The Gambler (17 page)

A killdeer called and Charm jumped. She should leave. She'd done all she could. She had soaked the remainder of their bread in hot water and bound it tightly against his wound in the hopes of drawing out the poison.

It had not been an easy task, for he was heavy, packed with lean taut muscles, and much larger than she. She'd been somewhat surprised by his bulk in the dancing glow of her small fire. Around his neck, she'd found a chain, upon which dangled a strangely crafted ring, made of three strands of fine, interwoven wire. It intrigued her. She'd run her finger along the simple design before letting her hand slip along the rows of Raven's firmly fleshed ribs. But now he lay alone, wrapped in a crisscrossed petticoat bandage, dressed in his blood-encrusted shirt and covered with all the blankets they had between them. She could now leave with a clear conscience. In fact she rose to do just that. But somehow Raven had pushed a blanket aside, and she bent to pull it closer to him.

"Chantilly ?"

She straightened abruptly. "No. It's Charm," she said, prepared to flee.

"Charm," he murmured. The moonlight stroked his dark features, gleaming on his blue-black hair. For a moment he looked painfully vulnerable, like a small boy with a fever. Yet his voice was husky, as Jude's was when she cared for him during a bout of sickness or after a drinking spree. But he wasn't Jude and she owed him no allegiance.

Their gazes met in the darkness.

"You're a hell of a fighter," he said softly, then lifted a hand to his chest, feeling the poultice and bandage through his shirt. "Your doing?" His tone sounded mildly surprised. Charm narrowed her eyes and allowed a single nod.

He drew a deep breath, looking weak. "Thank you."

She didn't remind him that if it hadn't been for her, he would never have been wounded. He was looking vulnerable again, and she didn't like that. After all, she knew better than to be weakened by sympathy. And he wasn't her responsibility. He'd abducted her and deserved any injury she could inflict.

"You lit a fire," he said quietly.

She pushed a fist into her pocket. "Needed warm water," she explained, gesturing toward his chest, "for the poultice."

"Not afraid of Indians?"

She didn't attempt to hide her fear, but pushed a stray wisp of hair from her face and scowled. "I was... afraid you were dead."

Not a sound disturbed the small clearing as they watched each other. His expression was very solemn, but she could not read his thoughts.

"Take the horse, Charm."

"What?"

For a moment he was quiet, then, "Take the horse and go. I'll make sure Clancy doesn't bother you."

What did he mean by that? And why was he setting her free now? Of course, she owed him nothing, she reminded herself, and yet... She tightened her fist. "Get up."

His eyes narrowed, though he smiled shallowly. "You're not challenging me to a fist fight, are you?"

She scowled. "Get up," she repeated, and before she could change her mind, she hurried to fetch the gelding.

Charm slipped from behind the saddle, speaking softly to the horse as she did so. She had named him Angel, for he had been like a celestial guardian during the dark of night, and had brought her here, to the dubious safety of Red Rock. She patted the spotted neck, glancing at Raven as she did so. He was conscious now, and had been, at times, lucid enough to help her find the town. It was, like most communities in the Dakota Territory, little more than a transient camp. Yet, it had a few dozen wooden structures lining its packed-dirt streets.

After a few inquiries, Charm found the man she was looking for in the livery stable tending a mule.

"Steady, Angel," she said, addressing the horse as she led him into the livery. Mounded piles of straw lay on either side of the aisle. Angel moved placidly along, proving the appropriateness of the name she'd given him.

Up ahead a man was splashing water onto the side of a gargantuan mule.

"Are you Doc?" Charm asked wearily.

The man that turned to face her was well past middle age, slightly stooped and greying. "That's what they call me." He wore round, gold-rimmed spectacles, and looked like a mild-mannered man, one to be trusted, Charm decided. One to relieve her of Raven's care.

"This is Raven Scott," she said breathlessly. "He needs your help."

The old man stepped forward. "What happened to 'im?"

It was, Charm knew, a likely question. The answer, however, wasn't so simple. "He, ahh," she began, and winced. "I think he fell."

The doc reached up, moving Raven's shirt aside to study the bandage. "You do that?"

"Yes. But he needs professional help. And I can't... I can't stay."

"Can't stay?" Doc asked, stepping back to study her over his small wire rims.

"No! I have to get back to my father. He needs me. He's very..."

