Chapter Eight

Women’s voices, distant and muted, awoke Blair.

Damn, he was tired of lying in bed. He raised his head cautiously. Waited for the onslaught of pain. Not bad. Not good, but tolerable. Both elbows propped on the mattress, he pushed his shoulders up. Again, paused. Some pain.

Had he been wounded on the battlefield? The room didn’t appear to be a hospital. What was going on?

He paused, took a deep breath, and gave it time. He’d been shot before, ripped open by heavy fire. The pain had surprised him with its intensity. This felt like a wriggling, thorny being darted up his leg into his spine and through the top of his head. Being struck by lightning, but in reverse. After several deep breaths he overpowered it, but didn’t move.

From beyond the door came muffled laughter.

He cocked his head. Listened. Recognized one voice. Rowena. The name came to him unbidden. But who was the other? He knew, but could not quite… Gingerly he rolled to one side.

Oh, God. Not good. Dammit. Gritting his teeth, fists gripping the sheets, he kept the roll going. Just a bit farther and he’d be on his side. Maybe he could lift his legs, one at a time, and place his feet on the floor.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. Shards of piercing bright lights shot through his vision, but he remained conscious. Still, he kept struggling, trying not to groan out loud. Where was the nurse? She’d come rushing in and make him lie back down if she heard. And he was so damned tired of lying here. Must’ve been here a month at least. If he could prove he could move, maybe they’d let him up.

His left leg trembled a tiny bit. It would move, but the other? No. He tried to sit up, but that was no good with that leg all strapped up. He straightened his arms and pushed himself upright, splaying both hands flat on the mattress. That worked, but the intense pain brought everything to a halt while he took deep breaths to keep from passing out. Stars skittered through the darkness, closed in around his eyeballs. The pain convulsed his stomach, and he swallowed hard. Damned if he’d vomit.

At last, he dragged his butt up under him and sat hunched over his thighs. Now for the worst part. Right leg first. The one strapped into something stiff. Try it. He lifted his thigh, used the nightshirt as a sling, and swung the leg off the bed.

Aw, hell. The floor came crashing up, hit him in the forehead, and darkness swallowed him whole.

He came to lying in the bed with two women standing over him glaring like he’d committed some crime. Rowena and someone else, a familiar face he could not place. A dream. A god-awful nightmare that flickered on and off. He snuffed it out. Still no idea where he was or what had happened to him. Clear he hadn’t been shot, not in battle, at any rate.

“We had to get two half-drunk men off the street to come up here and lift you back into bed. What were you doing?” Wilda. Rowena’s sister. How the hell had she got here?

He raised a hand, attempted nonchalance. “Hello, Wilda. Good to see you.”

She grimaced. “You too, I think.”

Hands on her hips, Rowena continued to regard him without humor.

“I’m sorry, love. I needed out of this bed.” That he aimed at Rowena, cutting Wilda off completely.

Wilda’s mouth dropped open. She glanced at Rowena and said something under her breath, then turned to him. “I thought you were Blair Prescott. Who are you?”

“Not amusing.” It all came back in a rush. The dray, being under fire, but no, that could not be right. Then there was the agonizing pain.

“Neither is you leaping out of bed.” Rowena’s voice broke, and she settled beside him, touched his cheek, then kissed him. “Promise me you won’t do that ever again.”

“If you don’t let me up, I won’t promise you anything.”

“I’ll talk to the doctor about getting you into a wheelchair.”

“Tell him I want to go home. Simmons is there. He’s a better nurse than that little gremlin who runs around behind that gnome of a doctor like his pet cat. Get me a wheelchair so I can go home. Please, Rowena.” He clasped his hands together under his chin.

“You can stop the puppy-dog eyes.”

“Please?” Wilda mocked. “I think I’ve fallen into another world. Love? Please? I repeat, who are you?”

“Stop that.” He glowered at her.

Rowena peeked at her sister, then back at him. “Both of you stop it. He’s only being nice so I’ll get him out of that bed. Normally he’s a troublemaker.”

“Un trublion,” he said.

“You said that before. What is it? What does it mean?”

“The colonel. He always called me his hellion after a particularly violent battle.”

“Ah, a perfect name for you. But I love you, nonetheless.” she said.

He glanced at Wilda and motioned Rowena to move closer. When she did, he whispered in her ear, “I love you too. But don’t tell her.” After she kissed him again, lips warm and soft against his, he said, “And make her stop mocking me.”

