TWENTY-NINE
WHAT in the hell got hold of you, boy?” It was Jim Backus’s voice running alongside him. Four men were bearing him on a stretcher and they were in a hurry.
“I had a run-in ...” The lights went out again.
When he came to again, he was looking up into the eyes of Andy, Myrna, Bob, Aunt Frieda, and Doc. It was daylight, and he hurt so many places he couldn’t have listed them in two hours.
“How you doing?” Doc asked.
His own rusty voice shocked him when he began to speak. “I reckon I’m alive.”
“Who did this to you?” Bob asked, looking as angry as Wulf had ever seen him.
Wolf tried to laugh. “Who else? Kent Hughes said I loved the place so bad, he’d show it to me facedown, then make it look like Bay, my new horse, had drug me to death.”
“You kill him?”
“Not with my bare hands. His horse got lathered up, and I took the chance to shed the lariat, and then like a jump rope, I wound the rope around that horse’s tail three times. He left out walking on the clouds, threw Hughes into a pear patch. He never got up. I couldn’t of cared less—I got on Bay and guess I rode into town.”
“I seen men been in fights with bobcats before that didn’t look this torn up,” Doc said, shaking his head, “but I reckon you’ll heal. You’re damn sure tough enough to.”
“I’m filing attempted murder charges against Hughes,” Bob said. “This was the final straw.”
Andy and Myrna agreed. Then Aunt Frieda stepped forward and smiled at Wulf.
“She wanted you to have this for good luck.”
It was a gold cross on a gold chain. He accepted it in his bandaged hands. “Thanks.”
“I know how much you miss her, but she is at peace.”
“I understand, Frieda.”
“Good. I am so sorry about this. But you will be well soon. I will pray for you. Come by and have pastries and tea with me.” Unable to hold back her tears, she backed out clutching a handkerchief. Myrna went to comfort her.
“I will ...” And his world went black again.
Two days of laudanum to stop his pain, and Wulf emerged into the bright world of sun streaming into his room at Doc’s office. His head hurt and he felt like shit. Maybe he had died and gone to hell and they’d rejected him. Whew, this was bad.
“How are you today, Mr. Baker?”
She must have been six feet tall, square-shouldered, and looked long in the tooth. Her gray hair was bound in a white scarf, and in her starched white dress she looked very official.
“My name is Gladys Morningstar. I am Dr. Martin’s nurse and I have been taking caring of you.”
Holy cow, that woman had been—whew. Good thing he was coming around. His face felt beet red.
“No need to be concerned. I take care of all his patients. If you like and if you feel strong enough, I can bring you a sponge and some warm water to bathe with.”
“I can handle that now.”
“Very good. You are really improving. They tell me that your assailant is behind bars.”
“Oh, he’s alive?”
“Yes. Doc went and saw about him. He has a broken collarbone, a concussion, and, they say, numerous prickly pear spines in him: ”
“He should have picked a better place to land.”
“I suppose so.”
After he bathed in his large gown, he looked around for his clothes. They were nowhere in sight. Not in the small closet or anywhere. A loud throat-clearing behind him made him turn from his search to see Miss Morningstar in the doorway.
“My clothes?” he asked her. “I can’t find them.”
“Mrs. Carter took them home to wash and repair them. There is a woman here to see you.”
He frowned at her. What woman was coming to see him? He quickly got back in bed and pulled up the sheet.
“A Mrs. Hughes, I believe.”
His mother? “Send her in.”
There were dark rings under her eyes. She looked very tired and very pregnant. She stood before him, chewing her lip. “I want to strike a deal, Wulf. Drop the charges against my husband and we’ll give you the Three Crosses and all the money.”
“I understood the judge was ordering that done anyway.”
“Wulf,” she said, louder than she intended to, wringing her hands. “Wulf, my baby needs a father and a place to live. He or she’ll be your half brother or sister.”
That was why she hadn’t dared go against Hughes when he’d whipped him. It was the baby inside her. But still, she’d never trusted Wulf enough to take care of her. He would have. He’d’ve done anything for her. They’d made it without Hughes before. Damn, this was tough.
“All right. I’ll tell Bob to drop the charges when the deal is completed.”
“Oh, thank you. Oh, thank you. I knew you would help me—son.”
“I’m not your son anymore, Jenny Hughes. You’re Kent Hughes’s wife. Now, I want to sleep.” He fluffed the pillow and rolled over like he was going to do that. He squeezed his eyes shut hard and choked down his tears.
Damn, life was sure a bitch.