THE OUTLAW'S THANKSGIVING

COPYRIGHT 2012 – CIA LEAH

This is a work of fiction.
  
Any resemblance to persons living or dead
is coincidental.

No portion of this book may be
copied without the written permission of the author.

      
Katie Morgan vigorously rolled out the
piecrust for the pumpkin and apple pies for Thanksgiving dinner.
 
She only had two days and so much to do
yet.
 
She swiped her hair back from her
face and was thankful her Grandma was asleep.
 
They’d had a long day as it was and she needed to relax.
 
Plying the rolling pin to the dough helped
ease her anger too.

      
When she thought back to a week ago, she
could just kick herself in the behind for not noticing that grandma had left
the mercantile to go down the steps to get to the buggy.
 
She’d been talking to Loretta about things
she would need for Thanksgiving dinner.
 
Her grandma fell and broke her leg, which meant her Uncle Matt couldn’t
take care of her along with his job as Marshall.
 
So, the only obvious solution was that Grandma would stay with
her until she her leg healed.

      
Katie sighed.
 
She didn’t mind taking care of her grandma, but it was time
consuming.
 
Her grandma liked to talk
and being out here instead of in town, closed her off from her friends,
especially since winter had set in.
 
The
woman was bored plain and simple.

      
She just slipped the first of the pies
into the oven, when she heard Buster barking.
 
She prayed he didn’t corner that coon again in the barn.
 
She wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed
her coat, and her shotgun and stepped out onto the porch.
 
“My goodness,” she said, seeing a man lying
in the snow beside a horse.
 
She ran
down the steps and knelt down beside him.
 
“Mister?
 
Can you hear me?”
 
She rolled him over onto his back.

      
She quickly checked him over for signs of
injury, but didn’t find anything wrong.
 
At a loss as to what to do, she removed his hat, and saw a deep gash on
the side of his right temple.
 
Dusk was
settling in and snow was coming down faster.
 
She needed to get him inside and she sure couldn’t carry him.
 
He was about six foot two, about two hundred
pounds and solid muscle.
 
He was cute
too with his black wavy hair and black beard.
 
“Come on, Mister, wake up.”
 
She
grabbed some snow and bathed his face with it.

      
“Damn it.
 
That’s cold!”

      
Katie smiled.
 
“Do you think you can stand up so I can help you into the cabin?”

      
“Dizzy.”

      
“I bet you are with that gash in your
head.
 
What happened to you?”
 
In the last few shreds of daylight, he
opened his eyes, and Katie gasped.
 
They
were gray, the color of the snow clouds in the sky, fringed with thick black
lashes.
 
They were beautiful.

      
“I was riding through the woods and
someone shot.
 
I almost fell from the
saddle as my horse took off under me.
 
I
held on and then remember falling.”

      
“Probably some hunters out looking for
deer meat.
 
Do you think you can
stand?
 
I’ll help you.”

      
“I can try,” he said, sitting up and
grabbing his head.
 
“Man, that hurts!”

      
“Take it slow.
 
Try and get to your feet now.
 
Lean on me.”
 
She slipped her arm
under his and around his waist as he struggled to his feet.
 
He swayed, but she kept him upright.
 
“It’s only a few steps into the cabin.
 
“Come on.
 
I’ll take care of your horse after I tend to you.”

      
“Mighty obliged.”

      
When they made it into the cabin, Katie
helped him to the cot built into the wall on the other side of the room.
 
Her grandma was in the bedroom that belonged
to her parents and besides this cot, there was no other place to put him.
 
“Go ahead and lie down.
 
I’ll get a basin of water and clean that up
for you.”

      
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes closed
against the pain.

      
Katie checked the pies, then got the
basin of water, some cloths, and a bottle of whiskey and returned to the
man.
 
She set the things on the small
bedside stand and pulled up a stool.
 
“Do you want a drink of whiskey before I start cleaning your
wound?”
 

      
“Yes.”
 
He leaned up on one elbow and took the bottle she offered and took a
couple healthy swigs, then lay back down.
 
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

      
“Think nothing of it.
 
What’s your name?”
 
She wet a cloth in the water and began cleaning the wound,
pausing when he flinched.

      
“Markus Cole.
 
Yours?”

      
“Katie Morgan.”
 
She finished cleaning the blood away from his injury and sat back
a minute.
 
That’s going to need a few
stitches.”

      
He groaned.
 
Not because of the stitches, but he knew her.
 
Had gone to school with her and her Uncle
Matt was the Marshall in town.
 
How the
heck was he going to keep his identity a secret?
 
Of course, with the beard, he didn’t think she would recognize
him.
 
