The Circle Eight: Caleb (8 page)

“You perhaps have a shirt to wear, Mr. Graham?” Garza gestured to Caleb’s undressed state.

“In my saddlebags, yes. I need to wash up first so I don’t ruin that shirt too.” He put his hands on his hips, wondering what this dapper blond Mexican man was up to in his fortress. The lawman inside him sniffed the air, sensing all was not as it seemed.

“Of course. I shall take you inside. Please follow me.” Garza turned toward the massive door.

Caleb grabbed his other shirt from the saddlebags and followed Pablo Garza into the depths of the enormous house.

Rory floated in and out of consciousness. Each time she kicked her way up from the depths of the sea of darkness she swam in, excruciating pain sent her back down. She looked for anything to anchor herself to but found nothing except air. Her side burned and her stomach roiled. She didn’t know where she was or what happened. She cried out for help, the smells and sights unfamiliar and frightening.

A warm hand covered hers and another touched her forehead. “Who are you fighting now, Rory? Let the man help you.”

The man was familiar but she didn’t know who it was. He spoke to her as though her knew her and the rumble of his deep voice calmed her. She squeezed his hand and he chuckled.

“This woman will never cease to shock me.”

Rory kept her eyes closed but tears leaked from them anyway. She was embarrassed to know she wept. Even if she was in pain, she never cried.

“Let me take a look at the wound.” Another man spoke softly near her ear. “From the looks of her, she’s lost a great deal of blood.”

“I kept pressure on it and used my shirt to plug it.” The first man tried to take his hands away but she held on tight. Whoever he was, she needed him. “She ain’t letting go. Can you do it yourself?”

“Hold onto her. This is going to hurt.”

Rory wanted to tell them to stop and leave her alone but her mouth wouldn’t work. A groan sounded in her throat and he tightened his grip.

“Hang on, Rory. I’m here.”

A ripping sound and then it felt as though someone was peeling her skin off. She groaned louder and more tears fell. Cool air bathed her heated skin. Fingers probed her belly and pain shot through her.

“Easy, now miss, I am trying to help you.” The soft-spoken man sounded calm. Of course he was, it wasn’t his belly that burned like it was on fire. “I need to clean this, but I think it would be better if we gave her something before I did that.”

“You mean laudanum? Are you sure that’s necessary? She might not want it. I know I don’t cotton to it.” She didn’t like it. The first man was smart.

“As a physician, I recommend using it.”

“And as her friend, I ain’t gonna let you.”

Rory had a friend? A friend who spoke for her and protected her and held her hands. She didn’t know who he was but she would accept him as her friend. She turned her face toward him and tried to say without words that she was grateful.

“You’ll have to hold her down then.” The doctor sounded doubtful.

“I can do that. Let’s get a move on, doc. That blood ain’t gonna stop itself.” Her new friend leaned down and spoke in her ear. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, Rory. You’re gonna try to buck me off but I’m hanging on tight.”

Fear flitted through her but she was in a hazy world of pain and confusion. Her friend pushed down on her shoulders and she whimpered. Then the true agony began.

Cool liquid that should have felt good burned like it was acid eating through her skin. She screamed and tried her damndest to move away from them, but they continued the torture. The doctor poked her with a stick or other sharp instrument, then wiped at the raw flesh.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she sobbed for mercy. She hadn’t experienced such helplessness, such deep terror, for a very long time. Not since she’d been a child and had fallen down a well, breaking her arm. This was worse, much worse. Now two men held her down while they tortured her.

If she’d had a gun, she would have shot them dead and enjoyed watching them bleed.

“You’ve got to settle down, honey. He’s almost done.” Her supposed friend spoke to her again.

“Fuck you. Fuck both of you. Let me go before I kill you.” She tried to summon the strength to break his grip but he was too strong and she was too weak.

“She knows how to curse.” The doctor didn’t sound amused, at least that was something. “I am almost finished, miss. I am sorry this is hurting you.”

