No One But You (23 page)

* * *

Sarah couldn't sleep. It annoyed her that Salty felt forced to sleep outside on the ground to protect her from Roger. It angered her that Roger thought he still had a right to her body or any part in her life. It made her furious that he'd forced Salty to fight.

Growing more restless by the minute, she got out of bed and put on a robe. Salty's nearness was another reason she couldn't sleep. She couldn't stop thinking about last night. Not just the physical pleasure, though that had been a revelation; she found it hard to believe how much she loved Salty, and how happy she had been upon learning he loved her back. She knew she ought to go to sleep, that she ought to stay in her room—or at least not venture from the house—but she didn't bother trying to argue herself out of what she had decided to do. She put on sturdy slippers, tied the robe, and left her room. She was going to see Salty.

She eased the front door open in case he was asleep, not wanting to wake or worry him. She just wanted to feel close to him, to feel his warm and comforting presence. She'd never imagined a man could have such an effect on her.

Salty lay on his side facing away from the house. He'd pulled the blanket up under his chin to ward off the night chill. Seeing that made her want to hold him, to keep him close and warm.

“You ought to be in bed. You'll be exhausted tomorrow.”

She smiled. “I should have known you'd hear me.”

“You shouldn't have come out.”

“I couldn't sleep.”

“Next thing you know Jared will be here. Then we'll have Ellen up. Once she starts asking questions in her usual quiet, understated manner, the whole ranch will be up.”

Sarah laughed. Only Salty would make a joke of this situation. Was it any wonder her spirits had been raised lately? “I have a lot on my mind right now, and being with you helps me feel calmer.”

Salty turned over. “This is the first time anybody's felt that way,” he said.

She shook her head. “I doubt that. But you've made everything better for me and the children. I don't know how I can ever repay you.”

“You keep making leading statements like that, and I won't be able to stop myself from showing you.” A salacious look had come into his eye.

“I was thinking about that, too,” she whispered. “Is it awful for a woman to admit that?”

He shook his head. “It's natural for a woman to enjoy being with the man she loves, so I don't see any reason why she can't say so.”

She sat down on the steps, tucked her robe around her legs and over her feet. “Women don't talk about what it's like to be with a man.”

He grinned. “Boys don't talk about anything else.”

“Do you think I'm different from most women?”

“It's normal for a woman to enjoy being with a man. If she doesn't, it's because she's too afraid.”

“I was afraid, but I'm not now,” she said. Salty had made all the difference.

Even in the moonlight, she could see his eyes soften. “You're not afraid of anything. You're the bravest woman I've ever known.”

No one had ever thought she was brave, or smart, or dependable. That a man who'd lived through the war would say such a thing made it even more wonderful. “I just did what I had to do.”

“Without help from anyone. You're a remarkable woman, Sarah Wheeler.”

Sarah Wheeler. She still found it difficult to stop thinking of herself as Sarah Winborne. Sharing Salty's name made her feel closer to him, made her want to
be
close to him. Physically. She needed his touch, his warmth…his confidence in the future. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel alone.

“You should go in,” he repeated.

“I will in a little while.” She got to her feet. “I just want to spend a few more minutes with you.”

“Let me come to you.” Salty wrapped the blanket around himself, and when he noticed her smile said, “Got to preserve decency. Me in my long johns? I wouldn't put it past Ellen to be looking out the window and treat everyone at breakfast with her version of what she saw.”

“I
want
her to see us holding hands, even kissing—so she'll know not to be afraid of love.” Sarah moved to make space on the step next to her.

“Ellen isn't afraid of anything.” Salty slipped his arm around her. “Why should she be? She has you for an example.”

Sarah leaned into his embrace. It was odd that she could more easily believe Salty loved her than she could accept that he admired her, but she was going to work on it. She liked the feeling. “Ellen looks to you to be an example, too. So does Jared.”

“You've been the important influence.” He gave her a quick kiss. “You did a great job. They're great children.”

She preferred to be kissed for herself, not for the way she'd reared her children, but she'd take any kiss, anytime, for any reason, as long as it was from Salty. “Can I have a little of that blanket? It's chilly.”

“And have you see me in my long underwear? Not a chance.”

