The Outlaw Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides) (3 page)

Coming home to Texas had disturbed his concentration, even his sleep. For the last three months he’d pushed the memory of his family away while trying to focus on the task before him, with little or no success. Now, just when it was almost in his grasp, it had been yanked away by fate.

Staring out the window, Tanner watched as a buggy pulled up in front of the hotel and the doctor, carrying a black bag, made his way inside. A few minutes later, there was a pounding on the door.

Tanner opened the wooden portal, and the doctor rushed in. “Sorry, I got here as quick as I could.” He held out his hand. “I’m Doc Benson.”

Tanner grasped his hand. “Tanner.”

The man walked in and glanced at the still figure lying on the bed. “Any change in her condition?”

“She woke up for a little bit, then passed out again,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

“Well, if we’re lucky, she’ll remain out while I dig for that bullet,” the doctor said, sitting down gently on the side of the bed, placing his bag close at hand.

The doctor pulled away the tom pieces of petticoat that Tanner had applied to stop the bleeding. The outer pieces of material were caked with dried blood; the ones closest to the wound were still damp. Searching for the bullet, the doctor pressed his fingers against the wound, causing Beth to moan, a deep, pitiful sound that left Tanner aching with regret for the woman’s pain. If it weren’t for him, she would still be on that stage headed for Fort Worth. She wouldn’t be experiencing this pain if Tanner hadn’t walked into her life.

“You’re right. That bullet is deep, but I don’t think it broke any bones. Once we get the slug out, your wife should be all right,” the doctor said, glancing up at Tanner.

Tanner started to correct the doctor, to tell him that Beth wasn’t his wife, but then thought twice. Why complicate matters? Years ago, he’d have been thrilled to have a woman like Beth as his wife. Now his life had changed and he’d never marry.

“Extracting a bullet is never easy, and it’s going to hurt plenty. I’m going to need your help holding her down,” the doctor informed him.

“All right,” Tanner said. Memories of hospital tents and the cries of the men inside rushed back with startling clarity. Recalling the sick, sweet smell of laudanum made him inwardly shudder.

The doctor opened his medical bag and took out a surgical knife, gauze, scissors, a bottle of antiseptic, and forceps. He stood up and went to the water basin and poured water over his hands. Tanner watched as Doc Benson soaped his hands up past his wrist, scrubbing his skin meticulously.

When he finished he turned to Tanner and said “Let’s get started. Pull her down on the bed to where you can hold her head and shoulders. I’m going to angle my body over her, holding her chest down, while I try to extract the lead.”

“Can’t you give her something for the pain?” Tanner asked, knowing how much this was going to hurt Miss Anderson.

“I’d rather not. She’s weak, and I don’t want her so drugged she never comes awake.”

Tanner swallowed, suddenly afraid for the beautiful young woman. He glanced over at the girl with the auburn curls and hazel eyes and speculated about her life. Who was waiting for her? Who would miss her when the stage arrived?

The doctor motioned for him to lift her shoulders. Tanner walked to the side of the bed and gazed down at Elizabeth Anderson. He grabbed her by the shoulders, and as gently as he could, he shifted her down on the bed while the doctor pulled on her feet.

Beth groaned, moving her head from side to side. Tanner felt the urge to comfort her, to tell her everything was going to be all right. Yet he resisted. She was a stranger, a woman who happened to take a bullet because of him.

The doctor sat down beside her and started to cut away the material of her blouse from around the wound. “I need to get the bullet out; then I’ll have to wrap the shoulder. So I’m going to have to cut this blouse off your wife.”

“That’s all right.” Tanner acknowledged, feeling strange giving such permission for a woman he’d known only since the stage had left early that morning.

Dr. Benson swathed the entire area with turpentine, cleaning away the dark gunpowder left by the bullet. Then he glanced up at Tanner. “Hold on to her.” Tanner grabbed her shoulders and held her firmly to the bed while the doctor took his knife and cut the bullet hole wide enough to get the forceps into the wound.

Beth jerked at the first cut, her hazel eyes fluttered open, and she moaned. “Stop! It hurts.”

“It’s okay, honey. The doctor is going to remove the bullet from your shoulder,” Tanner whispered in her ear, trying to soothe her.

She glanced at him, her big hazel eyes confused. “Hurts. No! Stop!”

“We’ve got to remove the bullet,” he repeated, taking his left hand and brushing back the silken strands of hair away from her face while his right hand continued to keep her from coming up off the bed.

She screamed as the doctor inserted the forceps into her flesh, groping for the bullet.

“It’s almost over, young lady. Hang in there and we’ll be done soon,” he said, his voice breathy as he struggled, trying to get the bullet out. “I found it.”

Beth started to cry, tears rolling down her face and Tanner leaned down and put his face against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right. Just a few more minutes and it will be all over.”

“I got it!” the doctor cried, pulling the forceps with the bullet out of Beth’s shoulder.

Tanner glanced up and saw the bullet between the clasps of the instrument. “Look, Beth, it’s out.”

He glanced down and saw that once again Beth had lost consciousness.

Quickly, he looked at the doctor. “Is she all right?”

“Let her be. She needs the rest.” He dropped the bullet, and it landed with a clang in a metal bowl.

Tanner released his grip on Beth’s shoulder and stepped back to watch the doctor finish his task. He took what looked like a needle and thread from his bag. Once again he swathed the area with antiseptic before he began to close the wound, stitching the skin back over the gaping hole.

“I don’t believe you told me how your wife got shot,” the doctor asked nonchalantly while he worked over Beth.

“No, I didn’t,” Tanner said in a clipped tone.

Five stitches completed the job, and then he put a salve on the area and began wrapping Beth’s shoulder in clean gauze.

