Page 78 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Hell," I muttered, sticking the pitchfork in the clean hay and preparing for the worst. The doc was good. That much was true, but a serious injury meant big trouble. Even though a good many of us were able to do some medical treatment, it wasn't always enough to keep the injured going while we waited for the doc. Even if we did manage to make whoever it was last long enough, there was no guarantee the doc would still arrive in time. Some were just too far gone.

But at least it wasn't the mournful beat of someone who had died. I hated it when that beat was played.

I stepped out of the barn and heard the clamor rising from the West. Knowing it was my responsibility to deal with the mess, I took a deep breath and walked over to a horse kept on a post under the shade of the barn. I couldn't remember who had used it last, but they’d have to wait to get their horse back. I pulled myself into the saddle and shouted at everyone in my way to get moving.

It didn't take much more than that, and the groups separated to let me through. It was those same groups of people who told me what direction to head in. The horse gave a soft noise as he galloped to push us toward the source. I expected the worst, but when I grew close enough to hear my sister's furious shouting, alarm shot through me, and I forgot all about telling people to move and urged the horse forward even faster.

Elizabeth was standing in a crowd, pointing and barking orders. If the men thought anything about being ordered around by her, they didn't show it, as half a dozen of them were already moving, some away, and a couple were returning to follow her orders. Even as I swung out of the saddle, I couldn't make sense of her torn and bloodied clothes, and yet she seemed to have all the strength in the world in her body and voice.

It was then the people nearest me moved, and I could see the figure lying on the ground. He was sprawled on his stomach, face pressed into what I belatedly realized was the former skirt of my sister's dress, an ugly flower of crimson spread out from his upper torso and smearing down his back. Samuel wasn't moving; his eyes closed, and alternating ripples of terror, horror, and an ugly drop to my gut washed through me without ceasing.

"Ambrose," my sister snapped, her voice full of command and steel, drawing me out of my confusing and overwhelming feelings and back into the present. "We need a doctor. I can only do so much for him with what we have here."

"He's in town," I said, stepping forward and dropping to set my hand atop Samuel's head and peering up to examine my sister. "You?"

"Untouched," she growled. "That educated fool was supposed to be visiting us at some point. He's three days past the day he swore he would be coming. If Daddy doesn't have his hide for this, I sure as hell will."

I peered up at my sister, and while I always thought she’d been a beautiful woman, her fury and focus added dimensions to her I’d never seen before. Although she stood shorter than most of us assembled, she was technically dressed in the remains of a dress, riding boots made for a lady, her face adorned with smeared makeup, and her hair flying in every direction. She reminded me more of our father than I had ever dreamed.

"What happened?" I asked her, staring down at him helplessly. I knew only the most basic medical treatments, and that did not cover... "God, he's been shot."

"I'll explain when I'm not busy," Elizabeth snapped, taking a bundle from one of the men who approached her. "Where in Hell is the water I asked for?"

"Here!" another one said.

"Walter?" she asked, twisting around.

I grimaced when I saw Walter approaching, forcing the men near him to part as he held tongs out before him. The tongs were clamped around a rod from the forge where the horseshoes and tools were made and repaired, the tip of it burning hot.

"Hold onto that," she said, swiftly bending down to kneel on the other side of Samuel. "Water and soap. Now!"

A bucket was dropped along with soap, which she quickly used to lather her hands up before dunking it one of the buckets. "Ambrose, you too. All the way up to your elbows, you hear me? Use the other bucket, and then someone bring me a..." Another bucket was dropped beside her. “Thank you."

Someone had already brought a beaten leather bag which she snatched up in an instant and began rooting through it. All I could do was stare helplessly as she grabbed things from the bag. A helplessness I had never known in my life took hold of me, and I stared down at Samuel's unmoving body with a growing sense of horror.

How could this have happened? Things had been so quiet for so long, and I’d let my guard down. Had I essentially sent him to his death by putting him in charge of Elizabeth's safety? Because it was clear she was completely unharmed while he was fighting for his life.

"Ambrose!" Elizabeth snapped, and I jerked my head up to look at her with wide eyes. "Wash your hands. Use the soap. Up to the elbows. Now!"

I may not have known what to do on my own, but I knew how to follow an order. I immediately did as she bid, using the water from one of the other buckets to soak my hands before soaping up with the soap that sat next to it and rinsing with the clean bucket.

Elizabeth hadn't wasted time waiting for me, hunching over Samuel and catching my gaze. “Now, he's out right now, but that's not guaranteed. You're going to need to hold him down just to be safe, hear me?"

"Right," I said, not understanding but reaching down to grip his arms. His left arm was slick with blood and made it hard to hold onto, but I felt an unpleasant drop in my gut when he didn't stir in the slightest. It was only yesterday that I’d grabbed him much like this, and he had been far more lively, twisting and pushing into my grip, laughing as he called me pushy.

"Keep hold," she said, and I saw she had a pair of tweezers in one hand, the other ripping his shirt to expose his bloodied back.

As soon as the metal dipped into the wound, I felt Samuel's arms tense. It was a relief and confirmation that my sister had been right to tell me to hold him. A groan rolled out of him when she dipped the tweezers into the wound.

"Hey," I said, bending so I could still hold him but look him in the face. "Samuel, it's Ambrose. You need to hold still, okay? She needs to get that bullet out. I know it hurts."

"Go...to hell," he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes still held shut.

I actually let out a laugh. “Christ, you're not nearly as dead as I thought you were."

"This isn't as deep as I thought it was," she muttered. "Someone go get me another clean bucket. I'm going to need to wash this out before we, well?—"

I watched as she drew the bullet out, twisting it around to examine it. It wasn't close enough for me to see if she’d got the whole thing, but she seemed content as she dropped the bullet into one of the buckets. Another bucket of water arrived, and she used it to wash away the blood around the wound. Her eyes met mine as she took the hot rod from Walter, and I tightened my grip now I knew he was awake. Delirious and confused, but definitely awake enough to fight like hell once the pain inevitably started.

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