Secondhand Bride (17 page)

J
eb came to on the examining table in Doc Boylen’s office, with the old sawbones breathing whiskey fumes in his face. The pain, blessedly absent while he was out there at the end of the tether, wrenched him hard back to center, and the impact took his breath away. He tried to sit up, get away from it, even as he knew there was no escape.

Doc pushed him back down. “Take it easy,” he said. “You’ve lost a bucket of blood.”

Jeb set his jaw, trying to resist the pain, and that only made it worse. “Christ,” he gasped, unsure whether he was praying or cursing. Maybe it was a little of both.

Doc showed him a syringe. “Morphine,” he said. “Lie still. I’m not too steady tonight.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Jeb bit out. “I get shot, and the only doctor within fifty miles is a drunkard.”

Boylen chuckled as he jammed the needle into Jeb’s good arm. “I would think,” he drawled, “that you’d be a little more charitable in your estimation, since I’m trying to save your miserable hide. If I didn’t take a nip now and then, my lumbago would get the best of me for sure.”

The effect of the morphine was immediate; Jeb let out his breath. He’d heard the riders approaching, out there on the road, but he hadn’t seen them. “Who brought me here?”

“Some of the boys from the Triple M. Your good luck that they happened to be in town last night, whooping it up. Way they tell it, they were on their way back to the ranch when they heard shots up ahead, and decided they ought to look into the matter.”

Jeb tried to touch his wounded arm, assess the true nature of his situation, but Boylen blocked the motion.

“How bad is it?” Jeb asked.

“Bad enough,” Boylen answered. “I mean to operate, soon as I sober up a little.” The twinkle in his eyes said he was kidding; Jeb sure as hell hoped that was the case. A moment later, Doc confirmed the matter. “That was a joke,” Boylen said. “The part about sobering up, I mean.”

Jeb was in no mood to laugh. “Well, it was a damn sorry one.”

The doc chuckled again. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “Look on the cheerful side. You’ll have women fussing over you, and Angus’ll probably stay off your back, for a while, anyhow. In the meantime, Sam’s outside, waiting to talk to you. You up to it?”

Jeb let himself float on the morphine, like a piece of driftwood riding the ocean. “Send him in—not that I’ve got much to tell him. And Doc? Don’t tell Chloe about this just yet.”

Doc nodded, patted Jeb’s good shoulder. “You just lie still, now. Try to gain a little ground while you can. When that shot wears off, you’re going to be hurting worse than before.”

“You’re just full of encouragement.”

Doc laughed, stepped out of view. Jeb heard the surgery door open, and there was an exchange of murmured words. Then Sam was beside him.

“See anybody?” he asked, never one to mince words.

Jeb shook his head. “A shadow is all,” he said. “Is my horse all right?”

“Your horse is fine,” Sam said, in the manner of a man who would waste no more words on a minor subject. “I reckon it was an ambush?”

Jeb wet his dry lips with his tongue, wished mightily for water. His throat felt like sawdust. “Yep,” he confirmed. “I need a drink.”

Sam fetched a ladle of tepid water from somewhere nearby, helped Jeb lift his head, and held the rim to his mouth, waiting while he drank.

“Did he say anything?”

Jeb coughed, settled down again by force of will. “He knew my name. Said he had a grudge, and that he’d see me again. I shot him in the leg, but he rode out, so he couldn’t have been hurt too badly.”

Sam digested all this. “We’ll pick up his trail in the morning.”

Jeb thought of the killings on the Circle C range. He’d tried to track the lone rider, after Farness and that poor kid from Tucson were gunned down, but it had come to nothing. Whoever this son of a bitch was, he knew his business. “Good luck,” he said.

“You recollect anything else?”

“I’ve heard his voice someplace before. I can’t rightly remember where.”

“Like as not, it’ll come back to you,” Sam said, without particular conviction. “Guess I’d better leave you be. Doc says he means to do surgery in the morning, and you need your rest to brace up for it.”

“I’d like to see those riders from the Triple M. Tell them thanks.”

Sam shook his head. “That’ll have to wait. They’ve gone to tell your pa and brothers what happened.”

