One Texas Night

CHAPTER 9

Aggie washed and slipped on her nightgown with a blue ribbon at the throat. She’d bought it in Chicago and kept it wrapped in paper in the bottom of her bag. Smoothing the cotton, she told herself this wasn’t her real wedding night. But she had to wear it. Dolly had demanded she leave her old one behind. Somehow, even though she’d sleep alone in her bed, it seemed right to start her new life in all new clothes, even a nightgown.

She’d almost finished brushing her hair when she realized Ulysses hadn’t stopped barking. At first she’d thought he’d just been running the night like guard dogs do, but now the sound he made was different. Angry, fierce.

Hank was outside with the dog. Surely he’d silence him with a yell soon.

But minutes ticked by and nothing. In fact, if anything the dog’s growls sounded near panic.

Her mind began to think of all the possibilities. What if Hank were hurt? What if a wild animal had charged him? She’d heard there were mountain lions and bears in this part of Texas. Her father had often said he’d never go west because it was full of mad animals and crazy people. Her sister told her the Indian Wars had been over for a few years, but what if . . .

She couldn’t stand guessing anymore. Grabbing Hank’s gun belt, she strapped it around her waist, then pulled on her robe without bothering to tie it. If something was outside, she had no intention of hiding indoors.

Without a lamp, she felt her way through the main room to the front door. The barking sounded like it was coming from the back of the house. If she stayed in the shadow of the porch she might see trouble before it found her.

As she slipped outside, the cold, wet boards felt slippery beneath her, but she couldn’t take the time to go back for shoes. Slowly, her fingers sliding along the painted walls, she moved toward the side of the house where she’d be able to see the barn.

Lightning flashed and she froze, knowing that if there was someone, or something out there in the night, they would be able to see her for a few seconds.

But nothing moved.

She continued her progress, one small step at a time. When she turned the corner and saw Ulysses—still barking—facing the barn, she silently pulled the Colt and readied it.

“Easy, Ulysses,” she whispered, not wanting to surprise him from behind. “I’m here now.”

Ulysses lowered to a growl, but didn’t move. Something between the dog and the barn held his full attention. It took her brain a moment to recognize the outline of a man on horseback with something held high in both hands, like a warrior of old wielding a sword.

Aggie waited for the next flash of lightning.

Seconds passed. She and Ulysses stood vigil.

With a sudden flash of lightning, Aggie saw a man again, closer now to the opening of the barn.

As thunder rolled, Hank shouted, “Aggie, get back inside.”

He’d seen her, but she hadn’t had time to find him in the moment’s flash. The blackness that followed swallowed all light. Aggie strained, trying to make out any form, struggling to hear any movement.

The whack of board against bone thundered across the yard. Once! Twice!

Ulysses went wild.

The sound of a horse stomping rumbled near the barn. The animal screamed as a man’s voice shouted a curse. A moment later the horse broke into a run. Aggie raised her Colt and fired as a rider blinked past her. Before she could draw aim again, the horse had taken his dark knight out of range.

Suddenly, Ulysses and she were running toward the barn.

“Hank,” she cried, not sure if she were screaming his name or praying. “Hank!”

Stepping into the barn reminded her of falling into a cave. Velvet blackness on the moonless night. She clambered for the lantern she’d seen Hank set on a shelf just inside the barn, hoping he had only turned it out and not taken it down.

The lantern was there along with an almost empty box of matches. It took three tries before Aggie brought the match to life and lit the lantern. When she turned, spreading light, she might have missed the heap on the ground beside the stall if Ulysses hadn’t been right beside him. At first she thought it might be rags, then she recognized a white shirt.

“Hank!” He lay facedown and far too still. Blood dripped from his head and one of his long legs twisted just below the knee at an unnatural angle. A long two-by-four lay beside him, harmless though spotted with blood.

Aggie sat the lantern a few feet from him and ran for the barn door. As soon as she cleared the roof, she lifted her gun and fired three quick shots. Then she ran back to her husband.

By the time Blue Thompson and a woman who had to be his wife arrived, Aggie had wrapped the belt of her robe around Hank’s head and was applying pressure where blood dripped with each of his heartbeats.

“What happened?” Blue asked as he jumped from the buggy.

Aggie couldn’t stop the tears. “I don’t know. I heard something. Someone. Then he rode off and I found Hank.”

“Who would want to hurt Hank?” Lizzy demanded as she knelt beside her husband. Her voice was low, but her hands moved skillfully over Hank’s injuries.

“I don’t know.” Aggie fought panic. “I don’t know.”

Blue slowly straightened Hank’s leg, shaking his head as he worked.

“It looks busted,” Aggie cried. “Oh, God, what if it’s busted?”

Lizzy grabbed Aggie’s chin with bloody fingers. “Don’t you worry none, we’re going to take care of your man.” She forced Aggie to look at her and not Hank. “But we’re going to need your help. You understand?”

