Just Her Type (11 page)

“I was going to ask you that. Would it hurt too much if I lit a candle?”

Luke was not too sure he was being honest when he said, “No.”

A scratch warned him to shut his eyes. Even through lowered lids, the light slashed at him. He opened his eyes and groaned as a flash of lightning erupted into the room.

Luke looked at an elfin creature sitting on a stool. Meeting the sparkling eyes beneath the thick eyebrows which contrasted with the man's bald head, he watched as wide lips narrowed in a generous grin. The man wore a sleeveless undershirt with suspenders and patched denims.

A quick glance showed him the cabin was in the same poor shape. A shelf hung at an angle, and dirty dishes were stacked on a table balanced on three legs and on a stool.

“I'm Luke Bradfield. Last thing I remember is that I was riding … I think.”

“Yeah, you were riding. Horse tracks all over the place where I found you. It's a good thing I wanted some squirrel for supper.” Grinning, he offered a stubby hand. “Name's LaBounty. Hap LaBounty.”

“Hap?”

“Short for Hapless. Used to have another name, but I've kind of grown attached to this one.” Scratching his bulbous nose, he asked, “You ain't Mackenzie's Bradfield by any chance?”

He started to nod, but thought better of it when pain washed over him. “Guilty.”

“What's a greenhorn like you doing so far out from town?”

“That's a good question.” Luke could recall nothing after … He groaned again.

Hap patted his arm. “You look like you got side-swiped by a stampede. I don't think your nose is broken, but you're going to have a fine shiner on that right eye. You Eastern boys should take it easy with Stub's whiskey.”

“I wasn't drunk.” Opening his eyes, he tried to focus on the little man. “I don't know who hit me, but if I find out who did this—”

“I'll hold him down while you hit him.” Hap chuckled. “Rest, Bradfield. You have some lumps on your head which don't look too good.”

Luke had intended to answer, but he surrendered to the sleep which had been enticing him since the moment he'd awoke to find himself safe. Unlike the last time … He was unable to follow that thought.

Noise erupted through Luke's uneasy sleep. He sat up. Hap LaBounty's cabin was filled with strangers. A man wearing a bandanna over his face had Hap by the scruff of the neck. Luke shouted. At least he had planned on shouting. His attempt produced only a squawk.

Another man, dressed in the denims and flannel worn by all the cowpokes around Bentonville, turned. His face was concealed, too. The gun in his hand glittered. As Luke stood, pain seared him so viciously he almost believed he had been shot. Only the man had not fired. It was the pain resonating through his head.

“Who's that?” called a man by the door.

“Bradfield,” answered the man on the other end of the gun.

“He's worthless. It's LaBounty we want.”

Hap bellowed, “Get out and tell your boss to keep his dogies off my land.”

The man by the door laughed. “Your land? Good one, LaBounty!”

“If Cameron McCraven was still alive, you wouldn't try this.”

“McCraven is dead, and soon his pretty widow will be taken care of, too.” He balanced his pistol in his hand. “Of course, she won't die as easily as McCraven. But you needn't worry about that, LaBounty.”

Luke struggled to speak. These men must know the truth. If he did not find out what it was, Mackenzie could die.

Someone caught his arms and twisted them behind him. A fist crashed into his face. With a moan, he crumpled to the floor. He clawed at the bed to get to his knees. A disembodied hand grasped his hair and jerked his head back.

Through blurred eyes, he watched the leader come toward him. The man spat out, “Bradfield, if you had half a brain, you'd vamoose back to wherever you're from. You can't protect Mackenzie. She's marked for death as soon as our boss is done enjoying her.”

“Who—who …?”

“Listen to him! He's an owl.”

Derisive chuckles filled the room as hands hoisted him onto the bed. A pistol appeared in front of his face. He froze, unable to move as he heard a hammer click, but the sound of a gun firing came from across the room.

His curses did not reach his lips as he saw Hap LaBounty fall in his own blood. The gun before Luke disappeared into a cacophony of pain across his head. His last conscious thought was that he was being allowed to live only so these criminals could enjoy watching his futile attempts to save Mackenzie and her son.

