Chapter 21
Another bullet thudded into the grass beside Caitlin’s right knee. She closed her eyes and clung to Shane.
He was dead.
She knew he was dead. Frantically she held her fingers over his mouth, trying to feel some sign of breath. “Please, God,” she whispered.
There were no tears for her pain. The faceless scum who’d haunted Kilronan had come back to destroy their world. One second she and Shane had been laughing, and in the next heartbeat . . .
It was impossible. He couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t let him be dead.
But without drawing breath . . .
Strangely, she was beyond fear. The worst had happened. Her own death could be no more bitter than the loss of this man whose flesh and blood had become dearer to her than her own.
Then the image of a fair-haired babe formed in her mind’s eye, and she heard the bubbling echo of an infant’s laughter. Shane’s child.
The words seared through her.
She carried Shane’s baby, and it was her duty to protect that innocent life—at any cost.
Caitlin opened her eyes as a slug tore through the toe of Shane’s boot. She ignored the danger and concentrated on the one item that might save her unborn son or daughter—Shane’s rifle.
Where was it?
Once she located the weapon, she lay motionless, waiting for the killer to reload and fire again. She counted out the seconds. Any instant now . . .
Zing.
The bullet dug a furrow along the surface of the ground just beyond them.
Now! She lunged toward the rifle, seized it, and rolled onto her stomach. She couldn’t feel her hands, but her fingers moved just the same. She eased the hammer back, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
She stared at the rifle in astonishment.
And then the air cracked with the sound of gunshots—not from the hill but behind her. She twisted around to see Gabriel riding toward her at a hard gallop. The cowboy clung low on the pinto’s left side, firing his rifle over his mount’s neck at the assassin.
Caitlin crawled back to Shane, fully expecting to feel the force of the killer’s bullets, but the hillside was quiet. “Coward!” she shouted. “You’ll run now, won’t you, you son of a bitch!”
Gabe flung himself off the piebald’s back and knelt beside Shane.
“He’s dead,” Caitlin said dully. Each breath she drew filled her head with the scent of Shane’s blood. There was so much of it, staining his clothes, running down to puddle on the flattened spring grass, soaking into the brown earth.
Gabe shook his head. “No, he’s not.”
“He isn’t breathing,” she argued.
Gabriel rolled Shane over onto his back, and Caitlin’s stomach clenched as she saw the holes in her husband’s body.
“See,” she insisted. She was suddenly cold, her teeth chattering.
The wrangler pressed his ear against Shane’s goresoaked chest. Then he leaped up and grabbed Caitlin around the waist. “Get Mary!” he shouted, swinging her up onto his saddleless horse.
“But there’s no use,” she protested, grabbing hold of the gelding’s mane. She felt numb, too shocked by what had happened to break free of the trance that held her. “No use,” she whispered.
“He’s still got a heartbeat,” Gabe said. “Do as I tell you!” He thrust the reins into her hands and slapped the pony’s rump. The animal leaped forward, and it was all Caitlin could do to hang on.
He’s alive, she thought as the horse galloped toward the house. Shane was alive. But how long could they keep him that way?
They carried Shane back to the house in a wagon and laid him on the plank table in the kitchen. Still dry-eyed, Caitlin washed his wounds with strong soap and water . . . while Mary stood at her back muttering in Osage.
Shane groaned, but his eyes remained shut. His breathing was so faint that Caitlin had to put a mirror over his mouth to be certain that he was still alive.
Mary’s lined face was grim as she waved a tiny clay bowl of burning herbs over him. “Lose much blood,” she said. “Bad.”
“We must send Gabe for the doctor,” Caitlin said.
Mary shrugged. “You learn slow, Missy-Wife. We fix, or McKenna die. White-man doctor fool.”
Caitlin nodded. “Do what you can, Mary.”
She grunted. “No whiskey left. Must . . .” The Indian woman’s face twisted in an effort to come up with the right English words to convey her meaning. “Burn clean.” She put her bowl on the mantle over the hearth and donned a clean apron before washing her hands and arms thoroughly with the yellow lye soap.
Caitlin looked at the children. Derry’s face was tear streaked, and one braid had come undone. She was clutching her red-and-white cat so tightly that Caitlin wondered how the animal could breathe.
Justice showed no emotion at all. His handsome features were expressionless, his black eyes as flat as volcanic glass.
But Caitlin had seen the depths of joy in the boy’s gaze when Shane had rested a hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair. And she knew that this child would suffer more than any of them if Shane died.
“Justice. Take Derry upstairs.”
For once, the boy didn’t argue. “Come on, little sister,” he said. “Mary will make McKenna better. Bring Mittens and . . .” He grimaced. “We’ll dress her in baby clothes.”
Derry glanced hesitantly at Caitlin.
