A Good Man for Katie

by Marie Patrick

  “You!” he sucked in his breath as he dropped the lantern. Glass shattered. The light extinguished, plunging Chase into utter darkness—indeed, thrusting them both into the pitch black of the tunnel.

  Chase’s heart thundered in his chest as he heard rather than saw a revolver being drawn from the holster buckled around Corporal Henry’s waist. The flare at the bore of the pistol blinded him as the first shot was fired. The bullet whizzed past his ear and ricocheted off the rock as Henry aimed for the last place Chase had been standing, firing blindly in rapid succession. The second shot hit him in the thigh. Pain blossomed in his leg, flaring bright hot. He didn’t have time to react as a third bullet struck his torso. Chase dropped to his knees to avoid another bullet and pulled his own revolver. He fired, using the flare from Henry’s gun to aim. A sharp cry echoed in the chamber as Chase’s bullet hit its mark, but not before Henry got off one last shot.

  Pain exploded in his chest, searing him to his soul, stealing his breath. His last thought before darkness of another kind engulfed him was of Katie.

  ****

  Sarge whined at the door, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor as he paced back and forth, interrupting Kathryne’s concentration. “Just a minute, Sarge. Just let me finish grading this essay and I’ll let you out.”

  Her words did nothing to appease the dog. He continued pacing, stopping only to stare at her then going back to the door, and not the back door as he usually did when he needed to go out. A sharp bark issued from his throat when she didn’t move as quickly as he expected.

  “One more minute, please.”

  Kathryne heard his nails clicking on the floor again, felt his presence at her side, and couldn’t deny the intensity of the dog’s stare.

  “Sarge!” Usually, his name spoken in such a sharp tone calmed him, but not this time. As if tired of waiting, he nudged her hand. Without conscious thought, Kathryne reached down and rubbed the silky fur around his ears, but attention wasn’t what he wanted and he moved just out of her reach.

  He wanted to go out. Now.

  “All right,” Kathryne sighed. “I’ll let you out.”

  She stuck her pen into its holder then rose from her desk in front of the big bay window. Not quick enough to suit Sarge’s needs, the dog gently grabbed her hand in his mouth and started pulling her toward the door. Kathryne chuckled at his impatience. “I got the message, boy. I’m coming.” As soon as the words left her mouth, he released her hand, but his whine remained sharp, more intense as he sniffed at the doorsill.

  Kathryne’s eyes narrowed as she stood beside the fireplace, a sudden rush of dread washing through her. The last time Sarge acted this strangely, she’d found a dead man in her school. “Come away from the door, Sarge.”

  The dog ignored her. Indeed, so anxious to be outside, he scratched at the wood and barked. And not his normal I’m-glad-to-see-you bark. This was insistent, bordering on desperate, the tone and pitch deeper. Kathryne feared if she didn’t open the door right this moment he might try to jump through the big bay window in front of her desk. And yet, she couldn’t move another inch. Apprehension whispered through her, keeping her rooted to where she stood. As much as Sarge needed to go outside, she didn’t want to open the door.

  “Katie.” She heard her name, spoken so softly she thought for a moment her imagination had conjured up the sound. “Quiet, Sarge!”

  Again, she heard the faint word and her heart leapt to her throat. No one in the world called her Katie except Chase, whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to in days, not since Francine tried to have her fired. She rushed across the room, pushed the draperies aside and peered out the window. Moonlight illuminated the yard at the front of the house, snow glowing an eerie white, silence deep and disquieting. Nothing moved. No wind rustled the trees to make their bare limbs rattle against each other. The evergreens stood tall and mighty, but remained still.

  Sarge nudged at her hand, persistent, determined, unrelenting, in his desire to be outside. Kathryne let the draperies swing back into place and quickly released the lock. She opened the door just a crack to peer through the small opening. Sarge had no such patience. He stuck his nose through the small crack, pushing the opening wider, and darted off the front porch. He jumped the gate at the end of the small walk, running toward a dark shape on the bridge over the stream between her house and the schoolhouse. He didn’t attack the mound, simply danced around it, nudging it with his nose and whining.

