Dangerous Heart

by Tracey Bateman

  “You best stop insultin’ me; I mean it.” He looked back to Miss Sadie. “That’s medicine for this?”

  “Yes. Onion soup is a natural remedy that kills the cholera in most.”

  “Most?”

  “Nothing is surefire but God.”

  He snorted. “I’d put a lot more stock in that nasty soup.”

  “Probably just as well, considering you’re a lawless fool and all.”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t comment as he took the bowl that Ginger still hadn’t touched. “I’ll eat it,” he said. “But only ’cause I’m starvin’ half to death, and it’ll take awhile for you women to skin and cook them rabbits.”

  Ginger shoved her finger in his face. “We got better things to do than skin your rabbits. We got a camp full of sick men that need our attention. So you can just cook your own supper.”

  Miss Sadie placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Ginger, skin and roast the rabbits while I tend to these men. It ain’t proper for you to be tendin’ them that close anyhow.”

  Ginger drew back, a frown pushing her eyebrows together. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a young and unmarried. Like I said—not proper. Not if you want to make a decent marriage.”

  Lane tossed back his head and howled. “Our Ginger…proper?”

  “Shut up, Lane,” Ginger growled. Then she turned back to Miss Sadie. “That’s dumb. I’ve been tending these men and their wounds and sicknesses since I was small.”

  “Well, that may be. But you’re not going to do anything improper while I’m in charge of you.”

  Ginger planted her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, in charge?”

  Miss Sadie dipped another ladle of the broth into a bowl they’d brought with them and shoved it toward Ginger. “You know exactly what I mean. I’m here to keep an eye on you and to make sure you don’t get yourself hurt or compromised. Take this.”

  Stunned to silence, Ginger could do nothing but accept the foul-smelling soup and plop herself down on the ground by the fire.

  Miss Sadie nodded. “Good girl. Finish all that broth and then get to work on the rabbits.” She turned to Lane. “We’d be obliged if you’d get some wood for the fire.”

  A short laugh left his throat. “I bet you would. But I don’t do firewood. I’ve been out huntin’ all day, and I need my rest. And I’m gonna sit right here and stretch out my legs until those rabbits are roasted real nice and hot.”

  “I’ll get it, ma’am,” Dale said. He tossed Lane a look of disgust.

  Ginger’s heart softened. “I appreciate the offer, Dale, but you’re too sick.”

  “We have plenty cut not far from here, Ginger. If you think you could walk with me, we can carry it back.”

  “Just tell me where it is, and I’ll go.”

  Lane jumped up. “Sit down old man,” he sneered at Dale. “I’ll help her.”

  Ginger scowled and almost told him just what he could do with his offer of help, but she knew they could get twice as much wood over in camp if they worked together. As distasteful as that thought was to her, she knew it was best.

  Dale’s chest was puffed, and he tensed for a fight he could never win in this condition. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Dale. We’ll go get it. Are you strong enough to skin the rabbits while I’m getting wood?”

  He nodded. “I can do that.” Glancing up to Lane, he added, “I won’t be sick forever. You best watch yourself, boy.”

  “Let’s go,” Ginger broke in before Lane took advantage of the weakened old man and things got out of hand.

  “You know,” Lane said leaning close to her. “You don’t have to worry none about all that proper talk.”

  “What are you talking about, Lane?” Ginger walked around a tree stump, noting the woodpile she would have seen if the sun wasn’t gone.

  “Well, you know you’re gettin’ married no matter what.”

  A short laugh burst from her. “Oh, yeah? What are you a fortune-teller now?”

  He stopped in his tracks and grabbed her arms, bringing her close to him. His breath so close to her face nearly gagged her. “You know dern well your pa promised you to me long ago. Soon as you get back for good and this wagon train job is over, we’re finding a preacher.”

  “You’re dumb as a boulder.” Ginger ignored the warning in his eyes. “I ain’t marrying the likes of you. I’d die first.”

