2

Angie DuPree rushed into the room and stumbled right into the doctor’s back.

She nearly pitched him facedown on top of a bleeding man.

Strong arms caught her so fast she wondered if someone had been waiting for her to get into trouble. The doctor spared her one annoyed glance, then rushed around the bed and bent over the patient.

The doctor reached for the bandaged wound as she realized it was Justin lying there. Horror swept through her and then the hands that set her on her feet drew her attention. She glanced sideways.

Justin.

Her eyes flicked back and forth. It was definitely Justin who had her wrapped in his arms. She’d felt them before.

So it was Cole who was hurt.

Covered up like this, though—unconscious or nearly so—with all of his personality and his way of dress hidden, she was shocked at how much Cole resembled Justin. Both of them tall with dark brown hair. Their eyes matched too, a blue as dark as the starlit sky. But Cole had shorter hair and in the normal course of things was tidier and better dressed. But right now he was a mess.

“Aunt Margaret hurt her ankle and Miss Maria came out with us, but she said another man is hurt?” Angie said weakly.

Justin nodded. “That’s Ramone. I’m glad you could come and . . . help.”

Angie suspected he tried to disguise the doubt in his voice, but since she had her own serious doubts, she heard what he didn’t say.

She looked back at Cole, and a wave of dizziness almost staggered her. Some of it was the sight of so much blood, though she also had a strange blast of what felt like relief that it wasn’t Justin lying there. And then she was disgusted at such a thought. Cole being hurt was just as terrible. She was here to help and who the patient was didn’t come into it.

Some of the dizziness, of course, might be because she had no idea what to do, so she was scared to death. But Aunt Margaret had tripped over a misplaced schoolbook this morning and was limping badly enough she needed medical care herself. She’d sent Angie out here, and one of the other two ladies from the orphanage, Miss Maria, came along and had been sent to another house to tend another man. The doctor said he needed youth and speed and that a lack of knowledge wouldn’t matter.

Well, if Angie could stay upright, he’d get all of those. Youth, speed, and ignorance.

Lucky man.

“Thank you, Justin.” He let her go. She felt wobbly again but covered it up as best she could and rushed to stand next to Dr. Garner. Aunt Margaret said to obey him, lend him a hand. She squared her shoulders, prayed hard, let her head clear, and waited.

Rosita, the Bodens’ housekeeper, stepped aside. Angie knew her, too. She’d met the whole family and most of the other folks who lived and worked on the Cimarron Ranch. They came to church every Sunday morning as she did. Aunt Margaret had talked about them a lot, as well. The Bodens supported the mission generously. And Aunt Margaret loved Sadie Boden. In fact, Angie suspected she loved Sadie more than she loved her.

Which Angie richly deserved, though Aunt Margaret was nothing but kind.

“Miss DuPree,” the doctor snapped.

“Yes, sir.” Angie had no problem with sharply given orders and raised voices. It reminded her of her mother.

“Get across the bed from me. I’ll need your hands over there.” When she was in place, he handed his doctor bag across Cole to her. “We talked about what I might need from my doctor bag.”

There was a bedside table so she set the bag down, opened it, and waited.

Already working, the doctor glanced at Justin. “The shot is through and through. I won’t have to dig a bullet out. Tell me what happened.”

Justin spoke of an ambush, a gunfight. There was an outlaw imprisoned in the cellar. She followed Justin quite well until the doctor told her what to grab out of his bag. She lost the trail of the story at that point.

Her contribution to the chaos was a fumbling business because she was unfamiliar with the tools and supplies Doc Garner requested. She doggedly worked on.

The doctor powdered Cole’s gunshot, then put a folded piece of gauze over his belly.

“I need to roll him to his side and work on his back. I’ll need your strength here, Justin.”

Almost instantly, Angie found herself being pushed just a bit and squeezed between Justin and the table. The doctor and Justin lifted Cole with such gentle strength that Angie felt tears blur her vision. She’d never seen men so gentle.

