In the Sheriff's Protection

by Lauri Robinson

“You want me to brush him down?”

  “That would be good,” Tom answered. It wouldn’t take long to lance the leg, but he wanted Billy away from the house in case his mother woke up screaming.

  “Then I’ll help you with Ma,” Billy said, already opening the door.

  “I’ll be ready for your help,” Tom answered. “Shut the door.”

  Billy did so, and Tom scrubbed his hands a bit longer, watching out the window until Billy led Bullet into the barn. Then he dried his hands with one of the clean towels, gathered the other towels and the knife, and walked into the bedroom.

  Chapter Two

  Struggling through an overwhelmingly thick fog almost wore her out before she’d even opened her eyes, and when she did, the man standing over her, one she’d never seen before, only made Clara close her eyes again. She must be dreaming. Had to be, because even though her leg ached, there wasn’t the intense pain of before.

  “You feeling better, Ma?”

  Billy’s voice was so clear in her dream it made her smile.

  “You’re smiling, so you must be feeling better.”

  The idea that she might not be dreaming had her pulling her eyelids open. That took effort because they fought her again. When she won the battle and saw Billy, her first instinct was to smile again. He was such a good boy, and she loved him with all her heart. Without him, she wouldn’t have a reason to live.

  “You are feeling better, Ma. I can tell,” he said, grinning. “This here is Tom. Tom Baniff. He cut your leg and put cayenne pepper on it. Then he poured whiskey all over you.”

  The stranger appeared again, standing next to Billy. This certainly was a silly dream. Only in a dream would a stranger cut her leg and put cayenne pepper and whiskey on her. Cut her leg... A cold shiver rippled over her entire being.

  She forced her eyes to remain open, although she blinked several times to chase away the blurriness. Then, as the room became clearer, she glanced around, giving her mind time to catch up and solidify the fact that she wasn’t dreaming.

  The man was tall and broad, with shiny black hair and eyes as brown as coffee. He was smiling, too. A friendly smile. He must be a doctor. The exact thing she’d needed.

  “The infection?” she asked.

  “Is clearing up nicely.”

  His voice was deep but gentle at the same time.

  “My leg?”

  “Is almost back to being the same size as the other one,” he said. “That was quite the infection you had.”

  Her thoughts became clearer with each minute that ticked by. “The cayenne pepper worked,” she said. “My uncle said my grandmother did that to him once. Put cayenne pepper on an infected wound. He said he screamed. That it burned.”

  “You didn’t scream,” the man said.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as thankful for the fact that she couldn’t remember the pain as she was that she hadn’t screamed. That would have frightened Billy, which was why she’d been putting off lancing the leg herself. It would have scared the dickens out of Billy, and there had been the chance she may have passed out from the pain. As she lifted a hand to feel her forehead, the pungent scent of whiskey filling her nose made her cringe.

  “I had to get your fever down,” the man said. “The alcohol in the whiskey did the trick.”

  The sheet was tucked beneath her arms, but she could tell the only things she wore were her shift and bloomers. A heat as hot as her fever had been rushed into her cheeks.

  “Nothing to worry about, ma’am,” he said. “Billy’s helped me take care of you the entire time.”

  She released a breath, knowing such thoughts of decorum were insignificant. “How did you know I was ill?”

  “You fell off the chair when I opened the door,” Billy said. “’Member? I thought it was Pa and you said it wasn’t.”

  She balled her hands into fists to hide how they instantly started shaking at the memories coming forth. Thankful it hadn’t been Hugh riding in, she glanced at the window, the east window where the shining sun showed it was still on the rise, making it no later than midmorning. Confused, she asked, “Was that yesterday? I—I was out all night.”

  “No,” the man said, “that was four days ago.”

  She bolted upright, and the blood rushing to her head had her grasping her forehead.

  “Whoa, there,” the man said, gently forcing her to lie back down.

  Once her head was on the pillow again, and the room stopped spinning, she said, “Surely not four days. You must be mistaken.”

  “I’m not mistaken.”

  Covering her eyes with one hand, hoping that would somehow help her to remember, she shook her head. “I couldn’t have slept for four days.”

  “You were really sick, ma’am,” he said. “Really sick. Would you like to see your leg?”

  She removed the hand from her eyes. “Yes, please.”

  He flipped the bottom corner of the sheet aside and mixed emotions filled her. The swelling was considerably less, as was the pain, but the healing that had clearly taken place confirmed what he’d said. She’d been asleep for four days. Billy had been alone with a stranger for four days. Her skin quivered as she glanced toward her son, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  “It looks much better than the last time I saw it,” she said.

  “Like four days of healing?” the man asked.

  She pinched her lips together. There was a hint of teasing in his tone, but also affirmation that he hadn’t been lying when he said how much time had passed. The yellow color of the bruising confirmed it was old, as did the scabs that now covered her first wound as well as the two slashes that had been made to drain the infection. “Yes,” she admitted. “It looks like it’s been healing for a few days already.”

  “Healing nicely,” he said. “But now that you’re awake, we need to get some food in you.”

