Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) (10 page)

The next morning I woke stiff and sore from sleeping upright in the chair at the foot of Ernie’s bed.

The moment I opened my eyes, I remembered Ernie, and shot out of my chair.

“Emmett,” I said, shaking his shoulder.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered open, but didn’t quite focus.

“Wake up,” I said. “Is Ernie still alive?”

I could have checked, but I didn’t want to touch him. Blood made me squeamish at the best of times, but Emmett was the doctor, so I happily left it to him.

“Oh shit,” he said, coming awake and bolting out of his seat.

I stepped back and said a silent prayer—something I hadn’t done in years. God and I had come to a mutual understanding a while back; we didn’t expect much of each other, though I did still try to live by most of His rules, even if last night I had considered breaking one of the bigger ones. It was a good thing Emmett seemed to have lost interest, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating—both that I’d been ready to throw myself at him, and that he’d rejected me outright.

“Well?” I asked.

Emmett dug his fingers into the side of Ernie’s neck, searching for a pulse. He held his hand there for seconds, then a minute. I thought I’d jump out of my skin waiting for his answer.

“He’s alive,” he said, the words spilling out on a relieved whoosh of air. “But only barely.”

“So maybe his injury isn’t as bad as you thought?

“Oh it’s bad, and it’ll kill him, it’s just not bad enough to be fast.”

“Well then, thank you Ernie for hanging in there,” I said, smoothing my skirt and trying to calm my heartbeat. I’d had visions of Ernie being dead, and me and Emmett joining him in short order.

“Amen to that,” Emmett mumbled, falling back into his chair and scrubbing his hand over his face. He looked exhausted.

“I’m going to go make coffee,” I said, “and see what this morning has in store.”

I stepped into the main room, as quietly as I could. The room wasn’t very large to begin with, but with six men sleeping squeezed into the empty spaces, it seemed even smaller. I didn’t see Clyde, so I had to assume he’d taken over the loft.

With the coffee on, between the noise of making it and the smell of it brewing, the men started stirring. It wasn’t long before Clyde scrambled down the ladder and stood near the fireplace, stretching and yawning.

“Ernie still alive?” he asked.

“Yes, he is,” I said, daring him to complain.

“Lucky for you,” he grumbled. “What’s for breakfast?”

I usually found it calming to feed people, so I let myself sink into that pleasure, even though I didn’t like these people. I needed the calm to think.

While I fried bacon, and potatoes and onions, the rest of the men woke up and started moving around. Lyle headed into the other room to check on Ernie. He came out looking relieved, but strained.

“How’s Ernie doing?” Slim asked.

“He don’t look so good, but he’s alive,” Lyle said.

Lyle took a place at the table, and Clyde leaned over my shoulder. His stale morning breath and even more stale body odor made my gorge rise, but I swallowed it down. Even worse than his stink was his presence. He wasn’t a large man; in fact he was rather average—shorter than Emmett by a few inches—wide in the shoulders, but wiry in general. But he wore authority like a pair of comfortable old boots and his presence filled the room. There was no mistaking when Clyde entered the room, especially when he’d eased close enough that our shoulders touched.

He inhaled deeply, then turned to face me with a chilling smile on his face. “Smells good, Lydia.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the food or me, and I didn’t want to think about all the implications if he meant me. It made me shudder.

“Thank you,” I said, unsure how else to respond.

He turned and I expected him to head for the table. Instead, he smacked my bottom and said, “If you cook like this all the time, we may just have to keep you around no matter what happens to Ernie.”

He leered at me, then turned to the men and grinned like he’d told a dirty joke and expected exactly the response he got—a round of cheers and guffaws.

I dreaded the idea of being stuck with these coarse half-wits for any length of time.

“Don’t count on it,” I said, serving large plates to the table for everyone to help themselves.

“We’ll just see,” Clyde said, grabbing a handful of bacon. “If Ernie dies, maybe instead of killing you, I’ll just take it out in service.”

A couple of the other guys snorted between shoveling food in their sloppy mouths. All of them gave me the once-over, and I could read the results on their faces.

“Well, she ain’t exactly pretty, but she’s clean and she’s a girl, so I’ll take her,” Slim said, snuffling a laugh around his mouthful of biscuit. Slim was anything but slim, and the thought of him touching me made my skin crawl.

“Lucky for me, it’ll be a cold day in hell before you lay a finger on me,” I said. “In fact, I’d rather Clyde just kill me now.”

That earned me a huge round of hilarity; laughter and applause mostly, but some of them shared untoward gestures with Slim, which I assumed implied what he’d be doing instead of touching me.

Instead of joining the fun, Clyde just watched me, that same unnerving smile on his face. I thought he shared Slim’s opinion, but whereas Slim was likely only being boastful, and if push came to shove, he would bluster but he’d be decent and leave me be, I thought Clyde would actually take advantage of me.

A hand fell on my shoulder, and I jumped, swallowing the scream that almost escaped my lips.

“Shhh,” Emmett said. “It’s only me.”

Only? Knowing he was behind me was like a rush of cool breeze on a still, hot day. The tension in my back leeched away, and even though the look on Clyde’s face reminded me of a thunderstorm looming over the prairie, I felt safer with Emmett there. Maybe I did need him to protect me. Without him, I’d end up victim to Clyde and his gang, but I’d survive in the long run, and maybe even escape. With Emmett, it would come down to a pissing match between Emmett and Clyde, and as unlikely as it sounded, having them fight over me would only end up with someone hurt—or dead. I didn’t want to be responsible for putting Emmett in danger. Of course, in any other situation the other man would back off and go his own way, but I didn’t think Clyde gave up easily, and this wasn’t just a spat between two men fighting over the same woman. It was more about winning than wanting me.

Still, Emmett made me stronger, like maybe I could protect him while he protected me.

