Chapter Three
“What happened?” Granny Langtry asked.
Deputy Webb Grainger assisted the diminutive woman into the buckboard and placed her black bag beside her. “We chased those outlaws into Purgatory Canyon, and they were waiting to pick us off one at a time. The sheriff rode in first and was shot right off. Then all heck broke loose, bullets flying all over the place. That place is nothing but a killing trap, not to mention there are still Indians who hide out in that canyon, and only God knows how many outlaws. It was pure luck we all didn’t go meet our Maker that day. There were only three of us, since the ranchers had to get back home.” Webb walked around the buckboard and climbed in beside her, picked up the reins, and clicked the horses to action.
Granny eyed the tall, lanky deputy. “It wasn’t pure luck you were spared, Deputy. I’m confident God was protecting you.”
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon so.” Webb silently wondered why God hadn’t protected Sheriff Roper, but he wasn’t about to voice that question to Granny Langtry. He didn’t want to hear her preach all the way to town about questioning the ways of the Lord.
“What about Morgan LeMasters? Was he with you?” Granny asked.
“No, ma’am, the gang split up and Mr. LeMasters and his men went after . . . well, he went after Frank.” Webb glanced at Granny to gauge her reaction to his comment.
Granny shook her head. “I’m not surprised. I’ve told Frankie for years he should stop poking that big bear, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Webb agreed with Granny on that score. If he was in Frank’s position and LeMasters was after him, he’d take off to Mexico and never come back. Webb figured that just proved criminals were plain stupid, or in Frank’s case, just loco. He’d never seen a meaner-looking man than LeMasters, and while he’d never seen him in action, he’d heard he was one man you didn’t want to anger. One thing was certain, LeMasters wasn’t going to take any more grief from Frank Langtry.
“Where was Sheriff Roper hit?”
“In the shoulder. I dug the bullet out, but now he has a fever and he’s out of his head.”
“But he was fine right after you removed the bullet?”
“Seemed to be doing good, but we had a lot of riding before we got back home, and he insisted we keep moving fast. Stubborn fool, if you ask me. I wanted to take him to see the doctor in Denver, but he wouldn’t let me. He said you could help him, so I put him in Doc Emmett’s old office.”
“I wish Preacher was here. He saw a lot of gunshot wounds in his time. He helped the doc out on more than one occasion before they both died.”
Webb knew she was talking about her deceased husband. He always thought it was odd how she called her own husband Preacher. “Yes, ma’am, he was a fine man.”
“I wish we could find Joseph Longbow. He’s good with wounds.”
“Yes, ma’am, he is. But Joseph can be difficult to find if he doesn’t want to be found.”
Granny nodded her agreement with the truth of that statement. “You say those men who rode with Frank got away after they shot the sheriff?”
“Yes, ma’am, they sure did. We got out of that canyon with our hides, and considering the sheriff’s condition, we couldn’t leave him alone to go back.”
It saddened Granny that Sheriff Roper was shot because of her grandson. Like Morgan LeMasters, Roper was a good man. Sheriff Roper and Morgan were good friends, almost as close as brothers. This incident was going to put one more feather in Morgan’s war bonnet when it came to his vendetta against Frank. Granny knew Morgan’s acrimony wasn’t without cause. Frank had done everything he could to provoke him. She had never been able to figure out what Frank had against Morgan, but it had been obvious for years her grandson hated the man.
Morgan had even given Frank an opportunity to work on his ranch some years back. Within two days, Joseph Longbow rode Frank home and all he’d said was Frank isn’t going to work out. She could tell by the look on Joseph’s face that he was angry, and she knew something had gone terribly wrong. She’d never before seen Joseph Longbow angry. He’d always been a pleasant, amiable fellow, but not that day. Frank’s entire face was swollen, he had a black eye and his lip was bleeding. When she’d asked him what happened he refused to tell her.
Frank had stayed in bed for a few days after the incident. He wouldn’t even allow her to tend to his wounds. When he finally got out of bed, the way he moved told her he might have some broken ribs, but he never told her what took place on Morgan’s ranch. Morgan never mentioned it either. But from that day on, Frank was determined to find a way to goad Morgan into some sort of confrontation.
