by Kris Norris
“I just want make sure she’s okay.”
“And we will…once she calms down.” He sighed at Cullen’s huff of disapproval. “She’s a doctor. Reckon she knows how to treat herself. I’ll check in on her every hour. Promise. Now, help me get this idiot to the jail cell until he wakes up and I can plant his ass on the first train out. Folks will think it’s strange if I pick him up on my own, even though I could. And we’ll talk to Hollis. Tonight.”
Cullen growled, taking one of the man’s arms and wrapping it around his shoulder. “You really think I’ll be able to focus on the line?”
“We still have a job to do. And after all that’s happened, I just want to finish the damn spur so we can leave here—with Hollis. If the snow hits before we’re done, we might lose her for good. I trusted you to see to her safety yesterday. You need to grant me that same privilege today.”
“Not fair.”
“Didn’t say it was. But you were right. If I’d gone in the way I was, I’d have ruined everything. Rushin’ in, trying to force this, will only push her further away. We have a lot to make up for. Let’s try to get it right this time.”
Cullen cursed under his breath as they headed back to the jail, images of Hollis’ marred flesh lingering in his mind. He didn’t want to toss the guy in jail. He wanted to rip out his damn throat. Then, he wanted to march into the clinic and hold Hollis until his bear was convinced she was all right.
Of course, neither was likely to happen. All he could do was trust Lucas as he’d asked his mate to do yesterday. And pray Hollis would eventually give them the opportunity to atone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hollis leaned against the small dresser as she removed the cold cloth from her face. Shades of blue and purple stared back at her from the mirror, the hazy reflection making her wince. The upper part of her eyebrow was swollen, along with part of her cheekbone. Christ, she looked even worse than she’d thought she would after several hours, even knowing how quickly facial bruising appeared.
She probed at the laceration she’d had to stitch closed, grunting as even her gentle pressure sent throbs of pain pounding through her skull. Though she’d been involved in her fair share of brawls, she’d never been hit quite as hard as she had today. Even Frank hadn’t punched her with the same amount of force that first night in the bar when his brother’s life had been on the line. Thankfully, that was one patient she hadn’t lost.
Unlike yesterday.
As if not saving two of the men hadn’t burned deep enough. Made her question her own worth as a doctor. Getting attacked had only increased the uneasy feeling she’d had since her conversation with Cullen in the street—the one she’d been reliving over and over, and the reason she’d been distracted. Which explained why the guy in her clinic had gotten the jump on her—attacking her from behind the moment she’d stepped through the door. He’d muttered something about her not saving his friends, his words slurring together. There had been no missing the stench of whiskey on his breath as he’d spun her around, punching her in the cheek and knocking her into a small table before she’d had time to react. She’d used the surface to catch her balance, only to topple to the floor with the table when he’d hit her a second time with the handle of his revolver.
The force of that impact had discharged the weapon into the ceiling, which, in retrospect, had probably saved her life. Being only a single-action pistol, he’d either lacked the dexterity or the sense to cock his weapon, again, before she’d swung an iron candlestick holder she’d grabbed off the floor against his knee. The strike had dropped him onto his other knee, giving her enough time to sit up and hit him square in the chest, tumbling him onto his ass. He’d only just regained his balance when she’d kicked his groin then used the iron rod to send him careening out the open door.
The sound of him rolling down the stairs into a crumpled heap on the ground still echoed through her head. And she hated the part of her that cringed at the memory. What she’d told Lucas was right. She couldn’t save every soul, despite the fact even the lost ones gnawed at her conscience.
Her chin quivered as her mind once again returned to Cullen’s conversation the previous night. Though she’d been criticized and dismissed by more than her fair share of men, nothing had stung—had gutted her—as much as realizing they’d been playing her all along. That while she’d slowly been letting down her guard—had been falling for them, despite her better judgment and her determination not to—they’d been saying what they knew it would take to keep her complacent.
And she’d acquiesced.
Had bent to their wishes. Hell, she’d allowed Cullen to draw her a bath every other day since her mishap at the river. She’d also stopped going to the saloon, preferring to eat and drink with them either in Lucas’ or Cullen’s office. She’d even started to come to terms with the fact that they both seemed equally invested in their growing interaction—that they might even want to court her together—only to discover the attraction had all been one-sided. Hers.
Images of them from this morning slammed into her. Lucas had looked more than flustered when he’d marched out of his quarters, a flush coloring his cheeks, his cock pressing incessantly against his pants. If Cullen hadn’t followed out behind him, a similar expression on his face, Hollis would have thought she’d interrupted Lucas with one of the saloon women. Learning that it might well have been him and Cullen she’d interrupted…
Her pussy clenched emptily at the thought, the slick slide of her juices along her cleft making her shift uncomfortably. Picturing two men touching each other shouldn’t excite her half as much as it did. Especially when she wanted to be much more than just a spectator. She’d spent most of the past few nights imagining the three of them together, their hands discovering every inch of her body. It had seemed perfectly natural in her dreams that the men also interacted. But discovering it might be a reality… She’d been restless since.