Both women broke into laughter.

“It’s the morphine,” Rowena said softly.

Wilda nodded. “When it wears off, will he be his same old offensive self?”

“Probably,” Rowena said, sounding happier than she had earlier.

Sighing, he peered about the room but saw no one lurking in the shadowy corners. The morphine must be keeping them away. Could it be they were gone for good?

The two women were still talking in undertones when he drifted off to sleep.

****

Doctor Weatherby gladly released his patient. “He is indeed an irascible man,” he told Rowena, wheeling the wooden chair into the cubicle where Blair lay, impatient and vocal. The doctor’s helper, a huge man with a bald head and bulging muscles, followed along. Without being instructed he went to the bed, threw the bedclothes off Blair, picked him up as if he weighed nothing, and deposited him in the chair.

“Good God almighty, are you trying to kill me?” Blair shouted when Baldy gently positioned one foot, then the other on the fold-down foot rest.

“Sorry, sir,” the man murmured. Those turned out to be the only words he spoke, though he took over the job of wheeling Blair to the top of the stairs.

“Are you going to allow this giant to toss me down there?” Though he was only half-serious, he had a niggling feeling the man wanted to do just that.

“Stop being such a baby.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much, my lady.”

She only laughed. “His colonel called him a hellion,” she explained.

“Okay, tell everyone.”

Baldy picked him up, carried him down, and deposited him none too gently into the buggy Grady had parked out front. Rowena covered him with the rug, tucked it in around him, her fingers gentle against his legs.

“Good God, the man is a sadist. Don’t forget the chair.”

“I should leave it here, so then I would have you helpless and under my control.” She smiled at him, and he shook a finger at her but couldn’t help returning the smile.

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me, being under you. I’m told we are married.”

“Blair, behave. You know we are married. You cannot wiggle out of it now. It’s too late.” From the tone, she was enjoying the banter. He was happy to please her, she had been so loyal to remain with him. From the dark circles under her eyes, it was obvious she had not slept well in several days. But his wife? That could not be, though he did love her.

He laughed, feeling good and free and hopeful around this woman he had only recently discovered he loved. It was an entirely new feeling for him, a man who had learned not to love anyone or expect love in return. He was still getting accustomed to it.

Simmons helped Baldy with the chair, which the two strapped to the back of the buggy on the luggage rack. Grady and Simmons would ride up front.

Even though Rowena enjoyed Blair’s teasing, she could see he was in a great deal of pain. How would they get him inside when they arrived at Fairhaven? Though trim, he was a good-sized man. No sense in worrying. Blair was going home, and neither hell nor damnation could stop him.

When Baldy started toward the stairs to the doctor’s office, she laid a hand on his heavily muscled forearm. “Thank you so much.” She smiled up at him. He nodded with no change of expression and continued on his way.

Weatherby handed her a packet. “Instruct Simmons to give him the morphine as marked on the hypodermic, and to inject it slowly into a vein in his arm. He can take it by mouth if necessary, but it tastes rather foul. I’ve included a small vial of opium, but don’t give it to him unless his pain worsens. It’s addictive and… Well, Simmons will understand the caution. I’ll be out in a few days, and perhaps we can lower the morphine dosage.”

Holding the medication, she glanced toward Blair, then back at the doctor. “What about his leg?”

Weatherby shrugged. “I’ve done all I can do. He will either recover and be able to walk or he won’t. Much of it is up to him. I’ll change the splint when I come out, and instruct you and Simmons on doing it thereafter. He’ll be in it a while, so he might as well get used to the blamed thing. He is not to put any weight whatsoever on that leg.”

“What if I took him to a hospital, say, in Kansas City or St. Louis? Could they do more for him?”

The doctor’s forehead furrowed. “The man needs to be in an asylum. I’ve spoken to you about that before. He lapses into these rages.”

“I’m more concerned about his physical injuries.”

Weatherby shrugged in defeat. “I’ll be able to tell you more once the splint comes off.” He touched her hand. “I worry about you, should he have one of his spells. He could well blame you for what has happened.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That would never happen. What he needs is someone who will stand by him, help him, not shut him away somewhere.”

“So be it,” Weatherby said. “I’m told you married him. I hope you don’t live to regret it. Send for me if you need me.”

“Thank you for taking care of him. Have you given the bill to Grady?”

“Yes.”

“I will see you are paid, then.”

“Rowena, could we go now?” Blair said.