She hadn’t so far anyways and it
had been years since he left town.
 
“Can
you stitch me up?”

      
“Yes, just let me get the pies out of the
oven and put the others in.”

      
He watched her walk across the room to
the stove and wondered what happened to her parents.
 
She seemed alone, unless she had a husband out doing farm
work.
   
“Those pies sure do smell
good,” he said, watching as she set them on the table to cool.

      
“I’m glad I made extra.
 
With that head wound of yours, you aren’t
going anywhere too soon and Thanksgiving is day after tomorrow.”

      
“I don’t want to impose and I’m sure I’ll
feel better tomorrow after something to eat and some sleep.
 
I’ll be on my way by late afternoon.”

      
Katie put the other pies in the
oven.
 
She walked to her sewing kit and
got a needle and thread.
 
She walked
over and poured some whiskey on the needle and threaded it.
 
When she sat down to begin sewing up his
wound, she glanced at him.
 
“You’re
welcome to stay.
 
There’s just grandma
and I here, and my Uncle Matt will come for dinner.
 
You won’t be imposing and I’m not quite sure you will be able to
ride by tomorrow.
 
I hope you don’t get
infection, but leaving here wouldn’t be a good idea until we see how you are
doing.”

      
“I think I will be all right.
 
You ready to ply that needle to my head?”

      
Katie grinned.
 
“You can’t be that anxious to get this done, but I’ll be as
gentle as possible.
 
You might want a
couple more drinks out of that bottle to dull the pain.”

      
“I think I’ve had enough, so go ahead and
get started.”

      
Katie moved her stool closer and prayed
she didn’t hurt him too much.
 
One time
she’d about sliced her finger off cutting potatoes and Doc Landry had to stitch
her up.
 
She thought the pain unbearable
at the time.
 
As she worked, she
couldn’t help but admire his strength.
 
Other than a couple flinches, he done good.
 
“There you go.
 
Six
stitches.”

      
“Thanks again.”

      
“You’re welcome.
 
Would you like some coffee and something to
eat?”

      
“Coffee would be nice and a piece of one
of those pies if you have enough to spare.”

      
“I sure do.
 
Let me get it and then I’ll go take care of your horse.”

      
Katie served him his food, then grabbed
her coat and went outside.
 
The wind was
picking up and the snow still coming down.
 
She led the horse to the barn, unsaddled it, rubbed it down, and fed
it.
 
She took his saddlebags and threw
them over her shoulder, figuring he might want his things in the morning.
 

      
She laughed when Buster came in the barn
and barked at her.
 
“You can stay in the
house tonight out of the weather.
 
Come
on.”

      
When she went back inside the cabin,
Buster walked over and lay down on the floor by Markus’s cot.
 
“Guess you’ll keep an eye on our guest,” she
grinned, finishing taking the pies out of the oven and sitting them on the
table.
 
Once she had that task done, she
went and checked on her grandma, who was sleeping soundly.
 

      
Thank goodness, she thought, going to her
room to get ready for bed.
 
It’d been a
long day, and she was tired.
 
Her days
started before sunrise.
 
She quickly
undressed and pulled her nightgown on.
 
When she settled into bed and turned the lamp down low, she thought of
the man in the next room.
 
Who was he
and had he really told her the truth about what happened to him, or was he an
outlaw on the run from bounty hunters and the law?
 
She hoped not because she liked him right off for some reason she
couldn’t quite figure out.
 
It was
almost like she knew him, but that was impossible.
 
“Sleep,” she whispered to herself.
 
“Daylight’s only a few hours away.”

***

      
Markus found it hard to sleep with his
head hurting and the pain from the stitches.
 
He hoped he felt well enough to get on his horse and leave in the
morning, or at least by noon tomorrow.
 
He couldn’t stay here, even though he sure would like to stop and rest a
spell.
 

      
The only reason he returned home was he
heard from his brother that their Pa was ailing and wanted him to come home and
see him before he died.
 
Jake’s letter
reached him more than a month ago and he prayed he wasn’t too late.

      
Markus felt bitter over the turn of
events that led him to be a wanted man.
 
If it weren’t for his cousin, Butch, he’d be a free man.
 
He’d never guessed that Butch was wanted for
robbing the bank.
 
It was ironic that he
and Butch looked so much alike, that the Marshall in town and the posse thought
it was Markus.
 
When they showed up at
the house, his Pa had Jack take him out the back door to the barn where Jack
had given him some money, ammunition and food and told him to ride hell bent
for leather and they would let him know when it was safe to come home.
 
It never worked out that way.
 
The posse didn’t believe his Pa and soon
there were wanted posters with his name on it all over the place with a five hundred
dollar reward.