Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

M
ile after agonizing mile Maddie rode with Jericho at her back, pointing out the trail she could not begin to see and murmuring encouragement in her ear. “Keep it up, Maddie. You're doing just fine.”

“Impossible,” she muttered. “Jericho, I hardly know where I'm going.”

“Don't worry, the horse does. We'll make it back just fine.”

“You are not just saying that to keep up my spirits, are you? I would hate that.”

“I wouldn't lie to you, Maddie. We've got a long way to go, but we can do it.”

Maddie snuffled. For the last hour she had been weeping silently, and now her nose was running in a most unladylike manner.

“Gettin' kinda dusty. Pull your bandanna up over your nose and mouth.”

She yanked up the square of blue printed cotton to cover her mouth, then used the tail to mop at her tears. He knew she was crying; no doubt he could feel her uneven breathing against his chest.

“Is your leg hurting?”

She gave a choked laugh. “I don't know. I'm so tired I can't feel it anymore.”

He said nothing, just pointed out a faint hoofprint to the left. She pulled the reins accordingly.

As the miles stretched on, she began to develop a new appreciation for the taciturn sheriff. He was still bleeding. She could feel his upper thigh, warm and sticky, pressed against her hip, and every so often he gave a muffled groan, but he just kept urging the horse forward.

Finally, when she was thinking up ways to tell him she could not go on one more mile, they stopped to water and rest the horse. Her leg throbbed relentlessly and it took all her strength just to move it, but he made her get down and stretch out on the grass. All she wanted to do was curl up on a nice, soft bed and sleep for a week.

Twenty minutes later, Jericho grasped her elbow, maneuvered her back into the saddle and dragged himself up behind her.

They rode on.

How she wished Jericho's clever ruse had worked; at least they would have something to show for their efforts besides bullet wounds and blood-soaked clothing. She had wanted to help, and perhaps she had, despite everything. He almost did capture the gang, and he did it with her help. Of course, when Tucker recognized she was not a real deputy their plan was blown to smithereens. But she had helped, up to a point, had she not? The thought brought a thin-lipped smile and a tiny glow of satisfaction.

She most certainly was not at home in the West, but she wanted the sheriff to think well of her. He might not like her, but she was beginning to feel that the respect of this man was worth gaining. Respect was better than liking.

Jericho grunted at her back. “Maddie? What the devil are you thinkin' about? You're grinning like riding ten hours in the dark is amusing.”

“I was remembering when I was twelve years old and tricked a bunch of rowdy boys who were stealing apples from a neighbor's orchard.”

“Yeah? How'd you do that?” His voice sounded drowsy but at least she'd stirred his interest.

“I dressed up like a scarecrow and jumped out from behind a tree. Scared them half to death. They ran off, and I gathered up the all apples they dropped.”

“Pretty clever.”

“Maybe not. I wasn't smart enough to stay quiet about it. Papa laughed and laughed, but my mother confined me to my room for three days.”

He said nothing. She could tell from the hitch in his breathing that he was having trouble staying conscious. Probably that's why he kept asking questions.

“Jericho?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you do with all those weapons they tossed down?”

“Stashed them in a safe place.”

“Where?”

“Inside a burned-out pine.”

How in the world had this man with a bullet lodged in his hip managed to hoist a bunch of heavy rifles and revolvers up into a hollow tree?

“When we get back to town I'll send Sandy back to get them.”

Maddie bit her lip. If they ever
did
reach town.

The thick blackness surrounding them began to lighten just enough to make out the shaggy outlines of trees and the meandering river they followed. Maddie closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the burbling water.

She longed for a bath and clean clothes. And a hairbrush. City things, she admitted. The thought of bathing in a creek made her shiver.

“Maddie?”

“Yes?”

“Think we'd better stop. I'm real dizzy. Feel like I'm gonna throw up.” He reined in the horse, dismounted and stumbled off a few yards. She could hear him retching, and her stomach clenched. There could not be much food in his belly, but he kept vomiting for what seemed like hours. The sound brought tears to her eyes.

“Jericho, do you need help?”

“No. Stay put, Maddie. I'll be all right in a min—”

He broke off abruptly.