She bit back the tears that clogged her throat. It didn’t matter whether they were a couple. Whether she could have come to terms with being part of something unconventional. Any attraction they might have shown for her had all been part of the ruse, and the deeper down she shoved any residual feelings for them, the quicker she’d be back to her old self. The one who had made peace with the fact she’d spend her life alone.
She glanced at her reflection, again. What she wouldn’t give to simply lie down and sleep for a while. Get a slight reprieve from the ever-present pounding in her head, not to mention the hollow feeling in her chest. But every time she tried, her stomach knotted as snippets of the attack played in her mind. She’d thought about asking Reverend Miller to stay in the other room while she rested for a few hours—pretend it was all about her patients—but she’d quickly dismissed the notion. There were only two men she would have trusted to stand watch, and they weren’t an option anymore.
A shadow passed by the window of the clinic. She spun, guns already in her hands as she waited to see if anyone would enter. The clock ticked in the distance as she stood there, heart racing, hands shaking slightly. When nothing happened, she eased up on the hammers then holstered the weapons. It had most likely been Lucas.
She snorted. He’d walked past her window a few dozen times since she’d staggered back inside, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he and Cullen wanted to keep up appearances for the rest of the camp. Prevent an uprising from within if the crew discovered the truth. Either way, his constant presence, however distant, only added to the pain already strumming through her body. Only she was pretty sure the medicine she had wouldn’t touch it.
Her head throbbed as if in agreement. She sighed, then headed for the door. Maybe a few shots of whiskey and some soup would calm her nerves enough she’d be able to sleep, even for just a couple of hours.
She moved through the clinic, checking the men still recovering on the cots. While those capable of walking had left during the showdown, a few had slept through the entire ordeal, and she couldn’t let h
er own injuries prevent her from doing her job. She made the rounds, taking stock of their condition until she was confident none of them had developed a fever while she’d been tending to her wounds. Chances were, they’d be able to return to their quarters once they woke up, which meant she might actually get some peace and quiet…if the rest of the men managed to avoid getting hurt or throwing a few punches later.
She sighed at the thought then headed for the door, slipping out into the street. Dull gray clouds hung over the camp, making it look more like twilight than early afternoon. The rain had started shortly after she’d locked herself away, the heavy droplets falling in a steady sheet—turning the dusty streets into muddy ruts and puddles.
Hollis turned up her collar as she descended the stairs, nearly tripping down the last one. She caught herself on the small railing, bracing her weight until the scenery stabilized. More pain pulsed through her temples, and she stood still for a few moments, allowing the cold water to drive some of the hazy feeling from her head.
Once she thought she’d be able to make it all the way to the saloon without falling face-first in the rutted street, she struck off, weaving a bit before finding her stride. Each step sent a resonating throb through her temples, but she managed to make it to the tavern steps without looking as if she’d already had too much to drink. Two men stood on either side of the swinging doors as she carefully climbed the short staircase, frowning when the one on the left stepped in front of her, barring her way.
He grimaced as his gaze lingered on her left cheek before settling on her eyes. He nodded at her. “Dr. Chambers.”
God, she hated that they all knew her name while she’d barely learned more than a few of theirs. Not that any of the men besides Lucas and Cullen had been forthcoming with that information.
She glanced at the other guy, then returned the first man’s nod. “Gentlemen.”
He moved with her when she tried to sidestep him.
She arched a brow. “Is there a problem?”
“No, ma’am, except…” He motioned to her hips. “You’ll have to check your guns with us if you want to go inside.”
“Cold day in Hell before I go anywhere in this town unarmed. Not when every other man is.”
“It’s not just you. Sheriff Quinn passed this rule for everyone.”
“Since when?”
He glanced at the other man, who hadn’t moved, yet. “About a week ago. Something about the men getting too liquored up and shooting each other.”
She pursed her lips, wondering why Lucas hadn’t mentioned anything to her before shoving the thought aside. Obviously, the man had hoped to keep more of the men healthy to work the rail. It didn’t mean he was trying to lessen her load.
The guard motioned to her weapons, again. “Afraid I have to ask for your Colts.”
Hollis snorted, backed up a step, then drew, leveling the barrels at both their heads. She cocked the hammers, then gave them a smile. “How about I make you boys a deal? I’ll gladly leave my weapons with you once the men in this town stop swinging their fists at me. But until then, they stay where I can reach them. Now, you can either get the Hell out of my way, or I can shoot you. Your choice. But I’m heading inside with my guns.”
The color drained from their faces before they raised their hands and slowly moved out of her way.
She waved the pistols at them. “Farther. And if either of you even think of jumpin’ me from behind, I’ll be sure it takes a few rounds to actually kill you.”
They swallowed hard, taking four more healthy steps away. She nodded her thanks, spinning as she moved through the swinging doors so she could watch both sides of the entrance. The guy on the left muttered something about getting the sheriff, bolting down the steps once she’d entered the saloon. Hollis shrugged, taking a few heavy steps inside. The din of conversation stopped as folks stared at her, their gazes locked on her pistols.
She arched a brow, twirling the revolvers around a few times before holstering them. “Anyone else in here got a problem with me being armed?”
