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Daisy swung around to find Ollie reaching up to tug on her skirt.
“You scared the hide off me, Widow.” Bear’s exhaled breaths looked as if he was pumping his bellows hard at the smithy. His brown gaze swept over his fishing partner from braids to kid boots. “I thought Tadpole had caught her last catfish.”
“What are you doing out here, honey?” Daisy frowned. “I told you to wait inside until I was sure it was safe.”
“But I heard ya cryin’, Mama. Are ya hurt?” Concern darkened Ollie’s eyes. “Ya didn’t give me time to see if ya got hurt.”
Daisy bent and hugged her. She hadn’t even considered Ollie’s worry for her. Of course the poor baby feared losing another parent. “I’m fine, sweetheart, but I’d feel much better if you’ll stay with Bear until I’ve finished here.”
Daisy offered an apology to the blacksmith for scaring him then added, “I don’t know where her uncles are today. I think they’ve gone boar hunting. Do you mind if she goes with you to get the—”
Bear didn’t let Daisy finish the question. He grabbed the seven-year-old and lifted her onto his shoulders. “Don’t worry about Tadpole. We’ll find the sheriff then me and my missus will take care of her.” He motioned up the street. “Doc’s headed this way. He just came around the corner of the mercantile with some men.” His attention refocused on Daisy. “You sure you don’t want me to stay instead? Let you and Ollie go on home?”
“I’m sure. There’s a lady inside. Her brother’s hurt, and she’s been through a lot. I think she needs another woman with her right now. Since this is our fault, I must stay.” Images of the violence threatened to return, but Daisy willed them away. “Ollie doesn’t need to see any more of this.”
“Ahh, Mama. I can take it.” Ollie tried to sound tough. “Besides, that stranger’s talkin’ again. Says he needs you to come see to his sister. She’s white as Old Bessie’s milk and bawling like a calf that can’t find her mama.”
“Go on.” Daisy shooed them away. “She’s probably just scared. I’ll check on her.”
She watched her daughter’s honey-colored braids bounce against her back as the burly blacksmith trotted down the street. Assured that Ollie had a chaperone who wouldn’t let her get back into harm’s way, Daisy returned to the wounded inside.
“Where is everybody?” Petula glanced up from fanning her brother. Fear and anger mixed to darken the blue of her eyes against her ashen face. “Didn’t you bring someone? He’s going to bleed to death.”
“Now, Pet, she’s doing all she can.” His voice sounded weaker with each word. “I’m not the only one hurt.”
Daisy hurried and bent down beside him, staring at the fistfighter’s face. Pale and splattered with blood, she couldn’t tell if it was from the wound in his shoulder or from something more. She took off her bonnet and pressed it over the shoulder trying to stem the flow. “Are you hurt anywhere else, sir?”
“Just t-there,” he informed, staring at her as if he wanted to say more but didn’t have the strength.
There was serious enough, she thought as she noticed his uninjured arm reaching out to his sister, patting her hand to reassure her. He seemed a truly caring soul, his love for his sibling stronger than his obvious pain.
Daisy felt herself invisibly adding his qualities to Ollie’s list, then realized her foolishness. If he didn’t get better help soon he’d be no part of any list. He would bleed out on this floor. Daisy’s heart beat faster with another fervent prayer that he would survive. She needed to be able to thank him for saving her and Olivia’s lives.
“Doc and a group of men are just a few businesses away.” She smiled trying to assure him that all would be well and the situation was firmly in hand. “They should be here any second.”
“Just promise me,” he said, as his breaths became shallow and he looked as if he might lose consciousness again, “make sure my sister is taken care of. She doesn’t handle things like this well. Hopefully your banker is hearing this. Cardwell, make sure she gets paid well for her efforts.”
“I h-hear you.”
The way he said “sister” filled Daisy with compassion. Daisy nodded. “I promise, but I need no money.”
The words barely left her mouth before Doc Thomas appeared, followed closely behind by others who carried a stretcher.
“This man’s shot in the shoulder. He’s lost a lot of blood,” Daisy informed the physician. “He’s breathing but it’s shallow.”
She pointed toward the teller’s cage. “Sam’s behind there badly hurt, no matter what he says otherwise. I heard it in his voice.” She explained that the banker wouldn’t let her take time to examine him.
“You two men watch over Sam ’til I check on this one,” instructed Doc Thomas, a reed-thin man with spectacles who looked older than his forty-some-odd years.
He motioned for two others to come closer as he pulled white cloth from his medicine bag and bent to examine the fistfighter. He laid Daisy’s bonnet aside, studied the wound and placed the clean cloth over it. “’Fraid that goes to the scrap bin, Widow, but it helped. Good thinking.”
