Two Texas Hearts

EIGHT

BY MIDAFTERNOON THE SKY WAS BOILING WITH DARK gray clouds heavy with rain. The wind whipped around through the breaks, debating a direction. Winter slowed his horse and let Cheyenne pull up beside him as he watched a dust devil dance along the ridge just south of where his land ended.

‘‘She’s still with us,’’ Cheyenne mumbled.

Winter laughed. The man had spent half his day trying to lose Jamie and the other half worrying about her being able to keep up. To the woman’s credit, she could ride as well as any of his cowhands, and better than most. Cheyenne had pointed out all her shortcomings as a horsewoman, and she’d repeatedly told him where he could ride to and back with his advice.

‘‘We’ll have to cross onto McLain’s land if we go any farther. You think we should turn around and call it a day?’’ Winter twisted to watch Jamie approaching.

He was surprised at the expression on Cheyenne’s face, then he realized he’d probably never asked for advice or turned toward home early. But for a reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to get back.

‘‘It would probably be best for your sister-in-law,’’ Cheyenne answered. ‘‘This wind will turn cold at dusk.’’

Both men nodded. For her sake was reason enough.

As Winter signaled with a wave for her to turn around, a bullet flew past his hand so closely he could feel the air tumble. A moment later the sound caught up with the lead, rattling the silence with a pop. For a second both men were stone, listening, judging direction, thinking before reacting. Then the second shattered with another pop, and their reaction was lightning fast.

They glanced at each other, then at Jamie. ‘‘Ride!’’ Winter shouted as they flanked the woman and kicked their horses into action. Though she opened her mouth, nothing came out as her horse jerked into a full gallop.

The thunder of the hooves almost drowned out the sounds of more gunfire. They leaned into their saddles, moving as one with the animals. There was no time to guess who or why, only survival. The land flattened out before them, making speed their only ally.

A hundred thoughts darted into Winter’s mind. Who was firing? He’d expected trouble, but not a sudden ambush. What if Jamie were killed? How could he explain it to Kora? What if a bullet hit one of the horses and it fell? At this speed the rider would die. He had to do something fast to protect Jamie. He’d chosen this life, but she was just a bystander.

‘‘Cheyenne! Take her toward home. I’ll slow them down!’’

The Indian didn’t hesitate. He rode beside a frightened Jamie as Winter turned left to circle back. With the reins in one hand, Winter jerked his rifle from its sheath and swung it through the air to cock the weapon. The Winchester made a mighty clicking sound in a formal call to arms. He wrapped the reins around the saddlehorn and raised the weapon to his shoulder.

Far into the distance three men cleared a rock rise in pursuit. They were seasoned riders able to handle rifles at full gallop. From a distance all were in black with horses bearing no outstanding markings. As the smoke cleared their rifles, Win lowered his aim. Their volley sailed past him. A heartbeat later his shot knocked the center man back, almost unseating him. Win heard Jamie’s scream as he cocked his rifle once more and took aim again.

The two remaining men tried to hold the center one on his saddle as they fought to control their own horses. Win squeezed off a second bullet.

The man on the left grabbed his upper arm, but didn’t lose his balance as he turned his own horse and pulled the reins of the middle rider’s mount back over the hill.

Win fought the urge to follow. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been taught as a boy never to leave a wounded animal, but to make sure he was dead, or if it was a need to see who was trying to kill him.

Only Jamie’s cries for help kept him from kicking his mount in chase.

Instead, he swung back toward Cheyenne and Jamie and rode to where they had stopped, well out of what he thought would have been harm’s way.

As he came near, he could hear Jamie crying in huge gulps of terror. Ten feet away he saw the blood on her hands. Five feet from her he could smell the warm sickening smell of flesh ripped open by gunpowder.

‘‘Jamie!’’

She looked up at him with wide frightened eyes. For all her hard language and rough ways, she looked very fragile now.

