Maureen McKade (34 page)

“No! You’re my wife, Mrs. Harrison Thompson. These people are nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing!”

Libby shook her head. “It’s over, Harrison.”

He turned and Libby became his target. “You owe
me for everything I’ve given you these past four years: my name, my wealth, my protection.”

She stared up at the revolver aimed at her chest. She searched for a sign of fear within herself, but only regret tempered her acceptance of death. If only she and Matt had had more time. Libby took a deep breath. “You gave me nothing I wanted or needed, Harrison, and it was only you I needed protection from. Go ahead and shoot. I only ask that you spare Matt and Dylan. With me dead, there’s no reason to harm them.”

“I don’t see any reason to leave witnesses, my dear,” Harrison said. He thumbed back the hammer.

Libby’s gaze wavered from the gun barrel, and she focused on Matt’s cherished face. She wanted to weep for the pain she’d given him in exchange for his love, but there was no time left for apologies.

“Get down, Libby!” Matt shouted.

He streaked into motion and Harrison whirled toward him. Libby stared in horror as he aimed at Matt, but Matt’s solid shoulder crashed into him, slamming Harrison against the wall. The smaller man tried to knee Matt in the groin, but missed and jabbed his thigh. Matt stumbled back, his heels dangerously close to the stairs. Libby gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She started up the steps but stopped, torn between Matt and Dylan.

Matt gripped Harrison’s wrist, keeping the weapon pointed to the side. Harrison squirmed and struck Matt a glancing blow to the jaw with his free hand. Matt’s head snapped back and he grunted, but returned the punch. Harrison’s slighter frame gave him more agility and he dodged Matt’s knuckles. Unable to break free of Matt’s hold, Harrison butted his head against Matt’s chin and grabbed his upper arm, pressing his fingers into Matt’s bullet wound. Matt groaned and drew back until the balustrade stopped him.

Libby shuddered, cold sweat covering her brow. One push and Matt would plunge to his death.

Using the heel of his hand, Matt forced Harrison’s chin upward and the man retreated. Matt took advantage of his combatant’s withdrawal to move away from the railing. Libby closed her eyes briefly and wiped her damp forehead with an unsteady hand.

Then Harrison attacked, ramming Matt back against the bannister. The wood cracked beneath his weight, and Matt exhaled noisily. Libby’s fear tottered toward terror. Harrison pushed his forearm against Matt’s neck, and Matt’s back arched over the rail, emptiness gaping below him. Libby bit her lower lip. Matt’s face reddened with the effort to gain freedom, and he grunted, exerting all his strength. His muscles, hardened by years of labor, gave him the advantage, and he pressed Harrison back. Abruptly lunging, Matt knocked Harrison to the floor and landed on top of him. As Harrison tried again to shoot him, Matt grappled for the weapon and it disappeared between their bodies. A muffled gunshot ended the scuffle—and the two men lay motionless.

“Matt!” Libby clutched her skirt and raced up the staircase, then dropped to her knees beside them. “No, Matt, you can’t be dead! Dear God, please!”

Matt stirred beneath Harrison’s limp form. He shoved Harrison’s body aside, and Libby hastily helped him to sit upright. Sweat trailed down his face, and his chest was stained crimson. Libby touched the wet stickiness with shaking fingers. “Matt?” she quavered.

He shook his head. “It’s his.”

Libby glanced at Harrison. Scarlet liquid bubbled from a ragged hole in the left side of her husband’s chest.

Libby threw herself against Matt, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I thought …”

He hugged her close. “Shhh. Everything’s going to be all right now.”

His warm caress and strong embrace assured Libby he was truly alive. She glanced at Harrison and placed a tentative hand on his neck. No pulse. She drew away and shuddered. “This time he really is dead.”

Matt looked at the blood-covered body. “He can’t hurt you again, Libby. Ever. How badly hurt is Dylan?”

Libby scrambled to her feet and helped Matt up. Her relief fled, and fear for Dylan’s life engulfed her. “I need to examine him, but…” She paused. “I think he’s got a compound fracture.”

“What’s that?”

Libby clasped Matt’s calloused hand. “The leg bone has broken through the skin.”

Matt’s face lost much of its ruddiness. “In the war, they cut off the leg if the bone broke through. It was either that or die from infection.”

Libby nodded. “I know. My brother told me about the horrible things he had to do in the tent hospitals.” She squeezed his fingers. “But this isn’t the war.”