The pain prodded at the edges of the drug’s sweet influence, trying to find its way back in. “Nothing they can do,” he said.

Sam was already out of Jeb’s limited range of sight, though he must have paused in the doorway, because he answered. “They’ll want to be here just the same, I reckon.”

Jeb closed his eyes.

He heard the voice of his attacker.
Somebody with a grudge.

Recognition teased his mind—for an instant, he knew who had shot him—but the impression was gone as soon as he slipped back into the darkness.

J
ack Barrett rode overland, bent low in the saddle, for several long hours. It was near dawn when he reached the cabin, and Sue Ellen came out to meet him, holding a lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other.

He pitched forward, wrapped both arms around the horse’s neck to keep from hitting the hard, stone-strewn ground.

Sue Ellen cried out, leaned the rifle against the outside wall, set the lantern on the chopping block next to the woodpile, and rushed over, braced to break his fall if she could.

“That bastard McKettrick shot me,” he said, through his teeth.

She helped him down from the saddle, positioned her small, strong body under his left arm. “Dammit, Jack,” she hissed, “you went ahead and did it, didn’t you? It wasn’t just talk. You killed Jeb McKettrick!”

The open doorway of the cabin loomed ahead; Jack set his mind on staying upright long enough to get through it and leaned heavily on Sue Ellen. “I wish I had,” he said, “but there were riders coming, so I had to leave before I’d finished him.”

“You wretched fool,” she berated, even as they stepped over the high threshold and into the dark house, “you’ll bring the whole lot of them down on us now!”

Right then, the collective wrath of the McKettrick clan was the least of Jack’s concerns, though he reckoned it might get to be an issue later on. “Just get me some whiskey, Sue Ellen,” he grumbled, “and shut up.”

She fetched him to the bed, where he fell heavily, then scared up some rotgut from someplace and gave him a dose.

“I should have kept going, after I left the Circle C, instead of letting you talk me into staying around,” Sue Ellen fussed, after she’d retrieved the lantern, shut and latched the door, and come back to the bedside to peer at his wound.

“You wanted revenge on the McKettricks as much as I did,” Jack pointed out, flinching when she helped herself to his jackknife and cut a slash in his trouser leg.

“Just Holt,” she snapped. “Not the whole damn Triple M outfit!”

Jack drew in a hissing breath and swore. “Take it easy, will you? That hurts!”

“Good,” she retorted, and plunged what felt like a hot poker into the gash in his flesh.

“Anyways, Holt’s a McKettrick, whatever he calls himself,” Jack grated. “He’ll be in the thick of this, you can count on that.”

She hesitated; he felt it in the motions of her hands. “I don’t want you to kill him,” she said.

“Too late for tender sentiments,” Jack answered. “Give me some more of that whiskey.”

She held the flask to his lips, and he drained it to the dregs.

“I mean it, Jack,” she went on, not so haughty as before. “I was furious when he sent me away, and I wanted him to be sorry for what he did, but I didn’t bargain for any killing.”

“You’re in as deep as I am,” Jack said. “No going back now.”

Her eyes glittered in the bleak dimness of the cabin. “What are you planning to do next?”

“Hit ’em where it hurts,” he replied. He hadn’t made any definite plans on that score, as up to a few minutes ago he’d been concentrating on reaching the cabin without falling off his horse, but a few ideas were starting to come to him, like ghosts gliding back and forth at the borders of his mind, fixing to cross over.

She sounded breathless, and scared, too. “What do you mean?”

“Home is where the heart is,” Jack said, but that was all he was willing to say. He’d had a hard night, and he needed his rest.

C
hloe was on her way to the hotel, for breakfast with Becky, when she spotted Angus, Kade, and Rafe McKettrick standing on the board sidewalk in front of Doc Boylen’s office, and a frisson of alarm fizzed in the pit of her stomach. Holding her skirts so she wouldn’t trip on the hem, she crossed the road at a rapid pace.

Kade was the first to notice her, and the look of despondent fury in his eyes practically stopped her heart, never mind her feet. By process of elimination, and some fierce, dark instinct, she knew that Jeb was the object of their vigil.