There was a movement to her left, and then, like a rock just pried from its lofty perch, Raven fell, plummeting to the straw at their feet.

"Ill," Charm finished weakly.

"And he ain't likely to heal up real quick if'n he keeps fallin' on his head," Doc proclaimed.

"I didn't mean
him,"
Charm argued, hurrying forward.

But Doc was already bending over Raven and failed to notice her words. "Do you have any money?"

"I..." She shook her head, shocked and weary. "No."

"Does he?"

"I don't know," she said, and suddenly realized the man's miscalculation. "I'm not his—"

"Well, check his pockets," Doc interrupted as he opened Raven's shirt.

"But..."

"If you can pay, you can stay at the boardin' house. If you can't, you can most likely stay here in the stable, but the house would be healthier fer him. Check his pockets."

But Charm already knew what he had in his pants. Her Bible, and... other stuff. Stuff she shouldn't be touching.

"Really, I'm not his—"

"You want him to die here and now, lady?"

"Uhhh. No."

"Then find some money and we'll get him settled in someplace decent."

Perhaps it was Doc's understated authority that made her finally comply. Whatever the reason, Charm did as told, pushing her hand tentatively into Raven's front pocket.

"What's going on?" he asked, suddenly opening his eyes.

Despite it all, she blushed. Once again, here she was with her hand thrust deep into places where it shouldn't be. "I..." Words failed her as she yanked her fingers from his pants. "Just..."

"Good. You're awake," said the doc, studying his patient's face with a calculating eye. "You got any money?"

"What's that?"

"Money. You'll need some to get a room. Widder Worth don't keep nobody for free."

"Money. Yes," Raven said weakly.

"Good. Now what happened to you?"

"Well..." Raven shook his head and slowly brought his fingers to his brow as if it ached. "It's rather blurry," he said, raising his gaze to Charm's.

She trapped her breath within the tight confines of her throat and waited.

"I think I fell," Raven deduced, holding her gaze.

"Looks t'be one hell of a wound for a fall. Course it's hard t'tell for sure, till I get a proper look at y'."

"Am I going to be all right?"

"Well..." Doc shook his head and settled stiffly back on his heels. "I hope so cuz I got Herbert t' worry about too."

"Herbert?" Raven asked.

“The mule," Doc explained, jerking a finger over his shoulder. "He's got mud fever."

Doc convinced two young men to carry Raven to Widow Worth's Boarding House. The room was scrupulously clean but seemed small when packed with four men, Mrs. Worth, and Charm.

"These here are the rules," said Worth, hands on her broad hips as she turned her scowl on Charm. "It'll be four bits a day, paid in advance. No smoking. No drinking." She frowned at Raven's bandaged chest, then back at Charm. "And if'n he dies, the widow pays the burial fees."

She was gone before Charm could deny being a bride much less a widow. In a moment Doc had stripped off Raven's bloody shirt and bandage, pushing the ring chain aside as he worked. The bread poultice came away in soggy pieces.

"You done a good job here," Doc said. "You had any nurse's training?"

"No."

"Want some?"

"No. I just want to get back to—"

"Well, he won't be traveling for a few days nohow." Doc pursed his lips and lifted his chin to stare through his lenses at Raven's exposed chest. "Though it don't look so bad as I thought it would. You been sick?" he asked, raising his gaze to Raven's face.

"No."

"Hum. You say you fell?"

"Yes," Charm said, then realized she shouldn't have answered. She drew a shaky breath. "Yes. Perhaps on a branch?" She paused. "There was a bloody one there. Maybe he fell on it then rolled away."

"Could be," said Doc, but he looked dubious. "Still it don't seem like a fall on a stick would make a strappin' young man like him black out. How you feelin' now, boy?"

"My left arm is numb. Other than that, I'm fine," said Raven, but his weak tone belied his answer.

"Well." Doc frowned. "Maybe we'll find the hole goes deeper than it looks once we get it cleaned up good. Sometimes that happens. Now, someone'll have to ask the Widder fer hot water, bandages and soap. Who's gonna do it?"

It was amazing how fast the two hulking men could find work that could not be delayed another instant. Their exit was hurried and clattering.

"Guess that leaves you," said Doc. He didn't seem surprised by the others' rapid exit as he continued to study Raven's wound while speaking to Charm.

