Authors: Jillian Hart
Calico Bride (3 page)
Montana Territorial Range Rider, she read. The words made a banner above the rifle and horse symbol. Lila's knees went out and she collapsed into a nearby chair.
Burke was a Range Rider, a territorial lawman who answered directly to the governor. The organization was the highest arm of the law in the land. What was he doing in Angel Falls? Why was he wearing a deputy's badge on his shirt? She dried the shield with the hem of her skirt, remembering the plea in his eyes when he had pressed it into her hand.
Hide it. Promise?
he'd asked.
The door swung open. "Lila, it's the doctor."
Her stomach fell to her knees. She slipped the badge into her other skirt pocket and pushed shakily to her feet. What if it was bad news? What if Burke hadn't made it? Icy trembles spilled into her veins as she padded on wooden feet. She stumbled to the door, where the doctor spoke to Eunice.
"Deputy Hannigan is stable for now." Dr. Frost's quiet announcement made the air whoosh from Lila's lungs. Burke was alive. She gripped the edge of the door frame. Relief tripped through her.
"Although he is gravely weak." He spoke in low tones, so his words wouldn't carry to the trio of matrons seated in the parlor. That didn't stop the ladies from leaning on the edges of their seats, keen to listen in. "He is far too injured to move right now."
"What are you saying, Doctor?" Dismay wrinkled Eunice's nose. "Are you saying he has to stay here?"
"Yes. Until I'm sure his bleeding has fully stopped it is too risky to move him. He could die."
"His life is important," Lila spoke up, her voice scratchy. She was aware of the weight of the badge in her pocket as she stepped forward. "He must stay."
"Not here, he can't." The woman drew herself up to full height and set her jaw. "What would people say?"
Lila grimaced. She knew how Eunice could be. Eunice always got her way. Now what did she do to help? What should she say? She could not reveal Burke's secret, but neither could she fail to protect him.
"That hardly matters, ma'am." The doctor frowned. Genuine concern drew lines into his face. He had married recently, and love had polished away the distance and stoicism that always used to define him. "The deputy's life comes first."
"I am a practical woman, Doctor." Eunice planted her hands on her plump hips and leveled the medicine man with a look that would have undoubtedly stymied the bank robbers into retreat if she had been standing in line at the bank. "There is my husband's business to consider. Can you imagine anyone wanting to shop here with a dying man on display? They would all run down the street to our competition."
A touch of inspiration struck her. Lila straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. "He stays here. He's a servant of our town and he was injured in the line of duty. If you make the doctor move him and he dies, word will get out and it could hurt Pa's business. It could put a stain on our family reputation."
"I had not considered that." Eunice's indignation faltered. Her forehead crinkled as she pondered this new angle.
"I'll fetch some men to move him," the doctor said with quiet authority. "You will need to ready a bed for him. And, Lila? You likely saved his life."
"I did?" She shrugged, aware that Burke was still critically wounded. "I didn't do much."
"You kept a cool head in a crisis and you applied pressure to the wounds. You did a good job. I'm sure the deputy will be grateful."
"I just want him to recover." She swallowed, pleased to know she had made some small difference to the man with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. "I read what to do in a novel."
"Then you had better just keep on reading." The doctor winked as he backtracked to the stairs. "Never know what useful things you will learn next."
"That's all you need, a reason to keep reading." Eunice shook her head as she returned to her friends. "Go fix up a pallet for that deputy in the storeroom. He's not staying upstairs in our home. When you are done there, you can clean up after him. I fear the floor will never be the same."
Nor will I,
Lila thought. She grabbed Lark by the hand and ran to the linen cabinet. She intended to make Burke as comfortable as possible.
Chapter Three
T
he store was silent. Only one man stood vigil next to the front counter, where Burke lay as if already in death's clutches, his face white as the muslin sheet covering him. A terrible aching seized Lila as she drew nearer. He was a substantial man, dwarfing the entire counter, and yet he appeared vulnerable. Close to death. She braced her fingertips against the counter, her throat dry.
