I knelt down. “Where did he hit you?”
“Upper arm,” he said, between clenched teeth. “Did you get the son of a bitch?”
“He’s down,” I said. “He’ll stay down for a while. Here’s his rifle.” I dropped the rifle on the ground and retrieved Tom’s gun, which was several yards away. “I didn’t see anybody else back there.”
“Good girl,” he grunted. He looked up at me. “Where’s that blood coming from?”
“Blood? What blood?”
“All over your face.”
“Ah.” I put my left hand to my head, over my ear, and when I pulled it away, my fingers were dripping blood. I could feel the blood running down the side of my neck. My T-shirt was wet. Biting my lip, I felt again and found the shard of glass under my scalp. My hair was on fire.
I dropped my hand. “Not important,” I said.
“Good.” Tom closed his eyes. “Get on the radio. Roy’s not far away. He can be here in two shakes.”
No, not two shakes. And I didn’t need to get on the radio. Roy was already pulling into the drive. In a moment, he was out of his squad car and bending over Tom.
“Somebody shot you over a damn chicken?” he asked incredulously.
“There’s a pot grow out back somewhere,” Tom said. “Check the shooter. He’s on the ground by the barn.”
Roy pulled his gun. “Did you get anybody else, or is he the only one?”
“I didn’t get him,” Tom growled through clenched teeth. “China did.” He nodded at me. “If she hadn’t shot him, he could have finished me off.”
Roy looked at me. “You’re bleeding,” he said unnecessarily. He pulled his shoulder radio mic forward.
“Officer down,” he said into it. “Three casualties. Medics and backup. Now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Pecan Springs, Texas
October 1888
It was just before four when Annie saw Dr. Grogan stop his buggy in front of the Hunts’ house next door.
The October afternoon was unusually warm, even for Texas. The sky was dark and a fitful wind was blowing. Storm clouds had piled up on the horizon to the north, and the taste of rain was in the air. The first cold front of autumn often announced itself with a storm.
Annie had not spoken to Adam since the evening he had brought her the rent. She had taken the train to San Antonio the day before and collected the money for her sales, so this morning she paid her girls and laid out the new orders. The San Antonio shop owners were eager for lace, and the orders ranged from six yards of narrow crocheted lace for chemises in a young lady’s trousseau to a yard of Mrs. Jenson’s fine bobbin lace for a collar—altogether, nearly twice as many orders as she’d ever gotten from the Austin shops.
Annie was glad to have so much good work to do. It took her mind off her last, heart-wrenching conversation with Adam, when they had agreed by mutual consent to end their affair. She knew it was best. Adam’s obligations to his family, and especially to little Caroline, came first, ahead of everything else. She respected that. But the days since had been bleak and the nights black and empty, and she found herself often on the verge of tears. What’s more, she couldn’t help also hoping—perhaps more than just a little—that Delia might decide that she loved Mr. Simpson and wanted to make a home with him in Galveston, setting Adam free. But that was a cruel hope, and unworthy, and she suppressed it.
The matter of Mr. Simpson and Delia’s visit to Mrs. Crow had been much on Annie’s mind, however, especially after a brief over-the-hedge conversation with the Hunts’ hired girl. As they were hanging out the wash a day or two after Adam’s evening visit, Greta had remarked that Mrs. Hunt had sent her to pick up some ribbon at Purley’s General Store, and she had discovered a pecan tree growing at the edge of the strip of woods behind the store, along the railroad track.
“The nuts ain’t ready just yet,” she said, pinning up a towel. “But I aim to be there with my bucket when they start to fall.” She bent over the basket and took out a child’s white cotton chemise, bordered with lace. Annie recognized it as the one she had made for Caroline’s birthday. “My mama makes the best pecan pies,” Greta added. “Better’n anybody.”
Behind Purley’s? Annie thought of the wild carrots that Mrs. Crow had told her about. Had Delia asked Greta to gather some seeds after she picked up the ribbon? Was that how the girl had chanced to discover the pecan tree? But Annie didn’t want to know the answer to that question. She refused to think about why Delia might want the seeds.
So she only smiled and said, “Cooking for myself, I don’t bake many pies. But I’d love to have your mama’s recipe. Does she use molasses?”
Now, it was late afternoon, and the girls had finished their lacework and gone home, ahead of the threatening storm. Annie was tidying the workroom when she looked out the window and saw Dr. Grogan climbing out of his buggy and hurriedly tying his horse to a small tree in front of the house next door. Carrying his old black leather doctor’s bag, he hastened up the walk.
Dr. Grogan was a fixture in Pecan Springs, and deeply respected. He had been practicing medicine there since the year Franklin Pierce was elected president, and everyone recognized him, even at a distance, by his lean, upright figure and his unruly mane of white hair. He had tended to Annie when she lost Douglas’ baby, and he’d been sympathetic and kind. Usually, he moved at a deliberate speed that reflected his seventy-some years, but as she watched, he took the steps two at a time, obviously in a hurry.
Annie’s first thought was of Caroline, and her mouth felt suddenly dry. Measles, chicken
