Leather and Lace (6 page)

She reached for it with both hands and carefully laid it in her lap. “Thanks. I’ll be real careful.” She ran her fingers over the rough grain of the binding. A bit of fear assaulted her. She understood her life had not been as this book directed. Slowly she opened it and gingerly leafed past the pages of personal information about Doc’s family until she found the listing of all the Old and New Testament books. Confused, she glanced up into his face. “Where should I begin? My ma used to read stories to me and Tim before she got sick and lost her eyesight. I remember her telling us about three men in a lion’s den, baby Jesus, and a blind man getting healed.”

Doc took in a deep breath. “I believe it was Daniel in the lion’s den and three men in a fiery furnace. But anyway, it depends on what you’re looking for.”

“I want to be certain God is really there, or if we’re on our own from the day we’re born to the day we die.”

“What are your feelings about God right now, this very minute?” Doc kneeled on the floor beside the rocker. The big man looked humble, the sound of his voice solemn.

“I’m not sure. Maybe I want to believe because I’m so miserable with my life and so scared about the future. I remember when Morgan got shot, I asked God to spare him. I told Him I wanted to change, and I planned to live right whether Morgan lived or not. Now he’s doing much better, and I’m grateful. I want to trust and believe like my ma, but I don’t have any idea where to begin.”

Doc nodded and lifted the Bible from her lap. “I suppose you could start at the beginning with the creation. Hmm, that would probably be the best. Yes, read the book of Genesis, then go to the first book in the New Testament called Matthew.”

“What’s this all about?”

He licked his forefinger and turned the pages. “I’m no preacher, but the Old Testament is full of trustworthy accounts about how God helped the Jewish people. He blessed them when they were obedient and punished them when they weren’t. They were His chosen people, His children. All the way through the Old Testament, He speaks about a man sent from God who would save the people from their sins. In Matthew,” he pointed at the book, “Jesus is born. He was God’s Son.”

“So is the New Testament all about Jesus?”

“Yes, His life, His teachings, and those who followed Him.”

“Like the stories I remember my ma telling.”

“I imagine so.”

“What happened to this Jesus?” she said. “Ma took sick about the time I should have been paying attention, and I couldn’t tell whether she was serious or the fever made her talk strange.”

“His own people killed Him.”

“Why?” It made no sense that folks would kill someone who came to help. “Didn’t God send Him?”

“Yes, but they didn’t like what Jesus said. Those folks chose to keep living wrong rather than change.”

“Sounds like a number of men I know.” She stared at the Bible in his hands and eased her feet to the floor. Curiosity seemed to get the best of her. “Doc, how did you learn so much about God?”

He patted her shoulder and placed the Bible in her lap. “My father was a circuit ridin’ preacher, and a good one. He devoted his whole life to telling folks about the Lord. In fact, he didn’t take care of himself. Took sick when I was sixteen years old and died. I blamed God and decided I wanted to heal people’s bodies, not their souls. Funny thing, you can’t do one without the other.”

With those words, her respect for Doc grew another notch. “How long did it take for you to figure it all out?”

“Too long.” He laughed and stuck his thumbs in his suspenders. “Still don’t have all the answers. You go ahead and read. I’m going to check on our patient.”

She wanted to follow, but he’d let her know when Morgan awoke. Settling back into the rocker, she thought about Doc’s life—believing in God and practicing medicine in a town full of lawless men. He had a special kind of faith, the kind she desperately wanted. She wondered what God thought about outlaws and all the things she’d done. Most likely He didn’t have much use for her, but she’d like to give it a try. Maybe this Bible had a list of what she was supposed to do. And she could get started right away on doing good things for folks instead of being one of those who hurt them.

“Casey,” Doc called from the other room. “You’d best step in here.”

A chill raced up Casey’s spine. She closed Doc’s Bible and again ran her fingers across the rough binding. Morgan might have died. She’d viewed dead men before, men she’d grown to care for, and she could do it again. Rising to her feet, she laid the Bible on the chair.

“Casey.” Doc’s tone was urgent.

