Chapter 12

 

“Let’s get the hell out of here, Trey,” Jax muttered quietly. “Some of Blue Feather’s men don’t look too agreeable to us leaving. We need to get out while we can.”

“You got it, boss.” Newell closed the stage door behind the reverend, and for a man of his considerable size, nimbly climbed up to the driver’s seat.

Callie had wanted to speak to Jax alone, but there was no time. She’d read the wariness in Trey’s eyes as he’d handed her up into the stage.

Despite the chill of the day, MayBell had asked to ride up top for a while, citing an upset stomach. Sam had quickly made room for her between himself and Trey.

As the stage lurched into motion, Callie felt the valise bump her feet from behind. She’d forgotten all about it during the ordeal. What good would the money, or even the jewels, do her if Jax had lost the battle? Or if he hadn’t spoken the language, known their customs—

He had saved all of them; had kept them safe. Just the way she felt at night—safe. Protected. And warm in his bed—just as Tildy Rienholdt had predicted. She smiled and settled into the comfort of his coat. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright.

“His coat! He forgot—”

Cara Manley patted her arm soothingly. “He’ll be all right, dear. The stage station is only ten miles from here. You can give it to him there—if he’ll take it.” The older woman gave Callie a searching look. “Did it ever occur to you that he meant for you to keep it?” She lowered her voice. “In your condition—”

“Oh, Mrs. Manley, that was just something he told Blue Feather to protect me! I’m not really—”

But Mrs. Manley smiled and shook her head. “Are you sure?”

No. She hadn’t even thought of such a thing…hoped for such a thing. But evidently, Jax had. The lie he had concocted for her protection had seemed natural enough, and perhaps had, in some small way, protected him as well, as the “baby’s” father.

Callie slumped back in her seat. Her thoughts and emotions careened and tumbled over one another. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to make sense of it all. The locket. The Apaches. Jax protecting them all; protecting her with a lie that might not be a lie—

“We’re here, my dear,” Cara’s gentle voice sounded, calling Callie out of her thoughts. She looked up at the other woman, and gave her a wan smile. Cara leaned near her, whispering, “From the looks of you, it just might be true! I’m going to speak to the driver about staying here for the night.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Manley—”

But Cara had already turned to climb out of the stage.

Following the older woman, Callie reached for her valise as Jax stood waiting for her by the bottom step. She put her hand out and he took it, helping her to the ground. He pulled her to him, and her arm went around his waist, careful of his side. The bleeding had stopped, Callie noted. She looked up at him, and he chuckled.

“Worried?”

Callie bit her lip before she answered. She was sick with it. But instead of telling him so, she asked, “Does it hurt?”

They walked toward the station door, following the others inside.

“No, not so much now.” He winked at her. “Dolly’ll fix me up. Seein’ me bleed’ll send her into a fit.”

No sooner had they entered, than he was proven right. “Dolly”, Callie soon learned, was Dolly Ames, a small woman who ran the station. She stood beside the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips, her lively eyes an unusual shade of blue, almost the color of turquoise. She clucked over the rest of the passengers until she spotted Jax, dusty and bloody from his fight with Blue Feather. Immediately, her hands spread in dismay. “Jaxson McCall, what happened to you?” The wiry older woman came to him, her lips thinning at the sight of fresh blood. “Take your shirt off, boy, and let me see how bad you’re hurt.”

“Dolly—” Jax began.

“Let’s have a look, Marshal. Even lawmen bleed. An’ I guess I oughtta know.”

Jax sighed and began to unbutton his shirt.

Dolly sucked in her breath. “Won’t kill you…not too long, but plenty deep.” She nodded toward the trestle table, then met his cool gaze. “Plenty painful.” She looked away, her voice turning brusque. “Lay up here on the table, boy, and let me get my things.”

“The table!” Tildy exclaimed, horrified.

Dolly turned a fiery look on the other woman, as if she couldn’t decide whether to explain to her or ignore her stupidity.

“Table’s hard—good for doctorin’. And it washes up easier than a mattress,” she added acidly.

“But it—it’s where we eat!”