“Coming. See you soon, Doctor.”

Climbing into the buggy, she sat beside Blair, whose splinted leg rested on the seat opposite. She was very careful not to touch it and glanced at him, curling her hand in his lap. His smile was more like a grimace, and he folded his fingers around hers.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded, but his jaw clenched and unclenched.

Wilda, who had remained overnight at the surgery with her sister, took the seat opposite, watching Rowena with a puzzled frown.

The trip was hard on Blair. Pain contorted his features with each bump, but he hung on to her and made no complaints.

It took both Grady and Simmons to lift him down from the buggy and into the chair. They had decided to put him temporarily in the study on the main floor. A bed was brought down from upstairs and the room prepared. There he would have all his books and a good view of the outdoors, plus the warmth from the huge fireplace. A fire burned briskly when he was wheeled into the room, sagging in the chair. By now, he must be wishing he had remained with the doctor a while longer.

“Just leave me over by the fire. I’m chilly,” Blair barely got out the request.

“Sure you don’t want to go to bed for a while?” She touched his arm.

“No. I’ve had enough of a bed to last me a while. I want to sit here and look out the window, or read, or just contemplate. I intend to get busy walking as soon as it’s allowed, and that better be damned quick. Now, leave me be. All of you, and stop hovering. Rowena, please stay, if you don’t mind.”

Wilda headed toward the kitchen, and Simmons and Grady left, closing the door gently.

Over the days since the accident, his pain had become hers. Would he be the kind, gentle man she loved? Or that haunted soldier who continued to wander the battlefields of his memories? She had to hope the latter was gone, and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“I didn’t know where I was until I saw you.” He brushed a finger along the back of her hand. “What a grand fool I’ve been, and now look what I have done to myself.” He patted his right thigh. “What has that doctor to say about the injury?”

“Not much, yet. And you did not do this to yourself. I saw what happened, and it was not your fault. But rolling out of bed, now that was entirely your fault. You have to be patient. Quit doing things that can reinjure the leg. I’m going to help take care of you.”

“Why?” he asked.

She took his hand, kissed the back of it. “How can you ask me that?”

“It seems a natural question.” He sighed. “When my mother and father determined that Gerald was the stronger of us two, they turned to his needs entirely. Considered me weak and of little consequence. God only knows what they would’ve done had I been the first born.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what that has to do with me. I am your wife and I love you.”

He gazed into her eyes, a befuddled expression on his face. “People keep saying that, but I do not remember having a wife. Besides, a beautiful woman like you won’t long be happy tied to a cripple. You’ll soon find yourself someone stronger, more able.”

“You will remember. The accident has wiped out your memory of our wedding. We married only the day before you stepped in front of that dray. And I will never look for anyone else but you. If you cannot believe that, I am sorry. Besides, who says you’ll be a cripple? Are you looking for yet another excuse to send me away?”

He didn’t answer for a while, the silence in the room broken only by the monotonous ticking of the enormous grandfather clock and the crackling fire.

“Better done before you decide to leave.” He did not meet her steady gaze, but kept staring at the flames.

“You said you loved me, and you’ve said it more than once.”

“That was the morphine talking. I know the symptoms. I’ve been given the drug before.”

“And when you said it before the accident. What was that talking, the whiskey?”

“Probably. It tends to do my talking for me.”

She dropped to her knees, fighting the layers of skirts muddied by their earlier adventure in Victoria. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

He finally looked at her and rubbed his knuckles over her cheek, like he did so often. It felt so good, that gentle touch, and she leaned her head into his lap. His fingers fiddled with the pins in her hair till he had them loose, and the long locks tumbled down around her face.

“You’re exhausted from looking after me. I’m sorry to trouble you so much. What if I trust you? What then?” His voice was so soft she barely heard him, his hand now lying on her head.

“I want you to trust me, but whether you do or not makes no difference to my love for you. That will always be.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“I am.”

“Will you take off your clothes?”

“What?”

“We’ve enjoyed pleasures before this happened. Will you now take off your clothes for me?”

She stood and, gaze never leaving his, began to remove her clothing down to the corset, her drawers, shoes, and stockings. “Unlace me, please.”

His fingers worked the corset loose, and he let it fall to the floor with the rest of her clothing. She peeled off the stockings, kicked out of her shoes, and faced him.

“Come here,” he said when she stood before him in only her drawers and a chemise, nipples erect against the thin fabric.

“What are you trying to prove?” she asked, a quiver in her voice.