She giggled. “I've seen you in less,” she whispered. “I want to see you that way again.”

“So do I, but I think the front yard probably isn't the place.”

She tried to stop it, but another giggle escaped. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do, but I'm trying not to think of it. Besides…” He didn't finish the sentence, but there was no need. They both knew Roger's arrival had changed everything.

Though Roger was the biological father of her children, Salty would be a much better father and husband. She had to find a way to get Roger out of their lives for good. “I don't want to think about him. He's not important anymore. Just us.”

Salty hugged her. “That's my girl.”

“I am your girl, aren't I?” She glanced at him hopefully.

“The only one I've ever had, and the only one I'll ever want.”

“That's good. I'd scratch out the eyes of any woman who looked at you twice.”

“Every other beautiful woman in the world could fall at my feet, and I'd never notice. I'd never take second best.”

Sarah knew she wasn't that pretty, but it was nice Salty thought so.

In the beginning she'd found him not especially handsome. Now she wondered how she could have been so blind. There was a sweetness in Salty's face that was balanced by strength of character and body. His eyes were open and kind, his mouth firm yet supple. His lean face reflected a life of discipline and hard work, his slow smile a confidence in his abilities and belief in the goodness of others. It was all so simple, so ordinary…yet so rare. She understood the value because she had experienced their absence.

She squeezed Salty. “I expect you'd notice those other women, but it would be okay as long as you stayed with me.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, taking the time to enjoy the quiet of the night and the pleasure of each other's company. It was something Sarah had never experienced. Her whole life had been a race to get something done, or to avoid something else.

Everything was different now that Salty was here. She didn't feel as overwhelmed. She had the help of the man she loved, and who loved her and her children. After so many years of watching her life unravel, it had come together in the best possible way.

“Do you like sitting out at night?” Salty asked.

“I don't know. I've never done it before.”

“I did it growing up and especially during the war. It feels like the world has pulled back at night, taking away its pressures and demands and leaving me all alone. Gives me a chance to decide what's important.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“You. The children. This place.”

Bones came ambling out of the shadows from the direction of the shed. “What are you doing here?” Salty asked. “I told you to watch Roger.” Ignoring him, the dog walked over to Salty's bedroll, gave it a good sniff then settled down.

Sarah laughed. “Apparently he misses you.”

“That's kinda nice to know, but not if he thinks he can take my bed.”

“You could share mine.” She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to push, but she hadn't stopped thinking about it all evening. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” She looked down, somewhat contrite. “I mean, I want you to sleep with me, though I know we can't because—”

Salty tipped her chin up and silenced her by pressing his finger to her lips. “I feel the same way.”

“I've tried not thinking about it but I can't stop myself. I want to go to sleep with your arms around me, snuggled up against you, my head resting in the crook of your neck. I want to wake up and see your head on the pillow next to mine. I want to be able to reach out and touch you whenever I want, to grasp your hand, to kiss you. I can't do any of that because Roger is here now, and that makes me angrier than ever.”

Salty drew her close and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “We'll soon be able to do all of that—and more.”

“When? I don't want to wait. I feel like every minute Roger is here stretches into an hour.”

“I don't know. We need to consult a lawyer.”

Sarah pushed close. “I know. But I'm scared. I feel like everything is being taken away just as I've found it.”

He shook his head. “Nothing is being taken away. Just postponed.”

“Then why does it feel the same?”

“Because we both want it so much.”

“Do you think Bones wants something?”

Salty looked surprised. “Why?”

“He's staring at you and whining.”

Bones's ears were pricked, his gaze focused on the trees. Salty turned to him and said, “Be quiet. Can't you see we're…” He stopped, looked toward the dark circle of trees around the house then back. “You hear something, don't you?”

Tail wagging, the dog got to his feet. He walked over to Salty, stuck his nose in Salty's hand, and whined again.

“Show me where it is.”

Bones turned toward the trees. His hackles were up, and his whine changed into a growl. He trotted a few steps then turned back, his growl rolling deeper into his throat.

“He wants you to follow,” Sarah said. “Do you think Roger is trying to sneak back to the house?”

Salty had reached for his pants. “If he is, I'll chain him to a wall.”

Bones had moved halfway across the yard, his growl deepening.

