by Ron Schwab
While Pilar and Myles worked at getting a fire going, Thad explained the procedure with Kirsten. “You’ll need some stitches above your eye and on your chin, but they’ll wait. Your breast has a nasty wound. If you look, you’ll see that your nipple was nearly amputated.”
She looked down at her breast. “Oh shit. What a mess. The son-of-a-bitch about ate it off. I don’t have more than a mouthful anyway, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I haven’t,” he lied.
“Liar.”
She might be small-breasted, he thought, but her breasts suited her lean, hard body that seemed devoid of wasted flesh. She had an interesting face, he recalled, more angular than soft with a generous sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Of course, none of this could be seen through her battered and swollen face now. All in all, she was a striking woman, not one who bore Serena’s flawless beauty but an eye-turner nonetheless. He compared every attractive woman to Serena, and they always came up short. After this many years, he supposed this was a flaw in his own character.
“Doc, you were going to explain things to me.”
“Uh, yes. I’m going to stitch up your breast. It will take some time, and I’d like to do the surgery with you lying flat. Could we use your bed?”
“It’s occupied.”
He hesitated and looked at her quizzically.
“My late husband’s using it.”
It seemed like everybody was talking in nonsensical riddles tonight. “We can use your dining table. It’s a little short, but I suspect you’re hurting so much you won’t notice if your feet hang over the edge a bit.”
“It looks like it’s all chopped up down there. Have you done this before?”
“Many times. I’ve sewn up dozens of cow teats. Same thing, more or less.”
She looked at him incredulously. “You are not serious?”
“I’m very serious. Now, as soon as the hot water’s ready, we’re going to move you to the table, and Pilar’s going to wash the wound. Then I’m going to apply some cocaine hydrochloride to the injured area to dull the pain. It’s usually very effective on open wounds, and you shouldn’t feel much, if anything. When I’m done stitching the breast, I’ll take care of the eye and chin wounds.”
In a matter of minutes, Kirsten was stretched out on the table, wrapped like a mummy in a sheet pulled back just enough to expose her left breast. After Pilar washed the injured breast, he gently applied the cocaine solution. Many women would have been mortified, he thought, but Kirsten Cavelle seemed stoic and had turned quiet, possibly recognizing this was not a good time to distract him. He took one of the small curved needles Quincy Belmont had fashioned for him, strung the surgical thread through the eye, slipped it in a dish of the boiled water and began the tedious suturing.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“Nothing compared to my damned head.”
“I have some acetylsalicylic acid pills I’ll give you when we’re finished. They’re not readily available yet, but they’re very effective and not addictive like many of the pain killers being used.”
“Don’t ask me to pronounce that, let alone spell it.”
“Some doctors are starting to call it ‘aspirin’ but I was trying to impress you.”
“Impress me by not messing up my knocker, Doc.”
“It will be better than it was . . . and bigger.” He would never have talked to another patient like this, but this woman seemed to invite verbal combat.
“Jesus. Then you’d better work on the other one, Doc. You may be starting a whole new career path.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think there’s much demand for that specialty in the cattle business.”
When he was finished with the mangled breast, he stood back and studied his work critically. The bleeding had been abated, but the woman still carried a sorry looking chunk of flesh, crisscrossed now with intersecting stitches. It would be bruised and swollen for some days, but the nipple should survive, and he didn’t think he was leaving any repulsive deformity.
He turned his attention to the wound above the eye and the chin gash. These he stitched quickly, and then he gingerly probed the engorged flesh that cocooned her nose. “It’s broken,” he said, “but it’s not terribly out of alignment. If you don’t re-injure it, I’d expect it to heal without leaving much damage . . . a small bump, at the most.”
“Okay, Doc, thanks for the patchwork. Are we finished now?”
“I’d say so. I’m going to leave you some salve that you should apply to your breast wounds twice daily. It will help with the healing and the pain. You can use it on your face, too,”
“Is the stuff for people?”