A few of the men shook their heads, no one voicing any objection.
“Good.” She made her way to the bar, sliding onto one of the wooden stools.
Caleb stopped in front of her, a cloth slung over one shoulder. His lips quirked as he glanced at her face, his gaze lingering for a few moments before shifting back to her eyes. “What can I get you, Doc?”
Hollis gaped at him. “Doc? Since when do you call me anything that…nice?”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. “You’re a doctor, ain’t ya?”
“Same one who shot you that first night.”
He rubbed the hand in question, then shrugged. “Let’s just say Sheriff Quinn’s been pretty vocal about what he’ll do to folks if they disrespect you. Getting shot once was enough. So, what can I get you?”
She groaned inwardly at his words. She didn’t need Lucas or anyone else fighting her battles for her, especially when she knew it wasn’t because he actually believed what he was preaching. “Whiskey. And some soup if you have any.”
Caleb frowned. “A bit early for you to be drinkin’, ain’t it?”
She glanced around the tavern. “Doesn’t seem too early for your other patrons.”
“They’re not workin’ today. What if one of the men gets hurt?”
“I doubt a shot of whiskey is going to impair my ability to stitch a man up. Though it might help with the pounding in my head.”
He glanced at her left side, again, then sighed. “I’ll see what Marla has cookin’ in the back.”
“Much obliged.”
She stared down at the bar, lost in thought, when a glass and a bowl full of dark broth appeared in front of her. She thanked the man, downing the whiskey in one gulp. The liquid burned a path through her chest, the instant punch of alcohol finally easing the incessant hammering in her skull. She raised the small glass, indicating to Caleb she’d like another as she took a cautious spoonful of the soup. A warm mix of vegetables and beef burst on her tongue, the heady flavor drawing a throaty moan from her. She hadn’t eaten since the cornbread she’d shared with Lucas and Cullen yesterday morning, and the warm offering finally settled the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.
She thanked Caleb when he set another drink beside her hand, then ate in silence, paying just enough attention to her surroundings she wouldn’t get caught off-guard. She’d almost finished the bowl when the swinging doors opened, hushed footsteps padding across the room. The background of voices silenced as the person drew closer to her. She sighed, not needing to look around to know Lucas was standing behind her, the knot in her stomach twisting to life, again. She hated that she reacted to him and Cullen. Hated that her breathing and heart rate kicked up, or that her nipples tightened into hard little buds beneath her shirt and camisole. Or how a jumpy feeling coiled tight in her core as arousal coated her cleft.
She did her best to latch onto the anger still seething beneath the surface as Lucas took the seat next to her, his strong arms resting on the bar. His broad fingers laced together as he turned to face her, his hat tilted back just enough the light reflected off the blue in his eyes. She slid him a quick glance, frowning when she thought she saw a flash of red amidst the blue before it quickly vanished. Lucas released a weary breath, twisting and shifting his gaze to the rest of the crowd.
“If you’re here to scold me for not leavin’ my pistols with your watchdogs outside, you can save your breath. I’ll tell you what I told him.” She turned to fully face him. “I won’t go anywhere unarmed until the men in this camp stop swinging their fists at me, not to mention their guns.”
Lucas inhaled sharply, his gaze fixating on her cheek. He reached for her before he seemed to think better of it, allowing his arm to return to the top of the bar. A red flush colored his cheekbones as he clenched his jaw. “I didn’t come here to scold you.”
She returned to her food, not that she wanted it anymore. Everything she’d eaten felt as
if it’d turned to stone in her gut, making her wish she’d just stayed in her damn room—faced her demons alone like she always had.
He nudged her gently with his shoulder. “You okay?”
She snorted, glancing at him, again. “Do I look okay?”
His nostrils flared, and his body tensed. “You look angry, and hurt, and like you’re liable to fall down any second.”
“See. You didn’t need to ask, after all.”
“Hollis…”
“Even I need to eat from time to time. And the whiskey’s good for dullin’ the pain.”
“There isn’t enough liquor in this saloon to dull the pain I suspect you’re feeling.”
Her chest tightened at his words, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about her face or her heart. Not that it mattered. He was right. While the initial spike had tamed the pain a bit, there was no denying it had returned, stronger than ever.
She turned away, closed her eyes, and pressed one hand to her temple, tempted to simply bang her head against the bar until the pounding stopped. A throaty growl rumbled close by before Lucas cupped her shoulder. She clenched her jaw against the rush of heat from the gentle touch, praying it wasn’t the last straw that pushed her over the edge, when his breath feathered across her neck.
He’d leaned in close, his body skimming her right side, his mouth a mere inch from her ear. “Let me take you back to the clinic. I’ll tuck you in your bed—let you get the rest you need.”
She swallowed to keep from moaning a raspy, “Yes,” in reply, grazing her hand across swollen cheek in order to snap herself back. The pain hit her hard, and she found herself scrambling off the stool, bracing most of her weight against the counter as she distanced herself from him. He huffed out his irritation, but she didn’t care. Not when she feared she might pass out before she even made it past the swinging doors.