Keegan's Lady (59 page)

"I pray not. Only time will tell. Just be thankful the lead passed all the way through. I didn't have to do any excavating. That's a plus. And you have to remember, a bullet does the most damage where it lodges inside a man or as it makes its exit. In this case, I think it made a clean pass. Truly, I do. Even a vital organ can heal, you know. I've seen it in my day. Then again, I've seen flesh wounds kill a man. Like I said, it's up to God at this point, honey."

Up to God . . . Caitlin closed her eyes on that. When she looked back at the old physician, she asked, "Do you know how it happened, Doc? Where Patrick was when he got shot?"

"They said he was out by the pigpen. Probably slopping the sows, would be my guess. The sniper was up on the hill behind your house, according to the good marshal's calculations. Shooting a high-powered rifle, that's at fairly close range."

The doctor said "good marshal" with unmistakable sarcasm. Though Estyn Beiler had managed to be re-elected year after year, there were a lot of people in No Name who didn't think highly of him. Not many men had the temperament to be in law enforcement. As in most small towns, the risks were high, the wages low. At election time, Beiler's was usually the only name on the ballot. The man had a penchant for drinking and playing poker that wasn't strictly admirable in an elected official, but people tended to overlook that. Someone had to wear a badge and uphold the law.

Caitlin felt a rush of anger. "I hate that man. If he has his way, my husband's going to hang for this. And, I'm telling you, Ace didn't do it. I'm not pretending he doesn't have it in him to shoot someone. We all know that's not true. But he wouldn't hide on a hillside and sight in on a man whose back was turned. Only a coward would do such a thing, and my husband is no coward."

"I agree."

Caitlin glanced up, unable to conceal her surprise. "You do?"

Doc smiled. "That's another thing I've become a fair hand at over the years, judging people. I've watched Ace Keegan since he came to town, taken his measure pretty carefully. I'd say he's a hard man, but a good one."

"Oh, Doc! I should have known I'd have a friend in you. Will you help him? Please? Go out there and talk some sense into those men! Make them stop this crazi-ness."

"Ah, honey. A friend, I definitely am. But not a very influential one, I'm afraid. To people here, I'm just the eccentric old doctor who has trouble keeping his trousers up. They come to me for their ingrown toenails and for the occasional serious illness. Otherwise, they think I'm battier than a belfry."

Caitlin knew he spoke the truth. People liked Doc, but most of them were of the opinion that he was a little strange. Maybe he was. In Caitlin's books, it was a very good kind of strange.

She thumbed the diamond ring her husband had placed on her finger, aching with concern for him. "I love Ace Keegan with all my heart."

"I can see that you do." Doc rubbed his chin. "And I'd help him if I could. Honestly, I would."

"I know." Caitlin meant that. When had she ever come to Doc that he hadn't tried to set her world aright? Once he'd even offered her a home with him. She'd refused, of course, afraid her father might fly into a rage and take it out on Doc if she tried to leave home. But she'd never forgotten. This old man would have fought the devil himself for her, even if he had known beforehand that he'd probably lose. "I know you would, Doc. Thank you for that."

"Yes, well..." He smiled wryly. "I guess I developed a special fondness for you over the years. I have to admit, I was a mite worried when I first heard Keegan had married you. Then, after thinking it over, I decided maybe it was the best thing that could have happened to you. I'm glad to see I was right. It's about time you had a man treat you decent."

"He treats me a whole lot better than just decent." Caitlin focused on the sounds coming from across the street. Angry shouts, calls for justice. "Oh, Doc, if only Patrick could tell us who shot him. They're going to storm that jail. I just know it. And Beiler probably won't do a blooming thing to stop them."

"No, probably not," Doc agreed, looking concerned. "Knowing him, probably not."

Doc drew up another chair and sat beside her, his gaze fixed worriedly on Patrick. After a long while, he said, "Even if Patrick could talk, he might not know who shot him. Like you say, the man who did it was a coward. He probably hid in the brush where Patrick couldn't see him."

"And they"—Caitlin gestured toward the jail— "think Ace Keegan did it? Just listen to them. Where are their heads at?"

