Chase the Fire

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Chase the Fire Page 20

by Barbara Ankrum


  "Whatever you think is best," she answered without enthusiasm.

  "Elizabeth, you've made me very happy today."

  She smiled tremulously and turned to go. "I'm happy too," she lied. "I... uh, I must be getting back. There's a lot to do between now and then."

  He led her outside into the morning air that already held the promise of heat, then helped her up into the buckboard, where she pulled on her gloves.

  "Can I expect your men soon?" she asked.

  "I'll send them over within a day or two."

  "Thank you, Jonas. I'm very... grateful."

  "It is I who should be grateful. I've waited a long time for this." He gave her gloved hand a squeeze.

  Nora came out of the barn, leading a sidesaddled mare and wearing a riding habit of black silk. White lace frothed at her throat, hem and cuffs. A jaunty black velvet hat was perched atop her coiffed hair. The contrast with her pale ivory skin, Libby decided, was striking.

  "Want some company?" Nora asked as she drew near. "I might as well ride over with you since I was coming later anyway. That way we'll have a chance to visit."

  "Of course, that will be wonderful," Libby told her and tried to sound convincing. She doubted she'd be very good company for anyone this morning.

  Nora tied the reins of her mare off at the back of the buckboard, drew her rifle out of her saddle sheath and placed it on the floor of the wagon beside Libby's.

  "You two wait right here," Jonas told them, helping Nora up to the hard wooden seat beside Libby. "It's not safe for you to go gallivanting around the countryside on your own. Your mind is always up in the clouds somewhere, Nora, instead of where it belongs. God know's what kind of trouble you can run into on your own. I'm going to have a man follow you over to the Double Bar H."

  "And have one of your hands waste a whole day of work?" Nora protested. "Don't be foolish, Jonas. It's only eight miles and we're both armed."

  "Is it foolish to want to protect my sister and the woman who will soon be my wife?"

  Nora's gaze flew to Libby. "Wife? Libby, does that mean...?"

  "Elizabeth's agreed to marry me," Harper supplied proudly as he headed off to find one of his men. "Don't go anywhere until I get back."

  Libby tried to look happy, but her smile was strained. She wished she'd been the one to tell Nora.

  "Oh, Libby, I'm so... happy for you." Nora took Libby's hand.

  "I would have told you, but—"

  "Don't be silly! The groom should be the first to know." She looked at Libby intently. "Are you happy?"

  Startled by the question, Libby met her gaze. "Happy? Of course." She brushed back the tears that refused to stay safely hidden. "I'm just emotional, that's all."

  A warm smile spread across Nora's face and she patted Libby's hand, but Libby could see the doubt her reticence had planted in Nora's eyes. "You'll be happy here, Libby. You'll see."

  Within a few minutes, Harper introduced a young, bandy-legged cowhand named Will Tuerney to them. Tuerney was to join them as their guard. After saying farewell to Jonas, they were off, heading back down the lane that led away from Three Peaks.

  Libby glanced back at the hacienda disappearing in the cloud of dust behind them, knowing that soon she would call that place home. A sadness that felt like defeat swept through her, but she merely straightened her back, gave the traces a jangle and hurried the team toward the place she loved. The land where her heart would always be.

  She and Nora talked of many things on the trip back home; Tad's schooling, her ranch, the Fourth of July celebration Jonas had planned and his secret surprise. All topics, Libby noted gratefully, which carefully avoided discussing her impending marriage to Jonas.

  They were nearly halfway back when Will Tuerney turned back to them and signaled them to pull up.

  "What's wrong?" Nora shouted to him as he galloped his buckskin gelding back toward them.

  He pointed toward a dapple-gray horse cropping the long grass in the far distance. "That horse is carryin' an empty saddle," he said flatly. "Any notion who owns it, Mrs. Honeycutt?"

  Libby shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the horizon until she spotted the horse. Then her stomach took a sickening plunge. It can't be. "Oh, my God," she breathed out. "It's Blue."

  "Blue?" Nora repeated.

