Allie opened the door carefully. "Brandon?" No response. She turned the wick of the lamp up, casting a soft glow across the room.
Sinking into the chair beside the bed, she laid her hand on Brandon's cheek. He was burning. The raging fever surprised her so that she started to jerk her hand back before stopping herself, letting her palm settle against his flushed skin to cool it.
"Fever's not uncommon with these kinds of injuries." Doc set the bag down beside the bed.
Allie leaned close to Brandon, stroking his cheek. He stirred, moistened his lips as he struggled to open his eyes. "The doctor's here—"
That brought him awake quickly and completely. He managed to glare up at Doc and move out of Allie's caress all at once. "Get out," he muttered.
Allie stood up at the doctor's urging, gentle pull on her arm. Brandon's left hand disappeared under the pillow, searching for his gun. Doc laid a firm hand at his wrist.
"You don't need that, son. I promise, I'm here to help. I took an oath, you know."
"Did you fix Smith's knee?" Brandon asked cuttingly.
Doc nodded. "Sure did." He laughed as he reached down for his bag, laying it on the bed beside Brandon. "Allie blew a hell of a hole in him. He might not ever walk without a cane. But it serves the son-of-a-bitch right for what he did." He took Brandon's bandaged right hand in his and began to unwrap the muslin strips. "I only want to help you, Mr. Gabriel. Now Allie, she's a passable assistant, but you know, I'm the one went to medical school…"
Brandon winced as the doctor finished unwrapping the bandages. They had begun to stick already. "I'm sorry, son." Doc laid the bandages aside and Allie gathered them, putting them in a basin, and headed for the kitchen.
Just as she was about to re-enter the room, Brandon asked quietly, "Well, Doc? What's the verdict?"
Allie held her breath, just outside the door. Piecing Brandon's hand back together had been the most important operation she'd ever performed. Working alone as she'd been forced to do, she wasn't sure she had done a perfect job of getting everything into place and holding it there to mend.
"It looks damn good!"
At the genuine surprise and approval in Doc's tone, she let her breath go on a sigh of relief.
"But not good enough for that, Brandon," he warned sternly as Allie stepped on into the room. "Don't try that again, or you might undo all her hard work."
Allie peered over the lamp at Brandon.
His face twisted, and he let go a low groan.
The doctor met her eyes. "Tried to flex his muscles here a bit." He pointed to Brandon's thumb and wrist area. "Just got to let it mend, first. Then, when I say, you can start working those muscles again."
Doc stood up and drew the cover back, his breath hissing inward. "Those bastards." After a moment, he laid a hand on Brandon's dark hair very gently. "They handled you pretty rough, didn't they, son?"
Brandon closed his eyes for a moment, and Allie knew he was remembering every punch and kick he'd been dealt. "More than 'rough,' Doc. But I don't forget. Ever."
Doc nodded grimly. "I think that's what they're afraid of. We need to get you healed up as soon as possible."
"Do they know…you're here?"
"Don't know. Don't care." Doc took Brandon's left arm in his hands, gently feeling for breaks.
"You better care, Doc," Brandon muttered, wincing as the doctor's fingers expertly glided over, then retraced the area.
"There?"
Brandon nodded. "Yeah."
"I don't think it's broken. Could be a deep bruise, or a small fracture. We'll wrap it." He reached for a strip of bandaging. "Why do you say that? I'm in no danger."
"You are if you side with me."
"I treated Arnie Smith. And I treated him first. I knew you were in good hands." There was a twinkle in the doctor's blue eyes as he spoke. "Can you turn, Brandon? I want to see what damage Tom Carver did with that damned whip of his."
Brandon's eyes narrowed.
"Heard all about it, after the fact. But I tell you what. The next time they come, there won't be many of them. Most of the men that – uh – took part, are ashamed. They went slinking on home." He winked at Allie. "You keep that Henry you took from Anderson's, Allie. I'm paying for it." He laughed aloud. "What I wouldn't have given to see you blow Arnie Smith's kneecap away! Damn fine shooting, young lady!"
"I wish—" Allie began harshly.
"Nah. You don't." He gave a dismissive wave. "You did what needed doin'. Did it well, too. It was enough – and Smith has a boy to raise."
"Better stay here tonight, Doc." Brandon's voice was low and measured, holding the pain at bay as the doctor examined the lashes across his shoulders.
"Why?" He touched a raw welt, and Brandon jerked. "Sorry, son. Need a little more salve here."
"Those roads…might be more treacherous than you bargained for…in the dark."
Doc stopped for a moment, then removed a swab from his bag. "You think they'll be waiting? For me?"