“Hurting me? You’re sawing me in half, you rat-faced son of a bitch!” She managed to lift her right leg and connect with something.

“Kicking me is not going to make this quicker. If I am unable to function, you will surely die from this wound.” The doctor was well-spoken but he was also someone who liked to inflict pain.

“I don’t care. Stop it!” She screamed until her throat was raw.

“I’m going to use alcohol to finish. This will hurt worse, young lady.” The doctor spoke as if he’d just told her she needed to do her laundry on Mondays.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hold onto her tight.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” her friend whispered in her ear.

The gurgle of the liquid as it left the bottle echoed in her ears, then the excruciating agony hit her and she was certain he was sawing her in half. She screamed with every fiber of her being, certain she was being flayed alive. It went on and on, until she thought she would die from the pain.

Blessed darkness swallowed her and she gratefully sank into its depths.

Caleb had to wipe his own brow before he wiped hers. Holy hell. The woman had a set of lungs that would rival any banshee. She fought like a wildcat too. He could barely hold her down. The doctor at least looked like he knew what he was doing and cleaned the wound thoroughly.

Now she was unconscious, thank God. She’d almost made his ears bleed with her wailing. He’d never heard such a noise coming from a human before. Aurora Foster never did anything like a regular woman. She wasn’t wounded like one either.

The doctor was stitching her up with care, tiny stitches from the inside out. The blood had slowed to a trickle, which meant the doc did something right. He was pleased to see the care the old man took with a stranger. In his line of work, he didn’t see a lot of human kindness. The doc obviously lived at the Garza hacienda. While a big ranch had consistent flow of minor injuries, and occasionally wounds like Rory’s, why would Garza need a full-time doctor?

The entire place spoke of secrets. Caleb had to listen close enough to hear the whispers. With Rory screaming it might be hard to catch it all but he was listening real close. A shadow moved near the door. Caleb glanced up to see a skinny boy scooting away down the hall. Probably a curious ranch hand’s child wanting to get an eyeful of blood. The ranch had an air of something dark, nearly sinister. Caleb’s instincts were screaming like a battle-seasoned warrior.

“You work here long, Doc?” Caleb dipped a cloth in the basin of water and squeezed out the water. He wanted to wash the blood from Rory’s skin.

“Oh, a few years. I had a practice in town but my hands got to painful to catch babies anymore.” He had little hair on the top of his head, but white tufts grew from the sides, his ears and his eyebrows. No taller than Caleb’s shoulder, he stooped over as he worked, his back in a permanent curve.

“Mr. Garza needed a full-time doc?” Caleb rinsed the rag, leaving a pink residue behind.

“No, but he was kind enough to give me a place to live and I patch up the occasional injury. Your lady’s wound is the most exciting thing I’ve seen in a spell. Things are pretty ordinary around these parts.” The doctor didn’t meet Caleb’s gaze when he spoke, as though he was practicing lines he had memorized. Caleb didn’t believe the old man for a minute. He knew a lie when he heard one, but the question was, why did this skilled doctor feel the need to prevaricate?

“That was mighty kind of him.” Caleb kept his tone noncommittal. “I know Mrs. Foster appreciates your help even if she didn’t appear to.”

“I’m sure she was out of her head with pain. That’s common when folks get wounded. I won’t pay it any nevermind.” The doctor threaded himself a fresh string of catgut and continued to stitch up the hole in Rory’s side. His hands were steady as a rock. There was not even a hint of shakiness. Whatever the doc’s reasons were for working for, and living with, Pablo Garza, they had nothing to do with his incompetency in medicine.

“Much obliged. I do have some money I can pay you with.” Caleb had little but considering the amount of time and effort expended by the doctor, he deserved compensation.

As expected, the doctor waved his hand in dismissal. “No need. I have everything I need. Mr. Garza is a generous man.”