  Libby gripped the side of the wagon seat tightly. "It's Chase's horse. Chase Whitlaw. But he rode away yesterday...." Her mind whirled with a dozen different possibilities—all of them bad. She remembered that Chase could call the horse with a whistle. If he were able to, wouldn't he have done it? The thought that he could be lying out there somewhere, hurt, tore at her insides. She flicked the traces and steered the wagon overland toward the grazing horse without a single thought as to the inadvisability of such a move.

  Will Tuerney was right behind her. Blue lifted his head and nickered at the sight of them. He trotted over to the wagon as they pulled up. Libby scanned the hilly landscape. There was no sign of Chase anywhere.

  Will rubbed a finger across the dark smudges on Chase's saddle and looked grimly at the two women. "Blood."

  "Oh, no..." Libby whispered.

  Will twisted in his saddle to get a better look at the surrounding area. A mile or so away, they could all see the ominous circling of turkey vultures high overhead in the cerulean blue sky. Libby's heartbeat faltered at the sight.

  Will tied Blue off to the back of their wagon. "You ladies stay right here and keep yer guns out and ready. I'm goin' to go see what them scavengers is a -waitin' for."

  "I'm coming with you," Libby told him, jumping down from the buckboard before he could stop her.

  "Ma'am"—Will cleared his throat uncomfortably—"Mister Harper told me to watch out fer you two. I think it's best if you stay with the wagon."

  Ignoring him, Libby mounted Nora's sidesaddled horse. "Nora, you follow us as best you can. We'll need that wagon bed if we find him."

  Will anxiously lifted his hat off, then settled it back on his head. "Aw, heck... all right, c'mon then."

  With a touch of her heels, Libby nudged the mare into a lope toward the stand of aspen and pine, a mile distant.

  Will was the first to spot the black stallion, Diablo, standing like a sentinel in the distance. The animal reared, slashed his front hooves at the cloudless sky, but strangely, made no move to escape them as they neared.

  Even from far away, Libby could see the white scars from the grizzly's claw marks on the stallion's neck. Diablo trotted in agitated circles as if he were waiting for them. Thirty feet away, sprawled in his bloody duster, lay Chase, as still as death.

  "Damnation," Will muttered. "That black devil's killed him." He drew his rifle from its scabbard and pulled off a shot at the horse. His bullet tore into the ground at Diablo's feet, sending the horse to galloping. His black mane and tail flew behind him. Will pumped off two more shots, but the stallion escaped, vanishing into the thick copse of trees a half-mile away.

  Libby was off her horse and running before the dust had settled. She dropped to her knees beside Chase. Blood and dirt caked his cheek and forehead and stiffened the beige fabric of his duster at shoulder and side. Merciful God, he'd been shot!

  "Oh, Chase..." Libby cried. Her hands trembled above him for a moment. She was afraid to touch him, afraid to know. Please, God, don't let him be dead. He was so pale and still. She placed trembling fingers at his throat and felt a pulse—weak, but steady. Relief poured through her. Despite the awful things that had happened between them, she never wanted something like this to happen to him. Tears gathered behind her eyes.

  At her touch, he moaned low and stirred. "Get up..." he murmured in a gravelly voice. "Gotta get up. I'm gonna kill that bastard." He rolled over onto his side and tried to push himself to his feet.

  "Chase, please, don't move," Libby warned, holding him down with her hands. "You're hurt."

  "Libby?" Chase swallowed and turned his head toward her, blinking away his double vision. A sharp pain ricoch
eted through his head. He was hallucinating again. Only this time his vision was of an angel, not a demon. She was wearing a dress. His Libby never wore dresses. He winced at the pain in his upper back.

  "Chase," she whispered, unwittingly smoothing back the shock of dark hair that fell over his eyes.

  "You're going to be all right, Chase. We're going to take care of you."

  He squeezed his eyes shut. "Lost my horse... tried to walk back.... I didn't get very far.... The stallion—"

  "Shhh. Don't talk now. I'm here. Just rest. Nora's bringing a wagon."

  "Couldn't make it back to the road. How'd you find me?"

  "We found Blue first, a mile or so away. Then we saw Diablo. He was practically standing beside you. We thought he was the one who hurt you."

  His head rolled against the dirt. "It was Bodine."

  She sucked in a breath. It shouldn't have surprised her that Bodine was capable of something as ruthless as back-shooting, but it did.