“Maybe I should just tell Roger I don't love him. I could give him a dozen reasons. Maybe that will make him go away.” Sarah knew she was clutching at straws; she doubted Roger cared.

Bones turned back and barked. Salty snapped, “Be quiet, dammit, before you wake everyone. I'm coming as fast as I can.” He grabbed his boots and jammed his feet into them.

“A hundred reasons wouldn't be enough,” he said to Sarah. “I'll come back as soon as I find out what he's up to.”

As he reached for his rifle, which lay beside his bedroll, Bones broke into a volley of barking and disappeared into the darkness.

“Damned impatient dog. Maybe he'll take care of Roger for me.”

“Don't shoot him,” Sarah begged. He was still her children's father.

Salty laughed. “I'm more likely to take this rifle butt to his head. It's about time someone taught him—”

A pistol shot broke the quiet, and Salty headed across the yard at a run.

“If that bastard has shot my dog, I'll kill him.”

A volley of barks told him Bones was unhurt, but Salty still swore with each stride. If he had to do any more running, he would have to buy some shoes. These boots were going to cripple him.

He passed through the belt of trees and out into the open beyond. He turned in the direction of the shed, but Bones's barks were coming from the direction of the corral, so he changed course. What could Roger be doing at the corral? Surely he wasn't stupid enough to try to steal the unbranded cows. He couldn't get away with that many cows alone, much less brand them.

He met Dobie coming from the direction of the wagon he shared with Arnie.

“What the hell is going on?” the young man asked. “I never heard Bones act so crazy.” Arnie followed at a distance, putting on his shirt as he ran.

“I don't know, but he's over by the corral.”

“You think Roger's trying to steal the horses?”

Roger could sell Salty's two horses for at least a hundred dollars each. He didn't look as though he'd brought any money back from the gold fields, so maybe he was desperate enough to turn horse thief.

“If he touches mine, he's a dead man,” Dobie muttered.

Salty felt the same way. Still, it wouldn't look good for Sarah's second husband to shoot her first husband, regardless of the provocation. People were bound to think the accusation was just a cover for murder.

“We can't be sure Roger is involved,” he said. “He could be asleep.”

“Not if he was telling the truth when he said he could hear a man take a deep breath when he was in the gold fields.”

Salty's lungs were starting to burn as he ran. He could work as long as any man in or out of the saddle, but he wasn't a sprinter. His legs were starting to feel wobbly, and he began to wish the corral was closer to the house. The wind hardly ever blew from that direction anyway.

A second pistol report made him forget his burning lungs and wobbly legs. A single gunshot might have been unintentional, but a second wasn't. Something was seriously wrong.

“What do you think's going on?” Dobie asked.

Salty didn't have an answer, so he didn't waste the breath he needed to keep up with the younger man.

Once past a grove of post oaks, he could see the corral. There seemed to be a disturbance inside, but milling animals blocked Salty's view. One thing he could make out, there was a man astride a horse in the center of the melee. That man was Henry Wallace.

“What is that bastard doing here?” Dobie asked.

Salty didn't answer, because he was more concerned about the man in long underwear who appeared to be clinging to Wallace's saddle. It could only be Roger Winborne, and Wallace was pointing his gun at him.

Without breaking stride, Salty brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. He knew there was no chance of hitting Wallace without stopping to take aim, but he just wanted to stop Wallace from shooting Roger.

The rifle shot deflected Wallace's attention from Roger, but it directed it toward Salty and Dobie. Wallace fired two quick shots at them. Fortunately, both went wide. “Son of a bitch!” Dobie exclaimed. “He's shooting at us.”

Salty didn't reply. He was trying to figure out how to capture Wallace. If the man got away, he'd probably force his cowhands to swear he'd been at his ranch all night and avoid justice.

“Let's separate,” he said to Dobie. “Since you're ten years younger and more limber, see if you can crawl through the corral poles on the other side and come up behind him.”

“He'll shoot you if you get any closer,” Dobie said.

“I don't plan to give him an easy target.”

Apparently realizing that he would soon be facing two armed men, Wallace pushed Roger away with his foot, turned his horse around, and headed toward the breach in the corral fence. Roger disappeared into the milling animals. Salty decided to let Wallace escape. If he didn't get to Roger fast, the man might be trampled to death. He didn't stop to ask himself why he was protecting this man.