Kade touched the brim of his hat in a habitual motion. “Morning, Miss Chloe,” he said. The grave note in his voice skewered her on a shaft of fear.

“Where’s Jeb?” she demanded, terrified of the answer.

Rafe, who had been pacing, stopped to look down at her. “Inside,” he said. “Doc’s operating on him right now.”

Chloe’s knees sagged, and she might have dropped, right there in the dirty street, if Kade hadn’t been so quick to reach her side and take a firm hold on her arm. “What—?”

Kade squired her as far as the bench under Doc’s shingle. She shook her head, dizzy.

“Jeb was shot last night, on the road home,” Kade told her quietly.

She put her hands over her face, but only momentarily. Angus sat down beside her on the bench, took her hand between his callused ones.

“Doc says he’ll make it, Chloe,” he assured her, but his face was ravaged by a sleepless night, and his skin was gray. The ache she saw in his eyes matched the one tearing at her insides. “He wasn’t killed. That’s the important thing.”

Chloe’s empty stomach flung itself at the back of her throat, making her glad she hadn’t eaten. In her mind’s eye, she saw Jeb sitting across from her at supper the night before, talking about hunting down murderers. He’d been so coldly certain that he couldn’t be on the receiving end of a bad man’s bullet, and now he was lying on a surgeon’s table, shot. He hadn’t had to go looking for trouble—this time, it had found him on its own.

Angus patted her hand. “Get her some water,” he said.

Kade fetched a canteen from one of the horses’ backs, unscrewed the lid, handed it to her. She drank deeply.

“Was he—did you talk to him?” she managed, handing back the canteen with a nod of thanks.

“Doc’s got him drugged up,” Angus answered gruffly. “Ether, for the surgery.”

“I just hope to God he’s sober,” Rafe fretted. Chloe’s gaze shot in his direction like an arrow.

“Do you mean to tell me the doctor is
drunk?
” she marveled, in horror. She started to her feet, meaning to intercede, but Angus held so fast to her hand that she had to sit down again.

“Hell, Rafe,” Kade said, “
that
was a stupid thing to say.”

“Well,” Rafe retorted, “you’ll pardon me if I’m a little worried about my
brother
!”

“That’s enough,” Angus said, with raspy ease. “We’re all worried about Jeb, and going for each other’s throats won’t help. Doc’s no drunkard, Chloe. He likes to let on that he is once in a while, though.” He shook his head. “No understanding some folks.”

Chloe longed to march inside and stand at Doc’s elbow, supervising, but she knew Angus would never allow it and, besides, she’d probably swoon at the first sight of blood anyway. A tear slipped down her cheek and, shamed, she dashed it away with the heel of one palm.

She heard the sound of an approaching horse, traveling at a gallop, and Holt appeared, dismounting and leaving the reins to dangle.

“Where’s Lizzie?” Angus demanded, without preamble. “You didn’t go off and leave her alone, did you?”

“She’s at the Triple M, with the women,” Holt answered, putting a fine point on every word. His gaze traveled, full of challenge, from Angus to Rafe to Kade, and softened a little when it came to rest on Chloe. “How’s he doing?”

“Doc’s hacking away at him right now,” Rafe said, and earned himself another scathing glance from Kade.

“See to that horse,” Angus told Holt sternly, “before the poor critter trips on those reins and breaks a leg.”

Holt looked exasperated, but he did as he was told.

Rafe grinned at that little concession, albeit grimly, and Kade resettled his hat. Chloe had seen Jeb do the same thing, the same way, at least a hundred times.

With the gelding secured to the hitching rail, within easy reach of a water trough, Holt stepped onto the sidewalk. After another kindly glance at Chloe, he set his face into a scowl again and jabbed a thumb toward the door of Doc’s office.

“How long’s the operation supposed to take?”

Angus sighed. “Doc said it would be over when it was over. Jeb took a bullet in his right arm, and there was some damage done.”

“If he’d stayed on the Circle C,” Holt said, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well,” Rafe said tersely, “he didn’t do that, did he?”