“It’s all right, darling,” Caitlin soothed. “Go and play.”
“But . . . Da . . .”
“Your . . .” Caitlin’s voice cracked. “Your daddy is hurt very badly. We are going to try to make him better.”
Derry nodded vigorously. “I don’t want ’Kenna to go to heaven.”
Caitlin swallowed, unable to speak as Urika hustled Justice and Derry out of the room. Just as he rounded the corner, the boy glanced back and met Caitlin’s eyes, and she read the unspoken pleading there.
“He will be all right,” Caitlin insisted.
Gabe scoffed. “Easy to say, but McKenna is hurt bad. One bullet went completely through his upper thigh but missed the bone. It might give us trouble from infection. Another passed through his side. That one bled plenty, but if we can clean it out good, it won’t kill him. It’s the bullet in the shoulder that’s bad.”
“It has to come out, doesn’t it?” Caitlin asked.
Mary muttered in Osage, and Gabe nodded. “We’ll need rope to bind him,” he said to Caitlin before he hurried out of the kitchen.
Mary lifted a kettle of boiling water away from the hearth and poured some into a basin. Urika slid two knives into the pan without looking into Caitlin’s face and began to chant softly in Osage under her breath.
Mary motioned for Caitlin to fill a tin mug with the boiling water. Then she stirred a handful of salt into the hot liquid. Using a clean cloth, she soaked up the brine and dripped it into the bullet hole in Shane’s thigh and side. As she tended the terrible wounds, she echoed the song that Urika sang.
Caitlin didn’t understand the words of the heathen prayers, but the cadence filled the air and helped to soothe the aching inside her.
Shane moaned and tossed his head from side to side as Mary worked over him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Using two more cups of salt water, the Indian woman repeated the process. Then she spoke to Urika in the Indian tongue, and the serving girl brought a pot of honey to the table.
“Honey?” Caitlin asked.
Mary nodded. “Today, honey. ’Nother day, McKenna live, use . . .” She sighed impatiently. “Web of spider. Make strong medicine.”
“Honey and spiderwebs,” Caitlin murmured. God help us, she thought, but she made no protest. Whatever Mary knew or didn’t know about nursing, it was more than her own knowledge.
Gabe came back with a length of rope and proceeded to tie Shane to the table. Then Mary took the sharpest knife, held it over the glowing coals until the steel took on a rosy hue, and returned to stand by Shane.
“Mary open hole. Missy-Wife take out bullet,” she ordered.
“Me?” Caitlin felt light-headed.
“Small fingers,” Mary said. “You do.”
Somehow Caitlin managed to remain upright and keep her wits about her as they dug the lead from Shane’s shoulder and tried to staunch the fresh flow of blood. She flinched, but she didn’t faint when Gabe brought a red-hot poker from the fireplace and seared the open wound to keep Shane from bleeding to death.
And only after the gore was cleaned away and Shane’s wounds were bandaged did she walk calmly out of the house to the necessary in the garden and allow herself to be violently sick.
When she came back into the kitchen, Urika was waiting with a fresh washcloth and towel. Then Mary pushed a cup of strong tea into her hands. “Strong woman,” Mary said. “Make good Osage.”
Caitlin sipped the black tea and sank into the rocking chair next to Shane. Now there was nothing to do but wait and pray.
Caitlin couldn’t be sure how much time passed. Shadows danced around the circle of yellow light from the flickering lantern. The wood snapped and crackled on the hearth, and heavy odors of wild cherry and tobacco settled over the room.
Caitlin was terribly sleepy. She didn’t want to drift off; she knew she needed to stay awake for Shane. She wouldn’t give in to her own weakness. She’d be strong. She could do that, but she was so weary, and her eyelids were so very heavy.
Mary laid a strong hand on the nape of Caitlin’s neck. “Sleep,” she said as she massaged Caitlin’s cramped muscles. “Mary watch.”
“No, I’ll watch him,” Caitlin replied, but even as she said the words, her eyes drifted shut. She forced them open, and then lost the battle.
It was daylight when Caitlin woke to find Shane running a fever but semiconscious. And it was another two days before he came to his senses, and Mary pronounced that he would live.
“Not ride soon,” the Indian woman said. “But McKenna live. Strong, like warrior.”
“I don’t . . . feel much like a warrior,” he whispered hoarsely as he clung to Caitlin’s hand. “I . . . feel . . . like a fool. I’ve let . . . let you down. I let myself get . . . get shot.”
“If you are, then I love a fool,” Caitlin said as she leaned close and murmured in his ear. “Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”
“No.” He forced a painful grin. “But I’m willin’ to have you try to tell me.”