‘‘Jamie, where were you hit?’’ The only positive thing he saw was that she was still in the saddle, her horse close to Cheyenne’s.

‘‘I’m not!’’ she cried. ‘‘It’s Cheyenne. He’s bleeding bad.’’

Winter looked at his friend for the first time. Cheyenne sat his horse as if nothing were amiss. Only his face was ashen and the lines around his mouth carved of granite.

After jumping off his mount, Winter moved between their horses to Cheyenne. The man’s leg was soaked in blood.

‘‘Just below my hip,’’ Cheyenne said softly. ‘‘The bullet’s still in. I can feel the fire of it against my bone.’’

Winter pulled his bandanna from his neck and tied it around the leg where blood was pulsing out. His hands and shirt where splattered with crimson by the time he finished. ‘‘Can you ride?’’

‘‘I can.’’

For a moment Winter debated. If they took the time to make a travois to hold Cheyenne, the man would bleed to death. If they rode too fast, he might pound more blood out. The bandanna was already soaked. If they stopped on this open plain to try and remove the bullet, Cheyenne might die or they might all be picked off by the men hiding in the rocks.

‘‘Set the pace,’’ he said to Cheyenne. ‘‘For as long as you can, ride as hard as possible.’’

Jamie stayed on one side and Winter on the other as they moved toward home. Halfway, Cheyenne slumped forward and Winter stopped the horses. He ran his hand over Cheyenne’s pant leg and wiped the blood across his own saddle, then turning, unbridled his horse and slapped it toward home. He knew his horse would make it in long before they could, and the blood on the saddle would send an army coming.

Winter pulled Cheyenne’s feet from the stirrups and climbed up behind him. He wasn’t easy to hold in the saddle, but Winter managed.

‘‘Jamie!’’ He needed help and she had to stop crying long enough to do what had to be done. ‘‘Cut a strip of leather from your saddle strings and tie Cheyenne’s legs to mine.’’

She pulled her knife and cut the thin piece of leather from the back of the saddle. ‘‘Why?’’ she whispered.

‘‘I’m not sure I can hold him and travel as fast as we need to. This way we both ride or fall.’’

She did as she’d been told, first on the right, then on the left side. The leather cut into the back of Win’s leg, but he needed it tight. ‘‘Now, take my rope and wrap it around us both.’’

Cheyenne was dead weight now, fighting with gravity to slide from the saddle.

As soon as Jamie was finished, Win pushed his heels into the horse’s side, knowing Cheyenne’s animal was finely trained and needed no spur to follow even slight commands. They rode as fast as he could and still keep his balance.

Winter’s horse arrived back at the barn, sweaty and wild. Logan caught him. The moment he saw the blood on the saddle, he yelled for Kora, then stood back in surprise as she began issuing orders as though Winter had taught her.

It was almost dark when several of Winter’s men found them half a mile from the ranch. They surrounded Jamie and Win and acted as guard for the rest of the journey. No man offered to take Winter’s load, and he wouldn’t have passed it on. Whether Cheyenne was still alive, or not, he’d ride home sitting a saddle and not across it like a season kill of beef.

When they stopped, Logan stepped beside Win and cut the straps binding the two men. Then Winter gently lowered Cheyenne into a dozen waiting hands.

‘‘Send for the doctor,’’ Winter said as he touched ground.

‘‘I already have, boss,’’ Logan answered. ‘‘Miz Kora ordered a man out as soon as we told her about your saddle having blood on it.’’

Winter followed as the others carried Cheyenne into the house. Kora held the door open while Jamie rattled on about what had happened. He couldn’t help but take a long breath as he stepped through the threshold. He was finally home.

Kora led them up the stairs to the first room. Winter followed, allowing exhaustion to seep into his body for the first time.

Dan sat silently in a cane chair by the door as if nothing were happening. When Win was halfway up the stairs, Dan stood and lifted his chair without looking at Winter, then slowly began to follow.

