June 1882
Wellsville, Texas
“HOW IS HE?” MARTY BRACEWELL ASKED anxiously as he entered the bedroom, not remembering to remove his hat or offer any of the standard greetings.
“Doing a little better,” Desmond Curtis said. “Slate and Cash were just here, and although Dakota’s as weak as a girl, he’s in a good frame of mind.” Desmond, knowing how Brace would feel if he knew the whole truth, did not elaborate, but he knew that Dakota was doing as well as he was because of how significant his brothers’ visit had been.
“Hey, Dak,” Brace said softly, watching the Ranger’s eyes come open a little. As a point in fact, all three men were Texas Rangers, but only one of them had nearly bled to death from numerous gunshot wounds, and he was still very injured.
“Hi, Brace,” Dakota tried to say, but his mouth was too dry. Desmond helped him with a drink, but they had to go slowly—they would probably have to go slowly for a long time.
“Sorry I took so long. I was up north and just got back.”
“It’s all right,” Dakota managed.
“What happened out there?” Brace asked, not really expecting an answer. Dakota tried anyway.
“I thought I had the jump on them, but there were more men than I figured. I went down fast. Had no choice.”
Brace felt his throat close. This man was one of his best. To see him shot-up and helpless was hard. He cleared his throat, telling himself this was no time for tears.
“You’ll be back soon, ornery as ever.”
“No doubt,” the man in the bed agreed, a small smile coming to his lips. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Brace was suddenly angry. That this would happen to one of his best infuriated him!
“If you so much as show your face near my office inside of six months, I’ll shoot you myself,” Brace warned. “And I mean it!”
Dakota could only nod. Right now six months sounded too soon. Sleep was coming in again, but that was all right. For the first time in his life, Dakota James Rawlings had Someone he could talk to.
Dakota heard gunshots a few days later, as real as the ones that had taken him down. His eyes flew open and he gasped, remembering with painful clarity where he was.
“Easy…” Desmond’s voice came softly to his ears, and Dakota turned to find him sitting next to the bed.
Dakota tried to tell Desmond he was thirsty but couldn’t manage it. Thankfully the older Ranger knew the signs. He lifted a cup for the injured man. Dakota thanked him with a slight raise of his hand, amazed at how spent he was.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Is it hot in here, or is it me?”
“Both I would guess. It is June.”
Dakota nodded a little, and Desmond thought he would fall right back to sleep. Drained as he seemed, Dakota’s eyes stayed on a faraway spot on the wall, and he began to speak.
“Do you know what I thought of when everything started to go black?”
“No. What?”
“Something Slate said to me,” Dakota said as he licked his lips. “Of all the things to remember, I recall something he said when I was angry.” Dakota’s mind went back to a cloudy day in Shotgun. As the result of a senseless shooting, a woman had just been buried. At the funeral Dakota thought they should have talked about the woman and not about God.
“What did you want Pastor Caron to say, Dak?” his brother asked him. “What would you have deemed appropriate?”
“A little more about the woman herself, for starters. He turned it into a sermon!”
“She was a changed person because of her faith.”
Dakota’s eyes narrowed, telling Slater he was not happy with that answer, but his brother went on anyway.
“If I’m a different person because of my beliefs, Dakota, and if I were to die, I would want other people to know they could have the same hope. Maybe you should be listening instead of criticizing.”
“My life is fine!” Dakota did not hesitate to clarify.
“If that’s true, then why does this have you so upset? If everything is fine, you should be able to shrug this off and go on with your life.”
Dakota’s eyes now met Desmond’s.
“In so many words, Slater said it shouldn’t bother me if I didn’t believe as he did—but it didn’t work that way. It bothered me so much, I left angry.”
“So the turning point came when Slate and Cash were here?”
Much as it hurt, Dakota’s chest lifted with his sigh. “My very last thought before I lost consciousness was that I had waited too long. When I woke up and they were sitting here, I knew I’d been given a second chance.” Another sigh escaped the injured man. “As you well know, I’ve been a fool many times, but not this time. I grabbed that second chance.”
Desmond had a comment on his mind, but he could see that it was going to have to wait.
“Do you think he can eat something?” Geneva Curtis asked from the doorway.
“No,” her husband answered with a shake of his head. “He just slipped back out.”
Geneva came and stood close, her hand on Desmond’s shoulder.
“He will make it, won’t he, Des?”
“I think so,” that man replied with his eyes on Dakota’s face. “As Dak just put it, he’s been given a second chance. I’ve been wrong before, but some thing tells me he’ll get out of this bed and want to know everything God has ever said—and in the first hour, if I can tell him.”
Geneva chuckled softly and exited the room ahead of her husband. Her only thought was Look out, Texas, Dakota Rawlings is nearly on the loose.