“I’m coming.” She hated her reaction to Morgan, a man she barely knew. He even admitted to using her. But the bullets in his body spoke of something else. Only one other man had ever made her feel that way, and he was dead.

Her boots clicked across the wooden floor to Doc’s side. He smiled. “Morgan wants to talk to you.”

His eyes were open, but his pallor shook her senses as though she looked into the face of a dead man.

“You’re alive.” She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

His eyelids fluttered, but he managed a slight grin. “You crazy girl. How did you get me here?”

She wondered where he found the strength to speak. “Made a travois and tied you to it. I’ve done easier things, but I was too stubborn to let you die.”

He wet his lips. “I wanted . . . to.”

“Oh, I remember.” Her whole body relaxed. “You begged me to leave you.”

A twinge of pain swept across his face, and he gasped at its severity. “I . . . bet I did. I—I feel like I fell over a cliff and bounced all the way down.”

Casey touched her finger to his lips. “Please, you’re too weak to waste your time on words. Rest, and do what Doc says.”

“She’s right.” Doc’s gruffness layered every word. “I’m going to let Casey spoon-feed you some clear soup and have you take a dose of laudanum, but understand it’s gonna take time to get you back on your feet again. You’re one lucky—”

A pounding at the door stopped Doc’s orders in midair. Without a word, Casey hurried into the kitchen. Her body quivered as she snatched up her drying clothes and coffee mug before scurrying back into the room with Morgan. She stuffed the items, along with her rifle, under the bed. In seconds, she had her gun belt strapped to her waist and the Colt in her hand. Doc took the bowl of broth and eased the door shut. Shadows closed in around her. Again the hammering against the door thundered in her ears, and she heard a haunting voice.

“Open up, Doc.”

Her heart hammered against her chest until she feared Tim might hear.

She stole across the room and waited. The idea of shooting her own brother sickened her, but she could threaten.

Her gaze flew to Morgan, who peered at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes. Tim would pump one bullet after another into him. She stepped across the room and covered his head.

“Doc, if you’re in there, open up.”

“Who’s there?” Doc said, and Casey realized he searched for any traces of what might have been left behind.

“Tim O’Hare.”

“What’s the problem?”

The front door creaked open.

“Jenkins got a bullet in his leg, and it’s busted. The bone’s sticking out. Hurting him powerful bad.” Tim sounded tired, and that meant a short temper.

“Where is he?”

“Outside of town, about two hours’ ride from here. I tried bringing him in, but he’s carrying on like a madman.”

The familiar agitation in her brother’s words caused her to shudder. He couldn’t be trusted when he was riled.

“Just let me get my bag and pack a few things.”

“Make it fast. I’m tired of hearing Jenkins bellyache.”

Doc must have lifted his black medical bag onto the table. From the sound of clinking bottles, she assumed he was rummaging through its contents.

“I have splints and bandages, but I need to get extra laudanum from my bedroom,” he said.

Casey cringed at the thought of the painkiller on Doc’s dresser. Normally it would be in the other room where he treated folks. Would Tim suspect anything? She backed behind the door. Her hand wrapped around the handle of the Colt. Odd how something she knew so well could be what she despised the most. Her palm rested on the butt, worn by use.

Doc opened the door, and Tim’s tall silhouette cast an eerie shadow across the wooden planks. Even in the dimly lit room, Morgan’s body could be clearly seen.

“Who’s your patient, Doc?” Tim said.

“She isn’t a patient. I do have a personal life.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Tim said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

Doc rummaged through the medicinal items on his dresser. “I’ll be back in a few hours, honey.” He leaned over Morgan’s covered head and planted a kiss atop the blanket, then turned to Tim. “Does Jenkins appear to have an infection?”

He shook his head. “Cut real bad, but nothing festerin’. Say, have you seen my sister?”

“Casey? Why? Did you send her to fetch me?”

“Naw. She lit out and is traveling with some man. He got himself hurt, so I figured they’d have headed here.” Tim leaned on one leg. How well she knew the stance. “ ’Course he might have died.”