He stood and gave his assistants instructions. “Carry this man to my office and somebody make sure you keep this over the wound until I get there.”
“But he can’t wait. He’s going to die if you don’t take care of him now. Here.” Petula’s fear rose with each word.
“He belongs to you?” Doc asked.
Petula nodded, her voice breaking, “He’s m-my only kin. My brother.”
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Just sick to my stomach.”
He handed her another cloth. “Then keep this pressed down hard on his shoulder while those two men carry him. Keep changing it with new bandages until I get there. That’ll stem the flow. You’ll find clean cloths stacked on my shelves.”
She shook her head again and moved her hands away as if he were asking her to grab a snake.
“The sight of blood makes me sick. I might faint. I can’t press hard enough anyway.”
Impatience etched Doc’s face, making him look even older. He shoved the bandages into Daisy’s hand. “Widow Trumbo, will you help?”
The wounded stranger’s blue eyes opened for a moment only to close as quickly as he lost his words. “I need—”
Daisy wanted to stay and help Sam, but she couldn’t leave this man’s care to his hysterical sister. She owed him that much. “I’ll do my best, Doctor.”
She pressed the cloth firmly against the darkest part of the bloodstained shoulder. The stranger flinched, groaning from the pressure. His body reacted and tried to jerk away from her touch.
“Keep him still,” Doc Thomas ordered. “The more he moves, the more he bleeds.”
“Please, sir, don’t move,” she whispered in his ear, hoping he was conscious enough to hear her. Daisy motioned the men to lift him onto the stretcher while she attempted to distract him. “I’m sure it hurts, but it won’t take us long to carry you if you’ll stay as still as you can. Your sister’s coming with us.”
Petula finally stood and moved away from her brother.
Daisy’s words seemed to reach him through the pain. “I...I’ll try. Thank you for watching over her.”
His body tightened as if he was bracing himself to endure the pressure. Daisy’s eyes riveted on Doc’s. “He’s ready to move. You’ll let me know about Sam first thing?”
“Quick as I can. Got to see how bad the men outside are shot up.”
Daisy wanted to shut away the image of the body lying over the trough, but she had to keep focused on the bandage so she wouldn’t slip off the wound. She said a quick prayer for the townsman and stood in unison as the assistants rose with a firm hold on the stretcher and patient. Her unusual height equaled the men’s, easing the problem of adjusting their balance. “Are you coming with us, miss?” she asked the squeamish sister.
When she didn’t answer, Daisy used the woman’s Christian name. “Petula, I think you want to come with me.”
Petula blinked, looked at her hands then began to scrub them. She walked toward the door, muttering, “Mother’s going to be so angry. I’m not supposed to get dirty.”
Sympathy filled Daisy. The poor thing was dazed with worry. When they reached the unhinged, bullet-ridden door, Petula faltered. She stopped sniffling and her knees bent suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Concern echoed in her brother’s tone. “I don’t hear my sister.”
Just about the time Daisy thought Petula might faint, the young woman reached for two heavy-looking valises next to the door. “She’s fine, sir.” Daisy felt compelled to reassure him. “Just picking up what must be your baggage.”
“Too heavy for her,” he gasped, trying to lift his head and shoulders as if he meant to get off the stretcher.
A considerate soul, Daisy noted.
“Got a handle on things in here?” asked a man who poked his head around the door, his piercing coffee-colored gaze intent upon studying each person. “Need any help?”
“Got it all in hand,” Doc said, “but I’d appreciate you making sure everybody’s got help outside, Teague.”
“Already done and the sheriff’s taken a posse and set out after the gang.”
Daisy wasn’t surprised to find Teague checking on things now. He had the fierce look of a predator, with eyes squinted by long days in the sun. Broad shoulders were cloaked in a worn duster, his legs stretching long from denim to boots that had seen better days. He looked like a man accustomed to riding hard trails, but he’d been hanging around High Plains lately.
All Daisy knew of him was that he was kind to Ollie and made a point of getting her home if she strayed too far.
“Could you help me carry my bags?” Petula seemed suddenly coherent enough to ask for assistance.
“You headed to Doc’s with them?” He linked one arm with hers and grabbed the baggage.
“Who’s that?” asked their patient, his body tensing.
“Someone who just wants to help.” Daisy tried to calm him. “Don’t worry.”
Doc Thomas’s office was around the corner from the mercantile and only took a few minutes for the men to carry him there. Daisy managed to hold the cloth steady on its target, but the real effort came from keeping the curious crowd away from the procession. By now, most in town knew of the robbery and wanted to help in some way. She suggested they check with Doc or secure the bank for Sam.