The doctor tied off the gauze in a knot and then began to pick up his instruments, wiping each one carefully with a clean cloth.

“Make sure she drinks plenty of liquids. She’ll probably run a fever for a day or two before she starts getting better. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on her, but if you need me before then, just send someone to the house.” He paused and looked at Tanner. “I think your wife is going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Tanner escorted the man to the door, and with a tip of his hat, the doctor was gone.

Shutting the door, Tanner returned to the side of the bed. He glanced at the woman lying there. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her pale skin as white as parchment paper, her freckles standing out clearly against her skin.

If he were a boundless man, without the scars of war, Beth Anderson would be the kind of woman he’d court, but he wasn’t free, and his past shadowed his days and tortured his nights.

No, as soon as she was well enough, Beth Anderson would be on the next stage out of San Antonio, and Tanner would be back to riding with the Bass gang. The very gang that had robbed Beth’s stage.

Tanner knew he was dreaming, but he couldn’t stop the nightmare any more than he’d been able to stop the real-life event when it happened. Once again he was in Georgia in a pasture turned battlefield, littered with dead bodies, men he knew, their limbs blown away. The front line had fallen. The Confederates were being beaten, and Tanner had never been so frightened.

He fought hand-to-hand combat and jabbed his bayonet into the belly of a Yankee soldier. Pushing and shoving, jabbing and stabbing, he made his way to the front line, looking for Carter. He d been beside his friend a moment ago, and now Carter was gone, lost in the midst of the worst battle they d ever fought. The cannons roared . . .

The roaring changed into pounding, and Tanner shook himself awake, realizing someone was beating on the door. Instantly, he came awake, jumping up and reaching for his guns in one smooth, quick move. As he made his way to the entrance, he passed the bed and glanced down at Beth, who was still blissfully unconscious.

The morning sun filtered through the window, and he realized he’d slept later than he’d intended.

Out of habit, he pulled the gun out of his holster, cocked it, and stood to the left of the door hinges. “Who is it?”

“Open up, you bloody fool.”

Recognizing the voice, Tanner released the hammer on his gun and shoved it back into his holster. Dreading opening the door, he freed the lock and pulled the portal open, letting in the man who held Tanner’s life in his hands.

Tall and muscular with graying hair, the man strode in, his size and attitude filling the empty spaces of the room.

“What the hell are you doing in San Antonio? Some woman was shot during the holdup yesterday and . .

Abruptly, the man halted and stared at the woman in the bed. He glanced back at Tanner, questioning.

“Keep your voice down. She’s been out ever since the doctor removed the bullet yesterday evening. How did you find me?”

“Been checking hotels all morning. Who is she?”

“Elizabeth Anderson. The woman who was shot yesterday.”

“Huh?” the man asked, clearly not understanding.

“Miss Anderson took a bullet meant for Sam that the driver fired.” He gazed down at the woman, her face flushed with fever. “The stagecoach wasn’t going anywhere near a doctor and I couldn’t very well leave her and have her murder on my hands.”

“You fool.” He waved his hand toward the woman. “The people on the stage would have gotten her to a doctor. You didn’t have to take care of her.”

“No, I didn’t have to take care of her, but I did,” Tanner said his voice rising.

“Well, you better do something with her quick, because the Bass gang won’t wait for you while you’re holed up inside this hotel playing nursemaid.”

“They won’t go far. I’ll find them when I’m ready.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” The man strolled around the room, then turned and faced Tanner. His eyes were fierce. “You know what’s riding on this.”

“I said I’d catch up with them.” Tanner shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. He wasn’t in that big of a hurry to join back up with the outlaws. It just didn’t seem to matter whether or not he found them.

The man stared at him, weighing his words, his hands on his hips. “I’ll be checking on you soon. Get rid of the woman.” He started toward the door and then glanced back. “Did you try the local doctor to see if he’d take care of her?”

“He’s quarantined with a case of cholera.”

The man grimaced. “Find some local woman who needs the money and then telegraph Miss Anderson’s family. She shouldn’t have been traveling alone, anyway.”

Tanner opened the door, hoping his visitor would get the message. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Be sure you do—soon.”

He strode through the door. Tanner shut the portal firmly behind him. Arrogant bastard. He just wished he’d go away and leave him be. But he knew that wouldn’t happen, and he really had very little choice.

A moan from the bed drew his attention to Beth. What was he going to do with her? The doctor couldn’t take her, and Tanner couldn’t just leave her to anyone’s care.

Her injury was his fault, and he took his responsibilities seriously.

She thrashed about in the bed, her voice suddenly crying out. “No! General—I can’t. I’m a good woman. Really, I am!”

Tanner hurried over to the bed his gaze taking in her feverish state. He laid the back of his hand against her brow. She was burning with fever, her sweat-soaked skin hot to the touch. He took a rag, dipped it in a bowl of water, and laid the cool cloth against her forehead.

Beth jerked at the touch of the damp rag; her eyes opened, but they were dazed and feverish. “Mother, it was the only way. I had no other choice.”

“Shh, Beth,” he whispered. “I believe you. Everything is going to be all right.”

She turned at the sound of his voice, her demeanor relaxing, and she stared up at him, not really seeing him but whoever was in her dreams.

“Mother ... I had no choice.” Her voice faded away, and she drifted back into unconsciousness.

How many times had he soothed a soldier’s fears or listened to his confession as he lay dying, pretending to be the person the injured sought resolution from?

More times than he ever wanted to remember.

Whatever disturbed Miss Anderson, she could never face in the light of day. But her fever broke down her barriers and exposed her nightmares.

Tanner gazed down at her. What did a beautiful woman who obviously had poise, grace, and charm have to fear? Over and over she’d said she had no choice, it was the only way. But what choice was she referring to, and why did she appear frightened?