  “Katie.” The mound moved, just a little, as a hand reached out toward the dog—to push him away or bring him closer, she didn’t know.

  “Oh, my God! Chase!” Kathryne tied the sash of her robe tighter around her waist against the cold. With only slippers on her feet, she dashed outside, her heart thumping in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry as she slid to a stop beside him on the bridge. She pushed Sarge out of the way and dropped to her knees. In the glow of moonlight, dark patches on his coat gleamed. Kathryne touched one of them, her fingers coming away wet. She smelled blood. “Chase!”

  He leaned against one of the posts, as if he had crawled to this spot on the bridge, but could not go any further. His eyes were open and filled with pain. “Shot,” he whispered. The one word seemed to cost him every ounce of strength he had left and a deep sigh escaped him, but he touched her, his hand grasping hers as if his life depended upon it, trusting her to help him.

  Kathryne glanced at the dog dancing around them. “Go get Terry.” The dog tilted his head, ears twitching. “Go!” Sarge took off like a shot from a rifle, his legs eating up the ground as he raced toward town.

  Panic and fear made her hands shake. Indeed, her entire body trembled. She’d never seen so much blood before, never seen Chase, that vital, strong man in so much pain and so weak. His pain hurt her, deep in her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She tried to swallow over the dryness in her throat. “Who shot you?”

  He didn’t answer as consciousness left him and his eyes closed, but his breathing remained steady. “Chase?” She shook him, trying desperately to rouse him. His eyes flickered open as he drew in a deep breath. “We have to get you inside. Can you walk?”

  He nodded, but even that much sapped his strength as he fought to remain awake and aware.

  She helped him to his feet, and step by painstaking step, brought him into the house. He barely made it to the bedroom, his knees buckling, his face pale, breathing harsh and unsteady. Kathryne nearly fell to the floor beneath the heaviness of his weight, yet managed to guide him to the bed. He sat as a sharp groan escaped him then, as if he had no bone, melted onto the mattress and didn’t move.

  Kathryne turned up the wicks of the wall sconces, shedding more light into the room and sucked in her breath when she faced him. The blood on his coat wasn’t in patches—it stained the whole front. She didn’t know what to do. She had experience with minor cuts and scrapes. As a schoolteacher, she dealt with small hurts on a daily basis, but this was different.

  She did know one thing. No matter what it took, she couldn’t let him die, the possibility of which was very real and very frightening.

  Fear left a coppery taste in her mouth and yet, despite the anxiety growing in her, Kathryne approached the bed and tried to move him into a more comfortable position so his legs weren’t hanging over the edge, a task more difficult than she first thought. Sweat beaded on her forehead, dampened her underarms and her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs with her efforts as Chase couldn’t help her, but at least he didn’t feel any pain. She removed his coat, tugging and pulling until she could free his arms.

  Breathless, panting from exertion, she held up his coat. Lamplight shined through two holes, not one. He’d been shot twice. She glanced at the man lying across her bed, the man she couldn’t help falling in love with. The terror she’d been trying to keep at bay flared deep in her soul when she noticed another bullet hole in his upper right thigh, his trouser leg soaked in blood.

  She ran into the parlor and grabbed the scissor
s from the sewing basket then rushed back into the bedroom. Chase hadn’t moved though his chest rose and fell as he breathed. She removed his gun belt and slung it over the brass footboard at the end of the bed then cut away his shirt with hands that shook so much, she was afraid she’d stab him, adding to his injuries with the pointy tips of the scissors. The bullet holes, one on his left side just above his waist, the other higher up on his chest on the right, oozed blood—deep, rich, darker than crimson and her breath caught in her throat.

  “Chase.” His name spilled over her lips in a whisper. She sat on the edge of the bed and, using the shirt she’d just cut away from his body, tried to staunch the flow. Blue fabric turned bright red in an instant and stained her hands as well.

  She leaned lower and whispered in his ear, “Stay with me.”

  He groaned, though his eyes remained closed. Using the scissors once more, she cut away his trousers and the drawers beneath them, exposing the last wound to her eyes before she covered him with a soft blanket.

