A Good Man for Katie (27 page)

She ran into the parlor and grabbed the scissors from the sewing basket then rushed back into the bedroom. Chase hadn’t moved though his chest rose and fell as he breathed. She removed his gun belt and slung it over the brass footboard at the end of the bed then cut away his shirt with hands that shook so much, she was afraid she’d stab him, adding to his injuries with the pointy tips of the scissors. The bullet holes, one on his left side just above his waist, the other higher up on his chest on the right, oozed blood—deep, rich, darker than crimson and her breath caught in her throat.

“Chase.” His name spilled over her lips in a whisper. She sat on the edge of the bed and, using the shirt she’d just cut away from his body, tried to staunch the flow. Blue fabric turned bright red in an instant and stained her hands as well.

She leaned lower and whispered in his ear, “Stay with me.”

He groaned, though his eyes remained closed. Using the scissors once more, she cut away his trousers and the drawers beneath them, exposing the last wound to her eyes before she covered him with a soft blanket.

“Kate!” She heard Terrence’s voice, heard the dog bark, as both of them swooped into the parlor at a run, the door slamming behind them.

“In here.”

“My God,” Terrence uttered as he entered the room, his breath coming in short gasps, and dropped his medical bag on the bed. Sarge trotted around the doctor and rushed up to the side of the bed. He emitted a sharp bark and nudged at Chase with his nose. Her brother-in-law looked like he just rolled out of bed, which he had. His hair stuck up around his head in spiky tufts and his eyes retained a hint of sleep.

Terrence didn’t waste time asking questions as he removed his coat, dropped it on the floor and kicked it under the bed then began issuing orders. “I need hot water. And anything you’ve got for bandages.” He opened his bag and started removing the implements of his profession. Wickedly sharp scalpels glimmered in the lamplight followed by a stethoscope, several clamps and other items she didn’t know the names of and truthfully, didn’t want to know. A muffled curse escaped him as he brought out a small metal bowl and placed it on the bedside table. “How long has he been unconscious?”

“Since I brought him in the house.”

“You brought him in by yourself?”

Kathryne nodded as the words she’d been about to utter became stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard. “He was able to help me.” She twisted the bloody remains of Chase’s shirt in her hands as Terrence began his examination, wincing every time more blood poured from the holes in Chase’s body. Her stomach clenched. Bile rose to the back of her throat. It wasn’t the sight of so much blood that made tears shimmer in her eyes—it was the fear that he couldn’t be saved that rooted her to floor.

Terrence glanced at her. “Kate?” She barely heard her name above the sound of her own heartbeat and didn’t respond. She couldn’t. All her attention focused on Chase.

“Kate!”

She jumped at his tone.

“I need hot water and bandages. And take the dog with you. I don’t need him in here.”

Freed from her paralysis, she rushed to obey his orders. “Come on, Sarge. Come out in the kitchen.” The dog hesitated, his gaze flickering from Chase to the doctor to her, brows twitching. He whined, deep in his throat as if torn between obeying her order and staying close to the man he obviously adored. “Sarge!” The dog heaved a sigh and finally moved away from Chase.

On feet that moved quickly now, she found a clean sheet in the cabinet and slung it over her shoulder to keep her hands free then filled a basin with water from the stove’s reservoir. Sarge followed her, his steps matching hers, and for once, he didn’t try to trip her or nudge her into moving faster.

“You stay right here. Don’t come in the bedroom,” she commanded. The dog sank to his haunches in the doorway as Kathryne carried the basin into the room and placed it on the bedside table, which Terrence had moved a little closer.

“Can you help me?” Terry asked as he rolled up the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt and put on an apron he pulled from his bag. “I can’t do this alone.”

Though she doubted the roiling in her stomach could stand seeing another drop of blood, she nodded. She’d do anything she must to keep Chase alive and in her life. “Of course. Whatever you need me to do.”

“Start tearing that sheet into strips. I’m going to need you to clean the blood away, keep the areas clear so I can see what I’m doing. I’ll need more light as well.” He paused and took a deep breath. “He’ll be all right,” Terrence assured her but at this moment, in his eyes, she saw doubt. And something else. Fear, perhaps?

