife into him.
Titus took his arm, just like he would a crippled old woman’s. “Let’s get you in the house.”
He wished Lucinda would do something other than gape at him. Not an hour before, he’d proposed and she’d accepted. He wanted to be strong for her, but his legs wobbled and his eyes blurred.
Just as they made it to the porch steps, Midas rode out of the barn. “I’m fetching Sheriff Tucker. Be back tomorrow, I s’pose.”
Chrissy ran out. “Wait! Sadie’s fixing you some food to take.”
Midas dismounted. “I guess ten minutes won’t make no never-mind.” He gave her a hug. “You all right?”
“I’m really good!” She kissed him, and not the friendship kind, either.
Reese looked away. Not all that excited about watching Midas and Chrissy get lovey, he staggered up the steps.
For the first time, he noticed what a wreck the firefight had made of the Comfort Palace. It had been the only building for thirty miles with glass windows, and every single damned one of them had been broken.
Inside, the ladies brandished brooms and mops with a vengeance. Trinket waved a cleaning rag and grinned. “You done good, Reese!”
He nodded at her, not really knowing what to say. If he’d done really good, he wouldn’t be so damned sore. He leaned on the kitchen doorway. “What’s for dinner?”
Sadie busied herself cooking. When she spotted Reese, she held up a hunk of meat and complained, “Look at this, boss, those bastards done shot clean through this fresh elk roast!” She plopped it down on the cutting board and commenced to whittling on it with a knife big enough to gut a bull moose.
He chuckled and shook his head. “You know, Titus, not much deters these women.”
“Nope. Kinda makes a man proud to be around them.”
“Yep.” Reese thought it ironic that he was actually proud of a bunch of whores. They were just like anyone else—working to make a living. The time had come for him to let them know about their money, so they could decide if they wanted to stay or go.
“There’s your woman.” Titus nodded up at Lucinda, who stood on the balcony holding a clean towel at the ready. “Cap’n, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
Not wanting her to see him wobble, Reese stayed put in the doorway.
“Put him in the office,” Lucinda ordered. He thought she had taken bossing lessons from Fannie. Then again, she’d had the makings right from the start.
“I’ll walk to the office myself, if you don’t mind.”
He turned to see Lucinda dragging a mattress down the stairs. “Get that thing away from her. Hell, she just got shot in the...she’s wounded, herself.”
Titus took the stairs two at a time and lifted the mattress out of her grasp, then hefted it onto his back. “Reese is right. You don’t have any business hauling mattresses around.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at Titus. A pang of red-hot jealousy coursed through Reese. He wanted her to smile at him like that.
Not about to make a fool of himself, Reese forced one foot in front of the other all the way to the office, where Petunia had just finished sweeping. She picked up the dustpan full of glass shards and carried it out. Weary, ragged, and hurting, Reese sank into his leather office chair.
Titus hauled the mattress in and threw it on the floor next to the chairs that the ladies used for school. Lucinda followed with an armful of bedclothes. Trinket trailed her, saying, “You can’t bend over and make a bed with a butt full of buckshot. I’ll do it.”
Petunia giggled. “Puts a whole new meaning to the saying, ‘Get the
lead out of your ass.’ ”
“Enough! You ladies know better than to use such coarse language.”
Trinket and Petunia looked appropriately contrite. Reese subdued his laughter, but he couldn’t prevent the smile from creeping out.
“Trinket,” Lucinda said. “I do appreciate your concern for my well-being, and accept your offer to make up the bed.”
Trinket curtsied and whipped a sheet over the mattress. Reese couldn’t believe his eyes. Lucinda had truly helped these women. Joy nearly burst from his heart. He couldn’t believe a woman like her would even look at a man like him, yet she’d agreed to become his wife.
Lucinda turned to Petunia. “Will you please get some clean cloths and a bowl of hot water?”
Petunia left, and Lucinda watched, wringing her hands, as Trinket finished spreading the top quilt.
Lucinda kneeled by the newly made bed and turned down the covers. “You can get in the bed now, Reese.”