  She bit the edge of her lip as she pushed the duster aside to get a better look at Chase's wounds. She couldn't tell much without ripping his shirt open, but he felt too cold to do that now. The bleeding had mostly stopped. The least serious of his injuries seemed to be the bloody gash at his temple, though she knew only a fraction of an inch had saved him from instant death. Will grimaced as he joined her at Chase's side. "God Almighty!"

  She nodded. "It wasn't Diablo. He's been shot—bushwhacked. He said it was Trammel Bodine."

  Will shook his head and let out a silent curse.

  "We've got to get him back," Libby said. "He needs a doctor."

  "Ain't no doctor closer than Santa Fe," Will reminded her. "That's three hours back and forth on a fast horse." He didn't say the obvious: neither of them was sure Chase could hold on that long.

  "Get Elliot," Chase told her in a raspy whisper.

  "Elliot? All right," she replied, remembering they were friends. "I'll have one of the men send for him. He'll want to know—"

  "No," Chase told her. "He's a doctor... he'll know what to do."

  Elliot Bradford, a doctor?

  Nora pulled up in the wagon behind them and jumped down. "Oh, no!" she cried. "Has he been shot?"

  "One of my ex-ranch hands," Libby said.

  Without a thought to Will's presence, Nora lifted her skirt and tore a length of cotton ruffle from her petticoat. "We'd best wrap those wounds before we move him or he'll be bleeding all over again."

  After they'd bound him, Will helped lift Chase into the wagon, then turned to Libby. "You say this Elliot fella's in the box canyon up near Piñon Flats?"

  Libby nodded. "Tell him to hurry, Will."

  "You watch yerselves," he ordered. "That feller Bodine could still be around here. Keep yer rifle primed." Will pulled himself up on his horse and took off for the canyon at a gallop.

  "Libby..."

  She turned back to Chase. His bloody fingers brushed hers and then closed desperately around her wrist. The intensity in his eyes was startling, combustible, belying the weakness of his body. His voice, when he spoke, was barely a whisper, audible only to her.

  "I'm sorry. So sorry about this, about everything. You have to know that, don't you?"

  Libby bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. He was looking for absolution and she wasn't sure she could give it. She was sorry, too, that he hadn't ridden cleanly out of her life as he'd promised, that he'd been hurt this way. But most of all, she was sorry, so sorry, she still cared enough for him to feel as if her heart were being torn out.

  "I know, Chase," she told him at last. "I know. I'll get you home."

  Home. He sighed and his eyes slid shut as he gave himself over to the pain. He'd just hang on until she got him home. Home with Libby.

  Chapter 16

  "Is he alive?" Elliot demanded from the doorway of Libby's room. His expression was stark, wretched. She could see he'd ridden all this way expecting the worst. Carrying a small, black leather bag, he crossed to the bed on which Chase lay facedown and pale as the white sheets he rested on.

  "He's alive, but he's lost a lot of blood," Libby answered, swabbing the last of the dried crimson from Chase's upper back with a vinegar and water solution. "He told me you were a doctor. Is that true?"

  El nodded, taking a closer look at the small, dark hole in Chase's shoulder. "It's true." He exchanged a look with her that said they'd talk about that small deception later.

  "Thank God. There isn't another doctor for miles. I... I'm afraid for him, Elliot. Is he going to die?"

  "Not if I can help it." El raked his blond hair back with one hand, then pulled a stethoscope from his bag. He slipped the instrument in his ears and listened to Chase's breathing and heartbeat.

  When he'd finished, Libby pulled the sheet down past Chase's waist and said, "The other bullet passed straight through his side, but I don't think it hit anything vital."

  A muscle worked in El's jaw. "Damn that little bastard Bodine."

  "Will told you?"

  El nodded grimly. "The bullet in his shoulder's going to have to come out. It missed his lung, I'm fairly sure. No sound of fluid there." El frowned and touched the gash on Chase's forehead. "How long has he been out?"

  "On and off since we found him. Will gave him some whiskey before we moved him. He woke up while we were driving back and passed out again when Early and Straw carried him in here."

  "Has he had any nausea? Vomiting?"

  She shook her head.

