Eighteen

Through the thick smoke, Houston saw that he’d wounded his opponent in the shoulder. Part of him, still trembling with rage, wanted the brash young man dead.

He swung to the others. “Anyone else want to try me?”

They shook their heads and one spoke up. “No, mister.”

Houston moved to the lickspittle who looked to be only a year or two older than Henry. On the way over, he kicked the boy’s gun out of reach, and knelt down. Zeb glanced up at him with pain-filled eyes. The wound didn’t appear to be bad. Houston directed his words toward the boy’s friends. “Take care of your friend. If I see or hear any of you so much as touching my wife or saying a word to her, I’ll put a bullet in you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Lara. “Darlin’, there’s a doctor down the street.”

“Thank God.” She sagged with relief.

Mounting up, Houston followed the clerk’s directions to the last house before the town gave way to barren, unforgiving land. Seconds later, he stood with Lara on the porch and knocked on the screen door.

A cigar-smoking woman appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. She wore a strange necklace that appeared to be made of bullet slugs. “Can I help you?”

Houston removed his hat. “We have a sick baby, ma’am. Need a doctor bad.”

“Come in.” She opened the screen door. Houston’s spurs jangled as he and Lara followed her into a room filled with cabinets full of vials and bottles. A bed stood next to a window. “Lay the baby down and tell me what happened.”

Houston twisted his hat in his hands. “She got into some jimsonweed.”

“She must’ve eaten a leaf because she had some in her mouth, and then when she twice vomited, I saw a small amount of green.” Lara’s voice broke. “I only left her for a short while.”

“We don’t have much time. It might already be too late.” Houston glanced around. “Is the doctor in the house?”

“You’re looking at her. I’m the only doctor for a hundred miles. Folks call me Dr. Mary. Excuse me while I get rid of this cigar.”

When she walked from the room, Houston exchanged worried glances with Lara and shrugged. He’d never seen a woman doctor. In fact, he’d never heard of one. Had she even gone to a school of medicine? Could they put Gracie’s life in her hands?

But what choice did they have? It was this or nothing.

Dr. Mary’s skirts rustled as she hurried back into the room. “Smoking is a filthy habit. Now let me see how I can help this sweet little thing.”

“We’d be obliged for any help, Doctor.” Houston put his arm around Lara and watched the woman fly into action. She looked into Gracie’s mouth and eyes, scowled when she checked her pulse and listened to the heartbeat.

Finally, Dr. Mary turned. “Our only chance is first charcoal, then washing out her stomach. It’s not going to be pretty. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” Lara spoke without any hesitation. Though she appeared calm, Houston felt her trembling beneath his hand.

“Whatever you have to do…just save our daughter,” Houston added.

Dr. Mary reached for a bottle of black liquid on a shelf and a piece of tubing. “I could use your help.”

“Tell me what to do,” Houston said.

“Tip her head back a little so I can run this down her throat and into her stomach.”

Houston did as requested. Gracie’s eyes remained closed and she didn’t move a muscle as the doctor inched the rubber tube very slowly down the babe’s throat.

Dr. Mary then attached the container of charcoal, held it up and let it slowly run in. Once the bottle emptied, she removed the tubing. “We let that sit a while, then I’ll wash out the stomach, give her a laxative, and get some fluids back into her.”

“Will that be enough?” Houston asked.

“All I can do.” The doctor stared down at the child. “We wait and see. If you know how to pray, I suggest you do it.”

Lara smothered a little cry with her fist. Fear colored her pretty eyes black as night as she leaned over to touch her baby.

“Thank you for your efforts, Dr. Mary.” Houston fingered Gracie’s blond curls. He needed to see those mischievous blue eyes. So did her mother. He placed an arm around Lara.

“It’s Dr. Marguerite Leona Cuvier, for long.” The woman doctor bustled about, putting her things away. “I’ll leave you with your child for a while.”

Houston barely heard her leave the room. His attention was locked on the life appearing to ebb from his Angel. He blinked hard, clutching Lara tighter. “It’s not enough. Nothing ever seems enough.”

This hard land often beat a man down regardless of how he tried not to let it. The damn land just took whatever it wanted. He was so tired. Little sleep and days in the saddle had simply exhausted him.