  “Kate!” She heard Terrence’s voice, heard the dog bark, as both of them swooped into the parlor at a run, the door slamming behind them.

  “In here.”

  “My God,” Terrence uttered as he entered the room, his breath coming in short gasps, and dropped his medical bag on the bed. Sarge trotted around the doctor and rushed up to the side of the bed. He emitted a sharp bark and nudged at Chase with his nose. Her brother-in-law looked like he just rolled out of bed, which he had. His hair stuck up around his head in spiky tufts and his eyes retained a hint of sleep.

  Terrence didn’t waste time asking questions as he removed his coat, dropped it on the floor and kicked it under the bed then began issuing orders. “I need hot water. And anything you’ve got for bandages.” He opened his bag and started removing the implements of his profession. Wickedly sharp scalpels glimmered in the lamplight followed by a stethoscope, several clamps and other items she didn’t know the names of and truthfully, didn’t want to know. A muffled curse escaped him as he brought out a small metal bowl and placed it on the bedside table. “How long has he been unconscious?”

  “Since I brought him in the house.”

  “You brought him in by yourself?”

  Kathryne nodded as the words she’d been about to utter became stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard. “He was able to help me.” She twisted the bloody remains of Chase’s shirt in her hands as Terrence began his examination, wincing every time more blood poured from the holes in Chase’s body. Her stomach clenched. Bile rose to the back of her throat. It wasn’t the sight of so much blood that made tears shimmer in her eyes—it was the fear that he couldn’t be saved that rooted her to floor.

  Terrence glanced at her. “Kate?” She barely heard her name above the sound of her own heartbeat and didn’t respond. She couldn’t. All her attention focused on Chase.

  “Kate!”

  She jumped at his tone.

  “I need hot water and bandages. And take the dog with you. I don’t need him in here.”

  Freed from her paralysis, she rushed to obey his orders. “Come on, Sarge. Come out in the kitchen.” The dog hesitated, his gaze flickering from Chase to the doctor to her, brows twitching. He whined, deep in his throat as if torn between obeying her order and staying close to the man he obviously adored. “Sarge!” The dog heaved a sigh and finally moved away from Chase.

  On feet that moved quickly now, she found a clean sheet in the cabinet and slung it over her shoulder to keep her hands free then filled a basin with water from the stove’s reservoir. Sarge followed her, his steps matching hers, and for once, he didn’t try to trip her or nudge her into moving faster.

  “You stay right here. Don’t come in the bedroom,” she commanded. The dog sank to his haunches in the doorway as Kathryne carried the basin into the room and placed it on the bedside table, which Terrence had moved a little closer.

  “Can you help me?” Terry asked as he rolled up the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt and put on an apron he pulled from his bag. “I can’t do this alone.”

  Though she doubted the roiling in her stomach could stand seeing another drop of blood, she nodded. She’d do anything she must to keep Chase alive and in her life. “Of course. Whatever you need me to do.”

  “Start tearing that sheet into strips. I’m going to need you to clean the blood away, keep the areas clear so I can see what I’m doing. I’ll need more light as well.” He paused and took a deep breath. “He’ll be all right,” Terrence assured her but at this moment, in his eyes, she saw doubt. And something else. Fear, perhaps?

  Chase believed Terrence Leslie to be the best sawbones this side of the Mississippi. As his sister-in-law, Kathryne knew this to be the truth. She couldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise as she followed orders and ripped the sheet into long, wide strips and placed them within reach on the bed.

  “From what I can see, none of the bullets pierced anything vital,” he said as he poked and prodded. “Although anything foreign in a human body is dangerous. The thickness of his coat helped. The wounds on his chest and in his side aren’t especially deep, but I worry about this one.” He gently spread the edges of the bullet wound in Chase’s thigh. More blood gushed from the wound before she turned away.

  “Why?” she asked as she turned up the wicks in the lamps around the room, shedding more light. Flames danced in the fireplace, the logs snapping and popping, adding a strange glow to the pair of metal tweezers in Terrence’s hand, though she doubted they were called tweezers.

