Outlaw's Bride (3 page)

“Mattie, I need your help,” Kevin said urgently.

Herman moved aside so she could kneel on the other side of Beaudry. “What do you want me to do?”

“The bullet went right through his side, so he's got two open wounds. When I sit him up, I need you to dress the entry wound while I take care of the exit wound,” Kevin said with calm authority.

Mattie took the thick dressing from his outstretched hand and helped him raise the stranger to a sitting position. She detected woodsmoke underlying the metallic tang of blood and realized the stranger must have camped out last night. Guilt gnawed at her conscience. If she hadn't turned him away, maybe he wouldn't have been shot.

Working together, she and Kevin removed Beaudry's ruined shirt. Her breath caught at the ragged hole in the gunfighter's side. Blood oozed from the wound, and Mattie pressed the thick dressing over the bullet entry.

“Wrap it up, bringing the bandage around his waist and covering the front dressing to hold it in place, too,” Kevin instructed.

Mattie leaned close to Beaudry to wrap the fourinch-wide cloth around his torso, and his long hair brushed her cheek as his masculine scent invaded her nostrils. Her stomach muscles clenched and her chest grew tight, forcing her to take shallow breaths. She concentrated on her task, but her gaze flitted across his smoothly muscled back. A scar marred his left shoulder—a mark of his violent profession.

She hastened to finish her task. “I'm done.”

Kevin nodded in approval and lowered the injured man—right into Mattie's lap. Her arms instinctively moved around Beaudry's shoulders.

Herman and the lawman joined them.

“You figure it was a Colt or Winchester that got him, Doc?” the sheriff asked.

“Probably a Winchester. There's no powder marks and the bullet went all the way through,” the doctor replied.

“I heard a rifle shot 'bout ten minutes afore me and Andy found him,” Herman added.

Kevin pressed his spectacles up on his nose and glanced around. “If I had to guess, I'd say this man was shot by someone in those rocks up there.”

Sheriff Atwater nodded. “That's what I figured, too.” He pointed to the sorrel tied behind the wagon. “There was blood on the horse's neck.”

“Are you saying he was ambushed?” Mattie demanded, desperate for anything to take her mind off Beaudry's warm skin searing her with awareness.

“That's exactly what we're sayin', Mattie,” Herman said. “There's horse tracks leading away from this fella.”

Unwanted compassion tugged at her heart. Even a man like Beaudry didn't deserve to be shot in the back.

“I'm gonna follow the tracks, see who I find at the end of them,” Atwater said.

Kevin stood. “Before you go, help me get this man into the wagon. We have to get him back to town.”

“I can help, too,” Andy said.

Mattie had forgotten about her son. With a sinking heart, she realized she couldn't always protect him from the brutality guns were capable of inflicting.

Kevin smiled at Andy. “You can spread those blankets I brought in the back of the wagon so he'll be a little more comfortable.”

The boy nodded earnestly and hurried to carry out his task.

Kevin squatted down beside her. “I have a favor to ask, Mattie.”

“What?”

“There's an influenza outbreak over in Minton, and I was just getting ready to leave for there when you came to get me. Can I leave this patient at your place?”

Although Mattie had done the same for many of Kevin's patients in the past, she didn't want the gunman in her house. Before she could refuse, Beaudry groaned and his muscles tensed beneath her arms. He opened his eyes, and in them Mattie saw agony so raw she had to look away before his pain became hers. He tried to sit up, but groaned again and fell back against her, consciousness leaving him once more.

Mattie took a shaky breath. In that moment, she'd seen more of the man's soul than she'd wanted—and God forgive her, but she couldn't turn him away.

She raised her gaze to Kevin and nodded slowly, praying she wasn't making an even bigger mistake than the one she'd made with Andy's father.

“A
nd remember to change the dressings every few hours,” Kevin instructed.

Mattie crossed her arms below her breasts. Clint Beaudry lay in bed, his face the color of the white muslin sheets. There was little resemblance to the menacing man who'd stood in her doorway yesterday. “Will he live?”

The doctor shrugged. “I truly don't know, Mattie. It was pure luck the bullet didn't pass through any major organs.” He lifted a hand and raked his fingers through his thinning brown hair. “Most men wouldn't have lasted this long after losing so much blood.”

Mattie didn't know whether to be reassured or not.

“I'm sorry to leave him with you,” Kevin said apologetically, as if reading her mind. “But you're a good nurse and I know you'll take good care of him.”

She shook her head, wondering what Kevin would say if he knew just how uncharitable her thoughts were toward this patient. “The fact is, I don't like Beaudry staying here, and I don't like exposing Andy to a man who lives by the gun.”

“He's unconscious,” Kevin reminded her gently. “And in all probability, he won't recover.”

She curled her fingers into fists at the thought of Beaudry dying, then hated herself for caring. It shouldn't matter to her whether he lived or died.

Kevin retrieved his black bag from the nightstand, leaving three rolls of bandages along with a couple of brown bottles. He held up the one labeled
CARBOLIC ACID
. “Dilute this and use it to clean out the wounds every time you change the dressings.”

“I've done this before,” Mattie said, barely restraining her impatience.

He smiled self-consciously and set the bottle down, then picked up the other one. “He's going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up and this laudanum will help him sleep.”