“I want you to be naked before me and swear that body will always be mine, no matter what happens.”

“You know what? I’m not going to do this, and I’ll tell you why. There are things no woman will put up with. Look at Lizza, upstairs hiding like a pursued animal because a man chooses to beat her. That could happen, the way you drink and the things that you go through. In that case, I am gone, not because I no longer love you, but because you have stopped respecting and loving me.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“You already have.”

“No, I have never touched you in anger. And I never would. You know that.”

“Anger isn’t the only way you can hurt me. Turning away from me hurts, too. I need you to stop doing that.” Once again she dropped to her knees beside the chair. “And I need you to begin respecting yourself. You are a brave, gentle, wonderful man, and I have loved you since you came to St. Ann’s and stood in that rose garden, the sunlight washing your face. I will never stop loving you.”

He bent forward and cupped her face between his hands. “Rowena—good God, woman, but I do love you. I’m simply not sure what to do about it.”

“You were sure. You married me.” Tears streamed down her face when he kissed her.

Later, after he was put to bed, she slipped into a robe and joined her sister for a visit, not sure just how long they would have together. Blair was home, and she was with him, and he loved her. Hope filled her soul.

Wilda sat across from Rowena in the kitchen, each with a cup of tea, a plate of biscuits between them.

Her sister leaned toward her. “Tell me, what did you do to him? He’s not the man he was when I lived here. Was it just me?”

Rowena picked up her cup, blew across the steaming surface, and took a sip before replying. “No, it was not you. It’s more complicated than that. I am not sure I will ever understand it all, but I do know that what happened to him in that dreadful war did something to him. His parents throwing him out of their lives did not help, either. As a result, he doesn’t know what to do but drink to dull the memories and the things that come in the night to haunt him. When that does not work, and it rarely does, he turns into a man who fears love in all its forms. When he is himself, he is wonderful to be around.”

“And you can put up with that? What he does?”

Rowena shrugged, met her sister’s gaze. “I love him. Tell me, do you not put up with some things you do not like about Calder?”

Wilda sighed, then chuckled. “Oh, believe me I do. But he’s kind, thoughtful, strong, and…” She leaned closer and whispered, “He’s a marvelous lover.” Her face turned as red as her hair.

Rowena laughed. “Oh, sister, all the same goes for Blair.”

Wilda studied her thoughtfully, reached for one of the sweet cookies. “I’m surprised that you… I mean, considering what you went through, that you even allow a man to touch you.”

“I didn’t, not for a long while. You know, I never blamed Jimmy for what the nuns did to me. Never. I have nothing but sweet memories of that gentle boy. Funny, in my mind, though I have aged nearly ten years, he is still that young Irish lad. But the possibility that I will face punishment if I give myself to another man has always been a lurking promise. Yet the first time I saw Blair—You remember that day he came and talked to us in the garden at St. Ann’s?—my heart went out to him. He seemed so lonely, so haunted. I did not understand it for a long while. After I came to know him better, I realized it was that soulful look in his eyes. One that matched the way I felt down deep inside. I wanted to hold him, soothe him, tell him I understood. And I did. I did.” A tear leaked from her eye and she wiped it away angrily. “But he chose you, and it broke my heart.”

Wilda rose and came around the table to hug her. “I’m so sorry.”

Rowena patted her hands. “I know. I know you are. And it’s all worked out, hasn’t it?” She took a deep breath. “Are you happy? Truly happy?”

“Yes, I am truly happy. The ranch is beautiful, we work together all day and come in exhausted. He holds me and tells me one day we’ll have everything we’ve ever wanted. And we…”

Rowena laughed at her hesitation. “You must enjoy each other in bed, since you are with child.”

“Yes, we do.” Wilda laughed too. And after a while of embracing each other, she asked, “Is he going to recover? Be able to walk again?”

“I pray he will. The doctor says he doesn’t know yet.”

“Perhaps you should take him to Wichita or Kansas City, maybe St. Louis, where there are people who know more about this kind of injury than Doctor Weatherby.”

“I’ve suggested that, but the doctor is sure it will not make a difference. Still, I think you’re right. As soon as he can travel, I’m going to suggest we do just that.”

“You can make arrangements to take him onboard a Pullman car on a stretcher, if necessary.”

Rowena was silent for a while. “Oh, he would never let anyone see him so helpless, even people he does not know. No doubt he will probably insist on walking before he goes out in public.”