"Most of those fellows out there are good men, Caitlin. They're angry right now and not thinking straight, that's all."

"I wish I could feel so charitable."

Doc sighed. "I'm not defending them. Don't take me wrong. It's just bad business, this. Most of them are older men. Men who knew and liked Camlin Beckett. They were outraged over his murder."

"That happened nearly twenty years ago! That doesn't excuse their behavior now!"

"Doesn't it?" Doc arched an eyebrow at her, his spectacles catching light from the small surgery window positioned high on the wall. "In their minds, history has repeated itself. The Paxton bunch came back to No Name, and the first thing they know, one of their own has been shot in the back again. Naturally, they're angry, and in the heat of their anger, they want justice."

Caitlin hadn't looked at it in quite that way. She tried to do so now. "All I know is, they'd like to lynch my husband, and he's innocent. Anyone should be able to see that."

Doc rested a hand on her knee. "And you're angry with them for being so blind. I don't blame you for that. At the same time, even though they're wrong to want to take the law into their own hands, I can't really blame them, either. Back shooting, like I said, is nasty business. It's too bad that—" He broke off and shook his head. "Ah, nothing."

"What?" Caitlin pressed.

"Oh, I was just thinking out loud, that's all. Wishing there were some way to prove . . ." His voice trailed off and he shrugged. "There isn't, though. Twenty years is a long time."

Patrick tossed his head upon the pillow and began muttering under his breath. Something about Beiler and his losses at the poker tables. Caitlin wished she could pull him from his nightmares.

When Patrick finally quieted, she shifted her focus back to the physician. "You said something about proving something, Doc? Proving what?"

"I was just thinking how great it'd be if you could prove that Joseph Paxton might have been innocent. That is what Keegan claims, right?"

"Yes."

"Well?" Doc met her gaze. "It's a shame you can't prove it. Or, at least, put some doubt in their minds. That'd take the wind out of those fellows' sails. Make them step back and do some serious thinking. It's a terrible thing, hanging an innocent man. None of them would want to do that. If they'd calm down for a few minutes, they'd all have second thoughts."

Caitlin had dared to let herself hope. Now she felt crestfallen. "That's only wishful thinking, Doc. How could I possibly prove Joseph Paxton was innocent? He and Beckett have been dead and buried for so long."

From the front waiting room came the sound of a door opening, quickly followed by footsteps. Doc pushed up from his chair. "Summer cold season. Sounds like I've got another patient." He shuffled toward the door. "If you need me, honey, I'll be a skip and a jump away. Don't hesitate to holler. Unless an emergency comes in, there'll be nothing all that urgent going on out here."

Caitlin gazed after him until he disappeared, the door closing softly behind him. Then she devoted herself to Patrick, smoothing his hair, trickling cold water over his feverish skin. At least for her brother, she could do something useful.

She was surprised when she heard the door open again. Glancing up, she saw her friend Bess slipping into the room. Their gazes locked. Bess's eyes were swimming with tears. "Surely, you knew I would come," she said softly.

Caitlin nodded. Bess was that kind of friend. Always had been. She patted the chair beside her. Bess sat down, her moist gaze fixed on Patrick.

"Oh, Caitie. I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry."

Caitlin wrung out the rag again, striving to maintain control. "He may not make it, Bess."

"I know. I heard about Ace, too. Are you, um . .. upset about that?"

"Oh, Bess. I love him so much. I'm afraid those men out there are going to hang him, and there's nothing I can do to help him."

Bess laid a hand on her shoulder. She said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Silence fell. Bess's presence was a comfort to Caitlin as she bathed Patrick's feverish skin, wondering with every breath she took if he would live or die.

As she worked, Caitlin's mind kept circling back to what Doc had said. Proof. Now that the thought had been planted in her mind, it refused to be dislodged. It would be so wonderful if she could actually help Ace. She owed him so much. To stand helplessly by while he faced this trouble nearly broke her heart.