"It's good of your family to take him in." A junior deputy, Jed Black, cleared emotion from his throat and nodded toward the stairs. "Do you have a bed ready for him?"
"No. My stepmother thinks it best he stay down here." She knew how uncharitable it sounded. She crept closer, careful not to step on a squeaky floorboard although she suspected a loud sudden noise would not wake him.
The man was a powerful force, even in sleep. When she brushed her fingertips on top of his hand, his skin felt cool. Shadows bruised the angles of his face, the rest remained bloodless. His chest rose slightly, still breathing.
Lord, let it stay that way.
"You will feel better in no time," she assured him in a whisper. If only she could will strength and life into him like the heat from her touch.
"Lila!" Lark's voice echoed faintly in the stairwell. "Help!"
She tried to turn away, but it was as if a magnetic force held her in place. Tears seared her eyes when she remembered his striking blue eyes and the depth of feeling she'd seen in them, the unyielding determination not to give in to the weakness of his injuries and the strength of his character she'd sensed in their conversation. A strange honeyed sweetness swirled through her, feeling strangely like respect. It was not fair so strong a man could be this fragile. She walked backward, unable to take her gaze from him.
"Lila!" Her sister's call was muffled by the feather topper she clutched. The thick bundle of encased feather down blocked most of the girl from sight. "I found it. But I'm stuck."
"You're stepping on a corner of it. Don't move." She rushed up to scoop the half tumbling bundle and together they carried it down the last of the steps. "Thanks for finding this. I know it couldn't have been easy."
"Eunice doesn't know. I waited until she was in the kitchen getting more tea for her friends." Lark paused to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened with sadness. "He doesn't look as if he will be all right."
"Come." She tugged on the topper, knowing what her sister saw. Sadness gripped her. This wasn't the kind of excitement she had in mind when she'd prayed for a break in the monotony, either.
If only she could rewind time, so the deputy with the soulful blue eyes and wry smile could be whole again. But not even God would turn back time, for it marched forward, each moment giving way to the next without mercy. She shuffled into the storeroom and together they dropped the topper on the wooden pallet. A light dusting of white flour puffed upward, residue from the heavy bags she had just finished moving.
"This doesn't look too comfortable." Lark swiped brown curls from her face. "If I were hurt, I wouldn't want to lie down there."
"Don't worry, I will make it nice for him. The topper will help." She grabbed a corner and shook. The scent of mothballs wafted upward along with another puff of flour dust. When she folded it in half, the thick down made a fairly comfortable mattress. "See how I moved the pickle barrel over for a little nightstand?"
"The lamp looks homey." Lark bobbed to fetch the folded sheets from the top of the stack of fifty-pound flour sacks. "I'm going to run up and get some pillows. I'll be right back!"
She darted out of sight, hurrying earnestly, only wanting to help. Lila shook out the bottom sheet, and warm feelings of the best kind filled her up. She loved her sister.
In the store, the front door opened with a jangle of the overhead bell and heavy boots clamored across the plank boards. She tucked in a corner before whirling to peer around the doorway. The doctor had returned. The tension dug into his face and she spun away so she couldn't hear his words. She knew what the medical man was going to say. Burke was worsening.
Cast Your care upon him, Father.
She shook out a top sheet, dread quaking through her.
"On three, boys." The doctor counted down, with a heave she could hear them lift the unconscious man from the front counter. Hesitant footsteps told her they carried him gingerly, careful not to jostle him.
She worked quickly to tuck in the last corner just as the men huffed and puffed in her direction. She flattened against the wall so they could squeeze by and deposit him on the makeshift bed. She'd never seen anyone so pale and still alive. Burke lay on his back, his dark hair tousled, his powerful physique motionless. She remembered his laughter'how promising and rich the sound'and his insistence that he was fine even as his life's blood streamed out of him. He was a good man, she was sure, and a good man should not die.