“Miss DuPree, hold the bandage right here.” The doctor grabbed her hand and placed it on the thick pad covering the wound. “You press hard on the front of his stomach and don’t let this dressing slip while we put the carbolic acid on the exit wound.”

The doctor waited until she reached her arms in and had a firm hold on the bandage. Then Dr. Garner tended Cole’s back.

“Now hold this compress on his back while I bind them both in place. Justin, keep him steady on his side until I’m done. I’ll pass the gauze under him and you catch it and bring it up his front.”

“It’s a gutshot, Doc.” Justin’s voice had a terrible grief in it.

“I don’t think the bullet hit a vital organ. He’d already be dead if it had. He’s lost a lot of blood, and that’ll leave him weak for a while, but he’s got a decent chance of making it. There’s always fever—there’s no avoiding that—but if it doesn’t turn septic, he’ll survive. Cole’s a strong man and you’ve done a good job of tending him. The bleeding probably washed out everything from inside. I hope, anyway. Now we wait, get him to drink water as often as we can, and pray.”

The doctor wrapped the bandage. In the stillness of his efforts to keep the bandages snug, Angie caught on to the rhythm of the doctor tucking the strips under Cole’s body, then Justin bringing the bandage up to where the doctor could get at it again. She became aware of Justin so close beside her. He had obviously been through a long, hard day, yet he smelled clean, like the outdoors and horses and something else she’d never smelled before. If strength could have a smell, she’d say it was that. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and the effort to hold Cole on his side and lift so the doctor could pass the gauze under him caused corded muscles to bulge on his forearms.

She’d been close to her husband, of course, in wifely ways. But she’d never been near a man like this. Working at his side, watching him do his best in a loving way.

“That’s it. I’m done. Ease him onto his back.” The doctor fussed more with the bandage, straightening it until he was satisfied. “Get Cole some of that water.”

Justin stepped away, then came back quickly with a tin cup.

She saw the love Justin had for his brother. It seemed so at odds with how she’d always thought of family, despite Aunt Margaret’s kindness. Aunt Margaret was Angie’s father’s sister. And her mother had always disparaged Aunt Margaret’s manners as coarse and common, her religion boring and foolish.

And when everything her ma had forced Angie into went wrong and Ma had died, leaving her to a disastrous fate, Aunt Margaret had saved her and taught Angie a lesson about love she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Angie.” The doctor again snapped out orders. “Go fetch more warm water. We need to bathe the blood away. And ask Rosita for a clean nightshirt for Cole. She could make some broth, too. He needs water most of all, but if Cole wakes up, we should try to get some food into him.”

Angie hurried to obey, keeping the list in her head. Not that it mattered, for she was sure the doctor would remind her of anything she forgot.

Angie rushed to the kitchen and was filling a basin just as the back door opened.

Sadie and Heath came in.

“How’s Cole?” Sadie, Cole’s sister, looked frantically around.

“The doctor is with him in the bedroom just down the hall.”

“Thank you.” Sadie hurried away with Heath right after her.

Angie followed with hot water.

She stepped into the room as Justin shouted, “Sadie!” His voice was loud enough to wake the owls in the woods at high noon, let alone a merely unconscious man. Cole’s eyes flickered open and he smiled at Sadie as if her coming inside was terribly important. Justin hoisted Sadie in the air and hugged her.

The sight stopped Angie so suddenly the water sloshed and nearly spilled. She’d never seen such a display of true affection from a man before. Cole couldn’t get up and hug her, but his eyes gleamed with pleasure.

Justin set her back down with a broad smile and shook Heath’s hand, then slapped him on the back hard enough a smaller man might’ve just been knocked straight to the floor.

Heath held up well and started talking to Justin fast and quiet. Angie couldn’t understand what he said, except that a man had attacked them and was now dead. Her attention was turned as Sadie sat down on the side of the bed and took Cole’s hands.