“Well, it works fine on people, but I use it mostly for sore and injured cow udders. It softens the tissue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I suppose I’ll be mooing soon.”
He smiled. “That’s optional.”
Pilar tapped Thad on the shoulder. “Thaddeus, I must speak to Cameron a moment. I shall return shortly.”
Pilar quickly departed out the door.
“Well, Doc, now what?”
“First, you might like to get off of that table.” He held out his hand, and she gripped it and leveraged herself to a sitting position and scooted to the end of the table.
“Sit for a bit before we try to move you to the rocking chair.”
He retrieved a tin cup of water and handed it to her, and she downed it quickly. “That was better than your medicine, Doc.”
“You can have more soon. You lost an awful lot of blood. I don’t know how you can sit up.”
“How much are you going to charge me for all of this work?”
“Well, it’s your water. I won’t charge you for that. And Cam’s the one who invited me to this party, so I guess I’ll send him a bill for five dollars.”
“Five dollars! You must think I have a gold tit.”
She left him momentarily speechless, and then their eyes met and he realized she was just needling him. This was a woman who could endure great pain and humiliation with her humor intact. He found himself liking her in spite of her rough manner and salty speech. “My charges are the same for all kinds of critters. Now, Miss Cavelle . . . or is it Mrs. Brannon?”
“Kirsten.”
“Very well, you may call me ‘Thad’ if you wish.”
“I think I’ll stick with ‘Doc.’ That tag fits best. My God, what else can you call a guy who’s two kinds of doctors?”
He grinned at her, shaking his head. “I’m honored to be ordained ‘Doc’ by you. Now, let me help you off.”
The door opened and Cam and Pilar walked into the room. “Wait a moment, folks. We have something to discuss,” Cam said.
“She’d be more comfortable in the chair. Wait until we move her.”
“She may need to be on the table.”
“Why?”
“Pilar says Mrs. Brannon was injured in her private parts.”
“Kirsten?” Thad turned to his patient.
“First, tell the law wrangler I’m not ‘Mrs. Brannon.’ I never went by that, and I sure as hell won’t be now.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Cam said, “but Thad needs to look at your other injuries.”
“Jesus, I’m just hurting some. No blood. I’ll be fine. I don’t think he needs to be gawking at my muffin. That’s kind of my last shred of dignity. Pilar took a look. Isn’t that enough?”
“As my wife, she would be highly suspect as a witness.”
“The doc’s your brother. That’s not suspect?”
“You have a point, but folks trust doctors . . . not that they should . . . and he would qualify as an expert witness.”
“He’s a muffin expert?”
“Please, Kirsten, I’m advising you as your lawyer to cooperate. It may be critical to proving you were raped.”
“Raped? How many men in these parts would say a man would ever be guilty of raping his wife?”
“This man. And I hope to convince a few others by the time I finish with a jury . . . if there is one.”
Kirsten sighed in resignation and slid back on the table. “Oh, shit. Go ahead Doc. Take a gander, but make it damn quick.”
Cam left the room, and Thad made a brief examination, assuming that a married woman was unlikely to have suffered serious internal damage in the absence of bleeding. He noted deep scratches on the inner thighs and red marks likely left by brutal fingers that would look worse in a few days. Pilar had obviously washed the injuries, and Kirsten could apply some of the salve. There was nothing life threatening, but she had obviously been forced to submit to her husband’s assault. When he concluded his examination, he stepped back. “You can sit up now. I’m sorry, Kirsten, if you found any of this unpleasant or humiliating. We’re finished now.”
“Not your fault, Doc. Your brother’s kind of a ruthless son-of-a-bitch, but that’s not a mark against you . . . and I want the ruthless son-of-a-bitch on my side.”
On cue Cam opened the door and re-entered the room. “Now we need some pictures,” he announced.
Thad and Kirsten looked at him in joint astonishment.
“Pictures of what?” Thad asked.
“Her injuries. I would have preferred to have them taken before you did your work, but I figured you’d get stubborn about it.”