He’d never heard such sweet words in his life, and he hoped to hear them the rest of his life, as long as she crawled in with him. But his side ached, he couldn’t breathe through his nose, and he was covered with mud and blood. “I’m afraid I’ll need a bath first.”
“Oh, of course.” She rose, somewhat gingerly. “I’ll have someone bring the tub in. Sadie has water heating on the stove, besides what’s in the hot water reservoir.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Tender. I’d rather not think about it.” She left the office.
He felt his muscles stiffening. The skin on his hands tightened from swelling. They felt like claws, and the skin over his knuckles was torn. He wondered what other damage he’d done to himself.
Titus came in carrying the bathtub. He put it in the middle of the floor, then stoked the woodstove. “Shuck down if you can.” He left, presumably to get the water, closing the door behind him.
Reese stood, each muscle screaming, including ones he didn’t know he had. He peeled off his clothing, suppressing a groan with every movement, especially when his long-handles stuck to the gunshot wound on his side. Kicking the smelly heap aside, he slowly lowered himself onto one of the chairs by the mattress.
The water must not have been hot yet, because several minutes passed and Titus hadn’t brought it in. Bored, he picked up a slate with sums on it. On second glance, it contained some rather complicated calculations—mathematics he hadn’t learned until he’d entered Harvard. Seeing a reader on the chair along side his, he exchanged the slate for the book.
Glad that Titus had stoked the fire, Reese wondered what a Comfort Palace customer would think about him sitting buck-naked in a whorehouse reading a fifth-grade primer.
The door burst open and Lucinda, along with several of the ladies filled the room.
Holy shit. Reese slammed his legs shut, held the book against his chest, and slapped the slate on his lap. The abrupt movement made both his nose and his wound ooze blood again.
“Oh, my!” Lucinda stood momentarily, staring at him. Then she pushed the women out of the office, a couple of them almost trampling Titus, who followed them carrying two large buckets of steaming water.
“Watch where you’re going!” Titus grumbled. He poured the water into the tub. “Can you get in yourself, or do you need some help?”
Lucinda watched, hands clasped daintily in front of her. Reese wished she’d leave. “Why are you still here?” he asked her, his voice more gruff than he meant.
She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “I’m taking care of you.”
He’d seen that determined expression on her face before, and knew she planned to stay. He didn’t mind her seeing him naked, but he damned well didn’t want her to see him weak. “No,” he answered Titus. “I don’t need any help.”
Titus chuckled, damn his hide, but moved by the tub just in case Reese needed a hand-hold.
Lucinda busied herself looking at the collection of rags she’d brought, as if they were the least bit interesting. Reese used her moment of reprieve to step into the tub, lips clenched and muscles protesting with every move. Once he got down in the water, he wasn’t so sure he could get back out, but decided to worry about that later.
“You can go, now,” she told Titus. “I’ll get him cleaned up and bandaged.”
Titus started for the door, then paused.
“It’s all right, Titus,” she assured him. “We’re to be married in June.”
Titus let out a whoop. “Hot damn!” and charged out before Reese could say a word.
Just as well. He’d just get himself in trouble with his bride-to be. But he’d prefer the ladies not know about the engagement yet, for fear they’d feel beholden to leave sooner rather than later. He held his silence. Lucinda’s sense of propriety, even though stretched at the moment, seemed all-important to her.
She dipped a cloth in the water and softly cleansed his face with it, dabbing carefully at his bruised nose. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” She slid the soapy cloth over his chest, gliding over his nipple.
He closed his eyes. “I couldn’t change my mind about it if I tried,” he muttered, trying to keep his nether parts from standing at attention. Every part of his body ached, and now he ached down there, too. Not that he could do anything about that, either. He’d never ached so good.
She placed a dry cloth in his hand. “Titus said your bullet wound is just a graze, but that we shouldn’t get bath water on it, so hold this over it while I wash your hair.”
He wondered what else Titus had told her.
She washed the mud, hay, and stickers out of his hair. “Oh, dear, the wound on your scalp opened up. Titus said he’d have to sew you up if that happened.” She tossed the soap and the cloth onto his belly. “I’ll go get him.”