  “Oh, yes you are. And you better watch how you talk to me. I been waitin’ a long time for you. And I’m gettin’ mighty restless. I might just forget my manners one of these days.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Call it whatever you want. But don’t insult me again.” He kissed her hard. Ginger struggled against him until he finally released her. She rubbed her hand across her mouth hard, trying to remove the feel and smell. “Do that again,” she said coldly, “and you’ll wish cholera had gotten to you.”

  “Ginger!” Miss Sadie’s voice called from camp. “Where’s that wood?”

  “Coming, Miss Sadie.”

  She gathered an armload of wood while Lane stood watching her. It took all of her strength to walk past him on her way back to the campfire. “You’re mine, gal. You best get it through your head.”

  Ginger didn’t respond, but her knees felt weak. How could Web have promise her to Lane? Lane must be holding something over his head. It was the only thing that made sense. If they made it out of this alive, she had every intention of finding out exactly what he was thinking.

  One thing was certain: she would not be marrying Lane Conners. She meant what she’d said. She’d die first.

  Ten

  Grant barely had a chance to worry about Ginger in the hours after she and Miss Sadie left. Jenny Shewmate’s baby was stillborn two hours before Jenny herself succumbed to cholera. He hadn’t even had time to help with the burying. Now, hours later, he stumbled out of Blake’s tent after tending Fannie’s little brother Kip who so far had only a mild case, so Grant had used the onion soup.

  He walked slowly—stumbled was more like it—toward his tent, hoping for a couple of hours of sleep before beginning the next round of treatment, when Amanda Kane stopped him. He tensed, still leery of this woman who had only recently come out of a bad addiction to laudanum. “Everything okay, Mrs. Kane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what can I do for you?”

  Surely she wasn’t going to beg for the drug. He knew they’d all been under enormous pressure, but he wouldn’t give in to her.

  “You’re exhausted, and I want to help you.”

  Taken aback, Grant allowed a second of shame for his suspicion. “Are you sure?” It made sense. Amanda was without family. Unless you counted Charles Harrison, who was besotted with the widow and wanted to marry her.

  “It’s the least I can do.” She’d caused a lot of trouble in her quest for more laudanum a while back, but Grant couldn’t let her do this as penance.

  “Amanda, your plan to trade Toni didn’t work. Everything is fine, and you’re forgiven. There’s no need to risk your life to try to make up for all that.”

  Only Amanda’s addiction to laudanum had compelled her to betray Toni and lead kidnappers to her. But thankfully, the plan had failed, Amanda had broken her habit and had been forgiven by everyone involved. Now, she had to forgive herself.

  In the moonlight, the quick tears in her eyes sparkled like jewels. “You know I have no family. I want to help. Please, accept my help and don’t judge my reasons.”

  After only a second more of hesitation, he nodded. “I was going to sleep for awhile, but we could start the regimen over. Whatever you do, don’t let Buddy help if he tries. I sent him to bed two hours ago. I want him to get a full night’s sleep, or he might relapse.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  “Go to Yellow Bird’s tent. She has the broth boiling. Feed each sick person as much as they’ll take. If the patient’s limbs turn dark, come get me, we’ll need to use
quinine.”

  “Thank you for trusting me,” she said, her lip quivering with self-condemnation.

  “I need your help,” he said, aware of the lack of emotion in his voice. He was simply too exhausted. “Come and get me if you need me. Otherwise, let me sleep for three hours.”

  With a nod, she set off toward Yellow Bird’s campfire.

  A soft snow began to fall as Grant continued his way to his tent. He cast a glance at the starless sky. They were never going to make it over the mountains. He knew it; Blake knew it; and the wagon train folks were beginning to grumble about it. There had been too many delays. Too much tragedy. It seemed like the westward trek was cursed.

  A hulking shadow fell across his path, pulling him from his thoughts. “You look deep in thought, Doc. I said hello three times, and you didn’t say a word back.” Grant tensed as Web fell into step beside him.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m just on my way to get some sleep. Do you need anything?”

  “Sure do. I noticed that pretty Mrs. Kane and you was awfully deep in conversation just a few minutes ago.” Web gave him a nudge. “You, uh, got plans for that one?”