Granny was certain Morgan had tolerated Frank’s shenanigans as long as he did because of her. Morgan had always been good to her and Preacher. There were many winters they wouldn’t have been able to feed their grandchildren if not for Morgan. She mentioned that fact often to Frank, but it didn’t make a difference. Frank detested Morgan, and he’d nursed that hatred over the years until it consumed him.
From the time the grandchildren came to live with them, Frank had been the most rebellious. She carried a lot of the blame for the way he’d turned out. After the children’s parents died of the fever, she and Preacher had pampered the children. She understood their pain, and she thought Frank behaved the way he did because he was grieving. The children lost their parents, but she’d lost her only child, Curtis. Curtis was a wonderful son and a good man, and she missed him every day. Her own sorrow had been devastating, and she didn’t have it in her to be harsh with her grandchildren. Preacher had been more accepting of their son’s death, always reminding her that Curtis was in a better place. Preacher had never asked why such a thing had happened to them. It had been more difficult for her to accept God’s plan to take her only son’s life. Frank was the spitting image of his father, so she was constantly reminded of her loss. But the similarities between Frank and his father ended there. Curtis had always been a hard-working man of good character, a trait Frank hadn’t inherited. As much as it saddened Granny to admit, Frank’s character was lacking.
Preacher always told Frank that idle hands were the Devil’s workshop, but it didn’t faze him. Frank responded by saying that they didn’t have much to show for all of their hard work except a broken-down old farm. Determined to listen to his own counsel, by the time Frank was fourteen he was beyond control. After Preacher died, Frank was of no help at all around the farm. He only came around when he needed a place to sleep or eat, and Granny had reached the end of her patience with him.
It’d taken some time, but Granny had to finally accept that Frank was responsible for his own decisions. Good or bad. Morgan and Frankie were only a year apart in age, and Granny had prayed Frank would change, and see what he could do with his life if he worked hard like Morgan. But her prayers went unanswered. After years of making excuses for him, Granny refused to rationalize, or ask for lenience for his actions any longer.
“When LeMasters hears about the sheriff, he will be out for blood, that’s for sure,” Webb said.
Granny knew Morgan was out for vengeance.
* * *
“They forgot about the horses from the stagecoach that weren’t injured,” George said to Morgan.
“Yeah, I know.” Morgan felt like his skull was about to explode, but that was the least of his worries.
“They ran off, but maybe they didn’t go too far. I’ll look for them,” Murph said.
Morgan glanced at the other men, and said, “Check the luggage. Maybe there’s another pistol and some water.”
The surviving passenger walked up to Morgan and extended his hand. “I’m Clay Hunt. I had a pistol in my luggage, and a canteen inside the coach.”
Morgan shook his hand. “Morgan LeMasters.” A quick appraisal told Morgan that Hunt was a man who could hold his own. “Mr. Hunt, glad you’re okay.” Morgan thought the name was familiar, but he didn’t think he’d ever met the man.
Clay glanced at the young woman on the ground. “I hope she’ll be okay. I traveled all the way with her, and she is a delightful young woman. It’s hard to believe she’s even related to Frank.”
“I had a saddle on top of the coach, along with my valise and saddlebags. There’s some grub in there, a coffeepot, coffee, and some whiskey,” George said to Morgan.
“Good, you’re going to need some of that whiskey when I set your leg.” Morgan kneeled beside Rose and patted her lightly on the cheek. “Miss Langtry.” When Rose didn’t respond, he looked at George. “How far to the next station?”
“It’s about twenty miles away. It’s a home station with a telegraph. We can lodge there, and there’ll be horses we can buy. We can’t go back to the last station because they are out of fresh horses.” George looked down at the wound on Rose’s head. “Looks like she hit her head pretty hard.”
Morgan reached for the canteen George pulled from beneath him. “Yeah.” He dampened the bandana and washed Rose’s face, trying to remove some of the blood from her wound.
“I didn’t see nothing wrong with the wheel, but I felt like it wasn’t right. This is my fault,” George said.