Caitlin promised that she would, but she knew that his recovery would be slow. Shane was still too weak to rise from his bed, and he didn’t have the strength to lift a spoon of broth into his mouth. He could barely sip the willow bark tea and the doses of painted trillium root that Mary poured down him every hour around the clock.
The ugly burn from the hot poker was slow to heal and would leave a scar that Shane would carry to his grave, but it did not fester. And Caitlin realized that no matter how horrible the cure, the fire had purified the bullet wound that otherwise would have mortified.
“Fetch Gabe for me,” Shane whispered.
And when she did as he bade her, Shane ordered the wrangler to turn the livestock out of the paddocks to graze. “There won’t be a drive this year,” Shane said.
Caitlin looked away, unable to bear the anguish in Shane’s gaze. If they couldn’t sell the livestock in Independence, there would be no money to live on for the coming year and no money for taxes.
She slipped from the room and waited for Gabe in the kitchen. “Couldn’t you and Justice take some of the horses?” she asked him. “Just a few, so that—”
He shook his head. “We could drive them up to Fort Independence, but when we got there I couldn’t sell them.”
“Gabriel hang for steal horse,” Mary said.
“She’s right,” he agreed. “You know I’d cut off my right arm for McKenna or Justice, but my face is the wrong color. An Indian showin’ up with Kilronan stock wouldn’t last long.”
Mary spread her gnarled hands in a gesture of finality. “No horses go Independence,” she said. “My Gabriel, my Justice, not go to hang.”
Caitlin drew in a long, slow breath. “What if they didn’t go alone?” she ventured. “Can a white woman sell livestock?”
Gabe fixed her with an intense stare. “You?”
Caitlin nodded. “Shane said my riding was coming along. We can do it, Gabe. I know we can. You, me, and Justice. We’ll take McKenna’s livestock to Fort Independence, and we’ll get it there ahead of the other herds.”
“You know what you’re lettin’ yerself in for?” Gabe asked.
“McKenna no like,” Mary said.
“McKenna won’t know, until it’s too late to stop us,” Caitlin answered.
“It will be dangerous,” Gabriel warned.
“You mean you think whoever tried to kill Shane will try to kill us?” she asked. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d been so worried about Shane that it hadn’t occurred to her that someone might want to kill her as well. “If we leave him, do you think they’ll come after him again?”
“No,” Mary said.
Caitlin looked at her. “Why not?”
Mary’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Gabriel tell Rachel that McKenna is dead.”
Caitlin glanced at Gabe. “You lied to Rachel? Why?”
Mary scoffed. “Nobody kill dead man.”
“So what about us?” Caitlin asked Gabriel. “If we drive these horses, will we be a target for the killer?”
He shrugged.
“But if we stay here at Kilronan,” Caitlin continued, “Shane loses everything he’s worked for. And what’s to say they won’t come after us anyway?”
The wrangler nodded slowly.
“You keep those animals penned up,” Caitlin said with more authority than she felt. “We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow.”
Gabe nodded again. “All right. We’ll try it, but if we don’t succeed, we won’t have to worry about bein’ broke or about being ambushed by Beau Thompson. McKenna will murder us all.”
Six hours from Kilronan and halfway across the first river, Caitlin realized that she’d made a big mistake. Going on a horse drive when some of the animals were barely broken to saddle was ludicrous—ridiculous. Not only was she going to lose Shane’s entire herd, but she was going to kill herself and his unborn child in the attempt.
Justice had already reached the far side of the river with the lead horse, called the bell mare, a big rangy bay with streaks of gray around her eyes and a spiky black mane and tail. The bell mare’s name was Nancy, and a small copper bell hung from her halter and tinkled when she moved. The familiar sound told the other animals where she was at all times and comforted them, according to Justice.
“Horses are flighty,” the boy had explained. “Knowing that Nancy is up ahead and in charge keeps them calm.”
Caitlin watched as two paint horses scrambled up the rocky bank on the far side. The bulk of the herd was still in the water, swimming the deep part of the river. Gabriel was downstream keeping the stock away from the swiftest area of current, and she was clinging to a mule upstream, about a third of the way across.
The water was icy cold and fast running, and Caitlin was already soaked to the waist. Her teeth were chattering, and she was concentrating on staying in the saddle when Gabe yelled at her and waved his hand frantically.
She looked over her shoulder to see two mules and a gray gelding turning back toward the southern side.
“Go get them!” Gabe shouted.
“Me?” Caitlin replied in astonishment.
The cowboy’s answer was lost in the sound of the river, which Caitlin thought was probably for the best, considering the expression on his face.
So what if they lost those three? she argued with herself. Gabe had already made the decision to leave the oxen behind at Kilronan because they were so slow. The powerful but gentle beasts were greatly in demand by settlers taking wagon trains west, but Gabe had insisted there was more profit in the horses and mules.