“It’ll be clean when you eat offen it, woman! Now move!” Dolly looked Tildy up and down scathingly. “It ain’t gonna hurt ya to be a little late on a meal. Looks like you ain’t missed any lately.”

Jax turned away to hide his smile at Tildy’s outraged gasp. He pulled the red- and white-checkered cloth back, easing himself onto the trestle table. Callie sat down in a chair beside Jax, reaching for his hand.

As Dolly returned, Cara asked, “Is there anything we might do to help?”

Dolly nodded toward the kitchen. “If you’re powerful hungry—” she shot Tildy a withering glance, “you can go an’dish up the vittles. I’d be much obliged. Y’all can use the other table.”

Cara nodded and headed for the kitchen, as Dolly turned her attention to Jax. “What happened to your hand, son?” she asked gruffly, noting the makeshift bandage.

Jax smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Ran into a slew of Apaches. You know Blue Feather, don’t you?”

Dolly snorted. “Do I! That ol’ bastard.” She glanced at Callie. “Sorry, hon.”

Jax went on. “He decided…we needed to fight.”

“In the ring?”

“Mm-hmm. I drew first blood, though. It rattled him some.”

“I hope you cut him bad,” Dolly muttered, cleaning the wicked slash at Jax’s side as she spoke. Her voice gentled. “Take a breath, boy. This is gonna sting.”

“Go ahead.” Jax grimaced as she poured peroxide over the wound, then whiskey.

Dolly looked at Callie with serious blue eyes. “Always purify the wound, child. That’s important.”

Callie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“If you stay around this one very long,” the older woman continued, “you’ll have to learn doctorin’. He needs it more’n anybody I ever knowed, ’cept my husband, Joe.” Dolly took out a needle and her matchbox. She threaded the needle, then struck the match. She held the needle in the flame for a few seconds, then blew the match out. Bending, she lowered the needle just over the seeping wound, pausing for a moment.

Jax squeezed Callie’s fingers and she tore her gaze from watching what Dolly was doing to look at him. His eyes were warm with laughter. “Go on, Cal. Get something to eat. You don’t have to do this—not for me. Dolly’s used to patchin’ me up.”

Did she look that disgusted, she wondered, or was it fear he’d read in her eyes? And how much was it to ask, for her to sit beside him while Dolly sewed him up? But he wouldn’t ask. She shuddered at the thought of what Dolly was about to do, knowing her own stomach probably wouldn’t have been strong enough to see the task through. But, she could be here with him. Hold his hand. Just be near. It wasn’t much to offer, but it was something; and right now, it was all she had.

She tightened her fingers against his. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Marshal?”

“You know better,” he replied, all laughter gone from his expression as he became serious. “I could’ve done that easily enough in Blue Feather’s camp, love.”

“What—What do you mean?” Callie asked slowly.

“Did you really think I was fighting him for Tildy Rienholdt?” he whispered.

Realization dawned and Callie’s fingers went limp in his as she leaned back in her chair. She looked past him with unseeing eyes. “I thought…it was for all of us,” she murmured.

Jax snorted. “I guess you could say that, but it was mainly for you, Callie. The others were…incidental.”

“He got you deep here, Jax,” Dolly muttered. “Probably need four or five stitches on the worst of it.”

“Make ’em pretty,” Jax teased, then added under his breath, “and quick.” He flinched as the needle entered his skin, and Callie squeezed his hand.

“You holdin’ out all right over there, Jaxson?” Trey called. He laid his spoon down, craning his neck from where he sat eating at the other table.

“He’s fine, Mr. Newell, long as he don’t have to think about makin’ polite conversation right now,” Dolly responded. She took the next stitch.

“’M sorry, Dolly. We-We’re just worried.”

“Well, you oughtta be! What was you thinkin’, ridin’ into a passel of Apaches like that? Especially Blue Feather and his bunch!”

Trey Newell stopped eating and shot a look at Sam. Sam raised a brow, a smile on his lips. “Now ain’t that the way of it? Why did you ride into them ’Paches, Trey?”

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” Trey grumbled after a few seconds passed. He resumed eating.

“No. Didn’t reckon you did, Trey,” Dolly said more evenly. “But still, you did it.”