“Don’t blame yourself, George. Accidents happen.” After Morgan finished cleaning Rose’s face, he placed the bandana on Rose’s wound again. “Keep an eye on her, George. I’ll look around for your rifle, and find a branch we can use for a splint.”
“Sure thing,” George replied.
Morgan pinpointed the location where George had jumped from the wagon, and it didn’t take him long before he located the Winchester in the brush.
“Well, at least we won’t be unarmed,” George said when Morgan came back carrying his rifle along with a sturdy limb for a splint. “You think they are really headed to Mexico?”
“They’d better find a good hiding place in Mexico. I won’t bother with a hanging next time. I’ll shoot them on sight.” Morgan checked the rifle to make sure it was loaded.
Murph returned leading two horses, and the other men joined them, carrying all the luggage they could find.
Clay Hunt handed Morgan his pistol. “I don’t normally carry a weapon.”
Morgan thought it was an odd comment, but he didn’t question him. “We have one pistol and one rifle if we need to defend ourselves.”
George pointed to one of the valises. “That one is mine.” Morgan handed George the bag so he could retrieve his whiskey.
“Murph, George said the next home station is twenty miles away. I want you and Grady to go. Send a telegraph to the sheriff’s office telling them of our whereabouts, and that Frank and his gang are on the loose. Bring back a buckboard so we can get George and Miss Langtry out of here.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out some money. “Take this with you to pay the stationmaster for the horses and the use of a buckboard.”
“His name is Ward Barnett. He’ll help you any way he can,” George said before he took a long draw from the whiskey bottle.
“George, before you start feeling the whiskey, tell the men if there are any areas where they could be ambushed, just in case Frank was lying about Mexico,” Morgan said.
After George detailed the route, Morgan walked the men to their horses. “Murph, ride as fast as you dare.” He handed Murph the pistol. “Take this in case Frank and his men didn’t head to Mexico.”
“We’ll be back as soon as possible,” Murph said. “I’m sorry I took that man’s word that he wasn’t carrying.”
“Don’t worry about it, Murph. He paid for his lie with his life.”
* * *
Morgan asked his men to bury the deceased passenger with rocks while he tended George. It was near dusk when they finished their tasks, and they were preparing a fire when Morgan saw Rose move.
He bent down on one knee beside her and waited for her to open her eyes. “Hello.”
Rose blinked several times in an effort to focus on the dark eyes boring into hers. Her head hurt so badly that her vision was blurred. She started to sit, but she clutched her ribs in pain. “What happened?”
“The stagecoach broke an axle and went tumbling over the hill. I’m afraid you have a nasty gash on your head.” Morgan pointed to her head. “That’s the reason I bandaged your head.”
She reached up and felt the cloth, but even that small motion made her grimace in pain.
Morgan was watching her intently. “And judging by the way you’re holding your ribs, I’d say a couple of them might be busted.”
Rose looked into his eyes, trying to comprehend everything he was saying. “Frankie?”
“He’s alive.”
“What about everyone else?”
“George has a broken leg, but he’ll be fine. We lost one passenger.”
“Pastor Hunt?”
Morgan saw she was getting teary eyed. “Pastor . . .” Clay Hunt hadn’t mentioned he was a pastor. He didn’t look much like a pastor. “He’s alive.”
“Thank goodness, he is such a fine man,” she said.
“You need to drink some water.” Morgan held her head and placed the canteen to her lips.
She took a small sip, then asked, “Where are we?”
“We’re about twenty miles from the next station. I’ve sent my men to get a buckboard.”
Rose glanced around, but she didn’t see Frankie. “Where’s Frankie?”
“I’m afraid your brother got the drop on us, and he took off with his boys.” He didn’t mention that her big brother had been planning on killing her along with the rest of them.
She tried to sit up, but Morgan stopped her when he saw her wince and clutch her ribs again. “There’s nothing to be done about it now. You don’t need to be moving about if you have busted ribs.”
“But why did he leave? He was going to have a chance to prove he did nothing wrong.”
