Lakota Honor (11 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nora woke to the sound of a gunshot. The moon shone through her bedroom window allowing her to see without lighting the lamp. She grabbed her robe at the end of the bed and slipped it on. Pal got up slowly and moved to her side. Injured, the dog must've sensed her concern and she exhaled relieved to have him there. She hurried out into the kitchen to check on Pa.

He wasn't there. The blanket still folded nice and neat on the end of the sofa. A dreadful sensation stirred in her stomach and she shivered. She didn't know why, but she needed to find him. Without thinking, she went outside and headed in the direction of the saloon. Half way across the yard, she saw a crowd of people gathered around. She picked up her pace.

"Miss Rushton, you may want to wait until..." Fred said holding both her arms.

She didn't bother to stop, but instead yanked herself from him and pushed her way through the crowd.

"Pa!" she screamed and fell to her knees beside him.

He'd been shot. She frantically scanned his body as another muffled scream burst from her lips. The bullet went into his chest, and without thinking of the consequences she laid her shaking hands over the open wound, when her father grabbed them.

He didn't say anything. The look he gave her was enough. The white shirt he wore had absorbed the blood, and it clung to his skin. She searched the faces around her, the people who would hang her if they knew of her gift. Pa was right not here, not in front of them.

"I will get you home," she whispered, close to his ear as her tears fell onto his face.

Pale blue eyes stared up at her as he struggled to take a breath. Nora's head spun and she reached out, pressing her hands into the dirt road to steady herself.
This can't be happening. Pa can't be dying.

He gasped, and she pulled at the rocks beneath her shaking hands.

"I need to get him home. I need to get him home," she said to the people huddled around her.

"Someone's gone for the Doc," Sheriff Reid said, and she smelled the liquor on his breath.

Nora glanced up at him, irritation melded with anger.
Damn it
. The need to fire away at the sheriff filled her, but she clamped her mouth shut instead. Starting a fight wouldn't get Pa home faster.

"Sheriff Reid, carry my father home."

He wobbled to the side and almost fell on top of her. She ground her teeth and glared at him. There was no time to wait for the intolerable sheriff to get it together. She searched the faces around her, but before she could ask anyone else, Seth came forward and without saying a word lifted Pa and carried him toward their cabin.

Nora followed on shaky legs. She needed to see how badly he was hurt.
I have to heal him.

Seth laid Pa on her bed as the sheriff walked in. Pal growled from the mat in the corner, and Nora shushed him.

"What in hell?" Sheriff Reid said when he noticed Elwood's dog.

She didn't know he followed them into the cabin, and she didn't want him here once she started healing Pa.

"Thank you Sheriff, but I can take it from here." She ushered him outside with Seth and shut the door before he could utter another word. She ran to the bedroom. Hands hot and sweating, she ripped opened Pa's shirt. The bullet had gone into the center of the chest. How was he still alive? How did it not pierce his heart? It made no sense, but she was thankful he was still here. Her hands hovered over the wound, about to draw out the bullet, when he pulled them to the side.

"No, Nora, no," he rasped as blood formed at the corners of his lips and trickled down his cheek.

She wiped it away with her hand.

I have to help him.
She had to make it right. She had to fix him. His skin had turned pasty and gray. Time was running out. Her heart raced and an overwhelming pressure filled her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Panic set in, eager to destroy the life she'd so easily taken for granted. She pressed her hands back over the wound.

"NO."

He was stronger than she thought, and he gripped her hands in his.

"Please, Nora. Let me go."

"No, Pa. No." What was he thinking? Why did he want to die?
God, please help me.
"I can't do that Pa, I can't." She tried again to pull her hands from his, but they didn't budge. Tears fell from her eyes and dripped from her chin.

"You can't fix this, Nora," he wheezed.

"Yes, I can." She tried again to pull free.

"I don't want you to."

She didn't want to hear it. She had no control and she stomped her feet. He was slipping away right before her and she couldn't do a damn thing. She struggled against his grip, trying to free her hands, but he held her still.

"Pa, let go," she sobbed. "Please, please let me help you."

She watched helpless as his eyes focused on her and a tear slid down his cheek. "I love you." He exhaled, and his hands fell to the side.

"No." She shook him. "No, no, no, Pa!"

She pressed her hands onto the hole in his chest and willed the skin to close—to somehow put the life back in him. Her hands no longer hot, she pressed harder, his blood covered them as she demanded the wound to heal.

"Please, please, please."

Nora screamed through clenched teeth and pounded her fists onto his chest.

"Please, Pa. Please come back."

She fell across him and wailed. The pain rolled over her, picking and pulling at the reality she didn't want to face. She shook him once more.

"Wake up, Pa. Wake up."

Blood soaked the front of her dress, and she shuddered. She ran her hands down his face and closed his eyes. Memories of their life together flashed across her mind, and she shook her head. Unable to hold on any longer, she ripped the hair from her braid and pulled at the strands.

She shrieked and fell over top of him. Every muscle tensed. Every bone ached, and her chest throbbed. She desperately wanted to wake from this nightmare. The anguish bore down upon her and compressed her lungs. She gasped. She clung to him, scratching the skin, wanting him to be here, with her.

"Please, God, bring him back." She grabbed his shoulders and shook. "Wake up, damn it. Wake up." She lay across him and buried her head into his neck, wheezing as bitter sobs burst from her lips.

"Nora? Nora, come now dear," Doctor Spencer pulled her from the bed.

"No." She wrestled with the doctor. She wouldn't leave Pa.

"He's gone."