“Confound it, Dolly, what was I supposed to do? I wouldn’t have even knowed they were there if it hadn’t been for Jax! He spotted ’em.”

Another stitch. Jax’s lips tightened. “Let him be, Dolly,” Jax said quietly. “There’s…no way he could’ve known.”

Dolly looked as if she had more to say, but she glanced at Jax and remained silent.

Jax’s fingers flexed each time Dolly slid the needle into his skin, and it seemed he had to consciously give some thought to relaxing them. He made no sound, though his forehead was beaded with sweat. Dolly handed Callie a clean, damp cloth.

“Make yourself useful, child. He needs some comfort.”

Callie looked into Jax’s taut expression and saw laughter lurking in his eyes, behind the hurt. She gently drew the cloth across his forehead and neck, carefully wiping the sweat and grime away while Dolly worked on his side.

After a few more well-placed stitches, Dolly tied the thread off and snipped it with her scissors. She smoothed on some salve and began to wrap clean bandaging around the bruised and bloody area.

Jax sat up, then stood slowly, ignoring the pain in his side. Dolly shook her head. “Let’s tend to that hand.” She reached for the needle and thread again as Jax braced the back of his hand against the rough-hewn table.

She pressed her lips together as the needle slid into Jax’s palm. “You shouldn’t’ve cut so deep,” she murmured.

“Had to show I really meant it,” he muttered, watching as she took the next stitch.

Callie couldn’t bear it any longer. “Jax, don’t watch!” she entreated.

He raised amused eyes to look at her, a teasing retort on his lips. It died unspoken at the worried lines in her expression, the way her teeth clamped over her lower lip in empathy as Dolly took yet another stitch.

“I’m almost done here, young lady.” Dolly glanced at Callie, then looked at Jax. “I’ll just sew up the worst of it. It’s not cut so bad here.” She winked at him. “Four or five stitches oughtta let the deeper part of it mend, and the rest will heal on its own, long as you take care of it.” She snipped the thread once again and nodded toward the other table. “Y’all go sit. I’ll fetch ya somethin’ to eat.”

But Jax shook his head. “I need to clean up first, Dolly.”

“No bath with those cuts just stitched!” Dolly warned.

“Yeah, I know. I just want to get some of the worst dirt off before I sit down to eat.”

“You and your woman can have your old room Jax, at the end of the hall. I been savin’ it for ya. Go on, and put your things up.” She bent a no-nonsense stare on Trey Newell. “Don’t believe your driver’ll be wantin’ to leave til mornin’. It’s early to stop, but if you went on, it’d be long after dark before you got to Bob and Marney’s place.”

“Oh—uh—yeah, Jax,” Trey nodded vigorously. “We’ll stay over here. Let ever’body rest up and get their second wind from what happened today.” He blew his breath out in a rush. “We’re all…mighty obliged for what you did for us, Jaxson. They’d of killed us, sure, if you hadn’t-a been there.”

“Earned my money today, didn’t I, Trey?” Jax teased. He took Callie’s hand and led her down the hallway.

“Earned it by nearly dying for us,” Callie murmured.

They stopped just outside the bedroom door, and he turned, his dark gaze sweeping over her.

“But I didn’t, Callie.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing them in a light kiss. His eyes were warm. “Did you think I couldn’t take Blue Feather?”

She wanted to dissolve in the sheltering strength of his arms, but she held herself erect. “I was worried with good reason, Jax!” She indicated the fresh bandage at his side.

He grinned. “Stop sputtering and come thank me properly, then. I told you I’d take care of you, sweetheart.”

“Your ribs aren’t healed, Marshal, in case you forgot.”

“Oh, I remembered. When Blue Feather and I went rolling around in the dirt I didn’t forget those ribs for one minute.” He bent to kiss her lightly, but her arms encircled his neck and the kiss deepened. As Jax lifted his head, he muttered, “I couldn’t lose, Callie.”

“I know. You knew our lives depended on…on your success. We’d’ve all been killed.”

Jax’s lips curved up as he reached to open the door behind him. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then…what?”

“I couldn’t lose with you, Callie. You were there with me.”