“If you can’t mind your tongue,” Angus said, watching Rafe, “you’d best go elsewhere, find yourself something worthwhile to do.”

Rafe’s broad shoulders sagged under the reprimand. He took off his hat, thrust a hand through his dark hair. “It’s hard to just stand around here and wait, Pa,” he said.

“I know,” Angus answered quietly, “but arguing won’t make it easier.”

Folks were beginning to take note of the gathering, now that the bank and the shops were opening for business, and all three of Angus’s sons stiffened, as if preparing to form a human barrier in front of Doc’s office door.

Before that happened, however, there came a shuffling sound from inside, and Doc appeared on the threshold. He looked as if he’d been dragged through half of hell behind a team of demon horses, but there was no blood on him, and he managed a smile.

“Angus,” he said, “it’s done. Jeb’ll be all right, in time. If he takes it easy—stays off those wild horses he likes to ride.”

“I’ll chain him to his bed if I have to,” Angus said. He released Chloe’s hand and stood. “I’d like to see him.”

“He’s still unconscious,” Doc answered, watching Chloe closely as he spoke. “Make it a short visit.” He nodded to Rafe, Kade, and Holt. “You boys will have to bide a while. Might as well go on down to the hotel and get yourselves some breakfast. Becky’ll be pacing the floor, waiting for news.”

All three of them clearly wanted to argue, but they finally relented, Rafe and Kade going on together, Holt hanging back, watching Chloe with a somber expression. She knew he was inviting her to join them, even though he didn’t speak, and she shook her head in response.

He gave a slight nod and followed his brothers.

Angus vanished into the office, and Chloe would have been alone if Doc hadn’t stayed and taken a seat beside her on the bench.

“You all right?” he asked gently. “You’re a little green around the edges.”

“If I had anything in my stomach,” Chloe answered honestly, “I’d throw up.”

Doc chuckled. “Me too,” he said.

Now that there weren’t so many people watching her, Chloe felt free to cry, and she commenced to do just that.

The doctor produced a clean handkerchief. “Now, now,” he said. “If you’re going to love a McKettrick, you’ve got to be tough.”

Chloe stiffened. “Who says I love him?”

Doc smiled. “I do.”

“I might
like
him a little,” Chloe conceded.
Did
she love Jeb McKettrick? Certainly not, she decided. If she’d loved him, she wouldn’t have arranged a divorce.

Doc took the handkerchief from her and dabbed at her face, which felt hot and fragile, like it might crumble into pieces at any given moment. “Once Angus is through paying his respects, you can go in and see Jeb. It might do him good to know you’re there.”

Chloe blinked. “But you said he was unconscious.”

“There’s a part of a person that never sleeps, no matter what,” Doc told her. “You touch his hand, and tell him he’s a ring-tailed waste of good skin. I guarantee you, he’ll feel obliged to get better, just so he can contradict you.”

Chloe laughed, right through her tears. “I may have to revise my opinion of you,” she said.

Doc’s wise old eyes twinkled. “I didn’t know there was a need of that,” he replied.

“Rafe said you might be drunk,” Chloe explained, and promptly wished she could call the words back. It was the story of her life, she thought with chagrin; from everlasting to everlasting, she was forever saying things she shouldn’t.
Doing
things she shouldn’t. Her history was one long train wreck, with good intentions scattered on either side of the tracks.

The doctor’s smile was gentle, and full of humor. “I must see to my reputation,” he said. “It’s a poor one, it would seem.”

Angus’s long shadow spilled over the sidewalk from the doorway, and Chloe looked up, full of questions. Aching with them.

“Go on in,” he said gruffly.

“Thank you, Mr. McKettrick,” she replied, rising.

He touched her arm, and looked as if he might say something. In the end, though, he merely nodded.

Jeb lay on the doctor’s all-purpose table, his flesh pale, his hair blood-matted and rumpled, his eyes closed.

Chloe laid a hand to his cheek, bent to kiss his forehead. “Get better, you ring-tailed waste of skin,” she said tenderly, hoping Doc was right—that he’d fight his way to the surface just to take his own part.