The creak of a door opening helped Luke fight the never-ending evil. He must find a way to come fully awake. He refused to die in his sleep.

When he heard Mackenzie's soft cry, he struggled to open his eyes. He was not sure how she had found him, but he had to warn her. He had to tell her. Trying to force the words to his mouth, he discovered he was a prisoner of his pain. Speaking was impossible.

“Luke?” she whispered. “Luke, wake up! How long has he been like this, Hap?”

Luke wanted to tell her that dead men cannot answer. In shock, he heard Hap LaBounty answer.

Hap LaBounty was dead!

Was Mackenzie a dream? She could not be real if she was talking to a murdered man. Were they both dead? Was he dead as well? Had the cowboys killed all of them?

Yet, if he was dead, why did he hurt so bad? He wanted to find an answer, but the cold void in the center of his brain swallowed every thought.

EIGHT

Mackenzie watched as Hap and Sheriff Roosevelt placed Luke in her bed. The two men managed far better than she and the homesteader had when they had struggled to put Luke in the buggy out at Hap's cabin. She would not leave Luke in the tumbledown hut with rain leaking through the roof. Doc Langhorne must check those bruises on his head.

Horace pulled off Luke's boots. Reaching past him, Mackenzie loosened Luke's collar. She drew it off and was ready to toss it aside when she saw blood on it. Swallowing a moan of despair, she bit her lip.

Horace asked softly, “Why don't you sit down? Your face is as green as Luke's is going to be.”

“I'll be fine. Remember how I helped you tend the fools injured during the big fight at the saloon last year?”

“It's different when it's someone you care about.”

As she drew off her soaked bonnet, water dripped off her hair. She brushed it away from Luke's face. He gave a heart-wrenching moan, and her heart cramped. “Douglas, get Doc Langhorne. Now!”

“Yes, Ma.” He put his arms around her waist. “Ma, I'm sorry.”

She patted his shoulder. There was nothing she could add to what she had told her son while they had searched for Luke. She doubted if he would ever forget today. “I know. Go for the doctor. Hurry!”

The door slammed, but Luke did not react to the noise. Picking up his wrist, she felt his thready pulse. After he recovered, they must make a new start. Words must be unsaid and actions undone.

“Horace, there's coffee on the stove,” she whispered. “Why don't you pour us some? It's going to be a long night, I'm afraid.”

“'Course, Mackenzie. Want some, LaBounty?”

“Sounds good,” the little man answered.

She looked over her shoulder as Hap lit another candle and put it on the windowsill. Its glare etched across Luke's face to reveal how gray his cheeks were beneath the ebony stubble of a day's growth of beard. The sight shocked her. His thick brows were clogged with dried blood. She tilted his head to see other wounds.

When Horace held out a cup of coffee to her, he said, “Here's to his quick recovery, Mackenzie.”

“I hope so.” She drank deeply. “You needn't stay, Hap. I know you've got lots to do out at your ranch.”

He shook his head as he dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. “I'll stay. Want to see how he does. The way he was tossing about and mumbling, I thought he was preparing to fight someone.”

“He was talking?”

“Mumbling. Nothing made sense. Of course, if I got knocked so hard across the noggin, I'd make no sense either.”

Horace chuckled. “Only in your case, LaBounty, no one would notice.”

Hap grinned and bounced to his feet. “Look, Mackenzie, I ain't much of a cook, but how about I scramble some eggs?”

“Go ahead,” she said, although food was the last thing she wanted to think about. “Douglas will want something to eat. You'll find the eggs in the larder out—”

He patted her arm. “I know where to look. You take care of him, and don't be worrying about the boy. I'll tend to him.”

Mackenzie's smile trembled. Blinking rapidly, she fought to keep the tears in her eyes. Later, she would cry. Later, when the doctor had checked Luke and the others had left for home. Later, when Luke was all right and Douglas was asleep.

As a flash of lightning cut through the room, she shivered. Another storm! She hoped Douglas would hurry with Doc Langhorne.

“Horace?” she asked in a low voice.

“What is it?”

“There are more lumps on Luke than Douglas's prank could have caused.”

“I thought so, too.”

She smiled. “I didn't want you to think I was trying to find an excuse for what Douglas did.”