If
he wakes up. She shoved the unpleasant thought aside. “How much should I give him?”

“Two teaspoonfuls to start with. As he gets better, you can give him less.”

She nodded.

Kevin rested his palm against her back and she reluctantly allowed him to guide her out of the darkened sickroom and downstairs to the foyer.

“Remember to send Andy for the sheriff when Beaudry regains consciousness.”

Mattie pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples. “I will.”

“Are you all right?” he asked in concern.

She gave him a shaky smile. “I'll be fine.” Skepticism remained in his face. “Really, I will.”

“If this influenza outbreak wasn't so bad, I wouldn't go.”

“I know.” She reached out and smoothed his shirtfront. He had become a stable influence in her life the last year, even making her reconsider her decision not to remarry. Kevin was nothing like Jason had been. “I'll miss you,” she said.

“I'll miss you, too.” Kevin brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, a gentle touch that did little to calm Mattie's fears. “I hope to be back in a week or so, then we can move Beaudry to my spare room at the office.”

Only a week—she could tolerate the gunman in her house for seven days. Fewer if he died….

Mattie thrust that thought aside and managed another smile. “Be careful.”

“Don't worry. As long as I know you're here waiting for me, I'll be extra prudent.” Kevin kissed her cheek lightly. “Good-bye.”

Mattie listened to his footsteps echo across the porch and down the wooden steps. Then it was silent except for the clock's pendulum, but the steady rhythm failed to comfort her as it normally did. Clint Beaudry's presence unnerved and frightened her. But she'd proven she could survive on her own. She'd turned this place into a boardinghouse and learned how to manage a business by herself. She could handle this, too.

Her gaze moved up the stairs. She should go and sit with Beaudry, but the thought of being in the same room with him made her palms sweat and her mouth go dry. Why was she afraid of an unconscious man who already had one foot in the grave?

Andy and Herman entered, and her son asked, “How is he?” His hazel eyes were wide and his face anxious.

“Still alive,” Mattie replied. She glanced at Herman, who puffed his pipe as if he didn't have a care in the world. “Do you know this gunman?”

The old man shook his head. “Nope, never heard of him.”

“I thought you knew all the fast guns this side of the Mississippi.”

“I do, which means this feller ain't one.”

Mattie couldn't accept that. She'd seen Beaudry's well-oiled gun and tied-down holster, and both those told her he wasn't a typical drifter. “I'm going to sit with him for a little while. Think you two can find something to eat in the kitchen?”

“Got any more cookies?” Herman asked, a twinkle in his rheumy blue eyes.

Mattie smiled. “I think there might be some left. After you eat, would you keep an eye on Andy for me?”

“Aw, Ma,” her son grumbled.

Mattie laid a hand on Andy's narrow shoulder. “I'll feel better knowing you and Herman are together.”

“Don't you worry 'bout a thing, Mattie. Me and Andy'll find somethin' to do,” Herman assured her.

“How about fixing the corral?” she suggested, trying not to smile.

Herman shuffled his feet like an overgrown kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. “That ain't what I had in mind.”

Mattie coughed to hide her laughter. Herman would rather be staked to an anthill than engage in manual labor, and she often wondered why Ruth had put up with him. She should insist he do some work around the place for his meals, but his genuine fondness for Andy made up for his lack of ambition. “Don't be at the fishing pond too late,” she said, surrendering to the inevitable.

Then Mattie climbed the steps and paused in the dim room's doorway. She gazed at Beaudry's still-as-death figure, and the back of her neck tightened as a sharp ache started in her temples. His lean, almost gaunt features blurred, replaced by Jason's too-handsome and too-confident countenance.

Mattie swayed and she leaned against the doorframe, taking a deep breath. Clint Beaudry brought back too many memories.

Get a hold of yourself, Matilda St. Clair. Clint Beaudry probably won't last the night.

She'd been strong for ten years—she wouldn't let Beaudry turn her into a silly girl again. Steeling herself against the déjà vu that threatened to suffocate her, she crossed the room to sit in the chair beside the bed, then leaned forward to moisten a cloth in the pan of water sitting on the nightstand. Beaudry's eyelids twitched and Mattie tensed as her breath faltered in her throat, but his eyes remained closed.

She folded the moistened cloth lengthwise and laid it on his forehead. Heat radiated from him and his face was flushed with fever. Unwanted compassion made her throat tighten, and she rested the back of her hand against his whisker-roughened cheek. The heat of his skin created a sudden awareness of the man, and she jerked her hand back.

Twining her fingers together tightly, Mattie rested her trembling hands in her lap and leaned back in the chair. She lifted her gaze to the white curtains that had tiny violets scattered across the material. How often had she sat in this room reading to Ruth, or sitting with her and talking? Ruth had given her two precious gifts—friendship and understanding. And when Ruth had died, she'd bequeathed her home to Mattie and Andy, giving them a security Mattie hadn't even dared to imagine.

Beaudry shifted and moaned, drawing Mattie's attention once more. She removed the cloth from his forehead and rinsed it in the cool water, then returned it to his fevered brow. Her fingertips brushed his thick, sweat-dampened hair and she smoothed back a few strands from his face. The sun slanted in the window, gilding his blond hair and lending him the visage of an angel.