Thad bristled. “Damn right I would have, and I’m not inclined to take any now.”
“We’ve got to. We’re talking about critical evidence. Thad, take my word for it: your tintypes could save her life.”
“It’s okay, Doc,” Kirsten said. “I guess you’re a photographer, too. I can’t wait to see what other talents are yet to be revealed. You’re not a law wrangler, also, are you?”
He smiled wryly. “No, but everybody else in this loco family seems to be.” He turned to Cam. “There’s not enough light to get any decent tintypes in here.”
“Sun’s coming up now. You can move out on the porch . . . but first, Thad, I want you to take a look at her husband.” He nodded toward the bedroom, and Thad followed.
This can’t be happening to me, Thad thought. This whole situation is beyond insane. Nonetheless, he joined Cam in the bedroom and took a look at the corpse. “You’re wanting me to render a diagnosis? He’s dead.”
“That’s indisputable,” said Cam. “Don’t touch him.”
“I don’t want to touch him. But why not?”
“I don’t want the sheriff or coroner saying we tampered with the body.”
“Okay, no tampering. Now what did you want me to see?”
“What would you say is the cause of death?”
“That looks like a bullet wound between the eyes to me . . . but I wouldn’t want to say for sure without touching him.”
“Suicide maybe?”
“I don’t see a gun . . . unless he put it away after he shot himself.”
“You’re going to be a helluva witness for the defense.”
10
THE ROCKING CHAIR had been moved out on the small porch and Kirsten rocked slowly, her fingers tentatively testing the swollen flesh that nearly swallowed her eyes. She watched curiously as the doctor-vet-photographer set up the tripod and anchored the black box and something that looked like a bellows to the top. This guy was pretty much all business, she decided. He’d shown flashes of a wry sense of humor when she had baited him earlier, but most of the time he was focused on the task in front of him.
Dr. Thaddeus Locke was a ruggedly handsome man, trim and muscular from the work of a profession that demanded physical as well as mental agility, tall but not quite as tall as his older brother, who stood a good six feet two inches. His piercing gray eyes he had in common with Cam Locke, and they were both sun-bronzed, and given their sandy hair, she figured they were naturally of lighter complexion. Dr. Locke, she guessed, would be more comfortably anonymous in a crowd. Cameron Locke would always be the center of attention in a room and would love every moment of it.
“Kirsten, we’re ready to start, and I’ll get this done as quickly as I can,” Thad announced, as he moved his equipment in closer to the porch. He turned to Cam and Myles who were leaning on the hitching post, watching the proceedings with interest. “You two make yourselves scarce. Pilar, I’d like you to stay near Kirsten. We’ll try to do this in a way that protects her modesty as much as we can.”
Cam put his arm around his son’s shoulder and headed for the other side of the house. “This is the last time I’m moving out of the way today. When I come back, I’ll be giving the orders.”
Pilar laughed. “He does like to be in charge. And he is when he’s working. We have a different management arrangement in our home.”
“You really love each other, don’t you?” Kirsten asked.
“Yes, we do. And we’re best friends.”
“Must be nice.”
“Now, we’re going to do the face shots first,” Thad said. “The light’s fine here, but if I get closer than five or six feet the picture will blur out. Kirsten just look right into the camera. I know you’re suffering pain, but make an extra effort to look like you’re suffering. I have a hunch Cam would like that.”
So the doctor had a devious side, too. Perhaps he was not the innocent she perceived him to be. She squinted her eyes a bit more and forced the side of her mouth to droop some.
“Perfect.”
He took several more photographs from different angles. “Now, as for the breast, Kirsten, you will decide how much you’re willing to expose, and Cam can go to hell if it doesn’t suit him. Remember, if I know Cam, he wouldn’t hesitate to put the tintypes in front of a jury . . . all men . . . if it comes to that.”
