Suzanne left the room again, closing the door softly behind her. Worriedly, she plodded out to the porch, where her father sat on the slab-log step, smoking his pipe.
“Pa, you’ve had experience with cowboys who took a bullet or got a bad injury riding bronc,” Suzanne said, dropping down beside him. “Do you think an infection will set up in that man’s shoulder?”
Hank squinted at her over a wisp of smoke. “Hard to tell. With all the alcohol we used, I’m guessing we’ve killed the germs.”
“I rubbed down his horse then put him in the back corral so he and Rocky wouldn’t tangle over the mares.”
“Did you find a wallet on him or some identification?”
Suzanne shook her head. “Nope. There was a Colt revolver tucked in his bedroll and some personal items in his saddlebags, but nothing to tell us who he is.”
“Wonder what happened?” Hank said, tapping the ashes from his pipe.
“I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s able.”
Hank frowned. “You say he had no money on him?”
Suzanne shook her head.
“He was robbed, then. Figured that when I saw he’d been shot in the back.”
Suzanne lifted her eyes north to the sprawling mountain range of Pikes Peak. It was a wild and beautiful country, with its towering, snowcapped peaks and lush valleys of aspen and cottonwood. The problem was, everyone wanted to settle in Colorado, and men were killing each other over homestead claims and water rights.
“Suzanne,” Hank said, drawing out her name the way he often did before making a point, “I’m saddling Rocky in the morning and getting back to work.”
“Pa, you’ve got to give those cracked ribs time to heal. And your ankle is still too swollen for a day’s punishment in the stirrups. I just hope you didn’t do any damage to yourself when you helped me drag that man into the bedroom.”
Hank turned and frowned at her. “Daughter, I’m getting tired of being bossed.”
Suzanne jumped up from the step and began to pace the board porch. “Pa, I don’t mean to be bossy, but you just won’t take care of yourself. You should have known better than to try to break that mustang.”
“Girl, I’ve broken more mustangs than you’ve counted years,” he snapped. His gray eyes, faded by sun and wind, blazed with defiance. “When a musing lopes into my valley, with us desperate for horses… I ain’t letting him get away if I can stop him.”
But you couldn’t stop him, Suzanne thought, biting her lip. Not anymore, Pa.
While she had wisely refrained from speaking the words, Hank Waters, nevertheless, seemed to read her mind. He heaved a sigh and dropped his head to stare at his bandaged ankle.
“Well, Wilbur’s got to live with his conscience and that can’t be easy,” he said at last. “But sometimes it’s hard work keeping the anger out of my soul.”
Suzanne reached over and placed a gentle kiss on her father’s bearded cheek. “Uncle Wilbur will pay for what he did, Pa. Anger would just harm us, not him.”
Hank’s thin face softened with tenderness as he slowly turned to face his daughter. “You’re so much like your ma. Just don’t ever be as gullible.”
Suzanne drew a deep breath. “Ma’s love for her only brother blinded her to his faults.”
Hank snorted. “And, like a fool, I took his word, sight unseen, that he had enough horses here to start a breeding ranch; and as for this cabin…” His voice trailed as he sank into silence.
“We’ll make it work, Pa,” Suzanne spoke with conviction, drawing upon her optimistic nature. They would make it work, somehow. “We’ve survived the winter and Ma…” She swallowed hard and plunged on, “The worst is over.”
Hank shook his head, but he looked unconvinced.
“Come on, Pa, cheer up. I’m making dumplings tonight. Life can’t be all bad.”
For the first time in days, a tiny smile touched Hank Waters’s thin lips. “Dumplings? You trying to impress that young buck in there?”
The defiance on Hank’s face minutes before was now mirrored in the expression of his only child. Hank saw it and smiled to himself, secretly pleased by his daughter’s spirit.
“I don’t try to impress any man,” she stated, before turning on her heel and hurrying inside the cabin.
She headed across the L-shaped room that served as living room and kitchen and fought the frustration she felt. In truth, her father had struck a nerve. How she’d like to impress this handsome stranger, but it would be a waste of time to let her mind wander in such a direction. Her eyes drifted toward the closed door of the bedroom as she recalled the items in his saddlebags: a compass, a few toiletries, and a gold wedding band.
Upon seeing the ring, a keen disappointment had filled her. While it was ridiculous to have any romantic notions about a stranger—one who had been shot—she had been unable to stop herself from speculating. And then she’d found the ring. Oh well, a woman somewhere would thank them for saving his life. Some lucky woman!