She wrenched her arms from the doctor's hold and fell over top of her father. "He can't go. He can't. Pa, please, please." She clawed at the blood stained shirt, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Wake up. You've got to wake up."

Strong arms guided her back from her father.

"I'm sorry, Nora."

She stared at her father, his chest still, his body covered in blood. Nora's knees buckled from the truth. Doctor Spencer caught her, and she wailed in his arms.

He helped her into the kitchen where Seth stood. The young boy had come back. He didn't say a word and she was glad. There was nothing to say. Someone had killed her father and now he was gone—gone from her forever.

She lifted a trembling hand to her eyes and wiped at the tears. She didn't care that they were covered in Pa's blood, or that her dress was ruined, stained beyond recognition. All she wanted was for someone to tell her this was a bad dream, for Pa to walk through the door alive and well. She sucked in a sob and bit the inside of her cheek.

The doctor came out of the bedroom and announced he'd prepared Pa for burial. Nora nodded, not knowing what to do next. She wanted to crawl into a dark hole and cry out all her sorrows. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and punch the wall. She wanted to die.

"Will you be okay, by yourself?" Doctor Spencer asked.

Dazed, she nodded. She wanted to be alone, and didn't hear the door close when they left. Pa's last words replayed in her mind,
I love you.
She'd never said it back. She never told him. She slid from the chair onto the floor, buried her head into Pal's fur.

"I'm sorry, Pa. I'm so sorry."

Otakatay heard the gunshot from the forest. It came from town. The wasichu didn't like to lose and he'd bet it was over a card game. There wasn't another shot fired and that told him it was intentional. The man didn't even know it was coming.

He slipped his knife into the leather casing tied around his shin. He had a job to do tonight. He sighed. The weight on his shoulders increased, and he was sure a mountain sat on top of them. He lifted his arms flexing the muscles. Tonight it would end. Tonight he'd have his last victim. The last throat he'd slice. The last scene he'd replay over and over. He touched the feather in his hair.
I do this for you.

He tied Wakina's reins around a tree and walked toward town to find the cabin behind the blacksmiths. The piano from the saloon played a tinny, off key song that filled the otherwise silent street. He stayed in the shadows, watching as a few men left through the swinging doors and swayed down the street. There was no sign someone had been shot earlier. He shrugged. He didn't give a damn who had been killed or who had done it. All his senses focused on moving silently down the street to the cabin.

He eased up to the back window and peeked in. A man lay on the bed, and Otatakay immediately noticed the blood on the floor. This was the one who had been shot, the father. Was it a coincidence or pure fate that the father of the girl he was about to kill was dead? He examined the room. A brush and a few hair combs sat on the wooden dresser, and three dresses hung in the armoire.

With skilled movements he eased the window up, and silently climbed in. Light came from the other room, and he crept closer. He saw her sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fire. He stilled. It was her. It was the girl, Nora. A black dog lay at her feet, and he noticed the cuts and marks on his skin. The animal was injured and not a threat. He put him out of his mind.

He watched the girl. Blood smeared the front of her dress, and there was so much he wondered at first if she was injured. But after watching her, he realised that she was fine. Her pale skin was marked with red slashes of blood, and knotted black hair hung down her back. She rocked back and forth, and he saw the tears drip from her eyes onto her cheeks. Loud moans came from her lips as she brought her hands up to her face.

Why did it have to be her? He clenched his jaw. The lost look in her red-rimmed eyes told him she wasn't there at all. Killing her would be easy. She'd never see him coming. He pulled the knife from his back, gripping it within his hand.

Do it. Kill her.
The heinous slayer inside of him screamed for retribution. He yelled, growled and whispered into the better part of his conscience. A veil of evil blanketed him and he was blind to what was right or wrong, the only thing he saw was death.

He shook his head, ignoring the executioner he'd become and focused on the girl. She was now on the floor, kneeling in front of the fire.

She hunched forward and he watched as her hands hovered above the fire. Her desolate sobs reached his ears, and a tiny part of him pitied her. Ina flashed across his mind, along with his promise, and he squeezed the knife. There was no time for pity, no time for caring. The assassin within him howled and he stepped toward her. The dog growled. He took another step when he saw her lean in toward the flames again.

What the hell was she doing? In two quiet steps he was behind her. The blade reflected the fire as he held it close. The dog growled again. She bent forward, and he knew she was going to burn them. He dropped his knife and sprung toward her. Grabbing her shoulders, he jerked her back as she placed her hands into the hot coals.

She screamed, and he didn't know if it was from the pain or the shock that he was there. He picked her up and set her in the rocker. He inhaled a couple times, before he took her hands and examined them. She'd burned them, not badly, but enough to need a salve to ease the pain and so infection didn't set in. He made the mistake of gazing into her eyes. Sorrow filled their navy depths and for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

A part of him wanted to help her, while the other wanted to leave and never return. He wavered on the edge of good and evil. He stood up to go, when she brought her hands up to her face and wept within them. The sound tugged at the boy inside of him, and he remembered holding his Ina when she died. He pulled the medicine pouch from around his neck and emptied some of the herbs into his palm. He spat into his hand and mixed the concoction with his finger until it was a green paste.

Otakatay took her hands gently in his, and with tender movements rubbed the medicine into the burns. She sniffed, and he glanced at her. Eyes closed she winced, and he moved slower, barely touching the skin. Blisters formed, and he knew she was in pain.

"Please, please do not help me," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He frowned and continued rubbing the herbs into her palms.

She tried to pull away, but he held her to him.

"Otakatay, please leave them. They are no good to me anymore." She glared at her hands. "They are worthless." She started to cry all over again.