"He's not my—" she began again, still trying to explain her lack of kinship to Raven, but Doc merely shook his head and interrupted.

"I'd ask her myself but..."—he slid his wire frames back up his nose—"she scares the hell outta me."

Charm planned to object, but just then Doc tentatively touched the wound. Raven emitted a gut-wrenching groan of pain, and retreat seemed the best of a series of lousy options.

True to Widow Worth's reputation, she was not pleasant to deal with. Nevertheless, she finally handed over a pitcher of hot water and a hard, chipped bar of lye soap. Bandages, she said, would have to be supplied by someone else. Charm hurried up the stairs, and Doc took the proffered items with a grunt of thanks.

"Old bat wouldn't give y' nothin' fer bandages?" he guessed, digging about in a carpetbag that he'd deposited at the bedside.

"She said she didn't have any."

"Mean as a snakebit badger. I'll need your petticoat."

"But..." Charm scowled, thinking she'd donated enough of her personal garments to the well-being of a man she didn't even like. "You must have bandages. You're a doctor."

The chuckle that escaped Doc sounded rusty and wry. "I ain't really, girl. The folks in town here just call me that cuz I'm the closest thing they got. And it makes 'em feel more progressive t' give me the title, y' see."

"Oh." Her gaze slipped cautiously from the old man's face to Raven's. But that one's eyes were closed, though his expression looked pained. "Oh," she said again, suddenly finding a serious shortage of words in her repertoire.

"Listen, honey," said Doc softly. "If'n you don't want me carin' fer yer man, I'll sure nuf understand. I don't make a whole lot of compensation for this kind of work nohow. Mostly vegetables and the like. Though Mrs. Ellingson gives me a pint or so of strawberries every time little Amy comes down with the croup."

Charm decided that the past week had simply been too much for her, because despite everything, she could not come up with a single, intelligent thing to say. "Oh," was all she managed, and that rather weakly.

"He's gonna mend, honey," Doc said gently, tilting his head back to better peer through his spectacles into her face.

"What's that?"

"You're lookin' mighty peaked. But y' don't need t' worry so. Big strong fella like yers, he'll sure nuf heal up fine."

Now it wasn't a lack of words that kept Charm silent, but rather an uncertainty of what to deny first. That he was her husband, that she didn't care a whit if he lived or died, or that she was not peaked. In fact, she considered telling the old gentleman that she was the one who had caused Raven's wound in the first place, just to prove that very point, but already it was too late, for he was talking again.

"Well, what do you think? I have t' be goin', cuz I still got Herbert t' worry about, and that mud fever can be a real pig t' get rid of. Y' see, the clay, it builds up on the animal's bellies. Then they cain't sweat, and then they..." He tilted his head back again. "Suppose yer not interested in Herbert. But anyhow, I left Frank watching him, and he don't know spit."

For a moment Charm stood dazedly wondering if it was Frank or the mule that was short of wits. Probably Frank, she deduced, because Herbert had looked quite intelligent. On the other hand...

"Honey." Doc broke her reverie. "Am I gonna get them petticoats or not?"

"Oh." She considered refusing, but, after all, her petticoats were little more than shreds anyway. In a few minutes they were bandages.

What Doc may have lacked in medical training, he made up for in efficiency. Miraculously, he even managed to raise a few suds from the hard lye soap. In a matter of just a few more minutes he had Raven's wound absolutely clean. A brown, glass bottle was uncorked and an oily substance poured into the lesion.

Though Raven's eyes didn't open, his fingers clenched the blanket beneath him and his body jerked.

Charm winced. "What is that stuff?"

"Kerosene?"

She crammed her fist into her pocket, reminding herself that Raven deserved worse. "What'll it do for him?"

"Don't know," Doc said, quickly trussing Raven in the petticoat bandages. "But it does wonders for pus in the hoof. Now." He finished up and stood, pressing his knuckles to his back. "Y' gotta unwrap him once a day, douse 'im with that stuff, and bandage him up again."

"But..." Charm scowled at the bottle. "It must sting like the devil."

Doc raised his chin so as to study her through his narrow lenses. "If'n y' didn't want 'im t'hurt, honey, y' shouldn't a stabbed him," he reasoned, and retrieving his carpet bag, left Charm to stare after him in utter bemusement.