She felt awful, but at least she was not sick to her stomach. Her entire body ached, her wounded leg especially. Her eyes felt grainy and hot, and her thighs were cramping.

“Sheriff, perhaps we should rest here awhile.”

No answer.

“Jericho?”

He walked toward her, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. “Got to keep goin'. Got to warn the bank in town not to ship that gold tomorrow.”

The gold shipment
. Heavens, she'd almost forgotten the thousands of dollars in gold dust the Smoke River Bank had entrusted to Wells Fargo.

Jericho pulled himself into the saddle behind her. “Let's move on.”

Her throat tightened at the tiredness in his voice.

They rode on for another two hours while Maddie fought down a growing fear. What if Jericho's wound became infected? Could he die from loss of blood? She kicked the mare into a canter.

Without warning, he sagged sideways and Maddie reined up beside the river they were following. “We will stop here to rest, Jericho. Do not argue.”

He didn't. He jockeyed himself out of the saddle, his face white and strained, and laid out a blanket close to the riverbank. He stumbled over to Maddie, dragged her out of the saddle and laid her down on top of the rough wool, then collapsed beside her. Within minutes he was asleep, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

Jericho had no idea how long he slept, but when he opened his eyes it was full dark and he knew he was burning up with fever. Must be his wound was festering.

Maddie lay curled up beside him, still sleeping. Very gingerly he rolled away from her and sat up. Something at the edge of the blanket caught his eye. What the—

A scant foot from Maddie's head sat a tight-woven willow basket holding a whiskey bottle filled with some kind of liquid. Beside it lay a bundle of tree moss and a stack of soft deerskin strips.

“Maddie, wake up.” He touched her shoulder. “Our Indian friend's been here.”

“What did he take this time?” she mumbled.

“Nothing. He left something for us.”

He worked the cork out of the bottle and sniffed at the contents. “Willow-bark tea. The Indians use it for fever.” He tipped it into his mouth and gulped down four big swallows. It tasted bitter, but he had to smile. He couldn't begin to guess how the old Indian knew of their difficulty, but he was sure grateful. He didn't even want to wonder why he hadn't heard any footsteps.

“Lie still, Maddie. I'm going to bandage your leg.” He unwrapped the bloodstained bandanna around the wound, packed the torn flesh with half the moss and bound it tight using the strips of deerskin.

When he finished, he lay facedown beside her, tugged his shirt free of his jeans, and slid them down a few inches. “Put the rest of that moss on my hip, would you? Then snug it up with those deerskin strips.”

Without a word, she bent over him and rucked up his shirt. He liked the feel of her hands on his flesh, but he was too tired to think much beyond getting them back to town.

Before they remounted, Jericho left a pound of good jerky and two cans of peaches on the river bank as a gift.

It was growing light enough to see now. They headed away from the river, and just when Maddie knew she could not ride one more mile, Jericho suddenly leaned forward.

“Pull up,” he rasped.

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Look ahead. Riders comin'.”

Her heart plummeted into her belly and she hauled back on the reins.

“Four riders,” he breathed. “Comin' fast.”

She tried to keep her voice steady. “We should find cover.” She reined off the trail, heading toward a stand of cottonwoods near a bend in the river.

“Wait!” he ordered sharply.

“But—”

“That's Sandy. I recognize one of his horses. And Doc Graham is with him.” He tightened his arm around her waist.

Dust plumed behind the mounted men. Jericho waited until they were closer, then dismounted and walked unsteadily forward to meet them.

The two other riders turned out to be Colonel Wash Halliday and Rooney Cloudman, the half-Indian scout who used to ride with the colonel. All four men reined in their mounts, and Doc Graham and Sandy immediately scrambled off their horses.

“I knew somethin' was wrong the minute Dancer came into town last night,” Sandy said. “Figured you got into some kinda trouble so I deputized Mr. Cloudman and Colonel Halliday.”

“Good work,” Jericho said, his voice grainy with exhaustion. “I stashed some weapons a ways back. One of you could go get them. They're hidden in a rotted-out pine about five miles from where the railroad runs close to a circle of big river boulders.”