Winter held the door open as Dan moved past him into the bedroom. He didn’t seem to see anyone, not his sisters or the ranch hands, or even Cheyenne lying on the bed. Dan simply carried the chair to the corner of the room and sat down, then turned so that his face was in shadows looking away from everyone.

Winter had too much on his mind to try and contact this brother of Kora’s who seemed to have given up on living. He tossed his hat on a dusty dresser and looked around the room. The bed was already made out, a fire roared in the fireplace, and a kettle steamed on a rack. Towels and buckets were in ready along with a stack of bandages and the old medicine kit the captain kept nailed to the kitchen wall downstairs.

Winter glanced at Kora in question.

‘‘When I heard of the blood on your saddle, I prepared,’’ Kora said simply.

The other men who’d helped carry Cheyenne backed away, leaving the room silently. They all looked worried and thankful Kora seemed willing to take charge.

‘‘Thanks,’’ Win answered as he unstrapped his gunbelt and chaps. He was glad she was calm and not near hysterics like her sister. ‘‘We’ll have to cut his pant leg off and do the best we can until the doc gets here.’’

‘‘Not me!’’ Jamie shouted from the doorway. ‘‘I’ve seen all the blood I can handle for one day.’’ She was rubbing at her hands, trying to get all the red stain off.

‘‘Go wash, Jamie,’’ Kora said calmly. ‘‘I’ll help Winter.’’

Jamie hesitated. ‘‘He is going to live, isn’t he? I mean, I hate the man, but I wouldn’t wish him dead. There’s so much blood. He couldn’t have much left in him.’’

‘‘He’ll live,’’ Kora responded as if she were certain.

Without another word, Jamie vanished, leaving Winter and Kora to work together. He was amazed at how skilled she was. With a gaping wound that would make most seasoned cowhands turn away, Kora’s hands were steady. She cut the leather of his pants and mixed cool water in with the boiling to wash away layers of blood.

By the time the doctor arrived, they’d cleaned the wound. Cheyenne was very pale and he hadn’t said a word. His shirt and the sheets were stained in varying shades of drying blood. Winter knew he was very near death, but somehow Kora’s statement about him living eased Winter’s worries. She did all the right things, forcing water down him when he moaned and turning his head sideways when he passed out in pain so that he wouldn’t choke. She covered him in layers of wool to keep him as warm as possible.

Winter sat at the head of the bed and held his friend’s shoulders down as Doc Gage dug for the bullet. Kora was kept busy fetching more towels and water as needed. Cheyenne didn’t fight the pain, but took it silently, only tightening once when the bullet was pulled out.

Finally, after Gage’s nod, they stepped out into the hallway to wait. Winter lightly put his arm around Kora’s shoulder, silently thanking her for everything. She was a woman who must have learned very young to do what had to be done. Despite all Jamie’s yelling, she hadn’t had Kora’s strength. And Win couldn’t even imagine Mary Anna being by his side.

To his surprise, Kora moved into his embrace, circling her arms around his waist and holding tightly.

He felt her sobs against his side more than heard them. Deep, lonely, silent sobs. Winter didn’t know how to react to her sudden need. She’d proved herself strong, so it made no sense that she’d fall apart now.

‘‘It’s all right,’’ he finally whispered, knowing he should say something. ‘‘We did the best we could.’’

After a long while, she looked up, her blue eyes liquid with tears. ‘‘I thought it was going to be you,’’ she whispered. ‘‘When it was your horse, I thought it would be your blood. I was afraid my bad luck had rubbed off on you.’’

‘‘I told you, I believe a man makes his own luck.’’ He didn’t know if she cried because she still grieved and didn’t want to lose another husband so soon, or because she cared that he was alive. With her in his arms, it didn’t matter. For the first time since they’d met, she was letting him close and didn’t seem to be frightened of him. He liked the smell of her hair and the softness of her at his side. He’d never thought he needed a female except once in a while for the night, but a man could get used to Kora quickly. She was a habit already forming, and to his surprise, he had no desire to break away.