“Well, if that happens, he might not need another doctor.”

A pounding came on the front door. Simmons moved past the kitchen door on his way to answer, and Rowena called out to him. He must not have heard, for he continued on, his footsteps fading. She made it to the hallway, Wilda on her heels, before a great hullabaloo echoed through the house.

“Where is my wife?” A strident male voice demanded.

“Oh, goodness,” Rowena whispered. “It’s Barton Crouch, Lizza’s husband. He’s returned.”

She grabbed Wilda’s arm. “Go out the back door and to the barn and fetch Grady and Calder. Tell them to bring guns.”

Wilda nodded. “Crouch? This is the man they searched all over town for this afternoon. Couldn’t find him.” She raced off, disappearing into the shadows behind Rowena.

“You’ll tell me or I’ll kill you,” the intruder shouted.

By the time Rowena reached the foyer, the man was forcing open doors, shouting Lizza’s name, then slamming one to go on to the next. Simmons kept lamps burning in all the ground floor rooms. They cast a dim glow but left shadows in all the corners, so it was easy to see where someone might be hiding.

At the study Crouch tried the knob and found it locked. “Who’s in there? Lizza. Lizza?” He hammered hard on the door.

“Lord Prescott is in there. He’s been injured and is in bed. Please do not disturb him.” Simmons spoke the words as if the man were a guest and not an intruder.

“Open the door, so I can see.”

Simmons shook his head. “I am sorry, sir. I cannot do that.”

“You will, by God, or I’ll…” He stuck the gun under Simmons’ chin.

About that time Wilda came flying from the direction of the kitchen, eyes wide with terror. “They’re gone,” she yelled.

“Who’s gone?” Crouch shouted. “Get on over here where I can watch you.”

What would they do without Calder and Grady? And where could they be? Sick at heart, Rowena hurried to the study door, slipped a key from her pocket, and unlocked it. She could not let this man shoot Simmons, and he probably wouldn’t hurt Blair, who presented no danger to him. He was looking for Lizza.

She swung the door open to reveal Blair in bed, knocked out by a dose of morphine “See?” she said. “Now please do not disturb him.”

He grabbed Rowena’s arm with a grip that sent pain shooting into her shoulder. “You tell me where Lizza is, this very minute, or I’ll shoot all of you, including that man in there.”

Gritting her teeth, she peered up into his crazed features. “If you shoot all of us, then no one can tell you where Lizza is. That does not make sense. If you’ll put the gun down, I’ll tell you what happened to Lizza.” Surely he would hear her teeth rattling with fear, but she held her ground.

****

From beyond the confines of his room, Blair made out voices. Shouting, Anger. Violence. His eyes snapped open. Dark. In the distance cannon fire. Men called out. Children cried. He felt around for his rifle. Where was it?

He could not move. Had he been shot? Yes, that was it. He remembered. Shot on the battlefield. Voices shouted for help all around him. Someone scurried up to him, keeping low while lead balls zinged overhead from all directions.

Pain. Oh, God, the pain. He tried to move from his position, but couldn’t. Where was his rifle? He bent at the waist, overcame the pain shooting up his leg, and pushed himself down to the ground. He came to lying on his stomach.

Passed out. He ran a hand down one leg, felt something binding it. Someone lifted him. He lashed out, struggled, tried to kick his attacker, but the darkness closed in once again.

Blair opened his eyes lying in bed in his study. A fire burned in the fireplace and his legs felt as if they had been held over that very fire.

“Lie still, please,” a woman said.

“Where are we?”

“At Fairhaven. You must be quiet.”

“Why? What is it? Is that you, Rowena?”

“No, it’s Wilda.”

“Wilda? What? Why? Where is Rowena?”

“You must lie still. You’re going to injure yourself badly. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to lie still.”

“What is going on?”

“There’s a man here. He came for Lizza. Her husband, I guess. Rowena has managed to quiet him down. Simmons says Grady and Calder went to town They haven’t returned.”

“Get me my rifle.”

“No, now, don’t do that.”

“Get me the damned gun. Now.” He tried to sit up, but she held him down by the shoulders. He grabbed one of her hands. “Please.”

“All right. Tell me where it is, but please stay in the bed. If I let anything happen to you, Rowena will never forgive me.”

“Wait. Loaded pistols, in the safe behind the Bibles. On the shelf there.”