Lara touched his arm. “This will be,” she said firmly. “You have to have hope and believe that our prayers will be answered.”

About two hours later, Houston still stood with his arms around Lara, watching the lady doctor spoon small amounts of water into Gracie’s mouth. Most dribbled out. Through all the procedures, the babe had yet to twitch a finger.

“When will she open her eyes?” Lara moved from Houston and patted the small back.

Houston wished like hell he could do something. This waiting was getting to him. But it had to be far worse for Lara. It was a wonder she hadn’t lost her mind with worry.

“Hard to say,” Dr. Mary replied. “If the treatment worked, we’ll know soon. But I’m also concerned about you, Lara. Your breasts must be painful. How long since the baby nursed?”

Houston saw Lara’s struggle to remember. Both had lost track of time. Then he watched embarrassment stain her cheeks to talk about such a personal thing in front of him. “Would you have a cup of coffee, Doctor?” he asked quietly.

“Keep a pot on the stove all the time. Help yourself.”

Lara seemed relieved, and Houston strolled to the kitchen. Everything was neat and tidy, so he had no trouble finding a cup. He filled it while glancing around the small room that seemed to have been added as an afterthought. The good doctor must not cook much. Besides the wood stove, there were two shelves made from crates that held three plates and a bowl, and a rough plank table with four chairs. Only a little sideboard completed his inventory. He took a seat.

The minutes dragged. He downed two cups of coffee, then guessing the women would need more time, went out to take the horses to the livery, and get some feed into their bellies.

The short walk back to the doctor’s house let him clear his head. He entered the room to find Lara fastening the last button of her bodice. A bottle full of milk sat on a table and nearby lay an odd contraption. Clearly, Lara had somehow sorted out the problem. He didn’t want to know anything more.

Houston held his hat, shifting his weight. “Is everything all right?”

“It is now.” Lara raised her eyes to his. “I feel better and Gracie has milk, which we’ve already begun spooning into her mouth.”

Dr. Mary glanced up from patiently dribbling life-giving fluid into Gracie. She gave both him and Lara a steely-eyed stare. “How long since either of you ate?”

“Nothing since breakfast at dawn, ma’am,” Houston answered, glancing out the window. Must be around three in the afternoon, long past lunch, though he doubted he could stomach anything.

“The town doesn’t have a café. In fact, Chimney Rock has little to commend it.” Dr. Mary sighed. “I tell you what. I’ll fix a bite and you can tell me what you’re doing out here in the middle of Indian Territory.”

Lara wearily wiped her eyes and glanced up. “Only if you’ll let me help. I need something to do or I’ll go crazy.”

“Deal. I confess I’m a lousy cook. Just do enough to keep some weight on these old bones. Your man here can sit with the babe.” Dr. Mary patted Houston’s arm. “You’re a little white around the gills, cowboy. How about a shot of whiskey to brace you?”

Houston yearned for something to dull the ache squeezing his heart. “I could use one for sure.”

He pulled a chair to the bed and laid his hat on the floor. A minute later, she returned with a good portion of whiskey. The amber liquid reminded him of Stoker and he wished his pa was there. Though Houston was thirty years old, he still needed his father sometimes. Stoker always knew what to do and how to handle situations. It killed Houston to see Gracie lying so still and white. And the fear darkening Lara’s green eyes tore off a piece of his soul.

How much more could she bear? The level of pain and suffering she had already borne would drop a lesser woman to her knees. If Gracie didn’t make it, he doubted Lara would ever recover. The heartbreak would finish her off.

Though he wasn’t a religious man, he laid his large hand on Gracie’s chest and, in a bumbling way, prayed that God would spare her.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before Lara touched his shoulder. “Houston, the food’s ready. I’ll sit with Gracie.”

“What about you?” He stood and brushed back a strand of her copper hair, seeing her exhaustion.

“I’m not hungry. I can’t eat while Gracie is so sick.”

And he didn’t want to eat without her. “I’ll move the table in here, if it’s all right with Dr. Mary, and maybe you can take a few bites.”

Dr. Mary spoke from the doorway. “I was going to suggest that very thing. The table is small and I’ll help you move it.”