Aggie pulled in the frayed strings of her emotions and forced herself to take a breath. “All right. We can take care of him. We can.”

The no-nonsense directness of the older woman had helped and she allowed Aggie no time to think of what might be beyond this moment, this crisis. “First,” Lizzy said in her low, Southern voice, “we get him to the house.”

Aggie looked back at Hank. “We can do that.” She raised her chin.

Lizzy smiled. “Right you are.”

“His leg probably is broke.” Blue voiced what they all knew. “We’ll have to be real careful moving him. Once he’s inside and the blood’s cleaned off, we can see the damage. If he’s still breathing, I’ll ride for the doc.”

It took all three of them to lift Hank without moving his leg more than necessary. He moaned once, telling Aggie he was still alive, but his normally tanned face looked almost as white as his shirt.

Aggie held his head while Blue and Lizzy removed his boots and trousers. There was no doubt the leg was broken; a jagged bone had ripped the flesh from inside out. Blue straightened it as best he could, then tied both legs together with a strip of bandage. He explained that he’d seen doctors do that in the war when there was no time to look for splints.

With only a nod toward his wife, Blue left to get the doctor.

Lizzy brought cold water from the well and handed Aggie bandage after bandage for his head. Each time they switched, blood covered the cotton. They talked, trying to convince themselves that his being unconscious was better than if he were awake and in pain, but Aggie could tell Lizzy didn’t believe their reasoning any more than she did.

In what seemed like minutes, Blue was back with the doctor, a man who barely looked old enough to shave, much less finish medical school.

To Aggie’s surprise, the doctor asked her if she wanted to stay while he examined her husband. Part of her wanted to run as far away from the smell of blood as she could get, but another part knew she belonged here. She was bound to this man she’d known less than two days. Bound by honor as well as the law.

As the doctor worked, stitching up the long gash in Hank’s hairline, Aggie gently held his head in her lap. The wonder that she could care for a man so quickly danced in her mind with the grief that would come if she lost him.

In the few hours they’d been together she’d taken him into her heart, and there he would remain whether she loved or mourned him for a lifetime. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the moment she’d known he could be someone to depend on and trust. Though she liked his laughter and the way he gently teased her, it had been something far more basic that drew her even during their conversation outside the dugout. Hank listened. He really listened to her. Could something so simple form a bond that would weather them through hard times?

She looked down at his lean body. Strong and tan from hard work. It occurred to her that she’d never seen so much of a male body before and she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t—somehow this man belonged to her—was a part of her.

“Keep his head as still as you can, Mrs. Harris,” the doctor ordered. “I don’t want him thrashing about when I set this leg.”

Aggie placed her hands on Hank’s cheeks and noticed her tears were falling across his face, but it didn’t matter; nothing mattered but Hank. She could not, would not, lose him.

When the doc and Blue set the leg, pulling the bone back in place, Hank groaned in pain. Aggie pressed her face close to his and whispered over and over, “You’re going to be all right, dear. You’re going to be fine.”

Aggie watched, feeling the pain with him as they sewed up the cuts and strapped his leg to a board that ran from his knee to his foot. She washed his face and chest, keeping him cool as the doctor checked his head wound again and again.

Finally, a little after dawn, the doc packed up his things, saying all that was left to do was to wait and see. Hank seemed to be resting comfortably, which was the best medicine.

An hour later, Aggie heard Blue talking to the sheriff. The lawman insisted on speaking to her, but she wouldn’t leave Hank’s side to go into the main room. Her new nightgown was spotted with blood and she didn’t remember when she’d removed her robe or where. Hank’s Colts hung on the headboard, within easy reach if she needed them.

Finally, Blue opened the door and asked if it would be all right if the sheriff came in for a minute.

Aggie pulled a thin blanket over her shoulders and nodded. The sheriff walked in, took one look at her, and didn’t waste time with small talk.

“Did you see the man who did this?”

“One man.” Aggie tried to focus on something besides Hank’s breathing. “I only saw his shadow. He wasn’t tall but he seemed thick, barrel-chested, or it may have been his coat that made him look so. His horse was dark, black or brown and bigger than most. I don’t remember any markings. I heard him swear as he rode from the barn, but he was only in my sites for a moment.”

The sheriff looked up from his notes. “You fired at him?”

“I hit him,” she said.

“How do you know? He didn’t stop. How can you be sure, Mrs. Harris? Maybe you only thought you hit him?”

Suddenly too tired to keep her eyes open, she curled beside Hank. “I hit him,” she mumbled, “because I always hit what I aim at.”

“And where did you aim?”

“Left shoulder,” she answered as she rested her head on Hank’s arm. “Look for a man wounded in the left shoulder and you’ll find the man who attacked my husband.”

She fell asleep without seeing the look the sheriff and Blue gave each other.