  “We have some eggs boiling,” Billy said. “Tom can cook, Ma. Almost as good as you. And we’ve kept the cows milked and skimmed the cream off the top, just like you always do.”

  “I’ll make you some tea to go with your eggs,” the man said. “Do you think you can sit up? Slowly this time?”

  She nodded, and carefully sat up enough for him to put another pillow behind her. Having a man be so caring was uncomfortable, yet she was grateful. Without him, she may not be here. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a nod, and winked one eye that was charming enough it made her heart thud unexpectedly.

  “We’ll be back shortly with that tea and an egg,” he said, laying a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Won’t we, Billy?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be right back, Ma.”

  The heartwarming sensation that washed over her was one she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. So long she couldn’t remember the last time. Years. She was still contemplating that when Billy and the man appeared again, along with a tray that the man set down on her lap.

  “I made the tea weak,” he said. “Your stomach might not tolerate much yet.”

  She glanced at the tea and the hard-boiled egg that had been peeled and quartered. No one had ever gone to such lengths for her. Ever. A lump formed in her throat that she had to swallow before admitting, “I’m sorry—I don’t remember what Billy said your name is.”

  “It’s Tom, ma’am. Tom Baniff.”

  “Well, Mr. Baniff, I owe you my deepest gratitude.” The hint of redness that appeared in his cheeks was positively endearing. Once again her heart thudded. “It makes me almost believe in miracles,” she admitted. “How a doctor was traveling through just when one was needed.”

  “I’m not a doctor, ma’am.”

  A hint of a chill had the hair on her arms rising. “You aren’t?”

  “No, I’m...um—traveling. Just traveling through.”

  His expression had changed. H
is eyes had grown so serious the chill rippling her skin increased. As if he knew that, and knew she’d seen it, he turned toward Billy.

  Once again setting a hand on Billy’s shoulder, he said, “Let’s let your mother eat in peace.”

  A part of her wanted to say that wasn’t necessary, but her throat was swelling. When he’d shifted his stance, the black vest covering his chest had caught in the sunlight shining through the window. The vest was made of leather, and though hardly noticeable, she’d seen two tiny holes. Evenly separated and situated in the exact spot a badge would have been worn. A lawman’s badge.

  A lawman out here meant one thing. He was after Hugh.

  She waited for them to leave the room before letting the air out of her lungs, but even then it caught, making it impossible to breathe.

  Her eyes were watering and her chest burning by the time she found the ability to draw in another breath. Guilt, shame and other emotions she couldn’t name washed over her. Hugh had warned her, more than once, what would happen if she ever went to the law, and she had no doubt he would follow through on those warnings.

  Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she glanced around the room. At the clothes hanging on the hooks, the hand mirror and brush on the dresser, the sewing basket in the corner, the dishes on the tray on her lap. Every item in this house that hadn’t been Uncle Walter’s had been stolen, or bought with stolen money, and she hated that. Hated knowing that, but as Hugh pointed out, she still wore the dresses, used the dishes, ate the food. Therefore, she was as guilty of committing any crime as he was. Had been since the day she met him.

  For eight long years she’d wished she’d never met him, but in all that time, she’d never done anything to change the situation. Other than pray for a miracle.

  She bit her lips together as they started to tremble. Through the open doorway, she could hear Billy talking.

  “I could show ya when we’re done eating,” he said.

  Clara held her breath, waiting to hear the man’s answer. Tom Baniff. She’d never heard the name, but lawmen from as far away as Texas were looking for Hugh. There was no way she could know all of their names.

  Tom didn’t reply. It was Billy’s voice that sounded again.

  “My pa says that’s the most important thing for a man to know. How to be a fast draw. The fastest. You agree, don’t you, Tom?”

  The clank of a cup being set down on a saucer sounded before Tom said, “No, Billy, I don’t.”

  He was speaking so softly she had to hold her breath in order to hear what he was saying.

  “I believe knowing how to use a gun is important, and that a man needs to know how to use it safely. He also needs to know when to use it. But there are lots of other things he needs to know that are more important.”

  “Like what?” Billy asked.

  “Well, like knowing how to chop wood. You did a fine job with the kindling wood that built the fire in the stove so we were able to cook these eggs to eat. Now, that’s important. A man has to eat or he’d starve to death.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.” After a stilled moment, Billy asked, “What other things are important?”

  “Lots of things,” Tom answered quietly. “Things you do every day. Right now, the most important thing is taking care of your ma. Making sure she eats and gets the rest she needs so her leg heals. Now, finish eating so we can head outside and she can rest in quiet.”

  “Think she’s done eating?” Billy asked softly, taking a clue from Tom’s quiet tone.

  “We’ll find out once we’re done.”

  Clara quickly ate the egg and took a gulp of tea, and then had to press a hand to her stomach as it revolted, having been empty for so long. She took a couple smaller sips of tea, hoping that would help her stomach accept the food.

  It appeared to. When Billy and Tom appeared in the doorway, she no longer feared the egg would find its way back up her throat.

  “How are you feeling?” Tom asked. “The egg wasn’t too much for your stomach, was it?”