“How are you?”

“Just fine. The doctor patched me up.”

Something flickered across Sadie’s face, the expression equivalent of calling her brother a liar. Sadie looked at the doctor as if talking to Cole were a complete waste of time. “Where was he shot? Did he need stitches? How long will he be in bed? What do we need to do to care for him?”

The doctor started talking, and Sadie listened to him as if his words were being carved in stone with a finger of fire.

Angie was in the middle of the two chattering pairs. The doctor and Sadie, hovering over Cole, Heath, and Justin. She was struck by a moment of feeling an outsider. She didn’t belong here in the midst of this family time.

Squaring her shoulders, she ignored her foolish hurt feelings, because of course they all needed to talk to each other. She set the basin on the bedside table. Besides, she was used to not belonging.

Then she remembered the broth and a few other things the doctor had asked for. Grateful for an excuse, she left the room. Rosita was nearly running when she stepped into the hall, heading for the bedroom.

From the hallway, Angie heard Rosita say “Mi niña!” in a voice that rang with pure joy.

Angie went on into the kitchen. It was well-stocked, and she had a few very modest cooking skills. Thank the good Lord that included boiling a hunk of meat in water. It wasn’t hard to find the makings for a nice beef broth. She kept busy in the kitchen.

Alone.

Chance Boden’s eyes flickered open to the sight of his wife Veronica, his precious Ronnie, on her knees clinging to his hand, her face buried against their joined fingers. He flexed his fingers to caress her beautiful blond hair. At the movement, her head came up, and her snapping blue eyes went wide with surprise, then with joy.

“Chance, you’re awake!” She launched herself to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

Only then did he realize he was lying in bed. He tried to hug her back and found he couldn’t move. Not an inch. His fingers were free, he could turn his head, but every bit of him was bound like a hog-tied calf at branding time.

“What’s going on?” He was a man who lived in a hard land. He awoke every morning ready for trouble. He moved faster than he could think. And right now, not being able to move made him feel like danger was coming at him like a stampede.

Or no . . . his head cleared more. Not a stampede, an avalanche.

“How long?” An avalanche had come down on his head. The rest of his men had survived, he remembered that much. He remembered Heath Kincaid, his hired man, tending his leg with uncommon skill. Then Chance hesitated. Did he remember or had someone told him that? He was in Denver. Sent to a special doctor. His leg broken with the bone sticking out of the skin. They always amputated with injuries like that.

Ronnie lifted her head from his chest, new tears, but hope like spring lightning in her expression.

“You’ve had a fever for so l-long.” Her voice broke. Then her chin lifted and her jaw went firm. She swiped at her eyes with her sleeves. “But now—now—” She quickly stood and rushed to the door of a small room. Chance had no memory of coming here and yet he knew where he was.

“Nurse, my husband is awake. Is the doctor here?”

Chance thought of his leg and the terrible break. He tried to look down, but he was bound securely. His stomach twisted, for he knew if he could see, the blankets would be flat where there should be a leg.

Ronnie, his precious Veronica. His wife for twenty-five years now. She spun away from the door and was at his side instantly.

He should be grateful to have survived, yet he couldn’t stop the words. “My leg. Is it . . . ?”

Kissing him with wild pleasure, she smiled. “Your leg is going to be fine.”

“Fine? But they had to amputate—”

Fingers, strong, callused yet still delicate, pressed against his lips. “The doctor was able to save your leg. It was so badly broken from the avalanche that it was a near thing, but the doctor—well, he had to keep you still.” Her eyes flashed with mock anger. She jabbed one finger at his nose. “You don’t have a still bone in your body, Chance Boden.”

The doctor swung the door open. “He’s awake? The fever broke?”

Chance had never seen this man before in his life.

The man, white shirt-sleeves rolled up, hair disheveled and overlong as if he didn’t have a spare half hour ever to get it cut, went straight to Chance’s leg. “I’m going to take the leeches off now.”