Doc was absolutely right about one thing. If she could put a trace of doubt into those men's minds—just enough to make them question Paxton's guilt—they might not be quite so eager to hang Ace. Right now, they were thinking of him as a chip off the old block, the stepson of a back shooter who'd grown into a man with the same cowardly tendencies. If she could make them wonder, even for an instant, if Paxton had actually shot Beckett, then they might reconsider. No one wanted to be responsible for hanging an innocent man.

Ceaselessly running the cloth over Patrick's brow and face, Caitlin shared with Bess what Doc had said. "I wish I could prove Paxton's innocence," she whispered in conclusion. "Oh, God, if only I could."

"I don't see how. It all happened so long ago."

Bess was right, Caitlin knew. Still, she couldn't help but wish.

As she bathed her brother's arms, Caitlin went back over everything Ace had told her about the past. About Joseph Paxton paying a thousand dollars for the Circle Star in St. Louis. About their trip westward and its tragic conclusion when they finally arrived here. If only there were some way for her to cast some doubt. Some way to Blake those men out there ask themselves some difficult questions. What if Paxton had been innocent? What if her father and his friends had hung a guiltless man? What if Paxton actually had paid a thousand dollars for the Circle Star? What if he really had been swindled?

At the coldness of the cloth, Patrick flung his head back and forth on the pillow, rambling senselessly, just us Doc had warned her he might. "Damned cat," he muttered, making Caitlin smile. She knew her brother must be dreaming about Lucky. "Gonna rain. Gotta get the grass hay cut." He licked his parched lips, then frowned. His expression turned suddenly tormented. He knotted his hands into fists and jerked his arm from her grasp. "Caitlin. Have to tell . . . her. Journals. In the journals. Go . . . Beiler. Tell Caitlin."

"Patrick," Caitlin murmured soothingly. "Just dreams, Paddy boy. I'm here. The hay's all cut now. The monthly ledgers can wait. It's all right. Don't worry. Shhh."

At the sound of her voice, Patrick thrashed more violently and opened his eyes, which seemed to hold no recognition. "Have to listen," he said in a raspy voice. "Read—ledger, Caitlin. And the journal. Don't—not Beiler. Promise me?"

"I promise, Paddy. I promise." Caitlin pressed a hand to her brother's hot forehead, believing his words to be the result of delirium. "I love you, Patrick. I didn't mean what I said the other morning. I love you so. Do you hear me? I love you, Patrick. No matter what, I'll always love you."

His eyes seemed to grow clear for a second. He stared up at her face, his expression beseeching. "Forgive—me. Forgive me, Caitlin. Sorry. So sorry. No more— whiskey. I swear it. No more."

"I know. I know,'' she whispered. "You'll never drink again. Not ever. I know. Now, hush, Paddy boy. Sleep. You have to get well."

It was all Caitlin could do to keep the tears from her eyes. It hurt so badly, seeing him like this, knowing he probably wouldn't live. He was so young. And, just as she'd told him, she loved him and always would, no matter what.

"Go to sleep now," she urged. "I'll stay right here, Patrick. Right here. Go to sleep."

He caught her hand and gripped it with surprising strength. "No. You have to—go home. Read—journal,  Promise?"

Caitlin felt a chill run up her spine. Delirium? Or was her brother trying desperately to tell her something? "What journal, Patrick? What are you talking about?"

Bess sat forward on her chair, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Caitlin, he's trying to tell you something!"

The muscles along Patrick's throat grew distended. He gulped for air. "Pa's journal. Like Doc said. Proof— in—there. Home. Go home. Promise."

"All right. I promise." Caitlin gave his hand a squeeze and glanced questioningly at Bess. "I promise, Patrick. It'll be all right now. Go to sleep. Rest."

His lashes fluttered closed. His hand relaxed over hers, then went limp. For a long moment, Caitlin and Bess simply sat there, staring down at him.

"Doc warned me crazy talk was to be expected with such a high fever," she whispered to her friend.

Bess's green eyes looked huge in her pale face. "Is it crazy talk? That's the question. Uncle Bart may have been listening with only half an ear. As a doctor, he often has his mind on treating his patient and scarcely hears what they say to him. Oh, Caitlin, maybe you should go out to the ranch. Go through those ledgers and journals."