“True. Check the undertaker or the saloons. I heard quite a bit of commotion last night.” Doc walked toward the open door. “I need to saddle up my horse.”

Casey held her breath. She recalled Doc’s earlier request to stable her and Morgan’s horses in an empty shed across the way. Thank you.

The front door squeaked shut with the same grating irritation as when it opened. A moment later, the only sound came from a clock ticking on the dresser. Time. Doc had bought her time.

As much as she wanted to leave Vernal, Morgan needed tending until Doc returned. After latching the front door, Casey carried the rocker from the kitchen to Morgan’s bedside and then gently uncovered his head. She contemplated whether to light the kerosene lamp. After much deliberation, she set a faintly lit lamp on the floor beside the bed and hoped no one could see the light through the shade covering the single window. Wrapping a quilt around her shoulders, she eased into the rocker and watched Morgan’s face for signs of distress.

The longer she sat, the wearier she became. Sore tired, she labeled it. Every part of her body ached, even after the hours she’d slept the previous night. Sometimes she thought she could sleep for days. But not now.

I need to sort things out . . . figure out where to go, what to do.

No matter how she looked at the situation, staying in Vernal invited trouble. Each moment she lingered became a death threat for Morgan and Doc. The truth, plain and simple, echoed silently throughout the room. She’d seen enough men die in her day, and she vowed not one more grave would be dug for her sake. She knew little about Morgan, but he’d earned her respect. She’d gone over these things before. No point wasting breath to figure another way out of this mess or the answers to the questions about Morgan.

Casey touched his forehead. No fever. He rested so easily, peacefully. A smile tugged at her lips. She eased back into the rocker and laid the quilt over her lap. Soon her body gave in to sleep.

*****

The next morning at daybreak, Casey awoke with a start. Her intentions of keeping a vigil for Morgan had vanished when she’d succumbed to sleep. Standing, she opened the bedroom door to let in a shaft of early morning light. Doc snored in the next room.

Quietly, she placed wood in the cookstove and made coffee. Before the town came to life, she’d be gone. A short while later, she sat in the rocker beside Morgan’s bed and nursed a hot cup of coffee. A bit of sadness settled on her at the thought of leaving Morgan and Doc. She shook her head. Nonsense notions.

Casey studied Morgan’s bearded face while he slept. Many a lonely night lay ahead when she would want to recall his every line and feature. Amber hair hung to his shoulders, with a touch of curl to the ends that softened his rugged looks. Wiry, knotted sideburns were trimmed somewhat even, as though he disciplined himself to keep a part of civilization alive. Tightly twisted eyebrows capped his deep-set eyes, which now sank back into his head, leaving a cavernous pit below them. No matter that they were closed. She’d always remember the intensity of his turquoise eyes.

“Those circles could bury a man.” Now she knew what Doc meant.

She wanted to stroke Morgan’s cheek, to feel the coolness of his skin just once before he opened his eyes. Yet how would she explain her foolishness if he awoke? Doc praised him as a good man, but those words didn’t necessarily mean Morgan was good for her.

Casey turned and cautiously slipped her fingers through the side of the window shade to view the outside world. The sun’s announcement of morning cast an orange tint to the area around her—not quite real, as though she could relax for a moment. Perhaps the town looked more ordinary than sinister, without any signs of lawless men. Of course, all of them were sleeping away the previous night’s activities. She heard a stirring and glanced back to see Morgan watching her.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“Nothing. It’s quiet out there.” She stepped closer to his side.

“Too bad we’re hiding. We could lift the shades and let in some light.”

“I have a feeling most of Doc’s patients are lying low from somebody.”

“True, but this room is like a tomb.”

“A safe cave,” she said.

He attempted to move his arms and groaned.

“Lie still, or you’ll start bleeding.” Casey set her coffee on the dresser and adjusted the blanket around his neck.

When he tried to raise his arms again, she pinned them to his side. “Don’t try to move, or I’ll tie you to this bed.”

“I think you tried that before.”

“And I managed just fine, didn’t I?”

