John’s hand clamped down on her shoulder, then he pointed to Grady and jerked his head toward the water barrel. Alex understood at once.
“Grady. Put a pot of water on to boil. We’ll need bandages. John, the medical box is in the large bin on the left of the chuck box. I hope to heaven we have whatever you need. Grady, when you finish putting on the water, erect one of the tents.” When she saw a flash of indecision in Dal’s eyes, she hastily assured him, “We’re not breaking any rules. John is our guest and we’re fortunate enough that he’s a doctor. There are no rules about doctoring in the will.” Her gaze swung to Jack Caldwell, who hurried forward to catch Freddy in his arms as she slipped off her horse.
That’s when she became aware that John had not moved after his initial impulsive action. He stood stock still, his gaze focused somewhere in the past, and a tremble passed through his body. Alex could only guess what he was seeing and remembering, the sights and sounds of men shot and sliced on a field of battle.
She slipped her hand in his and gently pressed. “John? The war is over. This isn’t a battlefield. That is my sister and I love her and I’m frightened for her. I don’t know what to do.” He looked down at her, struggling to return from dark memories. Alex held his hand and his gaze. “If you cannot do this, I will understand. But if you can, please save Freddy, too.”
For one endless moment, she thought he would refuse, thought he would retreat into the safe blank spot he had built in his mind. She feared he would walk away from her, from humankind, and return to the range. He gazed at the prairie, then he looked down at Alex and touched her cheek with trembling fingers.
When he took Freddy out of Jack Caldwell’s arms and into his own, Alex gasped softly, and a rush of hot tears spilled over her lashes. She had watched a turning point. His healing would not be easy, but now it would begin.
Dal swung down from his saddle, strode forward, and smashed Caldwell in the mouth hard enough to knock him down, bloody his nose, and crack his lip. “Get up, you worthless cheating son of a bitch!”
Fury shook his body and reddened his mind. He wanted to kill Caldwell, and he wanted to do it with his bare hands.
Caldwell stayed on the ground. After touching a hand to his mouth, he glanced at his bloodied fingertips, then up at Dal. Dal threw off Luther’s restraining hand. “Caldwell hired a rustler named Hoke Smyth. That’s why today happened. That’s why Alex almost died, and Freddy might die.” His fists opened and closed. “Get up you fricking coward!”
“Is that true, Caldwell?” Luther demanded. “Did you endanger everyone in this outfit?”
“Frisco can’t prove a goddamned thing.” Sitting up, Caldwell rubbed a sleeve across his bloody nose. “I don’t have to hire any two-bit rustlers, Frisco. Not when I can depend on your incompetence.”
Dal ground his teeth and pushed a fist against his palm. “Were you and Lola thinking I was incompetent back when you offered to double my fee if I’d make sure we didn’t deliver two thousand steers? Is that why you’ve started stampedes, drowned cattle, and hired rustlers, you whoreson, because I’m incompetent?” From the corner of his eyes he saw Luther staring at Caldwell.
When he realized Caldwell was not going to get up, was too cowardly to fight, his chest tightened with frustration. “If Freddy dies,” he snarled, “I’ll kill you, Caldwell. Nothing will stop me.”
“That’s what this is about,” Caldwell said, sliding a calculating glance toward Luther. “It’s Freddy, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Didn’t like to discover that someone else got there first, did you?”
“You lying son of a bitch!” He would have torn Caldwell into bloody pieces if Luther and Ward hadn’t grabbed him. Even that wasn’t enough. Grady had to jump in before he stopped struggling to reach Caldwell and rip his throat out.
“You can sort this out later,” Grady said quietly, looking into his eyes. “Right now, you got a herd scattered all to hell and back, and only about six hours of daylight left.” A scream spiraled toward them and they all looked toward the hastily erected tent where John McCallister was removing the bullet from Freddy’s shoulder. “That little gal was out there rounding up beeves with lead in her shoulder,” Grady said evenly. “If you want to help her, get out there and get your herd back together. That’s what’s important to her. Not this snake in the grass.” He turned around and shot a wad of tobacco juice toward Caldwell.
The red haze of rage slipped enough for Dal to understand that Grady’s advice made sense. Killing Caldwell wouldn’t change anything. What was needed now was to mop up the mess, take a count, and discover how much devastation the son of a bitch had inflicted.