Chance jumped, except only his head and fingers moved. “Leeches? What is going on? Why am I tied down?”

Ronnie blocked his view of the doctor hard at work. She brushed his hair back off his forehead.

Chance was suddenly aware that he could smell himself. “How long have I been tied here?”

Ronnie kissed him again, which distracted him. “You’ve been more asleep than awake for two weeks now. Your fever has come down and gone back up so many times I’ve lost count.”

“Six times.” The doctor’s fingers were on Chance’s leg, and it was with a whoosh of relief that Chance felt the touch. He also felt pain like his leg was caught in a bear trap. It hurt enough that Chance noticed it as separate from his all-around misery.

“Six times what?” Chance clamped is jaw shut to keep from hollering in pain.

“Your fever came up and went down six times. Today is the sixth, but you never woke up before, and the wound in your leg was red and infected.” The doctor lifted his hand and held it high. He was catching light coming in through the window.

Chance realized the man was holding a fat, black leech. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“The finest doctor alive.” Ronnie pressed her cheek to his.

“Someone tell me what’s going on.”

Bending back over Chance’s leg, the doctor said, “You were already feverish when your wife brought you here from the train. I stitched up the wound, working on the muscles, but I couldn’t close the skin because that would trap the silk threads inside you and you’d never heal. So I sewed up muscle, and we couldn’t put a plaster cast on your leg because the wound needed tending. It was absolutely essential we keep you from moving that leg, so we tied you down to the point you couldn’t so much as twitch.”

The doctor straightened, looked over Ronnie’s shoulder, and smiled. “It’s my own method for broken bones of this sort. I must say it was a stroke of luck you got your leg broken when you did, because I’ve just begun using some new techniques.”

“Luck?” Chance wondered if the doctor was completely sane.

“Your fever was a bad one at first and the wound around the leg, wide open like that, showed some infection, which prompted me to get the leeches.”

Chance felt prompted to reach for his gun.

“Then after nearly a week, your fever broke and I was able to remove the stitches in the muscles. I had to abrade the skin of the open wound and stitch that, then up came your fever again. You slept some natural sleep after that, and we got broth and quite a bit of water down your throat. Kept you alive so I could try more things on your leg.”

Chance was being experimented on. Well, since his leg was still there, it was probably right to have no objections.

The doctor held up another leech and studied it with absolute delight.

Shuddering, Chance said, “It’s been two weeks?”

“Yes.” Ronnie took up the story. “The second week, another set of stitches had healed and your fever was more general. It’d break and then come up again.”

“Six times in all. It’s all in my records.”

“Did I introduce Dr. Radcliffe, Chance?”

He shook his head. “Is there any possible way to loosen these straps?”

The doctor set the leech aside as if he’d quit playing with a pet. “I’ll remove the stitches today. It’s time, but I want to watch the unstitched wound overnight. Tomorrow I’ll put a plaster cast on your leg. When that hardens, it’ll be possible for you to move. But until the wound healed you had to stay still, and now, until the plaster hardens, you can see that every move is sure to jostle unknit bones. The healing would need to begin all over again.”

The doctor stood and patted Ronnie on the arm. She got out of his way as if that signal had come before, many times. Sounding far less dotty now, the doctor adjusted his round steel-rimmed glasses and said, “You are going to be well, Mr. Boden. I have saved your leg. It’s my brilliance, but the doctor who sent you here, the young man who tended your leg right after the accident, and the vigilance and devotion of your wife, who has not left your side for two weeks, all combined to delay your journey to meet St. Peter.”

The doctor turned back to Chance’s leg. Ronnie smiled as tears of joy filled her eyes. And his wife was not a crying woman.

If she was happy, he reckoned he was, too. But he wanted to be untied and he needed a bath. He wondered how long it would be before the doctor let him dunk himself in the river to clean up.