The colonel and Cloudman reined away and Jericho turned to the doctor. “Mrs. O'Donnell's shot in the leg, Doc, and I took a bullet in my hip.”

Dr. Graham, a tall, somewhat stooped man with streaks of silver in his gray hair, dismounted and poked Jericho in the chest with one bony forefinger. “Lie down, son. Let me dig out that bullet.”

He pointed to the saddle blanket Sandy was spreading on the ground. “Not going to be much fun, Johnny, but I guess you know that. If it makes any difference, I brought some good whiskey.”

Jericho downed two big gulps and watched Maddie limp toward them. “Give her some too, will ya, Doc?”

“Later,” Graham said. “You're the one with the fever.”

Jericho pinned him with a look. “Not later, Doc. Now.” He pushed the older man's hand gripping the quart bottle toward Maddie. “I said to give her some.”

Doc's gray eyes suddenly went wide. “
Her?
What do you mean, ‘her'?”

“He means me,” Maddie said at his elbow. “Madison O'Donnell.”

Doc Graham's gray eyebrows shot up. “Well, I'll be...you a drinking lady, ma'am?”

“A little,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Maybe more, now that I've been shot. I would drink anything to dull this pain.” She lifted the whiskey bottle out of his hand, upended it against her lips, and gulped down two big swallows.

“Save some for Johnny,” the physician cautioned. He arranged the contents of his black bag on the clean towel he spread out on the blanket. “Now, boy, roll over and let's take a look.” He bent down to inspect Jericho's bloody back.

“I'm right sorry to keep you waiting, Miz O'Donnell, but this lad's gotta be first.” Doc knelt on Jericho's other side, a shiny steel probe on his hand.

Maddie settled herself by his side and offered him the whiskey bottle. Doc splashed it over the wound, then bent low and went to work.

“God,” Jericho gasped through clenched teeth. “Feels like you're diggin' around with a...” He sputtered out another curse. “Pitchfork.”

Maddie bit her lip.

Sandy paced around them in a circle. “Hey,” the deputy suddenly burst out. “Aren't those my boots?”

“Shut up, Sandy,” Jericho groaned. With Doc's next probe his body convulsed. Maddy grasped his hand and held it so tight her knuckles hurt.

“Thanks,” he breathed. The next probe had him writhing again.

“Ouch! Damn, Maddie,” he gasped. “I'm gonna hurt your hand.”

Maddie closed her eyes but maintained her hold. “Jericho, this is hard to watch.”

“Then don't,” he snapped.

“Do not order me around, Sheriff. I will do as I please.”

He gave a low moan. “Yeah, I know.”

She tightened her grip, then leaned down and spoke near his ear. “Damn right.”

He started to laugh, then sucked in a breath.

“Found it!” Doc chortled. “Now to get it out of there.”

He splashed more whiskey over Jericho's back. He hissed and squirmed, but Maddie held on.

The physician poked around with an oversize pair of steel tweezers. “Ha! Got it!” He waved the tweezers in the air. “Always like this part the best.”

Jericho closed his eyes and took a full breath for the first time in the last twenty minutes. He noticed Maddie still had her fingers laced with his. All at once he wanted to bring her small, capable hand to his lips. Must be the whiskey making his brain go soft.

He felt an even stronger urge to roll over and pull her into his arms. “Real good whiskey,” he murmured.

“Now, Miz O'Donnell, let's see that leg of yours.”

Maddie stretched out her blood-encrusted jeans, and Doc spread the seam Jericho had ripped to expose her knee and lifted away the moss.

“Ah. Nice clean wound.” He sloshed whiskey over the bullet hole. “Now it's sterile, too.”

It felt like a bath of fire and tears stung into her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Who wrapped this up for you?”

“Jericho did.”

Doc Graham nodded. “Nice work, Johnny. Maybe you shoulda been a doctor instead of the sheriff.”

Sandy and Doc both laughed. Maddie noted that Jericho did not.

With a final comforting pat on her shoulder, Doc rolled up his instruments in the towel and stuffed it back into his black leather bag. “Now, children,” he ordered. “Let's get you to my little hospital in Smoke River.”