Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) (9 page)

“I thought you were going to kill me if Ernie died,” Emmett said.

“I’ll just kill you both.”

Oh great. Now poor Emmett had my life hanging over his head too. The pained look on his face said he felt the weight of the added burden.

Inside the cabin, another man had lit the fireplace and a couple of oil lamps. Lyle and Pete had dumped Ernie, rather unceremoniously, onto a bed in a room at the end of the cabin. I had no idea how all nine of us were going to crowd ourselves into this house for very long. It wasn’t much to look at with a large central room that served as living space and kitchen, a stone fireplace and chimney that separated a small bedroom from the main room, and a loft above. A fine layer of dust covered everything, as if the place had sat empty for a while, confirming my feeling that the Johnsons were long gone and perhaps the house now only served as a temporary layover between stops.

“In here, Doc,” Lyle said from the doorway of the bedroom.

“Follow me, Lydia,” Emmett said. “Stay close. I don’t want you out of my sight.”

He took my hand and I went with him to get our first good look at Ernie’s injuries. Emmett’s fingers were damp with sweat, belaying his nerves.

I stayed at the foot of the bed and watched Emmett as he examined Ernie. In my limited experience, Ernie didn’t look so good. Sweat slicked his pale skin as he lay unconscious, and blood soaked his shirt, sticking it to his chest. Frankly, I was surprised he was still alive.

Emmett opened Ernie’s shirt to reveal a hole in his upper right belly. It oozed blood, and when Emmett palpated around it, Ernie’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned. Emmett pressed on the wound, and blood welled.

“Well, Doc?” Lyle asked, hovering over Emmett’s shoulder, wringing his hat in his hand.

Emmett tucked a finger into his collar and pulled to loosen it. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple. He closed his eyes and swayed forward a bit. To me, he looked dizzy, like he’d topple, but then he swallowed hard and stood, arranging his features into a confident expression.

“It’s hard to say. He’s gut shot. There are a lot of important organs in there, and without opening him up and digging around, I won’t be able to tell exactly what’s what.”

“You got any guesses?”

Emmett took a deep, pained breath, like he didn’t even want to speculate. But given the situation, he had no choice. “Worst case is the bullet’s pierced his liver—maybe shredded it—and it’s only a matter of time before he dies.”

“That can’t be. Look again,” Lyle said.

“I didn’t say that was the actual case,” Emmett said. “I said it was the worst case.”

“What’s the best case, then?”

Emmett glanced at me and his eyes told me there wasn’t a best case. I started thinking the only way we’d get out of the cabin alive was to escape. He shifted his gaze back to Lyle.

“Best case, the bullet missed all the important stuff and it’s just a matter of waiting for Ernie to heal from a simple bullet wound.”

I bit the inside of my cheek at Emmett’s monumental understatement. Poor Ernie would never achieve the best case.

“So which is it?” Lyle asked. “Worst or best?”

Emmett shrugged a shoulder. “Probably somewhere in between.”

“What’s that mean?”

By this time Clyde had joined us, leaning in the doorway quietly observing, with a gleeful look of anticipation, as if he already imagined killing us both. He reminded me of the children at school who enjoyed crushing bugs and wringing the necks of the birds they caught.

“It means just what I said,” Emmett said, his words measured and patient. “There’s no way I can know for sure exactly what’s going on inside him without opening him up and looking.”

“What the hell good are you, then? Why’d we bring you with us?”

“I suppose you’re going to have to open him up,” Clyde said from the doorway.

All eyes went to Clyde.

Emmett looked horrified. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“I’m not doing surgery on this man under these conditions. Not only do I not have the proper equipment, but this is so far from being a sterile environment it’s a joke. Opening him up will kill him; if not from the trauma then definitely from infection.”

“Lyle’s right, then. What good are you?” He reached for his gun. “I told you if he dies, so do the two of you. You just said he’ll die if you don’t do surgery, and he’ll die if you do. So I may as well kill you both now.”

“He did not say Ernie would die if he didn’t do surgery,” I said. “He said he wouldn’t know exactly what the damage is without it. So put your darn gun away. For all we know Ernie’s injuries aren’t serious and doing the surgery will only make him worse.”

We all looked at Ernie, and none of us believed me. He already looked like he had one foot in the grave.

Lyle shuffled his feet and ran his hand through his greasy hair. “I don’t know, Clyde. Seems awful drastic to cut him open. If the Doc’s nervous about it, maybe we should wait a while. See how he does.”

Clyde didn’t hide his disappointment. He looked like someone had offered him a juicy rare steak, then taken it away. “Hmph,” he said, and turned to leave the room.

I struggled to keep the bile down where it belonged, but I did it only because vomiting would be bad form for a doctor, even one like me. I also didn’t want to provoke Clyde any more than necessary.

I stayed by Ernie’s side, trying to be as confident and imposing as possible by ordering the rest of the men to fetch clean cloths, hot water, and anything else I could think of to maintain the illusion I was doing something useful. The truth was, Ernie was dead, or would be soon.

Lydia, with her practical nature, took it upon herself to seize control of the kitchen and feed everyone. She managed to distract them all with food and the authority I imagined all teachers and mothers have, despite being a petite woman among grown men.

