Three

Marley sat beside the bed all through the first night. If her stranger passed on, he needed someone to hold his hand. The man deserved to know that at least one person cared. What little sleep she got came by resting her head on her arms on the quilt next to him, where any movement would wake her. But the man lay motionless and quiet, so still she’d occasionally put her cheek to his mouth to see if he breathed. Mourning doves cooed outside the window at daybreak, the sound making chills dance up her spine.

She pushed back the curtain, and four gray birds perched on the ledge. They paid her no mind, continuing to make their mournful sound.

A glance at the stranger showed no change. She laid a hand on his chest. “I’m not going to let you die. Get that through your head right now. I didn’t find you just to bury you.”

Marley leaned over him and patiently sponged tiny amounts of water into his mouth, massaging his throat to make it go down. Keeping one eye on the bed, she fixed herself some breakfast, making a list of all the things she should do. Changing his bandages and checking for infection would come first. She’d helped her mother treat the cowboys over the years, and knew what to look for. Keeping the infection down would give him a chance to survive.

Her father stopped by and stood over the bed, holding his hat in his hands. “His color seems a little better. Has he woken up yet?”

“No. He hasn’t even moved. Except for his shallow breathing, I’d think he’s dead.”

“I wish you didn’t have to shoulder this by yourself. Are you sure you want to?”

“I’m sure, Papa. We’ve been over this.” Maybe her need to fix this stranger was because she had been the one to find him, and that made this connection so strong. All Marley knew was that she had to be the one to care for him.

“Your mama said she’d be over after she got the kids off to school.”

“Lord knows Mama has her hands full, but I welcome her assessment.” Marley changed the subject. “Are you heading out to look for the rustlers?”

“I am.” Fire flashed in her father’s eyes. “If I catch the thieving bunch, I might be tempted to take the law into my own hands.”

“You know you won’t, even as much as you want to.” Marley had never seen him kill anyone outright. He was the fairest man she knew, and he let the law and the court handle criminals.

He sighed. “I know. But I think I’d sure be tempted this time.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back but—”

“I’ll be fine,” Marley assured him. “I’m not some spineless little girl who wrings her hands and waits for someone to ride to her rescue.”

Duel laughed. “Don’t I know.” He hugged her, put on his hat, and left.

After washing her dishes, Marley warmed water and gathered the salves and sterile strips of cloth. The doves continued to coo outside the window, almost as if they were keeping watch over the stranger. In all the time she’d lived there, she’d never seen the birds crowd right up on her narrow ledge before.

She removed the bandages on her patient’s chest and dipped a cloth into the water. Very gently, she washed away bright red blood that had seeped from some of his wounds. There was no new redness and no sign of infection, thank goodness. When she had cleaned them and the slice around his throat, she reached for the healing salve.

Her fingertips glided over his muscles and across his broad chest. His body was hard and lean, and showed the effects of backbreaking work. She lifted his hand, noticing calluses lining his palms and fingertips. More signs of strenuous labor.

Listening to the doves through the windowpane, she stared at his horrible injuries and found tears lurking behind her eyelids. She laid a hand on his chest over his heart that beat weakly.

How could anyone have been so cruel?

She leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Get well soon.”

The next hour found her unwrapping the bandages and applying fresh ones. The front door opened, and Marley turned, listening. A thumping noise followed, not the greeting she expected, and she went to investigate. Her mother was attempting to lift one of the children’s wagons over the threshold without waking the triplets inside.

Once they’d freed a wheel, Jessie McClain glanced up. “Thank you, Marley Rose. I thought the wagon was a good idea, but found otherwise once I got here.”

“You didn’t have to come, Mama. I have things under control.”

“I know.” Jessie smiled and pushed back the red strands of hair that had fallen forward in the exertion. “I just wanted to see how the man is doing.”

“Come see for yourself,” Marley invited. “The babies will be all right here in the parlor. We’ll hear them if they wake up.” She didn’t like her mother’s tired eyes. She never got enough sleep these days.

Jessie followed her into the bedroom. “I think I’m getting too old to take care of babies.”

“What does Papa say?” Marley herded her mother into a chair and returned to her task of bandaging the stranger’s wounds, carefully applying one new linen strip after another.

“He gripes a little but he gets up during the night to help feed them.” Jessie chuckled. “Somehow, he can’t quite get the hang of changing diapers. He seems to have forgotten all he ever knew when you were little.”

“Mama, you need to stop taking care of so many children. It’s wearing you out.”

“Who’ll do it if I don’t, Marley Rose? The need is so great, and folks don’t step up like they once did.”

Marley covered her mother’s hand with hers and met Jessie’s weary blue eyes. “You’re overworked, Mama. You can’t keep doing this. Your health will suffer and then Papa will leave you no say in the matter.”

“I know. I’ll try to get more rest when the babies take naps.” Jessie swung her attention to the man in Marley’s bed, her quick eyes taking in the wounds that Marley had yet to rebandage. “I don’t see any infection setting in. That’s good. Did you get out all the dirt and small rocks that might’ve been deep in the cuts?”

“I think so. I’ve washed each one very well several times.”

“Good. The cut around his throat isn’t very deep, but it looks painful.” Jessie leaned over for a closer examination. “Why would someone torture a man this way?”

“He has old welts crisscrossing his back,” Marley said softly. “Whoever he is, he’s had a hard life.”

“It certainly appears that way.” Jessie shot Marley a strange look. “Don’t let yourself get too close. If he survives, he’ll more than likely up and leave. He could be a drifter, and those never stay in one place long.”

“I’m just taking care of him as I would any hurt thing that came my way. I think we should keep an open mind until we have reason to think badly of him.” Marley rose and went to the window. The doves were still there. Were they waiting on something? She reined in her thoughts. “It’s not like you, Mama, to voice such negativity. What’s wrong?”

“I just worry about you, dear. Women in your position, those who fear life has overlooked them—they tend to leap before they think. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Marley finished the last of the bandages and pulled the quilt over the unconscious stranger. “He’s an injured man, that’s all. Besides, he might not make it, so your worries could be in vain.”

One of the triplets woke up, and Marley followed Jessie to take care of the babe. When a second began to cry, Marley lifted the small boy from the wagon. She and her mother sat and talked a bit, then Jessie rolled the little babies back to the house in the wagon.

The doves made even more noise, flapping their wings against the window when she returned to the bedroom.

Marley leaned over her patient and again placed her mouth next to his ear. “I’m not giving up on you. Fight to live. I’m waiting. The doves are waiting. I want to know your name.”