Chase believed Terrence Leslie to be the best sawbones this side of the Mississippi. As his sister-in-law, Kathryne knew this to be the truth. She couldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise as she followed orders and ripped the sheet into long, wide strips and placed them within reach on the bed.

“From what I can see, none of the bullets pierced anything vital,” he said as he poked and prodded. “Although anything foreign in a human body is dangerous. The thickness of his coat helped. The wounds on his chest and in his side aren’t especially deep, but I worry about this one.” He gently spread the edges of the bullet wound in Chase’s thigh. More blood gushed from the wound before she turned away.

“Why?” she asked as she turned up the wicks in the lamps around the room, shedding more light. Flames danced in the fireplace, the logs snapping and popping, adding a strange glow to the pair of metal tweezers in Terrence’s hand, though she doubted they were called tweezers.

“I could nick an artery and he’d bleed out.” A long sigh escaped him. “There is always the danger of infection.” He glanced at her and tried to smile. “Shall we begin?”

Pain settled in her heart as the thought of losing Chase through either loss of blood or infection rambled through her mind. She caught Terrence’s unrelenting stare and took a deep breath, then another, to force the images from her mind, to still the rising tide of terror. “I’m ready.”

He dug into one of the wounds with the long metal tweezers. Kathryne wiped away the fresh outpouring of blood as she’d been instructed though tears shimmered in her eyes and her throat constricted. Terrence didn’t speak as he worked. Perspiration dotted his forehead and rolled down the sides of his face as his lips thinned in concentration.

Surprisingly, removing the bullets from Chase’s body didn’t take nearly as long as she would have thought. Terrence had a steady hand and a quick, efficient manner. Before long, all three bullets sat in the small bowl on the bedside table and he closed the wounds with thick, black sutures after cleaning the holes with alcohol. “That’s it.” Terrence trimmed the threads and heaved a sigh as he inspected his handiwork. “I’ve done all I can. The rest is up to him, but he’s a strong man.”

He cleaned the last of the blood from Chase’s chest then dumped all the stained rags into the small trash basket beside the bed. He said nothing more as he stepped around Sarge in the doorway and went to the kitchen to wash his hands, but he walked like a man who’d seen too much, whose heart sat in his chest like an anvil.

Kathryne released her breath in a long sigh as she covered Chase with a thin blanket. The tears she’d been holding at bay could no longer be contained and flooded her eyes to gather on the rims of her glasses. She leaned over, placing her lips close to his ear. “I love you, Chase Hunter. Stay with me.”

Terrence came back into the bedroom, wiping his hands on the towel he carried then rolled his instruments into the towel and stuck them in his bag so he could properly sterilize them later. “I’ll replace the towel tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “No need.” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t help it.

“Don’t fall apart on me now, Kate. He needs you. I need you.”

She straightened beneath his words. “I’m not falling apart.”

He grinned at her. “Good girl. The general would be proud.” He grabbed his bag then left the room, beckoning her to follow. “We shouldn’t move him. He’ll have to stay here until he recovers.” He pulled a bottle from the bag and handed it to her. “This is laudanum. It’s for pain.”

“What do I do?”

“Once he wakes up, a spoonful every few hours should do. Keep him comfortable. Make sure he drinks plenty of water and give him broth, as much as he can tolerate for a day or so, then more solid food. He’ll need that to keep up his strength. Make sure he doesn’t pull those stitches out.” He glanced at Sarge sitting sentinel in the doorway and the corners of his mouth tilted upward. The dog hadn’t moved though his ears twitched. “Don’t let Sarge jump on him.” He closed and fastened his bag. “Do you know who shot him?”

“No, he didn’t say anything except my name, but I have my suspicions.”

A dark eyebrow cocked over one eye as Terry drew in his breath. “You can’t tell anyone about this. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“I know.”

“Send Sarge if you need me.” The dog’s head tilted to the side. Though his tail thumped the floor, he didn’t move from his spot. “I’ll stop by early tomorrow morning to check on him and I’ll have Emy come up to watch over him while you’re at school.”

“Thank you, Terry.” She pulled him into a hug. “For helping him despite who he is.”