  “I could nick an artery and he’d bleed out.” A long sigh escaped him. “There is always the danger of infection.” He glanced at her and tried to smile. “Shall we begin?”

  Pain settled in her heart as the thought of losing Chase through either loss of blood or infection rambled through her mind. She caught Terrence’s unrelenting stare and took a deep breath, then another, to force the images from her mind, to still the rising tide of terror. “I’m ready.”

  He dug into one of the wounds with the long metal tweezers. Kathryne wiped away the fresh outpouring of blood as she’d been instructed though tears shimmered in her eyes and her throat constricted. Terrence didn’t speak as he worked. Perspiration dotted his forehead and rolled down the sides of his face as his lips thinned in concentration.

  Surprisingly, removing the bullets from Chase’s body didn’t take nearly as long as she would have thought. Terrence had a steady hand and a quick, efficient manner. Before long, all three bullets sat in the small bowl on the bedside table and he closed the wounds with thick, black sutures after cleaning the holes with alcohol. “That’s it.” Terrence trimmed the threads and heaved a sigh as he inspected his handiwork. “I’ve done all I can. The rest is up to him, but he’s a strong man.”

  He cleaned the last of the blood from Chase’s chest then dumped all the stained rags into the small trash basket beside the bed. He said nothing more as he stepped around Sarge in the doorway and went to the kitchen to wash his hands, but he walked like a man who’d seen too much, whose heart sat in his chest like an anvil.

  Kathryne released her breath in a long sigh as she covered Chase with a thin blanket. The tears she’d been holding at bay could no longer be contained and flooded her eyes to gather on the rims of her glasses. She leaned over, placing her lips close to his ear. “I love you, Chase Hunter. Stay with me.”

  Terrence came back into the bedroom, wiping his hands on the towel he carried then rolled his instruments into the towel and stuck them in his bag so he could properly sterilize them later. “I’ll replace the towel tomorrow.”

  She shook her head. “No need.” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t help it.

  “Don’t fall apart on me now, Kate. He needs you. I need you.”

  She straightened beneath his words. “I’m not falling apart.”

  He grinned at her. “Good girl. The general would be proud.” He grabbed his bag then left the room, beckoning her to follow. “We shouldn’t move hi
m. He’ll have to stay here until he recovers.” He pulled a bottle from the bag and handed it to her. “This is laudanum. It’s for pain.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Once he wakes up, a spoonful every few hours should do. Keep him comfortable. Make sure he drinks plenty of water and give him broth, as much as he can tolerate for a day or so, then more solid food. He’ll need that to keep up his strength. Make sure he doesn’t pull those stitches out.” He glanced at Sarge sitting sentinel in the doorway and the corners of his mouth tilted upward. The dog hadn’t moved though his ears twitched. “Don’t let Sarge jump on him.” He closed and fastened his bag. “Do you know who shot him?”

  “No, he didn’t say anything except my name, but I have my suspicions.”

  A dark eyebrow cocked over one eye as Terry drew in his breath. “You can’t tell anyone about this. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “I know.”

  “Send Sarge if you need me.” The dog’s head tilted to the side. Though his tail thumped the floor, he didn’t move from his spot. “I’ll stop by early tomorrow morning to check on him and I’ll have Emy come up to watch over him while you’re at school.”

  “Thank you, Terry.” She pulled him into a hug. “For helping him despite who he is.”

  Terrence said nothing as he pulled out of her embrace though Kathryne caught the hint of sadness in his bright eyes as he touched the side of her face with his fingertips. “He’ll be all right,” he assured her once again. “Now lock the door.”

  Kathryne locked the door as instructed then noticed her hands. The blood on them had dried to a rusty brown. She also noticed her nightgown and robe. Ugly rust colored splotches stained both and brought a fresh rush of tears, not because her clothing was ruined, but because it was Chase’s blood. In the space of a heartbeat, she realized how close he’d come to dying. If he hadn’t had the strength to crawl to her for help, who knew how long it would be before someone found him. By that time, it would have been too late.