After she’d fed everyone else, and they were settled and satisfied, she brought me a plate of beans and bacon, and a biscuit with butter and honey.

“You have to be hungry,” she said, sitting in a chair at the end of the bed with her own plate.

“I’m starved,” I admitted, digging into the meal.

She checked the door, then asked, “How’s he doing?”

By her look she wanted to know his real condition. I shook my head. Not so good.

I moved my chair closer to her so we could talk without being heard from the other room, although the rest of the men were making enough noise I doubted they’d hear us anyway.

“He’s not going to make it,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I don’t know how long I can keep him alive.”

“So we need to figure out how to get out of here before he dies?”

“Looks that way.”

I focused on my plate. I didn’t want to think about what escape meant for her. Had it been just me, I’d be fine, but it would be hard on her.

“You just wipe that look off your face right now,” she said.

I coughed, and looked up at her.

“Don’t look so surprised. You’re not that hard to read. You feel guilty, and you’re worried about me.” She leaned in closer, giving her whispered words more power. “Well, don’t be. I’m not much to look at, and most people look right past me, but I’m strong. I can tolerate anything you can.”

Her little chin came up, daring me to disagree with her. I smiled. “I’m sure you can,” I said. “But escaping here isn’t going to be just a matter of sneaking out in the middle of the night. It’s winter out there, and there’s nothing in Wyoming. No place to run to. Or at least it’s a long way to civilization.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked, scooping another bite of beans, and checking the door to be sure nobody lurked there listening.

“I need to keep Ernie here alive long enough to come up with a plan. We need to collect some supplies, we’ll need to steal horses, and we’ll need enough of a head start that these guys can’t catch up.”

“How long will that take versus how long Ernie will last?”

“No idea. Let’s just assume we need to act fast.”

She sat quietly, eating one measured bite after another. She focused on her plate so hard, she was obviously avoiding eye contact. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.

“What?” I finally asked.

She looked up at me, innocence etched all over her face. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, Lydia. You’ve got something on your mind. It’s obvious. Just tell me what it is.”

“Nothing. I don’t have anything on my mind,” she said, shoving the beans around her plate. “Only, it occurred to me how convenient it would be if they were all…gone…”

The words were harmless enough, but the look in her eyes made me think otherwise. “Gone how? Like Ernie’s about to be gone, or gone as in they decide they’ve got someplace better to be so they take off?”

She cast her gaze down at her plate again, and lifted a shoulder in a vague shrug.

I leaned close enough that her knees were between mine, and I tucked a finger under her chin and lifted it so our eyes were only inches apart. “Are you ready to kill a man, Lydia? Or two, or three? It sounds simple enough, but when it comes right down to it, it’s not so easy. Trust me, you don’t want that on your conscience.”

Her lips set in a determined line. “They won’t hesitate to kill us.”

“True. But we’re—you’re—not cold-blooded killers.”

She made a disgusted sound. “Great. So we can congratulate ourselves on our sterling principles while Clyde puts bullets in our heads.”

I chuckled. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“What?” she looked bewildered by the change of subject.

“You come across on first impression as…”

“…a sour, grouchy, tedious old maid?”

“What? No. I was going to say timid, cautious, proper.”

“I am all those things.”

Her knees were still between mine and she sat close enough that her breath touched my face. I closed my knees around hers and she held her breath for just a moment, and her eyes grew wide.

“Oh no you’re not,” I whispered, leaning in until my lips were just a breath away from hers.

“I’m not?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“No,” I said. “You’re smart,” I closed the distance between us and brushed my lips against hers. She gasped and pulled back a little. I caught her chin and gently pulled her close. “You’re brave,” I kissed her again, firmer this time. “You’re cheeky,” this time when I kissed her, I felt her smile. “And you’re adorable,” I tried to kiss her again, but she pulled back, a disappointed look on her face.

“No, I’m not,” she said.

I reached for her, slipping my hand around the back of her neck, burying my fingers in the hair at the nape. “Yes, you are,” I said firmly, and pulled her back to me, kissing her good and hard. This time she kissed back. It was shy, but she did it, and that bashful little kiss sent a sliver of lust straight south, followed immediately by a bolt of fear.

What was I thinking kissing Lydia? She was so far off limits she may as well be married, or a nun, or an obligation to Randall.

Still, her hesitant little kiss hinted at her inexperience. How delightful would it be to be the first to explore her body, to give her pleasure, to watch her realize what her body could do?

Parts of me were eager to get started finding out; lots of parts of me. But my conscience wasn’t one of them. It was a serious killjoy.

I took my hands off her and scooted my chair back. “Sorry. That was…”

“…nice?” she asked.

“Well, yes, but maybe too nice. We need to focus on getting out of here.”

She looked hurt at my sudden change of heart. I didn’t want to cause her any pain, which was why there could be no more kissing. Kissing would definitely lead to one kind of hurt or another, because any way I turned it over in my head, there was no future for me and Lydia Templeton.

She sat straight in her chair and put on her best prim face. “If we can’t kill them, what are we going to do?”

I really didn’t know. I didn’t have enough experience to draw on for the situation. “How about we sleep on it and see what tomorrow brings?”

She stood, taking my plate and stacking it with hers. “Let’s hope Ernie lives through the night, or tomorrow morning’s going to bring nothing but bad news.”