  Every nerve in Grant’s body pulled back in revulsion. Sheer willpower alone kept Grant from walking off. “No. And if I did, I wouldn’t discuss it with another man. That wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.” Web nodded. “I reckon I know exactly what you mean. A fella just can’t help but wonder about a pretty widow meetin’ up with a man, such as yourself, after dark and all.”

  The man was fishing, but Grant was too tired to be evasive and risk camp gossip. “She wants to help with the sick members of the wagon train. That’s all.”

  Web’s eyes took on a smug sheen. “That’s what I figured. The woman has a heart of gold.”

  “Yeah, she’s a regular saint.” Grant gave a weary sigh. “If that’s all, I’ll say goodnight.”

  “Well, now.” Web rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I was thinking, maybe I’ll go help Mrs. Kane. She could probably use a hand if you’re gonna sleep and all.”

  Grant’s anger rose hot and quick. “If you want to help anyone, why don’t you hightail it back to that camp of yours and help your daughter?”

  Web dropped the dumb suitor act and pushed his bushy eyebrows together. “What are you sayin’? My girl’s back at the camp? What’s she doin’ over there?”

  “She and Miss Sadie took the wagon and drove to your camp where at least some of the men have cholera. But I guess you already know they’re sick, since your son brought the illness to our camp.”

  In a flash, Web reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You blamin’ this on my boy?”

  Grant knew he had said too much. He could kick himself for being so reckless. He shook his head. “I’m just a tired doctor that has seen too much death today. But I think a decent father would want to go and get his daughter out of harm’s way.”

  “Harm? My men know better than to lay a finger on her.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Doubt flickered in the man’s eyes. Grant’s stomach turned over with dread. “Don’t you think you ought to ride over there and make sure she’s all right?”

  Web peered closer. “What’s your interest in that girl? You sweet on her?”

  The question caught Grant by surprise. “My interest?”

  “Yeah. You sweet on her or somethin’?” Anger burned in the man’s eyes.

  “I just think a man ought to look after his daughter. So I’ll say again, instead of tagging along after Amanda Kane—who, incidentally, is being courted by Mr. Harrison—why don’t you ride to your camp and help your own daughter like any decent father would?”

  All the pretense was gone from Web now. His lips curled. “If you knew what she really came here to do, you wouldn’t be wanting me to save her.”

  Grant’s mind barely worked after thirty-six hours without sleep, but he couldn’t let the comment go unchallenged. “Are you going to tell me what you mean?”

  “No. I don’t guess I better. Not just yet, anyhow.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice to the ground, narrowly missing Grant’s boot. “If you’ll pardon me, Doc, I’m gonna go see if a pretty widow could use a hand.”

  He was slightly hunched over and Grant noted the way he had a tendency to press a hand to his side as he sauntered off, leaving Grant to mull over the implication. Web wasn’t well. That had been obvious from the beginning, but it wasn’t cholera.

  Grant had other things to worry about right now when it came to that man. Obviously, Grant had given away the fact that he knew Web was in the wagon train under false pretenses. That was bad enough, but Web seemed to be implying that Ginger was involved in whatever plot the outlaw band was planning.

  Blake was going to have to do something about Web soon, before the man brought even more disaster on the wagon train. Grant debated whether or not to go straight to Blake but decided against it. The wagon master had been busy since sunup, consoling the grieving families of the dead, as well as Fannie—they were both worried sick about Kip. It would have to wait until morning.

  Moments later, he entered his tent and fell onto his bedroll without even removing his boots. The last thing he heard before he drifted to sleep was Web’s accusatory words against Ginger.

  What on earth was that girl up to? All he knew for now was that he missed her more than he’d ever thought possible and maybe Web was right. Maybe he was sweet on Ginger Freeman. Even after the dark, anguished day he’d just endured, the crazy thought made him smile just before sleep claimed his weary mind.

  Ginger woke to Yuley singing “Rock of Ages.” She sat up and stared at Miss Sadie, who stood over the coffeepot. The older woman shook her head and looked to where Dale slept. “Poor man didn’t make it.”