The woman was shaking so hard he could hardly hold on to her hand. But he had to make her understand. She hesitated a moment longer, then slipped off the edge of the bed and went to where he pointed. The safe, well hidden, was never kept locked. No reason to, and plenty of reason not to. When threatened, one needed protection fast. And this was one of those times.

She brought him the boxed pistols. All six chambers in each loaded with cap and ball. He laid them both on the bed, close at hand. “Can you get the man to come in here?”

“What? No. He’s already been in here.”

“Well, get him back in here. He almost killed that wife of his. A brutal man. He will hurt Rowena and Simmons. You have to do this. Good God, I can’t lie here and let harm come to them. Dammit, Wilda.”

He pawed at her, shameless in his pleas, frustrated that he could not leap from the bed and take care of this. He was, after all, a soldier. A man of war. A hellion, un trublion. A man who knew how to make trouble. How to kill. Why was he just lying here? Struggling, gasping in pain, he managed to sit up.

Wilda eased him back down. Not too difficult, he was weak as a kitten.

“I’ll go. I’ll bring him in here. Just don’t do that. Please, Blair.”

She held his shoulders, embraced him, kissed his cheek. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” How strange, this woman he’d almost married telling him she was sorry, when she had hated him so much. It made him ache inside, and he wasn’t sure why.

“I’ll be right back. Stay put.” She scurried to the door, unlocked it, and slipped out.

How in hell could he just lie here with all that going on out there? Shame washed through him. He tried once again to rise from the bed, but it was impossible, no matter how hard he tried. His leg was like a stump of wood that someone chopped on with an axe.

Even so, he would not allow Rowena to be hurt.

He picked up one of the pistols and waited for the door to open.

****

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowena spotted Wilda tiptoeing toward her and Crouch, ensconced in the kitchen where she’d convinced him to talk over a cup of tea. Before getting that far, he’d slapped her soundly, then shook her so hard her teeth rattled. His fingers had left bruises on both arms.

She finally convinced him she knew where Lizza was and would tell him if only he stopped yelling. With no idea what she would do next, she served him a cup of tea and sat across from him, trembling.

“Lizza has gone to be with her family.” She had to say something, the first thing that came to her mind.

“Ain’t got no family. You’re lying.” His eyes slitted, open lips revealing stained teeth.

“No, she said a cousin lives in Marysville, and she took a stage there. I swear before God.” She squinted her eyes toward heaven. God would surely forgive a lie in this instance.

“Oh, yeah. So what’s this cousin’s name?”

It was at this point Wilda came scurrying down the hallway. Holding her stare, her sister approached Crouch. Why had Wilda left Blair alone?

“Sir, if you want to find your wife, I can show you where she is. Right this minute.”

“No,” Rowena shouted, leaping from her chair.

Wilda gestured toward her. “Enough is enough. If we don’t tell him, he’s going to kill us all.”

“I wanted you to—”

“Well, I don’t always do what you want. Do I?” Wilda stared at her.

What was going on? Wilda would not take this man to Lizza. She wouldn’t. So what was she planning?

Crouch jumped up, aimed a stare at Rowena. “I know’d you was a-lying, you little bitch.” He ran to Wilda and grabbed her arm. She winced. “Take me to her, and no tricks.”

Watching Rowena, Wilda led the man away. All Rowena could do was follow along and trust her sister had some sort of plan, or knew something she didn’t know.

Back down the hall, they headed straight for the staircase. Lizza was upstairs in a room at the very end of the east hall, but Wilda led him right on past the stairs and to the study door.

“No,” she shouted.

At the moment Wilda reached for the doorknob, the front door flew open, stopping everyone in their tracks as they stared at Calder Raines and Grady Jones, each holding a revolver.

“You bastard,” Calder shouted, and shot at Crouch, who’d shouldered the study door open and stumbled inside just as the lead ball cut a chunk out of the thick wood.

“Don’t shoot again, Blair’s in there,” Rowena shouted before Grady pulled the trigger.

A lit lamp beside the bed and the crackling fire cast dancing shadows over the walls when she rushed into the melee. Annie came racing toward the study. Crouch took a shot at Calder, and he shouted and fell back against the wall. A flash came from the bed where Blair lay. Crouch fired at the same time, but crumpled to the floor. Wilda had her arms around Calder while Simmons knelt to check the unmoving form on the floor. Rowena shoved her way through to Blair and threw her arms around him. He fell back on the pillow, breathing heavily. Feathers floated in the air from a hole shot in the bedding. The air was filled with the stench of black powder and the reverberating bam. A smoking gun lay on the coverlet near Blair’s hand. Simmons joined her beside him. Gathered the pistols, and put them back in the safe.