  “No, no, thank you,” she said. “It was perfect. I’m sorry that—that you’ve been detained here for so long. Now that I’m awake...” She glanced at Billy and the shine in his eyes as he looked up at Tom. “Billy and I will be fine. I’m sure you’ll want to be on your way.”

  “Tom can’t leave yet,” Billy said. “Can you? Tom, tell her why.”

  Her stomach threatened to erupt again and she pressed a hand to the base of her throat while swallowing hard. She didn’t have the right to pray that he hadn’t told Billy the truth, but sincerely hoped he hadn’t.

  “We are in the middle of a project, ma’am,” Tom said. “One that will take at least another day to complete.”

  “A project?” Flinching at how fearful she sounded, she pulled up what she hoped looked like a smile, and asked, “Wh-what sort of project?”

  Tom’s smile was far more genuine as he ruffled Billy’s hair with one hand. “When Billy showed me where you cut your leg, we discovered the entire door frame on the barn was rotted.”

  “Tom used some wood from the corral to fix the door, but first we had to cut down some trees to make poles for the corral,” Billy said excitedly. “And guess what, Ma? We got enough poles to use more wood off the corral to fix the porch. Those boards that are missing. But Tom said we couldn’t start pounding on the roof until you were awake.” As a frown formed, Billy looked up at Tom. “That’s important stuff for a man to know, ain’t it, Tom? How to fix a corral and a house. And a barn and how to cut down trees to make poles, and—”

  “Yes, it is, Billy,” Tom replied, with a wink at her son. “Real important stuff. Now that your ma has eaten, let’s go get busy. We have plenty of work to do.”

  He stepped up to the side of the bed, and as he reached down to take the tray off her lap, Clara willed the tears to remain at bay. Billy had never been treated so kindly, nor had she.

  “Thank you, Mr. Baniff.” Her throat burned too hotly to say much more.

  “You’re welcome, ma’am. You have a good boy here. A real good boy.”

  She nodded but didn’t look up. Her eyes were once again staring at the two miniature holes in his vest. If only she could... She closed her eyes to stop the thought.

  “Do you need anything else?” he asked.

  Pulling her eyes open, she nodded, then shook her head. “No, no, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  “Just yell if you do. We’ll be right outside.”

  “Yeah, Ma, we’ll be right outside,” Billy said.

  Anger welled inside her as they left the room. That was how it should be. How a man should show a boy what was important in life. How to take care of his property and his family. Hugh had never done that. Would never do that. Whenever he was around, the few days a year he stopped long enough to drop off stolen items and money, he barely had the time of day for Billy.

  And he was never alone.

  Urgency rose up inside her then. Hugh was rarely alone. If he rode in, Tom wouldn’t stand a chance against Hugh and his cohorts.

  She pushed aside the sheet and cautiously swung her legs over the edge of the bed. There wasn’t a lot of pain, for which she was thankful, but by the time she’d managed to get dressed, she felt as if she’d just run a mile or more. Exhaustion and weakness were expected after being in bed so long. If it was anyone else, she’d tell them to lie back down. She didn’t have that choice. Hugh could show up at any time and she had to make sure Tom wasn’t here when that happened.

  Chapter Three

  “You shouldn’t have done so much work,” Tom told her quietly. He’d struggled saying anything, seeing that Clara was clearly used to working from sun up to sun down. Despite all the work he’d found to keep him and Billy busy the past few days, she’d taken remarkably good care of the property and animals, and her son. Billy was not only we
ll behaved, he was eager to please. From all he’d learned while she’d been asleep, Hugh Wilson deserved no credit when it came to this homestead or Billy.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I’d canned the venison earlier this year and the vegetables last fall. All I had to do was dump them together and heat it up.” She lifted her head from the back of the rocking chair she was sitting in on the front porch, and looked at him. “You, on the other hand, have been extremely busy. I expected the kitchen to be in shambles when I walked out of the bedroom. You must have had a very strict mother.”

  The serene smile that had appeared on her lips made his heart hammer inside his chest. To the point he had to look away. He’d never taken to a woman before and wouldn’t now, but there was something about her that made him want to care. More than he should.

  “Or is it a wife I owe the credit to?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the barn. “It would have been my mother. I was the oldest and had to watch over the younger ones plenty, which included cleaning up after them.” That had been years ago, long before arriving here, and he’d forgotten what it had been like.

  “How many?”

  “Four. Three boys and a girl.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “Yes, I was,” he said truthfully. Though Julia’s death had affected all of them, he now appreciated the fact he’d known her. She’d been eleven years younger than him and the apple of everyone’s eye. Including his. From the day Julia had been born, he’d felt a deep sense of responsibility toward her that he’d honored. He’d shifted that responsibility to the law after her death, and that was where it would remain until his dying day.

  “Where did you live?”

  The sun was setting, so he kept his eyes on how the fading rays lit up the rolling hills. “Alabama,” he said. “Until we moved to Kansas. My father was a surgeon in the war. The side that lost.” That didn’t bother him at all; it was just how his father always said it and it was now habit. He stopped there, avoiding telling her about being a deputy in the small town his folks still lived in before moving to Oak Grove and accepting the position as sheriff there.