  Trying to wrap her head around the meaning of Miss Sadie’s words, Ginger’s eyes followed where her finger pointed. Dale lay unmoving on his bedroll, his eyes closed, face serene.

  As her mind cleared of sleep, Ginger realized Yuley was singing “Rock of Ages,” a favorite hymn of the Sunday gatherings on the wagon train. She wasn’t sure why he would choose that one instead of “Amazing Grace” like they’d sung at all the burials since she joined the pioneers. More than likely it was the only hymn he knew.

  His eyes were watery when he looked at her. He stopped singing. “I reckon he done died, Miss Ginger.”

  “I reckon he did,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Yuley. I know Dale was good to you.” She turned to Miss Sadie. “What about the rest of the men and Elijah?”

  “Elijah’s hanging on. And no one else has died.”

  “Dale didn’t seem that sick, Miss Sadie. Less than the others. Even Yuley.”

  A shrug lifted Miss Sadie’s shoulders as she handed Ginger a cup of steaming brew. “Cholera can happen that fast.” Something about the way she looked extra hard at her made Ginger wonder just what the older woman had going on in her head.

  Ginger’s icy fingers wrapped around the warm cup, and she brought the steam close to her face to warm her nose. “It must have dropped another twenty degrees.” Snow blanketed the ground. “I’m stretching the canvas back on the wagon, and that’s where we’ll sleep tonight, Miss Sadie.”

  “Left it back at camp.”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “Besides, we’ll have to bury him and get the burn pile going today. There’s no time to sashay back to camp.”

  Ginger glanced around. “Where’s Lane?”

  Miss Sadie’s lip curled in disdain. “He lit out sometime during the night. Took most of the onions.”

  Indignation fired through her chest. “What are you saying? He just left us and took the medicine?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Then I’ll have to go back to camp, Miss Sadie. We need more onions, or there’s no point in being here.”

  “Simmer down.” Miss Sadie stirred the pot on the fire then straightened up, pressing her hand
s into the small of her back. “I said he took most of them. But not all. I kept some stashed in the wagon, and he didn’t get those. If the broth is going to work at all, we have enough. If it isn’t, one more isn’t going to make a difference.”

  Ginger sipped her coffee in silence, trying to avoid looking at Dale. Finally, she couldn’t sit there any longer, knowing a dead man lay only a few feet from her. She set down her cup. “Yuley, where’s the shovel?”

  He’d been singing quietly and he stopped mid-song to give her a blank stare.

  “A shovel, Yuley.” Making shoveling motions with both hands, she kept her gaze fixed on his. “You know what a shovel is, right?”

  His face brightened. “Yep. You dig with it.”

  “That’s right.” Thank goodness. One just never knew how much actually got through that head of his. “Where is it?”

  Frowning, he looked at the ground, clearly concentrating. “Oh, that’s right.”

  “What’s right?”

  “Dale broke it over Clay Jones’s back one day.”

  Miss Sadie let out an exasperated breath. “Land sakes.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Incredulous, Ginger shook her head. “Do you mean to tell me you have nothing to bury this man with?”

  Yuley took another breath, scratched his greasy head and then stared at her helplessly. “I reckon there ain’t nothing.”

  Yuley inched closer to Dale’s body. “I can try to dig with my hands.”

  Miss Sadie stooped down and took Yuley by the shoulders. “You’ll do no such thing. Now come over by the fire and get warm. It’s time for your medicine.”

  Yuley wrinkled his nose. “Yes ma’am.” The hesitation in his voice made Ginger grin.

  “It’s not much good, is it?”

  He cast a quick glance at Miss Sadie. “Well, it ain’t so bad.”

  A chuckle left the older woman as she gaze at him with maternal fondness, handing him a bowl of the foul soup. “It’s okay, Yuley. This isn’t meant to taste good. You get yourself better, and I’ll make you a real meal.”

  “I’d be obliged, ma’am.”

  Miss Sadie turned back to Ginger, jerking her head to motion her away from the fire. Ginger followed, and they headed to the wagon before speaking. “Looks like you’ll have to go back to the camp, after all.”