“We’re already late,” he’d said on the morning they’d departed Kilronan. “The Thompson herd started two days ago. If we want to get to Independence in time to get a good price for the livestock, then we go without the oxen.”
Caitlin looked back at the wayward horse and the two mules, and then at Gabriel. The cowboy obviously had his plate full in dealing with the main herd. Either she retraced her steps and rounded up the runaways, or they’d be lost.
Then she glanced ahead at Justice. It was clear from the way the boy was shouting at her that he expected her to bring the animals back. She and Shane’s son were just beginning to understand each other. If she let him down, would he ever forgive her?
“Damn mules,” she muttered under her breath as she reined her animal around the way she’d come. A branch banged against her leg and scraped against her mount’s hindquarters, and she kicked it away.
Bessie laid back her ears and fought the bit as the last of the horses swimming the other way passed her. “Get up!” Caitlin urged. When the animal balked, Caitlin slapped her neck with the reins.
The mule found her footing on a sandbank and lunged forward, throwing Caitlin sideways in the saddle. Caitlin regained her balance and dug her heels into Bessie’s sides.
A few more yards, and they regained solid ground. One of the mules that Caitlin had come back to catch brayed a greeting, and Bessie nickered in return. “Get on,” Caitlin yelled. “Get!”
She urged Bessie in a circle around the stragglers and tried to drive them back toward the river. By the time she got the horse to the water’s edge, one of the stray mules had gone left, the other one right. Both were eating grass and showed no sign that they felt like going for another swim. And as soon as she left the horse to chase a mule, the horse wandered away from the riverbank.
Gabe had the rest of the herd on the far side. He and Justice were bunching them up to drive them north. Would they leave her alone on the wrong side of the river?
Gabriel had sent her back to get three runaway animals, and she barely had control of the one she was riding. She was freezing to death, and her bottom and legs were so cold that she could hardly feel whether or not she was in the saddle.
“Stupid, senseless beasts!” she cried. “Stay here. Get eaten by wolves. See if I care!” She urged Bessie up alongside the horse and smacked it on the rump with the ends of Bessie’s reins.
The horse leaped off the bank into the river, and Caitlin’s mule plunged after. The water hadn’t gotten any warmer.
Bessie slipped and fell sideways, then struggled up and began swimming. The gelding kept pace with the mule until they reached the middle, where the current was the most dangerous.
Caitlin held the reins in a death grip. Her fingers were laced into the mule’s stiff mane, and her knees gripped the animal’s sides with all her strength. She was a good swimmer, but if she fell off, the weight of her riding skirt, petticoat, and Gabe’s breeches that she wore underneath her own garments would pull her down.
Desperately, Caitlin started praying for Bessie’s safety.
After what seemed hours, the water grew shallower, and the gray swam ahead and waded ashore. Bessie was two lengths behind him when the carcass of a dead deer came tumbling down the river. The mule took one look, laid back her ears, and began to buck.
Caitlin never felt herself leave the saddle. The next thing she knew, the river was closing over her head. She touched something cold and stiff and furry, screamed, and swallowed a mouthful of water. Then she surfaced and screamed again as the stench of dead buck engulfed her.
“Help me!” she cried.
Bessie’s rump and hindquarters flew up over the river-bank. The other two mules that she’d thought she’d left behind splashed past, nearly scaring Caitlin to death and knocking her under again. “Help!” she shouted. “I’m drowning!”
And then she touched bottom. When she stood up, the water barely came to her chest. Weeping tears of anger and frustration, saying words no lady should ever admit knowing, she clawed her way up the bank. “Gabriel!” she shouted, shivering so hard that she could barely speak. “Get me a rifle! I’m going to shoot that mule!”
Justice trotted over on his pinto pony. “Good work,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d get them mules.”
“Get off that pony and build a fire,” she ordered.
“But we’ve got three more hours of daylight,” he protested.
“I’m wet.”
He grinned, looking amazingly like his father. “You are wet.”
“Justice.”
The smile faded. Justice hadn’t survived as long as he had without knowing real danger when he saw it.
“Afire.”
Reluctantly the boy swung down off his pony. “All right, if you say so. But we’re never gonna get to Fort Independence if you’re goin’ to act like a girl.”
“Not another word.” She dropped onto the deep grass and began to tug at a wet boot.
“Well, you did get the stock,” Justice admitted. “That’s something.”
Gabe rode up. He studied her from head to toe, but he made no mention of her soaked condition, and he never cracked a smile. “I take it we’re campin’ here for the night?”
“Yes, we are,” Caitlin said with as much dignity as she could muster. “And as soon as I shoot Bessie, and Justice builds a fire, you can grill us some delicious mule steaks for supper while I’m drying off.”