“Are you all right?” Rowena’s eyes watered until she couldn’t make out Blair’s features.

“Yes, I’m fine, but I could use some of that morphine. My leg hurts like the very devil.”

“He’s hit,” Wilda cried. “Calder’s been shot.”

Simmons hurried to where Calder had slumped into a chair and immediately took charge.

“Bring the lamp over here.” Wilda obeyed. “Annie, heat some water if there’s none in the reservoir, and bring some cloths.”

“Is it bad? Can you… Should we go fetch the doctor?”

“Just do as I asked, Miss Wilda. It’s merely a flesh wound. It will hurt for a while, but I can clean it up. In the morning you can take him in to Doctor Weatherby, if you wish.”

Rowena consciously absorbed all the action, even as she measured out medicine for Blair, added water to the glass, and raised his head so he could drink.

She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples and speaking softly to him until he drifted off.

Calder looked a bit peaked, but smiled when she approached. “You came just in the nick of time,” she said. “Good to see you, even under such dreadful circumstances.”

He managed a tight smile. “Missed the son of a bitch, though, didn’t I? Never could shoot worth a damn. Is he dead?”

“Maybe so, but it all worked out in the end. Blair shot him, and yes, he’s dead. Hit him square between the eyes. How did you know to come here like that, without knocking or anything? You came in with your guns out.”

He chuckled, then sucked in a breath when Simmons tore away his shirt to expose the wound on his upper arm.

“Stopped by the doc’s to see Wilda, and the doc said you’d brought Mr. Prescott there home and that he was worried because that Crouch fella had stopped by demanding to know where Lizza was. Someone had told him they’d seen her leave in Prescott’s buggy, so he rode off headed this way. Then I fetched Grady—he’d come back to town to pick up some feed.” He stopped and took another deep breath. “We hightailed it out here.”

“That’s enough. Don’t talk anymore. Let Simmons take care of that. He’s good at patching people up.” Rowena touched his shoulder.

Calder grinned weakly. “I’ll be all right. I’ve had much worse.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you at last. Congratulations about the baby.”

“Yeah, ain’t she something, that woman?”

“Yes, she is something.”

Wilda returned carrying a bowl of steaming water, and Annie trotted along behind with some white cloths.

“Sorry I missed most all the excitement. I’d retired for the night, else I would’ve been on hand sooner.”

No one replied. It seemed they were all occupied in one way or another. Rowena let her rapid heartbeat settle down before going back to sit next to Blair. Hopefully, they could drag the body of that brute out of the room before he awoke. He might not remember shooting Crouch, or he might have one of his episodes when he realized he’d killed him.

It was hard to anticipate what might set him off. He probably didn’t even know for sure himself. She did not understand why some nights she dreamed of being whipped by the nuns because of what she and Jimmy had done. Often she saw the nuns as hellish monsters of some sort, lurking in the shadows of her nightmares.

Beside her, Blair rolled his head, murmured a name. She knelt closer and heard him repeat the name Roger several times, then shudder. Tears rolled from the corners of his eyes. She wiped them away and kissed him, traced the planes of his cheeks with the tip of a finger. Kissed him again. If love could heal, then hers would most certainly make him well.

“Sister,” Wilda said quietly. “Simmons has had a room readied for us, and we’re going to bed. He has pronounced Calder fit. So we’ll see you in the morning.”

Rowena rose and hugged Wilda. “It’s so good to have you here. I’ve missed you so much. Sorry for all this. It’s usually very quiet here.”

Wilda chuckled ruefully. “Well, it was a bit of excitement. I’ve missed you, too. We’ll see you in the morning. Take care of him.” She gestured toward Blair.

“And you him.” Rowena glanced at Calder.

Annie led the couple from the room. Simmons took the unfortunate Crouch by the arms and dragged him through the door into the foyer. “I’ll leave him out in the cold. Grady will have to deliver his body to the sheriff in the morning.” He smiled, something he rarely did. “Frozen stiff,” he added with satisfaction.

“Thank you, Simmons.”

He nodded and dragged the dead man toward the front door. She padded across the carpet, avoiding the bloodstain, and quietly closed the heavy, bullet-scarred door. Then she shed her robe and crawled into the bed with Blair, breaking her days-ago promise to sleep in separate quarters from him.