Within a few minutes, they all sat down. Lara had fried some potatoes and ham and added green beans from the doctor’s garden. He filled his plate.

“Lara tells me you’re from the northernmost part of Texas,” Dr. Mary said with a faraway look in her eyes. “I always wanted to see what Texas looks like. Doubt I’ll ever get a chance.”

“Why not?” Houston forked a piece of ham into his mouth.

“Can’t make a living down there. No one much will let a woman practice medicine. I came here because folks were so desperate they overlooked that little flaw of mine. Coffee?” At Houston’s nod, Dr. Mary filled his cup. Her strange necklace caught the light with her movements.

Houston laid down his fork. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Depends. But go ahead.”

“What is that necklace made of? I’ve never seen one like it.”

“And you won’t. A friend of mine made this necklace from bullet fragments I’ve dug out of patients over the years.” She removed the odd jewelry and handed it to him.

He fingered the various pieces of lead. Some were flat, some round, and some still bore the markings of the maker. “It’s an unusual thing for a lady to wear. Can I ask why you had it made?”

Dr. Mary snorted. “Dug out so many I could’ve made ten necklaces like that. Threw most away. But as for the reason for keeping them… I wanted the next shot-up man seeking my services not to expect an easy treatment. I want the jackasses to suffer. A lot. Then maybe they’ll think about what’s waiting for them the next time they pull a loaded gun.”

The explanation made sense. And no bigger jackass than Zeb, who’d made a losing play outside the mercantile. Houston wondered why he hadn’t come to let the doctor to treat his wound. Or maybe her attitude explained it and the kid didn’t want the lecture.

“Now, it’s time to answer a question for me.” The doctor refilled Houston’s cup. “Have you two been married long? The babe is five months shy of a year and yet I get the impression you’re newlyweds. Call it a woman’s idle curiosity.”

He didn’t say anything about the attack—that was Lara’s story to tell. Houston told about their fathers’ matchmaking, leaving out the rest.

Mary roared with laughter. “That beats all I ever heard.”

Lara glanced at Houston in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know that’s what happened.”

“Never got around to it, darlin’. We were busy. You with settling in and me with getting ready for this cattle drive.” Besides, he didn’t see much point. It had all worked out. Or almost, anyway. He glanced at Gracie lying so still and swallowed hard.

“You can bet I’ll have a talk with him when we get back. I’m not some puppet to place at will. Neither are you,” she said angrily.

Houston had halfway thought she’d been in on the scheme. He was glad she wasn’t and that manipulation wasn’t part of her thinking.

“I want to talk to you about my scar.” Lara directed her words to Dr. Mary.

“It was a nasty cut, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. It bled for weeks and weeks. A doctor tried to stitch it up but he didn’t have your skill. A few days ago, a Cherokee woman gave me some ointment and told me to rub it on twice a day. She said it would make it fade some.” Lara looked at Houston but addressed the doctor. “I’ve been using it faithfully but I don’t see any change.”

“Darlin’, I never see that scar when I look at you. Only your beautiful eyes and the spirit shining through.” Houston covered her hand with his. “You fret too much.”

“My appearance matters to me,” Lara said quietly. “You saw what happened when we arrived.”

“They’re fools. You can’t let men like that bother you.”

“It does. I can’t help it. Doctor, will the ointment help?”

Houston’s heart ached that he couldn’t make her whole and restore her face. When he looked at her, he truly didn’t see it.

“What’s the salve made from? And how long have you been using it?” asked Dr. Mary.

After Lara told her, the woman nodded. “I’ve used a similar treatment and it will work, but it takes time. You can’t expect change to happen overnight. Keep using it, my dear. You’ll start to see results by the time the season changes.” Mary paused then added, “I’m sure it’s a source of embarrassment. No one wants to stand out when they really yearn to blend in. People can be quite cruel.”

“See, Houston? Dr. Mary understands.” She turned to their hostess. “Thank you for easing my concerns.”

Just then, a voice yelled from beyond the screen door. “Come out, yellow belly. Face me like a man.”

Houston’s heart stopped. He didn’t need this. He just wanted to be left alone. Besides, the kid was barely old enough to shave.

“I know you’re in there,” Zeb hollered. “Quit hiding.”