"What chance does he got, Doc?" Jed Black hitched up his gun belt.
"He's strong and he's young. He has that going for him." Dr. Frost appeared grim, as if he were digging for hope. "I will do my best."
"Appreciate that." Jed tipped his hat. "He hired on a bit ago, but he has helped me out of a jam a few times. He doesn't deserve two bullets to the chest."
"No one does," the doctor agreed. "Thanks for helping."
The men shuffled out mumbling their goodbyes, and the sunshine tumbling through the small window felt like shadow. An unbearable sorrow claimed her for this man she did not know.
She wanted to know him. In her favorite novels, the hero always lived. He fought bad guys, faced perils, doled out justice and lived to fight another day. Maybe a quiet, boring existence wasn't so bad after all. She was safe, she was happy, healthy and whole. Not everyone could say the same.
"Lila, if you could fetch me a chair, I would appreciate it." The doctor knelt to lay his fingertips against Burke's wrist, feeling for his pulse. "It's going to be a long day. My guess, an even longer night."
"Of course." She tore herself away, hurrying to fetch what the doctor needed, but the responsibility she carried for Burke remained, a link to him she could not explain.
"
Burke was hot'sweating hot. His skin burned. Droplets beaded on his forehead. A rivulet trickled down the back of his neck, under his collar and down his spine. His mouth felt like a desert floor, the air too sweltering to breathe. His nightclothes stuck to his damp skin, smoking in places where the fabric burned through. The pain was nothing as he felt his older sister's arms clamp around him, holding him captive and keeping him from racing into the burning shanty. Tears mingled with sweat and grit from the smoke.
"Lemme go!" he yelled, frantic, watching the orange tongues of flame rise from the kitchen window and gobble up the roofline. "Mama! Papa!"
"We can't help "em." Ginna's tears dripped on the top of his head. Her sobs shook him, but she didn't let go. "We'll get all burned up more."
His throat was too dry to speak. The fierce heat from the fire seemed to evaporate his tears. He watched the window just like Papa said, but no one came.
"I'll get your mama and be right out," their father had promised, handing Burke through the open window and into his sister's arms. He could still hear his pa's voice in his head. "Ginna, take him into the fields and keep him there. Don't come near this house no matter what happens. You do what I tell you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Papa." Six-year-old Ginna had sounded so brave and her bravery remained as she sat down in the soft carpet of growing wheat, taking him with her. Her iron hold did not relent. "We have to do what Papa said. We have to stay away from the fire."
"But it's burnin' "em up!" He choked out sob after sob watching the fire shoot up into the sky. Terror and grief tore through him, trapped in his soul. The heat became unbearable and the fire consumed him. It melted the ground at his feet and burned away the memory like the dream it was, leaving him in bed gasping for the surface of consciousness like a drowning man.
"It's all right." A cold cloth covered his forehead. A woman's gentle touch brushed the side of his face. He was still drowning, but at least he could draw in air. Lila's next words came from farther away and were not directed to him. "Does he have a fever?"
"Yes, and it's getting worse," a man's voice answered, one he dimly recognized. Not the sheriff. At least he could be relieved at that. "Ice is on its way. Fetch me some tarps. I'll need to ice him down."
"I'll hurry." Her soothing touch vanished, her sweet presence faded. The pad of her shoes and the rustle of her skirts became silence and he was drowning again, pulled back into nightmares that were not dreams at all.
"Let go, Ginna!" The fire had grown like a monster in the night. "Lemme go!"
"No. I c-can't." Sobs choked her and rocked the both of them. Overhead thunder rumbled. The hot wind gusted and stirred a whirl of red-hot ashes into the air. The roof collapsed with a mighty crack. Flames and burning debris shot up into the blackness.
"Mama." He whispered the word, knowing his mother would not be coming for him. His father would not be following her or sweeping him into his big strong arms ever again. "Papa."