‘‘I’m not that easy to kill.’’ He tried to sound light. ‘‘I promised you I’d be home before dark and I almost made it.’’

‘‘In my life, it seems everyone around me is easy to kill,’’ she whispered.

Without thought, he pulled her full into his embrace and held her. She felt so good. After all that had happened today, nothing seemed more right than leaning his face against her hair and holding her so tightly he could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath against his own.

He told himself he was a man that needed nothing, but he wanted her by his side. He admired the way she took care of her siblings, the way she faced him even with fear in her eyes, and the way she took charge making arrangements in details he’d never thought about. He liked her leaning against him now, letting him be her strength if only for a moment.

‘‘Don’t be afraid of me,’’ he whispered. She seemed so frightened of not just him, but of life. How much heartache had she borne?

‘‘I’m not,’’ she answered. ‘‘Sometimes I’m afraid to blink because this will all end. I never figured I’d have a home, or a husband. I’m afraid I’ll awaken and be back in the dugout. Or on the streets of New Orleans without a place to sleep.’’

He turned her face to his. ‘‘What do I have to do to convince you that we’ll stay married for as long you like?’’

Before she could answer, a shadow moved in the foyer downstairs and Winter stiffened. ‘‘Who’s there?’’ he shouted as he reached for the weapon he’d left in Cheyenne’s room.

‘‘Wyatt, ah, Wyatt Mitchell, sir,’’ a deep voice answered nervously. ‘‘I was in the doc’s office when he got the summons, and I thought if there was trouble I’d best ride out with him.’’

The man stepped into the light, and Winter relaxed as he recognized a young gambler from town. Wyatt was a friendly enough fellow, always willing to relieve a man of his extra money at the gaming tables. As far as Winter knew, he was honest, or as honest as any gambler. Which wasn’t saying much.

Winter moved down the first few steps. ‘‘Thanks for tagging along with the doc. You’re right about there being trouble.’’ Win felt Kora’s hand touch his shoulder. ‘‘You’re welcome to stay the night, Wyatt. There’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse. Doc Gage said he plans to sit up with my man until he’s out of danger.’’

The gambler twirled his short-brimmed hat. He was of average height with the kind of polished good looks that only come when a person stays out of the weather. ‘‘Thanks, Mr. McQuillen,’’ he said. ‘‘I’d be much obliged. I wouldn’t want to interfere with you and the new missus, but I don’t much care for riding half the night to get back to town.’’

‘‘You’re not interfering.’’ Kora stood on the step behind her husband with her hand still on his shoulder. ‘‘In fact, you’re welcome to breakfast, Mr. Mitchell. I’ll send Jamie out to fetch you in the morning.’’

The gambler smiled. ‘‘Jamie wouldn’t be that vision in buckskin I saw run through here a while back?’’

‘‘Vision in buckskin?’’ Winter raised an eyebrow.

‘‘Yes, sir. She looked like she’d just washed her hair and face.’’ The gambler laughed, a rich laughter that comes easy to those who laugh a lot. ‘‘She had more water on her than she must have left in the tub. Her garments were wet and clinging to her like second skin. The clothes might be buckskin, but the lady was all woman beneath.’’

‘‘Jamie is my sister-in-law,’’ Winter interrupted the man’s memory before it got out of hand.

Wyatt sobered. ‘‘Sorry, no disrespect intended.’’

Now it was Winter’s turn to smile. ‘‘None taken.’’ He glanced at Kora, then back at the gambler. ‘‘You are a single man, I take it?’’

‘‘Yes.’’ Wyatt rocked back on his heels. ‘‘I never thought much of settling down.’’

Winter took Kora’s hand and moved back up the stairs. ‘‘Neither did I until recently. Who knows, Wyatt? The thought may cross your mind sooner than you think.’’