Morgan remained silent, allowing her to think through her question on her own. She hadn’t been inclined to take his word about her lying brother earlier, so he didn’t think anything he said would make a difference.
“Where do you think they would go?”
“He said to Mexico.”
“I guess he thought he wouldn’t be able to prove his innocence.”
Morgan ground his teeth together to keep from saying what he thought. He couldn’t discuss Frank with a woman who refused to face the truth. “We need to get those ribs bandaged.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t bandage my ribs.”
“Of course I can. I’ve done it many times.” He’d had a few broken ribs and he knew how painful they were.
Rose frowned at him. “I mean, it wouldn’t be proper.”
“Proper or not, I’m going to wrap those ribs.” He didn’t dare mention that he’d already checked her legs to see if she had any broken bones.
“Absolutely not. I can’t allow you to do that.”
“We can either find a way to get you out of that getup, or I’ll cut it off with my knife. Your choice, but I’m going to wrap your ribs. When the buckboard gets here you can’t be jostling around without them wrapped, or you could make matters worse. Not to mention, you probably couldn’t stand the pain.”
She knew he was right; just taking a breath was painful. She looked around and saw the men sitting by the fire not far away. “But they will see.”
One side of Morgan’s mouth tilted in a half grin. “I assure you they’ve seen women before.”
“Not undressed.”
Morgan arched a dark brow at her.
Rose felt her face getting warm. She tried to think of an alternative to Morgan LeMasters helping her out of her dress to wrap her ribs. “Perhaps you could wrap the bandage over my dress.”
“No, that won’t work. It needs to be tight.”
She reasoned that Pastor Hunt, even though he was about the same age as Mr. LeMasters, and quite attractive, was a devout man who wouldn’t be inclined to have carnal thoughts seeing a woman in a state of undress. Accepting the fact that she agreed with Morgan that it was necessary for her ribs to be wrapped, she said, “Perhaps Pastor Hunt could do it then.”
That rankled Morgan. She didn’t really know Hunt, so why was she so willing to let him see her undressed? “I’m not sure he’s wrapped ribs before, and it’s easy to get the bandage too tight. If you do, then you have to do it all over again. You wouldn’t want that.”
Rose gave him an indignant glare. “I should say not. I just thought that since he’s a pastor . . . well, he wouldn’t . . .” She had no idea how to explain her thinking, so the words hung in the air between them.
Morgan waited. He knew what she was thinking, and he didn’t hesitate to let her know how misguided she was. “He’s a man, isn’t he?” When she didn’t respond, he turned to walk away. “I’ll be right back.”
He reached the fire and saw George was sound asleep. The whiskey did its job. Maybe he should give some of that whiskey to Rose to calm her down. He asked the men to take a walk for a few minutes while he tended Rose. “And don’t mention her brother wanted to shoot her.” Considering everything she’d been through today, he didn’t want to make matters worse. She probably wouldn’t believe them anyway.
The men nodded.
“Do you need help?” Clay asked.
“I think I can handle it,” Morgan replied, as he picked up a petticoat from the stack of clothing the men collected earlier.
He walked back to Rose and held up her petticoat. “I’m afraid I had to use one of these when I set George’s leg. It was all I could find to wrap the splint.”
“I don’t mind.”
Once he finished tearing the strips of cloth, he said, “Okay, let’s get you out of your dress.”
Rose still wasn’t inclined to undress in front of him. “I am wearing a corset and it is tied quite snug.”
Morgan hadn’t thought about that. Still, he wasn’t sure it would take the place of a bandage. “That might work, but I’ll have to make sure it’s tight enough.”
Rose allowed him to lift her to her feet, and he gingerly removed her jacket. Her dress had tiny little buttons down the front, from the neck to the waist, but she quickly realized it was too painful for her to unbutton them when she tried to lift her arms.
Morgan saw the problem and he said, “Let me.” His big hands made it difficult for him to unfasten such small buttons, and he was tempted to use his knife and slice the things off, but he kept at the task, determined to get it done. By the tenth button, he was getting a little faster. He’d placed one finger behind the buttons to keep them from moving, but that also meant he was touching her chemise beneath her dress.