Ginna finally let him go, her raw hands sliding away from his middle as she slumped sideways into the bed of wheat, overcome by tears. He stumbled onto his knees as rain began to fall in hard drops that hit the ground like hail.
Nobody came. The night ticked away, the dawn drew color on the eastern horizon and the sun rose. Finally Ginna took his hand and said kindly, the good big sister that she was, "We must go find the neighbors."
His feet felt heavy. The heat of the fire stayed with him both on his skin and in his heart. The midsummer morning was soon scorching and sweat dripped off his forehead. The sun blazed like a white-hot fire in the sky. Such a long, sad walk. Two miles away, the Dunlaps' shanty came into sight. Mrs. Dunlap glanced up from watering her garden, dropped her bucket and came running. Ginna's hand slid out of his and that was the last time he saw his sister. In this dream that was his past, he searched for her long and hard. But she was gone and he was alone.
Until a faint cold penetrated the nightmare. He heard a woman's gentle alto reading to him, her words so faint he could not distinguish them but he clung to the sound. He no longer felt lost and forgotten. For as long he could hear her voice, he was not alone.
"
"Lila, it is past your bedtime."
She stopped reading, marked the place on the page with her thumb and squinted through the half dark with tired eyes at her father standing in the doorway. "Can I stay up late, just this once?"
"It's not good for your health, child." Pa padded into the fall of the lamplight. He was a robust man, although some vital part of him had never recovered after her mother's death. "No, you must come to bed."
"But, Pa, I want to stay and help."
"The doctor is here." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "The deputy will be in good hands. If anything changes, I'm sure Doc Frost will let us know. Come, now. Your stepmother is very concerned about your reputation."
"As you said, the doctor is here, as well." She was loath to put down her book. She glanced at the man on the pallet and felt tethered to him in a way she didn't understand. She needed to help him. "I'm in the middle of a scene. At least let me finish the part where the Range Rider is backed into a canyon and out of bullets. Please?"
"You'll have to dangle for a bit, I'm afraid." Pa held out one hand. "Perhaps you can sneak in here when no one is looking tomorrow and read the rest of the scene for the deputy. Not that he can probably hear you."
"He can." Reluctantly, she shut the book's cover. The lamplight caressed the man on the pallet, who was fighting a fever, sweat sluicing down his face and dampening his dark hair. Earlier, when she had rejoined the doctor after the supper dishes were done, Burke had been restless, tossing and turning. After two hours of reading, her throat may be scratchy but he was resting calmly.
"I promise not to leave his side." Dr. Frost withdrew his stethoscope from his medical bag, which sat at his feet. "His fever is the main concern. If it hasn't broken by morning'¦"
A lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to answer. Sadly, she pushed off the stool and backed away from the foot of the pallet. Would he die in the night? She resisted the urge to smooth his tangled hair and dry the sweat beading on his granite face.
"Lila, you're dawdling." Pa stood in the hallway, waiting to close the door. "The deputy is not your responsibility."
"It feels as if he is." It took effort to force her shoes to carry her across the threshold. She took one last glance over her shoulder, surely not the last time she would see him. He lay motionless as if only a shell, but she remembered his smile and his humor. She reluctantly placed one shoe on the bottom stair. She could not explain why with each step she took up the staircase, she left a piece of herself behind.
"Pray for him," Pa advised as he closed the door tight behind her. "It's all any of us can do for him now. He's in God's hands."
"Will you pray for him, too?"
"I already have many times. I hate seeing this happen to anyone so young."
"How do you know anything about him?" She clutched her book. He was just like the hero in her favorite series of novels. Maybe that explained the quick, innocent spark of her interest in him. "He hasn't been in the store, has he?"
"Not that I remember. A while back he stopped to help me when a spoke broke on the delivery wagon." Pa ambled into the fall of light from the upstairs lamps. "At least a few of the town's other deputies would have kept on going, but he dismounted, moseyed up and took over the repair. Expert at it, too. Had the spoke jury-rigged together and back in place in half the time I had been wrestling with it."