“How’s Ernie?” Clyde asked. His tone suggested he itched to kill Emmett.

“He’s dead.”

I’d never heard a room fall silent so fast. Emmett said it so matter-of-factly I wasn’t sure he’d meant it, like Clyde had asked about the weather and Emmett had told him it was sunny and cold. It sounded that offhand. But the men took him seriously, especially Lyle, and of course Clyde. Maybe there was some male thing in Emmett’s voice when he’d said it, like a challenge that only other men would pick up on, but the silence only lasted a moment before Lyle bolted from his chair, pulling his gun on the way up and aiming it in our general direction.

“You were supposed to save him.”

Emmett moved in front of me. “I never said I could do any such thing. His injuries were his own responsibility given how he got them. You were the ones who dragged me along assuming I could perform miracles.”

“You know the price for letting Ernie die,” Clyde drawled, looking far too pleased at the prospect.

“I do. And my life is cheap enough. I’ll willingly pay your price, as long as you let Lydia go. She had nothing to do with Ernie’s living or dying.”

“Don’t much matter. I made a promise, and I always keep my promises,” Clyde said.

“He was my brother, Clyde. Let me do it,” Lyle said, his gun hand shaking with determination.

I watched Clyde. The twitch in his eye and the hard set of his jaw said he really wanted to be the one to pull the trigger, but maybe some gang code gave Lyle the right by blood. Neither option sounded good to me because either way we’d be dead. It didn’t matter so much who pulled the trigger.

Finally Clyde shrugged as if Lyle were only asking to swat a pesky fly. “Fine. Just take them outside,” he said, waving us off. “I don’t want the mess in here.”

Lyle stepped away from the table, and the rest of the men started to get up, as if to follow and watch the spectacle.

“Wait,” I said, stepping out from behind Emmett and directing my attention to Clyde.

“Lydia,” Emmett’s cold, sharp voice struck to my bones like a steel blade. He grabbed my upper arm and tried to shove me behind him again, but I refused to budge.

I shook him off and faced Clyde.

“What?” Clyde asked. The look in his eyes showed his interest, as much as he tried to look indifferent.

My heart thundered in my throat. I was so far out of my element, and terrified, but I refused to die at the hand of some two-bit bandit out in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness; and even more, I refused to be responsible for Emmett’s death.

“I’ll stay with you and be your cook,” I said.

The interest in Clyde’s eyes dimmed, “We’ve gone this long without a woman to cook for us. Why bother now?”

I looked at the rest of the gang and they seemed much more interested. I focused on Clyde again. “Looks like the rest of your men like the idea. Besides, who usually does your cooking? I’m guessing you take turns.” I checked the rest of them, and by their expressions, I’d guessed right, or come close. “How many of you enjoy cooking? Or are even good at it? Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to do it for you, and who feeds you food you want to eat?”

They liked the idea—a lot, but as much as their faces belied their desire for a personal chef, they were also conditioned to defer to Clyde.

“She’s got a good point, Clyde,” Slim ventured. “It’d sure be nice to eat good.”

“Billy ain’t such a good cook,” Jed said.

So there was another member of the gang not with them, one who cooked, at least part of the time.

“She’s probably better,” Dom added.

Clyde turned his attention back to me, “What about the other?”

He didn’t have to elaborate. I knew what he meant. I knew only the very basics about what went on between a man and woman in the bedroom, and I didn’t want Clyde anywhere near the parts of me involved in that activity. But if it meant saving two lives, how could I say no when saying yes would save Emmett? He was willing to pay a much dearer price to protect me.

On the other hand, I’d learned a long time ago by watching Father that you never give your opponent what he wants most without getting what you want first. Beth, with her poker background, would call it bluffing. I’d sworn when I left Father’s influence that I’d try to live by the rules, to be a good person always, to live if not by God’s laws and the rules of any church, at least by the principles of good and right.

In my life back in Palmer it was easy to see how to apply those principles. Now it became clear that life could get too complicated for practical application. It crossed my mind that I’d perhaps lived a sheltered life.

“Well?” Clyde prompted.

“What other is he talking about?” Emmett asked.

There were snickers around the room.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll cook and clean for you, and keep your home or hideout or wherever you live in good running order,” I offered.

“And?” Clyde asked. He had to know what I’d ask for, and what I was willing to pay for it. I thought that might account for the triumphant smile.

I took a deep breath and said the words he wanted to hear. “And in return for Dr. Wilder’s life, I’ll do whatever else you ask.”

“Lydia,” Emmett said, his voice a warning growl. “What did you just agree to?”

I turned and looked him in the eye, “I saved your life.”

“My life isn’t worth saving, especially at that price,” he said.

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Clyde said, “so don’t get too worked up about it.”

Between the men anticipating a cook and the possibility of their own personal whore, and the silent battle of wills between Emmett and Clyde, I felt like a commodity the two of them could barter over.

I gave Emmett a little shove in the chest. “It’s my choice, not yours.”

“Your brother entrusted you to me.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m not his to entrust to anyone.” I turned to Clyde. “Give me your answer, or we’ll just head out front and wait for Lyle.”

“Why should I let him live?” Clyde said, indicating Emmett. “I could just let Lyle kill him, and keep you anyway.”

That had crossed my mind. “He’s a doctor. How often do you or your men get injured in your line of work? Wouldn’t it be useful to have your own doctor?”

“He couldn’t save Ernie.”

“You know as well as I do that some injuries can’t be fixed. You all take that risk every time you commit a crime.”

“Maybe One-Arm Billy’d still have two arms if we’d had a doc to treat him,” Slim said.

Clyde glared at Emmett for a long, silent moment. “I don’t trust him.”

“Well, you can always kill him later if it doesn’t work out,” I said, tired of the debate.