Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) (23 page)

Things were going to change in Big Ezra… and change they would. They needed a doctor up here, and they’d have one.

“Come here, woman.”

She hurried to obey, obviously fearful of him. She set the crying child on the floor.

“Put pressure on the wound.”

The moment the woman in gray had taken over, Richard ran outside, spun to orient himself, then bolted straight for the office and telegraph key.

He’d find someone, anyone, who understood code and send for a doctor out of Ogden City or Huntsville or Eden— perhaps two from everywhere possible.

And to expedite the impossibly slow process, he’d send two men on horseback down the canyon with orders to return with a doctor.

Two extraordinarily long days later, Richard sat at Lessie’s bedside, keeping the towel on her forehead wet.

He squeezed a clean cloth into her mouth to moisten her tongue, desperate for her to swallow at least a few drops.

The doctor had made it clear if she would survive, the fever had to break and they had to force liquids into her.

How long until she wakes, Doctor?

The longer she stays unconscious— to a point— the better.

Richard had been so distraught, he hadn’t thought to ask the surgeon how long was too long to remain asleep.

All he could do now was wait.

And tend to her.

And pray.

The woman in gray— Bathsheba, he’d learned, had been widowed in the early morning delayed rock fall the day before Lessie arrived in Ogden City.

He’d learned quite a bit about Bathsheba in the two days since he’d barged into her home and appropriated her bed and space.

The woman had a brother she could turn to for ongoing help and support…
if
she could get off this mountain and to him in Murray. Richard would see to it Bathsheba and her children had all the help they needed if he had to drive her there himself.

But Lessie had to decide whether to live or die first...

Live
.

Lessie, I need you, Sweetheart.

Richard had returned from sending two riders down the mountain and ordering a wire sent, to find Bathsheba and one of the other women gathering crude doctoring supplies to remove the bullet from Lessie’s flesh.

The mere thought of untrained women digging around in her body for a bullet had panicked him.

Are you going to help her,
Bathsheba had demanded,
or will you allow us to try?

With anguish more acute than he’d ever known, he finally nodded his head, allowing the women to do what they could.

After all, it could be hours before a doctor arrived.

Lessie could be cold by then.

Much to his surprise, Bathsheba boiled water covering the knife, tongs, and spoon she’d gathered. She even boiled her needle.

Richard shook off the memories and squeezed a few more drops of water into Lessie’s mouth. More of it dribbled past her chin than stayed inside, but he didn’t dare move her to tip her head back. What if she choked?

She’d lot fragments of bone, too, along with that bullet. After her clothes had been cut away he’d seen what he’d believed to be a shot near the heart and through the lung had been much nearer her shoulder.

She could have died instantly.

On a person her size, the heart had been spared by mere inches.

If she lived, she might lose movement in her arm. Or maybe she’d suffer pain for years to come in that limb.

The doctor had arrived to find the bullet out and Bathsheba’s stitches already set. The bleeding had slowed.

The doc had examined Lessie with care, listening to her lungs and heart, then holding the bullet close to the lamplight and studying the bone fragments and turning them over in his hand.

Doc, will she live?

Please, God, spare her life.

Somewhere in the middle of that second night, he realized why he hadn’t given the murderer a second thought… and why the impending loss of his wife made him numb to anything and everything else.

He’d fallen in love with Lessie.

Desperate, irrevocable love.

The kind of love Adam had wanted from the very beginning. At three-o’clock that bitterly cold morning, alone in Bathsheba’s cabin with only Lessie’s unconscious form, Richard’s heart hollowed out.

I want that kind of love.

And he’d found it, in his precious wife… He
wanted
to be in love with his wife, but
not like this.

Not as fever burned her up from the inside out and not as she lay silent as death.

So, this was what his employees suffered when their friends, husbands, brothers, and employees went into a mine and never came out.

The agony of loss, so poignant, sharp, and inescapable. Bathsheba had been widowed so recently, the sight of this bed— the space she’d shared with her husband must bring her unbearable, unspeakable grief.

No wonder the woman appeared ashen and gray. She must think of her lost husband day and night.

If their places were reversed, Richard’s thoughts would be on Lessie, every moment of every day.

Selfish though he might be, he wanted Lessie to live. Even with permanent damage. Even with lasting pain.

Could he ask that of her?

How could he
not
?

Please, Sweetheart.

Come back to me.

Chapter Twenty

Lessie
hurt
. All over.

Her mouth was dry as paper. Even as she tried to open her eyes and moisten her tongue enough to speak, she heard Richard’s encouraging voice.

“…Lessie. That’s right…”

What had happened?

She moved, just a little, and fire lanced through her shoulder and down her back.

“Lie still.” Richard’s voice, pressing a blessedly cool cloth to her forehead and another to her lips. “You can’t sit up yet. Suck on this. It’s clean.”

She didn’t want to drink from a wet cloth but the water tasted so good, so refreshing, she drew as much life-giving moisture from it as possible.

She fought to open one eye, then two. A blinding headache and a glimpse of Richard rewarded her efforts.

“You gave me quite a scare, Sweetheart.”

“I did? What—?”

“Shh. Sleep.”

“I can’t.” She tried to wet her tongue. “Until I tell you… something.”

Already darkness crowded in, threatening to steal her away.

“I’m here, Lessie. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I love you.”

Richard stilled. His soothing touch to her cheek halted.

It didn’t matter if he preferred not to hear confessions of love. The fact of the matter was
she loved him
and—

“Thank God.” His lips pressed the gentlest of kisses to her cheek. “I love you, Lessie. I love you more than I can say.”

Truth echoed in her husband’s dear voice.

He loved her. And she loved him.

That
was worth living for.

Lessie gradually grew stronger and Richard dared leave her side for brief periods. He found he trusted the women, particularly those like Bathsheba, who’d helped him when he needed them most. The same women had asked thoughtful questions about the improvements planned for Big Ezra.

A light snow had fallen the morning he met the two shift managers outside the camp office. He found the shooting had separated things that mattered from those that didn’t…

Appearing to have all the information and standing tall did
not
matter. He could admit inadequacies and need for information. He could ask for help.

“How long has it been since the shooting?” Four days? Five?

“Come this afternoon,” Skipper, the night shift supervisor, answered, “it’ll be exactly one week.”

Seven days?

Richard had resigned himself to never finding the shooter.

Whoever had pulled the trigger would be long gone. Even if they figured out who, this long of a head start could put that fellow in New York or Canada or Mexico.

One week proved to be a very long time.

“It’s time to round up the men,” Richard said, “figure out who’s missing and infer a thing or two.”

“Already done.” Skipper tapped the snow off his boots against the steps of the office where Richard and Lessie had slept that first visit to Big Ezra.

Why hadn’t he seen the danger in bringing her here? He’d castigated himself far too often since the shooting.

“Hmmm. Where’s Gibbons?” He’d thought the foreman would’ve answered the summons to meet.

“He’s missing.” Edgar Kerry, the day shift supervisor shared a meaningful glance with Skipper. “Been gone since the incident. Best as we can tell, he left straightaway on horseback.”

Richard clenched his jaw and fought the rising disappointment.

But only guilty men ran. The innocent stayed…

But wait… “Gibbons was on the wagon with Lessie and me when the shot went off. She was shot from the front, off to the right.” He gestured vaguely in the direction the bullet must have originated. “Gibbons couldn’t have been the one to pull the trigger.”

Skipper rocked forward on his boots. “I ain’t sayin’ he pulled the trigger, I’m just sayin’ he’s the only one not in camp.”

“No sense going after him.” Richard sighed. “I need you two to question all team captains. Find out what everyone knows. I need answers.”