Climbing over the corral fence, Salty ran, yelling at the top of his lungs, scattering cows and horses and nearly stepping on Roger, who lay sprawled on the cut-up ground. The blood on his long underwear made it plain he'd been shot. Dirt on his clothes implied he'd been stepped on several times, too.

Laying his rifle aside, Salty knelt next to him. “What were you doing out here?”

Roger's eyes were open but laced with pain. His words came in snatches, each phrase a physical effort. “I heard that…damned dog…barking. I came out to make him shut up. I saw Wallace…pulling down the poles in…the corral.”

“You shouldn't have tried to tackle him by yourself.”

“Couldn't let the bastard…steal…my children's cows… Had to stop him.”

“You should have called me.”

“Wanted…to do something…for them…myself.”

“Not without a gun.”

“Didn't think he'd shoot me. Shot…at the dog…first.”

Arnie arrived. “Stop what you're doing,” Salty said to Dobie, who was trying to drive the remaining livestock away. “Tell Sarah that Arnie and I are bringing Roger up to the house. He's been shot. He may have some broken bones as well.”

“Get Wallace,” Roger gasped.

“I'll get him. Right now we have to take care of you.”

Roger tried to talk, but his words became so slurred Salty couldn't understand him. The man groaned in pain when he was lifted. With Salty holding his arms and Arnie his feet, they started Roger toward the house.

“You think he's going to make it?” Arnie asked.

“I won't know until I can get a look at his wound. He'll need a doctor. Is there one nearby?”

“The closest is in Austin or San Antonio.”

“No doctor,” Roger told them. “Saw…too many…during the war.”

It would take more than a day in a wagon to reach either town. Salty wasn't sure Roger would survive the journey. “Sarah can take care of you. She'll know what to do.” He would have said more, but Roger had fainted.

He didn't want Sarah taking care of Roger. He didn't want her having to do anything for the man, even spend several minutes with him, but he had to put his personal feelings aside. Whatever he felt, Roger was a human being.

Ellen catapulted toward them out of trees and darkness near the house and came to an abrupt halt. She stared at her father with wide-eyed curiosity. “Is he dead?”

“He just passed out from the pain,” Salty explained.

“Dobie said Mr. Wallace shot him. Why would he do that?”

“I don't know,” Salty said.

“Did you ask him?”

“Wallace left before I could ask him.”

“Why?”

The difference between the twins continued to surprise Salty. Jared would have been silent and figured everything out. Ellen responded to events with barely controlled bursts of energy, and her thinking came afterward.

“I don't know why he was here,” he told her, “but he left because he shot your father and knew that would get him in trouble.”

“Are you going to shoot
him
?”

He supposed that equation made sense at seven; you shoot someone, you get shot in return. Unfortunately, or fortunately, nothing in life was that simple. “Hold the door for us,” he said to the girl. “He's heavier than he looks.”

“Put him in my bed,” Sarah said as they entered the house.

It was the first time he'd been inside her bedroom, and Salty was surprised by its austerity. Other than her bed and a chifforobe, it was empty of furniture and barren of decoration, not even pictures on the walls or curtains at the window.

Sarah's face was drained of color, but she seemed in control. “How badly is he injured?”

“I don't know yet.”

“He's going to die.” Salty hadn't noticed Jared standing in the corner, the boy's gaze focused on his father.

“We don't know that,” Sarah said.

“I know it.”

Salty and Arnie laid Roger on the bed, and Sarah unbuttoned his shirt. Blood welled up from a wound in the upper right side of his chest. It was impossible to tell if the bullet had hit a vital organ. Salty lay his hand on Roger's chest then bent over to listen to his breathing. “His heart is still beating and his lungs sound clear.”

“Can you remove the bullet?” Sarah asked.

“I've seen it done, but I've never done it myself,” Salty replied.

Sarah turned to Arnie. “How about you?” The man took a step back.

“Don't look at me,” Dobie said. “I don't even know how to cut up a chicken.”

Sarah studied Roger for a moment. He was so pale he looked like an albino. His breathing was shallow and labored. There was an unnerving stillness about him that whispered of death. “He won't survive a trip to Austin,” she decided. “And I don't think he'll last long enough for a doctor to reach us if we don't get the bullet out.”

