the raw flesh. She could see where to make theX’s to hold the skin together.
When the gash was closed, she wrapped the wound tightly and bound the leg, from hip to foot, to the board. The sheriff moaned. Jason dribbled watered-down whiskey into the sheriff’s mouth.
‘‘Is he going to live?’’ Jason sounded near tears for the first time. His hands shook. ‘‘He was always nice to me, never yelled or nothing. I don’t want to watch him die. I’ve watched enough people die.’’
‘‘I don’t know if he’ll make it.’’ Allie picked up soiled rags. ‘‘I never doctored anyone before, but if he does, he’ll have you to thank.’’
‘‘Me?’’ Jason answered. ‘‘I think we both did a fine job. If he lives, of course.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Allie liked the feel of the phrase. Words were coming easier to her tongue. ‘‘We’ll watch him closely and rewrap the wound every time it gets soaked in blood.’’
They sat on either side of the table and stared at the sheriff for an hour. Slowly, his breathing grew long, and he slept.
Jason finally could sit still no longer. ‘‘I made a stew while they was drinking, just in case those folks from the stage come in. I made cornbread, too.’’ He ran to fetch her a bowl. ‘‘I can cook pretty near anything. There were some days, back at the hotel, that I was in the kitchen from before dawn until after the bar closed. I was only supposed to clean up, but the cook taught me to do things so he wouldn’t have to hurry.’’
Allie watched him moving about the kitchen. He was proud that he’d helped, and that he could cook. The pride made him taller, she thought.
They ate in the center of the long table with the sheriff lying at one end and Owen resting his head at the other.
‘‘The stew is very good,’’ she complimented. ‘‘Will you teach me?’’
Jason swelled with pride. ‘‘Sure. I’d be glad to. Does that mean I can stay with you and Wes?’’
‘‘If you like,’’ she answered. ‘‘And you can leave when you’re ready. It will be up to you.’’
The door rattled, and both of them froze. It rattled again. Allie reached for her knife; Jason tried to pull the sheriff’s heavy Colt from its holster hanging on the back of a chair.
Wes blew in with the rain as the door swung open. His hat was pulled low and saddlebags hung over one shoulder. ‘‘Found no sign of a stage…’’ he began. His tired gaze scanned the room and came to rest on Allie. ‘‘What happened?’’
She could see the worry in his eyes.
Suddenly, all the panic of the past hour shook her. Dropping the knife on the table in her haste, she ran toward him in one swift movement.
The saddlebag slid to the floor. He swept her up in his arms. He held her tightly against him and moved into the room.
‘‘It’s all right,’’ he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face. If she was alive, nothing could be too wrong in the world.
Allie didn’t say a word, but Jason filled Wes in on all the details.
Jason finished by saying, ‘‘And he’s still alive, so we must have done something right.’’
With Allie leaning against him, Wes examined the old sheriff. ‘‘I’d say you did more than something, son. I’ve seen a hundred field dressings in my day, but I’ve seen none better. It’s a good splint. Who knows, the leg may heal straight.’’
He kissed Allie on the forehead and winked at Jason. ‘‘I’d say Hardy was lucky to have you two around. From the looks of Owen, Hardy would have been in big trouble if you hadn’t been here. He would have bled to death before his friend sobered up.’’
While Wes brought a cot down, Jason dipped him a bowl of stew. By the time Wes carried the sheriff to a comfortable bed by the fire, his meal waited for him: stew, a wide slice of cornbread, and cold buttermilk.
The boy never stopped talking while Wes ate. When he’d finished his second bowl, Wes knew every detail of what had happened.
Allie hurried about the room, first cleaning up the blood, then checking on the sheriff.
When she made her third trip up the stairs with a bucket of rainwater from the porch, Wes asked what she was doing.
Allie looked down at her dress. ‘‘I thought I’d take a bath and wash the blood off me, then my clothes.’’
Her drab brown dress was stained in several spots. The blood seemed to be drying the same shade of brown as her dress.
‘‘Mind if I come on up?’’ Wes asked as casually as he could. ‘‘After a day fighting this storm, I’m ready to call it a night.’’
‘‘No.’’ She turned around and headed up the stairs once more. ‘‘I don’t mind.’’
EIGHTEEN
WES CHECKED ON THE SLEEPING SHERIFF AND TOLDJason to call him if Hardy woke up. Then he slowly moved up the stairs. The thought of seeing Allie in her bath warmed his blood. He’d spent hours in the cold rain telling himself that she meant nothing to him. What he did for her he would have done for any human. She didn’t care for him any more than he did for her.
But after hours of talking to himself, only one picture came to mind… the vision of Allie reaching for her towel with her body glistening with moisture.
As he opened the door, he braced for her beauty, telling himself that he could look at her and even enjoy the sight of her without making any promises or attacking her like an animal. He’d just watch her and then kiss her goodnight. Maybe he’d hold her as they slept. Nothing more. Nothing.
When he stepped into their small room, the low glow of one candle greeted him. Allie knelt over the tub, scrubbing her dress. She wore her underthings, but the thin clothing did little to hide what he knew was beneath.
Forcing himself to move slowly, he crossed to the far side of the bed and removed his mud-covered clothes. Unlike Allie with her cleanliness, he planned to let his clothes dry and shake them out in the morning. It was a habit he’d learned in the Army. One that would have sent his mother into a sermon on cleanliness.
Allie looked up at him standing by the bed in his longhandles and undershirt. ‘‘No,’’ she said firmly, as if answering a question only she heard. ‘‘You are not getting in bed like that.’’
He raised an eyebrow, wondering if his mother hadn’t yet come back to haunt him. ‘‘I’m not?’’ He thought about reminding her how tired he was, or informing her that he had every right to climb in her bed. But her statement shocked more than angered.
‘‘No,’’ she answered. Her lifted chin reminded him of her grandmother. ‘‘There’s water enough to wash you first. Take off the rest of your clothes.’’
He froze. The idea of lying next to her totally nude with their bodies pressed together had crossed his mind a few thousand times today. But the thought of standing stark naked in front of her was something altogether different. The first was sensual, erotic. The second somewhere between unseemly and downright dirty.
‘‘Turn around,’’ he found himself saying in a voice gruff as ground anger. He’d not have her watching him bathe, even though that was exactly what he’d planned to do to her.
Allie did as he asked. Slowly, watching her all the time, he removed his clothes and walked over to the tub and stepped in. He grabbed the first bucket of water and poured it over his head. As the cold rain dripped down his body, he picked up the soap and began to wash.
She kept her back to him, moving around the edges of the room until she reached his pile of muddy clothes. Then, without a word, she picked them up and was gone.
Wes laughed and finished scrubbing. In truth, even a cold-water bath felt wonderful. When he dried off, he realized he had nothing, not even his longhandle underwear, to put on. So he slipped between the covers and waited. The warm blankets felt soft and grand against his tired muscles. The day had been endless, and now flickers of the single candle seemed to be waving him to sleep.
The rain still tapped on the roof, and the familiar sounds of horses in the corral reminded Wes of the home of his childhood.