Terrence said nothing as he pulled out of her embrace though Kathryne caught the hint of sadness in his bright eyes as he touched the side of her face with his fingertips. “He’ll be all right,” he assured her once again. “Now lock the door.”

Kathryne locked the door as instructed then noticed her hands. The blood on them had dried to a rusty brown. She also noticed her nightgown and robe. Ugly rust colored splotches stained both and brought a fresh rush of tears, not because her clothing was ruined, but because it was Chase’s blood. In the space of a heartbeat, she realized how close he’d come to dying. If he hadn’t had the strength to crawl to her for help, who knew how long it would be before someone found him. By that time, it would have been too late.

Tears blurred her vision, but she kept herself together long enough to wash and change her clothing and clean up the bedroom from Chase’s impromptu surgery.

Kathryne snuffed out the flames of the wall sconces and lowered the wick in the lamp on the bedside table, added a few more logs to the fire then pulled her favorite chair into the bedroom and placed it beside the bed. Chase seemed to be breathing easily now, though he had yet to awaken. She wrapped herself in an afghan then sat in her chair and pulled her legs beneath her, making herself comfortable for a long night of keeping watch.

Sarge sat in the same position in the doorway, still keeping guard over the man on the bed. “Come here, boy.”

The dog trotted into the room and sat beside her, resting his head on her lap. “You’re a good boy.” Kathryne slipped her fingers into his soft fur. “Do dogs pray? I know they laugh, but do they pray?” He lifted his head and stared deeply into her eyes. His brows twitched and his ears cocked as she stroked him. That peculiar growl-groan issued from his throat. “Pray for Chase. Pray we find the men who did this to him before they realize he’s still alive.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. A horrible thought occurred to her and her eyes flew open. Chase had been shot, but had he retaliated? Was there someone lying dead somewhere, just waiting to be found? And the blood. There had been so much of it. Was there a trail leading straight to her door?

Kathryne jumped from her seat, startling the dog. She dressed as quickly and as warmly as her shaking fingers would allow then grabbed a lamp from the kitchen table and rushed outside.

There was indeed a trail of blood. Splotches of crimson stained the snow covering the bridge. With her foot, she pushed the snow into the swiftly flowing stream, removing any evidence Chase had been there at all. She stepped off the bridge, holding the lamp high, her breath coming out in frosty white plumes as panic and fear seized her. More blood stained the snowy path leading to the school. As best she could, she covered the spots of red with more snow then rushed into the schoolhouse. She stopped in the doorway, her breath seizing in her lungs, her heart pounding so hard she saw pinpoints of light dance in front of her eyes. The floorboards covering the entrance to the tunnel were out of place, pushed to the side and blood smeared the wooden planks leading from the dark opening to the door.

The last thing she wanted was to go down into the tunnel—alone. She had no choice though. If Chase had indeed killed someone, she had to hide the body—to protect him and herself.

She took a deep breath then another, searching for whatever shred of courage she could find, and climbed into the dark, gaping hole in the floor.

Chapter Seventeen

“Emy,” Kathryne sighed as she unlocked the door and found herself drawn into a warm, comforting embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“You didn’t sleep.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement as the woman stepped back and studied her face. Terrence had said the same thing when he’d stopped by earlier.

“No, not very much. I-I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes—” She couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t relive the nightmare of finding Chase as she did, nor could she forget the dead man she’d found in the tunnel and her efforts to bury him. She never thought she could do something like that, but to protect Chase, she had. She had blisters on her palms to prove it. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Emeline entered the kitchen and dropped her reticule and a large sewing basket on the table.

“For staying with Chase. For helping me find my way out of trouble. Again.”

Emeline sucked in her breath and shook her head as understanding dawned in her eyes. “You’re in love with him.”

Though the words were spoken without rancor, without accusation, Kathryne stilled, every muscle in her body tensing. “He’s a good man, Emy,” she said. “Everything I said to the Ladies’ Society is true. He’s kind-hearted and decent. Gentle. Caring.” She held her breath, waiting for her sister to berate her, chide her—indeed, scold her—for falling in love with the wrong man once again. None of that happened. There were no harsh words, not even a little censure in her eyes as she removed her gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of her warm winter coat.