Doc’s office door was never locked. Teague set the baggage down just inside the entryway while Petula dismissed the parlor that had been made into a waiting room and disappeared into a hallway of doors. A few seconds later, she poked her head around the corner and motioned them all forward.
“In here,” she said, “there are a couple of beds in this room.”
Getting through the doorways proved harrowing since Daisy didn’t dare take her hand off their patient’s shoulder. She barely managed to squeeze through, bumping her elbow hard enough to leave a bruise. Daisy just managed to keep the pressure on the wound while they got him settled on the bed.
Only then did she notice the quality of her patient’s slightly worn but well-tooled boots, something her livelihood as a shoemaker made priority on most first meetings with strangers. He obviously appreciated skilled handiwork but wasn’t afraid to put some wear on it, either. A man of means but a working man no less. Her interest in getting to know more about him sparked.
One assistant interrupted her thoughts. “We’ve got to get this stretcher back to Doc, so we’re going to leave you ladies and that other fella with him for now. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
She nodded and checked on her patient. His eyes opened again to stare at Daisy, their blue-violet depths coherent despite the pain.
“We made it?”
“Yes, you did well.” She needed him to remain still and relaxed. “And so has your sister. Teague,” she said as she nodded at the baggage handler, “how about keeping this pressed down for me while I look for clean cloth?”
“No problem.” Teague didn’t hesitate and moved up to accommodate her.
“I can hold it myself.” Her patient’s hand reached up to wave him away.
“You’re going in and out too frequently.” Daisy gently grabbed his hand and pushed it back down. “I’ll hear no argument.”
“Sounds like she’s got her apron tied, friend. She means business,” Teague warned. “Best just lie still.”
Daisy gathered her will and braced herself for the challenge ahead. “Petula, help me get him cleaned up and the wound dressed as best we can before Doc returns. That will help speed things up.”
Helplessness darted over Petula’s face and she scrubbed her hands again. “I’ve never doctored anyone before.”
“I’m not asking you to. Doc will take out the bullet. Do you think you can put a pot of water on to boil in the kitchen?” His sister certainly didn’t have the same consideration her brother offered.
“He doesn’t have servants?”
Servants? Petula revealed more about them in that one question than if Daisy had spent the past few hours interviewing them for the list. They were people of means. “Doc doesn’t. It’s up to us. You’ll need to help, too.” Daisy added a stiff, “Please.”
“I’m afraid I’ve pampered my sister, ma’am,” her brother apologized. “Really, it’s no problem to wait until the doctor arrives.”
“It is a problem and we’re not waiting if I have to do this by myself.” Daisy rarely allowed her temper to flare, but the events of the day had worn down her best behavior.
Petula headed into the hallway, reluctance in every footfall. “Can someone show me how to heat the stove?”
“I’ll show her so you can stay here with him,” Teague offered. “It shouldn’t take long if Doc’s already got wood chopped.”
Petula turned, accepting his offer with a breath of relief that ended in a smile. “Thank you, sir. I always heard you Texans were such gentlemen.”
“Make sure you help and not hinder Mr.—” warned her brother.
“Teague,” the man finally introduced himself properly to all. “Just Teague.”
Daisy didn’t have time to comprehend the meaning behind the two men’s locked gazes that followed, but then she’d never really understood most men all that well anyway. Petula, on the other hand, had the look Daisy clearly understood.
“Tell you what, Teague,” she said. “You get his coat and shirt off while I’m grabbing fresh cloth, then I’ll send you and Petula to deal with the stove.”
Minutes later Daisy returned to find her patient’s upper garments lying in a bloody heap on the floor, but the yellow duster Teague had worn now acted as a sheet to offer the man some modesty. Ollie’s friend had handled someone wounded before.
“Send some of these back now, damp, please.” She handed Teague several cloths. “I know they won’t be hot yet. Just heat the water as quickly as you can.”
Daisy managed to hold the blood at bay until Petula showed up, gripping a pan with pot holders.
“The stove was hot. Your doctor must have made a pot of coffee not long ago because the pot was still warm and he already had a kettle heating up with water in it. We put another one on to boil, but it’ll take a few minutes. At least this one’s a little warm.”
She set the pan down on a small table that separated the two beds and dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out for Daisy.
“Keep those coming,” Daisy instructed, hoping if she kept Petula’s hands busy the distraught sister might stay composed. Daisy accepted the cloth and warned her patient, “This is going to hurt a little more. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he whispered, the word a slow hiss.
When Daisy made the first stroke, he nearly jumped off the cot.
Petula started crying.
The blood kept coming.
Time after time Daisy exchanged cloths.