  "I have ether, but I'd rather not use it on him because of the head wound. Let's get that bullet out while he's still unconscious."

  "What will you need?"

  "Hot water and strong soap to wash my hands and instruments in."

  "All right. Elliot?" Libby dropped her gaze to the man on her bed. "I never meant for this to happen," she whispered in a choked voice. "Despite our differences..."

  "Libby," El asked gently, "did Chase tell you the real reason he came here?"

  She nodded.

  "Will told me Chase was leaving the ranch yesterday when this happened. Is that why he was going? Did you send him away?"

  She turned silvery eyes up to him, in them something akin to defiance. "You can't expect me to forgive him for what he did? He killed my husband."

  El stared at her for a long heartbeat. "Is that what he told you?"

  "It's not important now, is it?"

  El let out a long breath. "I think it's more important than you know, but we'll talk about this later. Right now, I want to save his life. I'll need some more light in here if I'm going to dig out that bullet. And get Will to give you the rest of that whiskey. Chase will need it if he wakes up."

  Libby stood, dropping the bloody towel she held. "I'll get a lamp and some whiskey for you," she said and walked stiffly from the room before she embarrassed herself by crying.

  Nora passed Libby as she entered the room. She was carrying another bowl of hot water and some clean linen towels. She nodded to Elliot. "Mr. Bradford."

  El smiled half-heartedly at her. "Ah, Miss Harper. It seems we're doomed to meet under the most unpleasant of circumstances." He took the bowl of water from her and set it near the bed. From his bag, he pulled a two-pronged tuning fork.

  "Apparently so," she agreed, pushing back a strand of dark hair that had fallen against her cheek. "I suppose this means you weren't lying that day when you told me you were a doctor?"

  "No. I wasn't." He sent her a faint smile and turned his attention to Chase. After tapping the tuning fork against the side of his hand, he rested the tip of it against Chase's teeth and watched him closely for a reaction. "Good," he murmured when he saw no wince of pain come from him. "At least the bullet didn't crack his skull."

  "A tuning fork can tell you all that?" Nora asked, leaning over his shoulder for a closer look.

  "The vibrations tend to gather at the fracture, if there is one, causing a great deal of pain. Even an unconscious man will react to it." He glanced up at her again. "A
re you sure you want to be in here? Most women can't tolerate the sight of blood."

  Nora smiled sadly. "I spent two years volunteering in the Confederate hospital back in Richmond. That experience inured me to the sight of blood."

  El's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You were a nurse?"

  "Not formally. The surgeons considered women unsuited to that kind of work. In the beginning, we just rolled bandages and wrote letters for the men. But, toward the end of the war, they were so desperate for help, they finally let us do the same things as your Mother Bickersdyke's nurses were doing up North."

  Elliot regarded her with new respect. "Ever assist in a surgery?"

  "Quite often."

  "Would you mind assisting me here? I'm going to need some help."

  Nora tipped her head to one side. "I'd be honored. I'm certain I owe you that much for doubting you the other day. Not to mention saving my life. I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to repay you."

  Chase stirred and moaned softly, but didn't regain full consciousness.

  "We'd better hurry," El replied, lifting one of Chase's eyelids to check his pupils. "I don't know how much longer he'll stay out. It'll be much harder if he's awake."

  * * *

  Libby sat in the rocker in the common room, her arms wrapped around Tad. She'd changed out of her bloodstained gown and replaced it with her usual attire: denim pants and an oversized red flannel shirt.

  The chair rocked back and forth against the hard-packed dirt floor in a steady, soothing rhythm. At the table, a few feet away, sat Straw, Will, Early and Esteban, nursing tin cups of cooling coffee, listening for sounds from the other room. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed since El had started the surgery on Chase. Twice Libby had heard Chase cry out in pain. The sounds had torn through her like knives.

  Early skittered his chair against the table leg and Libby jumped at the sound.

  "Just gettin' me some more coffee," he assured her. "Damn, that boy is takin' his sweet time in there, ain't he?" He set the graniteware coffee pot back on the stove with a clang.

  Straw hushed him with a gnarled hand. "Can't hurry doctorin' if'n it's good doctorin'. Anybody can dig out a bullet. But not to kill the man whilst yer doin' it... that's the trick."

 

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