Generous to those who were loyal to him and ruthless to those that weren’t, that was probably the truth. There were far too many strange goings on within the first hour of being on the Garza ranch. Caleb wondered if the doctor might slip up and give away some details that could prove useful.

“Then you’re a lucky man.” Caleb wiped the bits of blood from Rory’s hands. She had strong fingers that were callused but long and tapered, still feminine. That surprised him considering what she did every day. Her fingernails were caked with dirt, but he took the time to clean them, and he didn’t know why.

The doctor finished stitching her up and then peered at his own handiwork. “She is very strong. She has a good chance of recovering if a fever doesn’t catch hold.”

Caleb rinsed the cloth in the basin, leaving behind a pinkish tinge. “When would a fever hit?”

“Within the first day I should think. Possibly two. She shouldn’t be moved for at least a week.” The doctor gestured to a fresh pile of bandages. “After she is clean, you can wrap her, but not too tightly. If she starts to bleed again, send someone to fetch me.”

The doctor got to his feet with a groan. “I’m afraid I need to rest now. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Caleb watched the old man shuffle out, looking like someone’s grandfather. He would reserve judgment on just how benevolent the doctor was.

“Now it’s you and me, Rory.” He should feel uncomfortable with a half-naked, bloody stranger. Her face was relaxed, making her look very young and accentuating the softness of her skin. Her cheekbones were high, framing a heart-shaped face he hadn’t seen beneath the leather cap. Her hair wasn’t merely brown. In the light from the lantern, bursts of red and gold shone in the strands.

Caleb shook his head to dispel the image. He had no call to be thinking of Rory Foster as a woman. She was a blacksmith and a squatter. It wasn’t his fault she was injured. The confounded woman had climbed the tree and fallen out on her own. He wasn’t going to feel guilty.

Except he was.

He had to take off what was left of her shirt. The damn doctor had cut it open to patch her up then left it hanging on her like a rag. Caleb would have to see what lay beneath the tattered garment. He reached for the buttons, refusing to accept his hands shook. It was a trick of the light, nothing more.

The buttons were smaller than those on a man’s shirt and he fumbled to push them through the holes. He finally got them undone and opened her shirt.

“Holy shit.”

She had bindings around her breasts, well-used ones by the look of them. He untied the knot beneath her arm and tried to unwind them. Unsuccessfully. With her lying on bed, there was little chance he would move her to a sitting position to get them off, not to mention the possibility he would tear her stitches.

There was no help for it. He would have to cut the bindings. No doubt Rory would rip a hole in the ceiling when she found out. She must have used them for years and it didn’t appear as though she had money to buy much. Her clothes were threadbare and her house meager. The woman was barely getting by, probably enough to keep herself fed and nothing more.

He would make sure she got new shirt and bindings. Her trousers, another curious thing about the woman, were stained with blood but with some effort they might come clean.

Caleb was stalling. Once he cut the bindings, there would be nothing between Rory and him but air.

He pulled the knife from the scabbard in his boot and carefully sliced through the fabric. The old bindings nearly fell apart in his hands and soon they revealed the smoothest, creamiest skin he’d ever seen. Her breasts were marked from the tight bindings but they spilled out as though they had been gasping to be released.

Her nipples were the color of a blush pink rose, a sweetly feminine thing he didn’t expect from a woman he hadn’t thought of as female. Oh, she sure as hell was as womanly as he had ever seen. Not many had breasts the size of Rory’s. She might have kept the bindings on to work without injuring herself.

Regardless, he found himself staring at a half-naked, unconscious woman who was still sticky with her own blood. His brother Matt would kick his ass if he’d caught him.

“Sorry, Rory.” She couldn’t hear him but he still apologized. It was rude and uncalled for to take advantage of her.

Caleb cut the rest of her shirt off and slid the pieces out from under her. Then he put the blanket over her upper half to give her some modesty. If she woke up right about then, he might lose a tooth from her right hook.