Reese grabbed her arm. “No, not yet.” He pulled her to him. “I’m in serious need of a healing kiss.”
Her lips brushed his. “I don’t want to hurt your nose.” She broke his grasp and stood.
Damn, his nose was the least of his worries right then. He didn’t want Titus waltzing in when his pecker was near to burst.
Lucinda must have seen his problem, because she handed the slate to him. “Here, use this.”
The moment she left, Reese struggled to get out of the tub and dry himself off. Determined to be in bed, fully covered, by the time she returned with Titus, he covered the pillow with several more clean rags, then willed his bruised body into bed. The exertion had deflated his lower extremity—a blessing, no less.
As soon as he’d pulled the covers up to his chin, he heard a stampede heading for the office. It hadn’t taken long for Titus to spread the news, apparently. He only hoped the ladies would take it well.
Fannie bounced in first with a smile the whole width of her face. “You finally come to your senses!”
The others crowded into the room—all the ladies, Titus, and Gus—grinning like wolves slobbering over a three-day-old carcass. Lucinda smiled in her own sweet way, with her hands clasped demurely at her waist—but he couldn’t think about her waist right then or he’d embarrass himself all over again.
“I never lost my senses,” he told Fannie, not admitting that just looking at Lucinda practically knocked him loco.
* * * * *
“Midas is back!”
Reese had been lying on his bed, half awake, thinking of the previous day’s battle, when Chrissy’s voice brought him to the present. He attempted to sit up, but could barely get himself out of bed. His head ached, the stitches on his gunshot wound itched, his side felt hot enough to roast a slab of meat on, and his stiff fingers made his skinned knuckles hurt that much more.
Still, he pushed back the covers and struggled to his feet. At least Hannibal Hank and his friend probably felt even worse. They’d spent the night in the barn with Titus and Gus taking turns standing guard.
He’d heard Midas ride up, and Tucker would be with him to arrest Hannibal Hank Turrell. Reese wasn’t about to miss it. T
hat slimy bastard ought to die a slow and painful death.
Getting to his feet was one thing, but dressing proved to be even more difficult. He tugged a shirt over his tender black and blue chest. Pulling up his britches caused a hitch in his bullet wound that made him grunt with pain. He hoped no one could hear, especially Lucinda. She needed a strong man, and right then, he was more like a second-teat kitten.
Boots were another matter altogether, and he knew he’d never be able to pull them on without tearing his stitches open. Titus entered without knocking.
“Good damned thing I got my britches on before you left the door standing open,” Reese grumbled.
“Good damned thing you’re even kicking today.” Titus grabbed Reese’s boots. “Sit down and I’ll screw these stinking things on your feet.”
“They don’t stink,” he muttered as he pushed his right foot into the boot Titus held for him.
“Yeah, I s’pose your shit don’t stink, either.”
“That reminds me—we got to get some lime down the hole in the outhouse. I damned near passed out yesterday when I took cover behind it.”
Titus held out the other boot and chuckled. “It didn’t seem to hinder your fighting spirit much. You sure whipped that son-of-a-bitch.”
“Felt good, too, till afterwards.” He flexed his sore fingers and studied his torn knuckles.
“You’re bound to tear up your fists a bit, ridding another man of his teeth. Hank ain’t in as good of shape as you are, if that makes you feel any better.”
It did. Reese stood slowly and stretched to get a little flexibility. The night’s rest had done him good. Once his nose and wound healed, he’d be good as new. “Let’s go.”
He made his way through the line of Comfort Palace ladies who stood on the porch, waiting to see Sheriff Tucker officially take Hannibal Hank into custody.
“Where’s Lucinda?” he asked Fannie.
“In her room. Said she didn’t ever want to see the monster again.”
Reese grimaced and felt like beating the crap out of Hank all over again. “Good, I’ll see her at breakfast. You ladies stay right here until we get the bastard locked into the prisoner wagon.”
Much Ado About Madams Page 24