Dr. Mary went to the door. “Go home, you little fool. This man’s baby is deathly ill. He doesn’t have time to mess with the likes of you.”

“Then he’ll just have to make time, ’cause I ain’t budging.”

Houston sighed and pushed back his chair. This must be what his brother Luke had to live with every single day. Never knowing who’d challenge him next. Never knowing when a bullet was going to find him. Never being able to live his life as he wanted and be normal.

“Please don’t go.” Lara got to her feet and clutched his sleeve. “He might kill you.”

“He’s not going to let this lie. If I don’t face him, he’ll shoot us in the back when we leave. I won’t put you and Gracie at risk.” His tone was gentle. She’d lived with so much violence and he knew how it twisted at her insides. He pulled her close. Lowering his head, he kissed her moist lips and held her for a long moment.

The loud ticking of the doctor’s clock filled the room, seeming to warn of death beyond those doors.

Dr. Mary came back, shaking her head. “I apologize. Zeb’s got a brain the size of a gnat. Not a week goes by I don’t pull another slug out of him. He’s desperate to make his pa proud, but that won’t ever happen, because his father’s a drunk and a poor excuse for a human being.”

“Not your fault, Doctor. Lara, stay in the house no matter what happens.” Houston put on his hat and moved past Dr. Mary. His spurs clinked loudly as he strode for the door.

Laying a hand on the screen, he fought the urge to turn around, to kiss Lara and Gracie once more. Just in case he didn’t make it back. Air left his lungs in a big whoosh. Then he squared his shoulders and stepped toward his fate.

“Thought you’d see things my way,” Zeb crowed when Houston stepped out. A crude bandage circled his shoulder. The boy’s friends had evidently come to watch again. They stood off to the side, silent, still.

Houston’s gaze swept over them before turning to Zeb. “You know this is stupid, don’t you, boy?”

“I ain’t no boy,” Zeb screamed.

“Acting like one. A snot-nosed one at that. How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Plenty old enough to blow you to kingdom come. I aim to get satisfaction.” Zeb pointed a finger at him. “You shot me an’ now you’re gonna pay.”

Houston’s eyes narrowed. “You tried to assault my wife, in case you don’t recall.”

“Any woman with a face that ugly needs to stay home or else suffer the name-callin’ ’n such. Where’d you find her anyway? A whorehouse?”

Anger rose. He stared at the pimply faced boy, digesting the bravado in his young opponent’s voice. “I really wish you had time to grow up and understand what life’s all about. Makes me sad that you aren’t going to get a chance. If I don’t put you in the ground today, someone else will.”

“Boohoo! Tryin’ to scare me?” Zeb taunted.

Was there nothing that could frighten some sense into him? “Have you ever killed a man before? Ever watch the light go out of his eyes? Ever smell the stench of death?”

“Sure, plenty of times.” But the way the kid glanced over at his friends said he lied.

“We don’t have to do this,” Houston said, praying the words would get through Zeb’s thick skull. “You can go home and I can return to my sick baby. There’s no shame in that.” Dammit, he didn’t want to take this young fool’s life. But the kid was out for blood. If Houston turned and walked into the house now, a bullet would slam into his back. Or in Lara’s.

“Pa says I’m a good-for-nothing coward. I aim to prove him wrong. I ain’t a coward. I ain’t.”

“There are other ways to prove it. But not this. Let’s shake hands and let me help you,” Houston pleaded.

“This gun is all the help I need. Pops.”

“All right. Talkin’s over, boy.” His voice held a cold, deadly edge. Zeb was deaf to his advice. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Indecision filled Zeb’s eyes; he probably realized he’d come too far to back down. His bony Adam’s apple bobbed in this throat as his hand hovered over the gun. He licked his lips.

A bead of sweat trickled down Zeb’s face. Houston knew the inside of his mouth must be as dry as a sun-baked riverbed.

Don’t do it, kid.

Please don’t draw, Houston silently begged.

Don’t pull the damn trigger.

From the corner of his eye he saw Dr. Mary steal up behind Zeb with a raised skillet, evidently aiming to knock him out. His heart stopped. His stomach clenched with the need to cry out and stop her, to send her out of danger.

Before he could, Zeb whirled and turned his gun on her.

In a split second, Houston drew and fired.