He glared up at her. “Tough lady, aren’t you?”

“Don’t rile me. This lady packs a gun.”

“And I’m in no shape to fight.” He took a labored breath. “Has Doc said how long I’ll be laid up?”

She crossed her arms. “You won’t like this. He told me yesterday that it’ll take at least a month.”

“A month. He’s crazy. I have things to do.” He started to lift himself up again, but his face registered a stab of pain.

Her temper flared like a spark took to kindling. “You nearly died, and the hole in your chest is going to take awhile to heal. Doc doesn’t need to stitch you up again, and I won’t be here to nurse you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to leave before the morning’s out. It’s only a matter of time before Jenkins catches up with me. He’s already got men out looking. Don’t imagine he’d be real happy with Doc tending to you or hiding me. The longer I stay here, the more dangerous it is for both of you.” She turned her attention to the outside, fully suspecting Jenkins’s men to be armed and keeping a watchful eye on Doc’s house. I’m so tired of this.

“Use your head, girl. You can’t ride out alone. As soon as I’m able, we’ll go together.”

She shook her head and stubbornly kept her focus on the empty street. Tears threatened to spill over her cheeks, but she swallowed them instead. Tears were for weak females, not hardened women. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“What can I say to change it?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t want to lose you to Jenkins’s vengeance.” He coughed, and she spun around to see if there was blood. She saw nothing.

An awkward silence rose between them, and she turned back to the window. If only she could believe him. She must be more of a fool than she thought. “There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to find Jenkins. Besides, looks like you slowed him down for quite a spell.”

“I did get him.”

She nodded. “One of his legs is broke and has a hole in it. You can catch him all by yourself. Don’t need me at all. Both of you will be getting around about the same time.”

“Jenkins isn’t what I’m afraid of losing.”

“You’re not making sense.” Her heart pounded.

“Of course I am, and you know it.”

“I won’t risk your life or anyone’s ever again,” she said. “The past is over. I left it in the mountains. Staying here with you and Doc is clearly selfish.”

“Look at me and not that blasted street.” For a weak man, Morgan had no problem spitting out his words. “Even if I asked you to stay with me?”

She didn’t dare turn around. “It’s impossible. It’s stupid.”

“Where are you heading? Jenkins might have the roads blocked.”

She paced the length of his bed. Only a fool would share such plans. “I don’t know.”

“Arizona, Mexico, California?”

Casey met his dour temperament with all the determination she could muster. “If I did know, I’d keep it to myself. It’s best we part and you not know my whereabouts.”

“That is the most illogical statement I’ve ever heard.” Morgan’s pale face reddened.

Their disagreement built a wall between them. At a loss for words, she stared emotionlessly above his head, a trait she’d practiced for years. Don’t feel. Soon you’ll forget.

“You’re being bullheaded about this. I’ll not let you leave without me! Do you understand?” Morgan attempted to pull up from the pillow, but instead he gasped for air.

She forced herself not to tend to him. “I’m leaving, and nothing you can say or do will stop me.” Although she meant the words to sound sharp, tenderness laced them like a fine lady’s handkerchief against rough, calloused skin.

“Your stubbornness is going to get you killed,” he managed through clenched teeth. “Or worse.”

“There’s nothing worse than being killed.” She stepped back. Touching him battled with her good sense.

“Yes, there is. As a woman, you know exactly what I mean.”

She chose not to answer him until she won control over her emotions. “Morgan, you can heal without me. I’d just get jumpy and irritable over every little noise.” She tapped her fingers on the iron bed frame.

The lines deepened across his brow. Any other man would have passed out with the arguing. “How many men can you trust before you get to where you’re going?”

“Probably none.”

“So who’s going to help you?”

“I don’t need anyone.”

Neither of them spoke for several long moments. “How will I know if you’re all right?” His tone softened as though he’d accepted her plans.

She took a deep breath. “I need to write Doc about some things. He’ll let you know I’m all right. Please rest, and I’ll wake you before I leave.”

“That’s real nice of you, Casey. Me and Doc will have a party.”