Rose kept her head down, watching his every move. No man had ever touched her, or removed her clothing. It was very disconcerting to feel his large fingers beneath the cloth, touching her skin.
Morgan was just about to reach the buttons at her bust and his fingers stilled. He glanced at her face to see her staring up at him. He wondered what she was thinking. He hesitated. Go about this like you would if you were tending one of the men, he told himself. He searched her green eyes another second, waiting for an objection. None came. Refocusing on the long row of buttons, he continued on.
Finally, he unhooked the last button, and he slid her dress from her shoulders, allowing it to drop to her waist. He could see her corset beneath the flimsy material of her chemise.
“Wouldn’t my corset work for a bandage?”
Morgan pointed to her chemise and said, “Do you think you could hold this up so I can see how tight it is?”
Rose knew her face was blood red by now. When she saw his eyes on her chemise, she couldn’t read his expression. She was so embarrassed she couldn’t form a response, so she nodded. Clutching a handful of the soft cloth, she held it snuggly beneath her breasts.
He couldn’t really see the top of the corset, but he did notice that it was made in such a way that it cupped her breasts. It was impossible for him to slide his finger inside the top of the corset without touching her breast. Instead, he moved around to her back, and stuck his hand between her skin and the corset. “I don’t think it’s tight enough.” The corset was already tied as tightly as possible, but it was too loose on her. “I don’t think this is going to work.” Without waiting for a response, he started untying the laces on her corset. He was tempted to ask how she’d tied it behind her back. Once it was untied, he removed the corset and tossed it on the luggage. Again, his eyes were on her chemise. He couldn’t ask her to remove the only thing covering her. It was so soft and thin that it was barely covering her at that.
“Okay, if you’ll keep that”—he pointed to her chemise—“up under . . . I’ll wrap the bandage around you.” He saw she had a death grip on the chemise, preventing it from moving an inch.
His fingers touched her skin as he started wrapping the cloth, causing her to jump. Morgan stopped and looked at her. “Did that hurt?”
“No,” she whispered.
He made quick work of wrapping the long strip around her, all the while trying not to pay too much attention to her bare skin, or how soft it was. It was proving difficult to pretend she was one of the men. She was so small that he wrapped the cloth around her several times. He tried to think of something to say to put her at ease. “This will keep you from hurting every time you take a breath.” He tied the ends of the cloth. “Now tell me if I have it too tight.”
Rose took a tentative breath. He had tied it much tighter than her corset. “No, I don’t think so.”
Satisfied with her response, he helped her slide her arms back into her sleeves and buttoned her up again. “Are you hungry? We have a small amount of food and some coffee.”
“Coffee sounds wonderful, if there is enough.”
After he helped her to the small fire they’d built to warm the coffee, he placed a bedroll on the ground to make it more comfortable for her. Once she eased down on the bedroll, he placed a valise behind her so she could lean back. From his experience, he knew it was the most comfortable position.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She watched him walk away. She’d recognized him earlier that morning by his walk. He moved like a supremely confident man. It was difficult to believe that she’d just allowed the man who had scared her to death for so many years to not only undress her, but tend to her. He didn’t seem to be as terrible as Frankie led her to believe. As a matter of fact, he’d gone out of his way to help her when he could have easily been angry with her over the turn of events today. Oddly enough, he’d been so gentle that she wondered why she’d ever feared him.
As he’d concentrated on his task of wrapping the bandage around her ribs, she’d had the opportunity to get a good look at his face. Once her sisters were old enough to notice the opposite sex, they would always talk about how attractive Morgan was. It wasn’t until she was thirteen years of age that she started to agree with her sisters.
She thought he was even more handsome now than he was before she’d left Whispering Pines. His skin was tanned to a dark golden bronze, his square jawline was even more defined, he now had a few wrinkles at the outer corners of his dark blue eyes, and the cleft in his chin seemed to have deepened with age. She remembered asking Granny about the dimple in his chin when she was a girl. Granny told her that was where God had touched Morgan. Just as He’d given her green eyes as His special mark, He gave Morgan his special dimple.