Six people were crowded into the small room, and Salty could feel five sets of eyes staring at him, waiting for his decision. He felt a moment of panic. “Having watched doctors remove bullets doesn't mean I know how to do it,” he said. “I could just as easily do something to cause him to die.”

“Are you afraid someone might accuse you of trying to kill him so you can stay married to Sarah?” Arnie guessed.

“Nobody would think that,” Dobie insisted.

Salty wasn't so sure.

“I think all of us know the only chance Roger has is for you to remove that bullet,” Sarah said. “If he should die, Wallace will bear the blame.”

Salty knew he had to at least try.

“What do you need?” Sarah asked.

Knowledge he didn't have. Experience he didn't have. Tools he didn't have. A little more courage wouldn't hurt, either. “A sharp knife and the brightest lantern you own,” he said. “And you might as well heat some water for cleaning up.”

“I'll get some rags,” Ellen volunteered.

“He's going to die,” Jared repeated.

The boy's pessimism was starting to annoy Salty. “I'm going to do everything I can to keep that from happening.”

Roger's skin was getting a chalky tinge Salty had seen too many times as a presage of death. His heartbeat was growing weaker, too. Salty wasn't a doctor, so he couldn't guess what might be going on inside Roger's body; he could only try to remove the bullet and hope the man could heal.

“This is the sharpest knife I have.” The knife Sarah held out looked big enough to carve a ham.

“I've got one.” Dobie reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife with a long, thin blade.

“I need some way to clean it.”

“Why?” Ellen asked.

“During the war, doctors figured out that washing everything seemed to help prevent infection.”

It took several minutes to build a fire and heat the water, minutes that gave Salty too much time to question what he was about to do.

Sarah placed her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Stop questioning yourself,” she said. “You're the best chance he has.”

“How can we be sure of that?”

“We can't be sure of anything. We can only do the best we can.”

That didn't feel like enough.

“Jared, come wash your hands,” Salty said.

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“Because his fingers are a lot smaller than mine. The less cutting I have to do, the better Roger's chances for recovery.”

Neither Sarah nor Jared looked happy, but neither voiced any opposition. Finally the water was hot and Salty had washed his hands, Jared's hands, and the knife. He couldn't put it off any longer. Roger's condition continued to worsen. His heartbeat was weak, his breathing erratic. He was so white he appeared entirely drained of blood.

“I'm going to do as little cutting as possible,” Salty said to Jared, feeling guilty about asking for his help. But the boy was Roger's best chance. “As soon as I feel the bullet, I want you to reach in and try to pull it out.”

Jared looked nearly as white as his father, but he nodded.

The first incision was the worst. After that, it got easier. Thankfully there wasn't much bleeding. Salty inserted an index finger into the wound. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach to know his finger was inside another person's body, how everything inside felt soft, warm, and moist.

Pushing aside the disquiet, he searched for the bullet. After a few tries, he found it. It appeared to be lodged in soft tissue rather than bone. “It's in deep,” he warned Jared. “Reach in and over to the right. See if you can feel it.”

Jared hesitated only briefly. With a gentle steadiness like his mother's, the boy eased two tiny fingers into the wound. “I feel it,” he said.

“See if you can wiggle it loose.”

Jared wore a look of deep concentration. “I can move it,” he announced, “but it's not coming out.”

“You'll have to reach in and pull.”

“There's something hard in the way.”

“Keep trying.”

The hardness was likely a rib. If Jared couldn't get the bullet out with his fingers, Salty would have to try to get it out with the knife. He didn't want to do that because he would risk doing more damage.

Jared reached deeper into the wound, though trying not to enlarge it. “It keeps slipping out of my fingers.”

“You'll get it,” Salty said.

Everyone else held their places around the bed, their gazes intent on the scene before them, their bodies tense with apprehension and expectation. A lot more hung in the balance than the successful removal of a bullet.

“I got it!” But Jared's concentration remained focused until he withdrew the bullet and held it up.

“Is he supposed to bleed that much?”

Ellen's question drew Salty's attention back to the wound. It had filled with blood, which was running down his side.