She hurried down the stairs ahead of Matt and knelt close to the boy. The detachment she usually possessed didn’t emerge. Dylan wasn’t merely a broken body, but a boy whom she loved like the child she’d never had.

“I have to splint the leg to make sure it doesn’t rip the skin open even further.” Her voice trembled.

A thin girl approached them. “Is he …”

“He’s still alive, Becky,” Matt said.

Libby looked at the timid young woman. “Becky?”

Her frightened doelike gaze settled on Libby. “Yes?”

“Could you find me a couple sticks about a foot long? And bring back a piece of cloth to tear into strips.”

Becky scurried away.

Libby concentrated on removing the material from around Dylan’s injury while Matt observed over her shoulder. “Where’s Sadie?” she asked.

“Thompson broke her neck.”

Libby pressed her lips together. She hadn’t cared for Sadie, but no one deserved to die at Harrison’s deranged hand.

Becky brought back two pieces of wood and gave them to Libby. She held up a bedsheet. “Will this do?”

“That’ll be fine,” Libby answered. “Rip it into strips.”

Becky rent the cloth into the needed pieces.

Worry shaded Matt’s eyes. “What can I do?”

“Hold the sticks on either side of his leg while I tie them in place,” Libby replied. She concentrated on the task instead of Dylan’s pale face. There would be time enough later for tears and guilt. She tied the lengths of cloth around the crude splint, and her fingers brushed Matt’s hand.

“You can save him, Libby,” he said softly.

She didn’t deserve his faith. Because of her deception, two people had been killed, and Dylan might lose his leg.

“What happened here?”

She glanced up to see Eli dressed in his heavy wool coat.

“He fell down the stairs. He’s got a broken leg and he’s unconscious,” she replied.

Eli squatted down and studied the red stain growing across the material holding the splint. His somber gray eyes narrowed. “It’s a bad one.”

“I know.”

Eli glanced around. “Where’s Thompson?”

“Dead,” Matt replied flatly. “Sadie, too.”

A whimper escaped Becky, who stood a few feet away.

“I see,” Eli said simply. “By the looks of it, you didn’t get off scot free either.”

“This ain’t nothing. We need to get Dylan over to your office.”

“Is there something we can use to carry him?” Libby asked. “His leg has to remain straight.”

Eli removed his long jacket and spread it on the floor beside Dylan. “Let’s lay him on my coat and carry him over on that.”

Libby stood and stepped back. Carefully, Eli and Matt transferred Dylan from the blood-soaked rug to the center of the overcoat. The ragged stuffed dog rolled out of Dylan’s jacket to the floor, and Libby picked up the toy, hugging it close. Dylan’s scent washed across her, and the barrier restraining her tears cracked. Why couldn’t she have been the one at the bottom of the stairs, instead of Dylan?

“Are you all right?” Matt asked.

She nodded, unable to speak past the grief lodged in her throat.

Matt curved his fingers around her hand. “He’ll be fine. He’s got the two best doctors in the whole territory looking after him.”

Libby looked up at the familiar contours of Matt’s rugged face. She’d let him down, after all he’d given her.

“Give me a hand, Matt,” Eli said.

Working in tandem, Eli and Matt lifted the coat with Dylan cradled in the middle.

Libby paused beside Becky and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“I’ll send a couple of men over to take the bodies to Howard’s,” Matt said. He and Eli went through the doorway with their precious charge.

Libby hurried to the schoolhouse for her bag and met them at Eli’s office, where Dylan lay on an examination table. His dark hair spilled across his pale face, and he moaned. Tears pooled in Libby’s
eyes, but she dashed them away with an impatient hand. Dylan needed her.

She edged between Matt and Eli. “Get me a pan of warm water.” She glanced at Eli’s puzzled expression. “I’m a doctor.”

One corner of his lips quirked upward. “By God, I knew there was something special about you.”

Matt hastened out of the room. Libby removed the crude splint and cut the trousers away from the injury. A pearly white bone jutted out below his knee, and blood continued to flow out of the open wound.

“I don’t know, Libby,” Eli said over her shoulder. “I’ve never been one to wait until the leg turns black before getting rid of it.”

Libby stared at the more experienced doctor. “You think we should remove the leg immediately?”

“In all my years of practicing medicine, I only seen one person with a break like this keep his leg. The rest either lose it or die,” Eli said grimly. He swore under his breath. “I don’t want to do it, but we’ll just be putting Dylan through a lot of needless pain if we wait.”