She pondered the issue for a moment. Talk of a jury suddenly hit her with the seriousness of her situation. She shrugged. There wasn’t anything provocative about her chewed-up breast. She pushed back her robe just enough. “Doc, you’ve got the whole udder for one minute. But forget about taking any pictures of my muffin.”
Just as Thad took the last of the tintypes, Cam came around the corner of the house. “Riders on the ridge. Three, I’d guess. They’ll be here in ten minutes. Thad, get your photography equipment out of sight. Pilar, would you help Kirsten back inside? I’m going to walk out and meet the riders and slow them up a little.” He called for Myles. “Myles, you’re needed out here. Take the rocker back in the house.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Thad asked.
“Yeah, you’re a witness now, so the sheriff is going to have questions. You can’t do us any harm.”
Kirsten and Pilar were in the doorway. “Wait a minute, ladies. Kirsten, remember, you answer no questions unless you see me nod. Otherwise you don’t remember. Groan a little and start to faint if the sheriff pushes too much. Pilar, have you ever run into Sam Mallery anyplace?”
“I have never encountered him.”
“You don’t speak English very well. Understand?”
“No comprendo.”
11
THAD JOINED PILAR and Kirsten in the house and claimed a chair near the dining table while they waited for Cam and the sheriff. Myles had pulled up a chair for Pilar next to Kirsten’s rocker before he made a hasty retreat out the door with the timid dog, Killer, who had apparently taken a liking to the boy. After a few silent moments, Thad was startled by a furry creature landing in his lap. He looked down and saw an enormous gray tabby with yellow eyes staring back and appraising him carefully. He reached down and scratched the cat’s ears gently, and the animal snuggled closer and began a throaty purring.
“I’ll be damned,” Kirsten said. “Doc, meet Henry. He generally doesn’t take to men. He detested Max. Of course, Max kicked him around when his mood turned foul.”
“Glad to make his acquaintance.”
As he stroked his new friend, Thad surveyed the room. He was surprised to see a wall of books, which he had not consciously noticed previously, framing the doorway leading to the bedroom. Thad had neve
r met Maxwell Brannon, but it was difficult to imagine the man who had brutalized this woman as a serious reader. On the other hand, he had a hard time visualizing the rough-talking cowwoman with her nose in a book. Strike the profane language, though, and she was well-spoken, and he had certainly found it true that first impressions often deceived. The thumping of footsteps on the porch caught Thad’s attention, and he felt Henry tense, but the feline made no effort to leave his spot.
When the door opened, two sharply contrasting men followed Cam into the house. The first was Sheriff Sam Mallery, a tall, thickly-built, and barrel-chested man with wavy white hair partially covered by his dusty, crumpled Stetson, and a brushy mustache. He was trailed by a much younger man with black, perfectly combed and parted hair and wearing a gray tweed suit. County Attorney Frank Fuller was a bit overdressed for the occasion, Thad thought, but he had never seen Fuller with a rumpled appearance anywhere. Standing next to Mallery, the lawyer, who would have to stand up on his toes to reach five and a half feet, looked almost birdlike, but Thad knew that most ladies found him a handsome bird and that many would like to take the young bachelor home.
Fuller without doubt knew Pilar, so she would have to forget her little act. She likely wouldn’t have fooled him anyway. Cam had commented on more than one occasion that Fuller was one smart lawyer, “almost as smart as me,” his brother had once declared, only half in jest. But what was Fuller doing out here? From the way Thad understood the system the county prosecutor rarely got involved this early in a criminal investigation. The sheriff must be uneasy about the case—a woman’s involvement, perhaps.
The sheriff doffed his hat when he saw Pilar and Kirsten. “Ladies.” His eyes locked on Kirsten. “My God, Mrs. Brannon, what happened here?”
Kirsten looked at Cam, who had slipped between the sheriff and Fuller. Thad saw Cam respond with a barely perceptible nod.
“And where’s your husband?”
“See for yourselves, gentlemen,” Cam interjected. “He’s in the bedroom.” He stepped back and let the visitors go into the bedroom.