“You wouldn't excuse him if you thought he was guilty.” He stroked his mustache. “My guess is that some folks took advantage of Luke's groggy condition to rough him up.”

“Why?” Clasping her hands so they did not shake, she said, “Luke hasn't been in Bentonville long enough to make any enemies.”

“You have been. Pick one of three men who have reasons to want to teach you and the
Bugle
a lesson.”

“One of the Terrible Trio?”

“Are you still calling them that?” He put one foot on the footboard and took a thoughtful drink. “It would make my job easier if Luke had been beaten up by some renegade I could throw in jail.”

Placing her cup on the window next to the candle, Mackenzie sighed as she looked out at the rain sliding down the panes. “Mr. Rutherford's offer for a reward hasn't helped. Aaron's outraged. He insists it will just cause more trouble.”

“O'Grady may have had his mind changed for him.”

“I know.” She grinned. “I went to the OG Star this afternoon to listen to his ranting. That's when the missing cattle were discovered.”

Shaking his head, Horace ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. “Trouble's coming, Mackenzie. My granny used to say she could feel trouble coming in her bones. I feel it in my gut. It's like a cyclone. All through Johnson County, there's talk about doing something about the rustlers.”

“I know. I—”

“Hey!” called Hap as he entered the room with three plates balanced on his arm.

Horace growled, “Be quiet, won't you?”

Motioning toward the bed, he exclaimed, “He's coming 'round!”

Mackenzie exchanged a guilty look with the sheriff before hurrying to the bed.

Confusion filled Luke's unfocused eyes as they opened. “Get out of here. Now!”

Tears stung Mackenzie's eyes. She had not expected his first words would be angry. “If you want me to go …”

His hand moved stiffly across the blanket to cover hers. “Danger. For you. They killed Hap. They'll kill you.”

“Hap? Hap LaBounty?” She glanced at Hap. Surprise tilted his thick brows. “He's not dead, Luke. Look.”

As Luke stared, wide-eyed, the short homesteader said, “Ain't dead, Bradfield. I'm still alive and meaner than a rattlesnake.”

Luke moaned, “But I saw—”

“Hush,” Mackenzie whispered as she put a damp cloth on his forehead. “Whatever you saw was because of the lumps you have on your head. Just dreams.”

“Nightmares.”

“Whatever.” She smiled. “It doesn't matter now. If—” She paused as she heard the door open.

With the grumbling all of them recognized, Doc Langhorne came in. Whether it was a greeting or a complaint that he had had to come out in the storm, Mackenzie did not care. He ordered her to leave.

“I'm staying!” she asserted.

“I have to examine this man.” Langhorne took off his coat which was as black as his bag and shoved the drenched garment at her. “I know you're nosey, and you use your newspaper as an excuse to peek into everyone's business, but give this man some privacy.”

She dropped the coat and brushed water from her hands. “Mr. Bradfield has an injured head. To examine that, you'll need to do nothing unseemly. He's my employee and, therefore, my responsibility. I shall stay.”

“Even if it's against his wishes?”

“Luke?” she asked in a gentler tone.

“Stay.” Luke closed his eyes as if speaking the single word had been too much.

Mackenzie watched Doc Langhorne's long fingers probe Luke's head. When Luke grasped her hand, she bit her lower lip and did not complain about his viselike grip. It relaxed abruptly, and she saw he had lost consciousness.

“He'll be fine,” announced the doctor as he dug something out of his satchel. She was not sure if he sounded pleased or disappointed. “Give him four drops of tincture of veratrum in sweetened water every few hours. Don't use any more than you must to get his pulse slowed. It's poisonous. I believe you possess enough intelligence to follow such simple instructions.”

She heard Horace's muttered curse, but did not let her anger show. Her opinions of the doctor or his of her must not interfere with getting Luke better. “Will you want to see him again?”

A sly glitter came into his eyes. “Lacey is sure to want to see how her beau is doing.”

She had forgotten Luke had paid a call on the doctor's daughter. She forced a tight smile. “Tell Lacey that she's welcome to call in the morning.”

“She was right put out this evening when Bradfield never showed up as he'd promised to take her for a carriage ride.”