“Ain’t there some other way?” Matt demanded from the doorway, clutching a metal pan. He set the container of water on the counter and approached the unconscious boy. Matt laid a large hand on Dylan’s still shoulder. “If you take Dylan’s leg, he ain’t going to be able to run or play ever again. He probably won’t ever be able to set a horse either. A man needs both his legs if he’s going to make anything of himself.”

The anger and misery in Matt’s tone echoed Libby’s own feelings. How would she live with the guilt? And what would Dylan think if she removed his leg? Would he hate her?

Sternly, Libby halted her wayward thoughts. Her heart pounded in her breast and sweat coated her palms. “I think I can save the leg and Dylan’s life.”

Both men looked at her.

“We can clean the wound with carbolic acid, then we’ll set the bone. As long as we keep the area free of dirt and dust, he’ll have a chance,” Libby explained.

“I read about that carbolic acid in one of the journals I got. You figure it’ll work?” Eli asked.

“It’s been used with success back east. I’ve got some in my bag.” She opened the black case and removed a bottle of clear liquid. “We’ll need to dilute it with some water.”

“Eli, you in here?” Lenore called from the front of the office.

Libby didn’t think she could maintain her composure if Lenore disrupted her. “Matt, could you keep Lenore company?”

Matt gazed at Libby, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes and the shaky posture of her shoulders. “All right.”

He glanced once more at Dylan’s too-still body and moved out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Land sakes, Matt, I hope that blood isn’t all yours,” Lenore exclaimed.

He shook his head. “Most of it is Thompson’s.”

“Is he dead?”

Matt nodded. “He was going to kill Libby. Sadie’s dead, too. Thompson got a little rough with her.”

“What goes around, comes around, I say. Sadie done enough beating on poor little Dylan; she had a lot to answer for. It was bound to catch up with her sooner or later. Same with that husband of Libby’s. I don’t think I ever saw a slipperier character. I don’t know how Libby ever got hooked up with the scoundrel. So what’s going on in there? Libby didn’t get hurt, did she?”

“No, not Libby. It’s Dylan.” Matt explained what happened. He swallowed hard. “Libby thinks she can save his leg.”

Lenore’s gaze drifted to the door barring them from
Dylan. “We have to hope for the best, Matt. There’s no use in worrying about things beforehand. What’s going to happen will happen, and you and I don’t have much say in the matter.” She removed her coat and rolled up her sleeves. “By the looks of it, some of that blood is yours.”

Grudgingly, Matt removed his coat. By the glow of two lanterns, Lenore cleaned the flesh wound on his upper arm.

“One good thing’s come out of this. You and Libby can get hitched, if you’ve still a mind to,” Lenore said.

Matt shrugged and an arrow of pain shafted through his wounded arm. He grimaced. “I don’t know if she’ll have me.”

“And why wouldn’t she? She loves you, you thickheaded Texan!”

“I didn’t believe her, Lenore. She told me Thompson lied, but I walked out on her, and look what happened. He damn near killed her, and Dylan might be a cripple because of me.”

“Horse apples. All the bad that’s been done is nobody’s fault but Harrison Thompson’s.
He
brought misery to good folks like you and Libby and Dylan. There’s no use blaming yourself, when the real culprit will by lying in a pine box soon enough.”

“That’s easy enough to say, Lenore.” If he’d trusted Libby, he could have prevented the damage Thompson had dealt out since he’d arrived. How could she ever forgive him for doubting her?

Despite Matt’s protests, Lenore arranged a sling for his injured arm.

“There, that should take care of you,” she said. “What do you say we have some coffee?”

Half an hour later, Matt poured himself a third cup of the bracing liquid and returned to his chair to continue his vigil. Lenore sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, and Matt suspected she was praying.
Matt did some of that himself, hoping God hadn’t forgotten who he was.

Finally, the door to the examination room opened and Eli appeared.

Matt stood. “How is he?”

Worry etched Eli’s creased face and he shrugged his thin shoulders. “We cleaned the wound out like Libby said, and set the bone. She’s got real steady hands. The next twenty-four hours will tell if he keeps the leg or not.”

Matt’s heart thudded in his chest. “But he’ll live?”

The doctor’s frown eased slightly, and he nodded. “He’s a strong lad. I think he’ll pull through.”