To Know Her by Name (4 page)

3

Pup woke in the chair, her neck aching slightly. The lantern was turned low but still burning. She could see as well as hear that her patient was no longer lying quietly. His arm thrashed a little. Pup simply placed her hand on it, her actions calm and unhurried. McKay lay quiet for a moment, but then murmured something incoherent. Pup kept her hand on him and watched as he settled back into sleep.

She wondered absently if the mind registered pain when the body was sleeping. She didn't have any firsthand experience on which to fall back, at least not with a gunshot wound. She thought about it for some time but didn't come to any solid conclusions. Her patient was moving again, so she again put a hand on him and watched as his eyes opened. She could tell he wasn't really awake, so she stayed quiet. A moment later his lids dropped. He thrashed a little more, still mumbling at someone or something, but then grew very quiet. Were it not for his even breathing, his chest rising rhythmically, Pup would have thought he was gone.

She rose slowly and stretched, her nose wrinkling over the smell of herself. The mingled odors of blood, sweat, and dirt reminded her that she'd missed her evening bath. She looked into McKay's sleeping face and knew that sitting there was not going to keep him alive. With movements quiet and swift she went to her room, and slipped out of her filthy garments and into her pale yellow robe. When her rifle was in her hand, she headed for the door.

There was no moon this night, but Pup knew the path to the lake as well as she knew her own face. She didn't linger but slipped into the icy waters and scrubbed furiously with her bar of soap. It felt glorious. Once her hair was clean, she lay on her back in the water and looked up at the sky. Cold as it was, she was tempted to stay out much longer, but McKay's pale features floated into her mind.

She swam toward shore and sought her robe, the feel of it like the comfort of a friend. The gun felt heavy in her hand as she walked back to the cabin, and Pup suddenly realized how tired she was. She wondered if she would hear McKay from her bedroom if he started to move about, but then sternly reminded herself that she couldn't keep him alive.

Her bed was still torn up from Govern's searching, and she'd dropped her dirty clothing in a pile on the floor, but all of this was ignored. She fell onto her bed and slept within a minute.

Dawn was just breaking when Pup woke. It never seemed to matter when she went to sleep; she always woke with the morning's first light. Her shoulders ached, and her nose felt a little stuffy, but she knew all of this would pass. Ignoring the mess around her, she climbed from the bed and went to the spare room. McKay had thrashed some of his covers off, but he was still sleeping, his breathing even. Pup laid a hand on his forehead and found him slightly warm. She covered him again, making him as comfortable as possible, and debated whether or not she should look under the dressing. However, she heard a noise in the yard before she could decide.

“You in there, Pup?” a gravelly voice called.

Pup secured the belt at her waist and opened the door.

“Hey, Mud,” she greeted the man in her yard.

“You got coffee?”

“Not yet. You want to wait?”

“Nah.” He looked disgruntled and also like he'd been out all night.

“How's the claim?”

This earned her a scowl. “You know very well how the claim is, or I wouldn't be standing here with a hangover.”

“You were supposed to tell me when you were going to town, Mud,” the woman chastised him. “I've got a list.”

“I forgot.”

She frowned at him. “You'd better get home. Percy'll be having a fit.”

“I bought him a book,” Mud said by way of explanation, and Pup nodded.

Percy and Mud Dougan were her closest neighbors. They were brothers who worked the creek about half a mile away. Some weeks they were loaded with gold, and others they starved. Percy hated to go to town, content to pan the creek bed and read in the evening, but Mud was different. If he had money, he sought whiskey and company. At times they were like two fussy old women. Percy would hide the gold. Mud would find it and spend it all on liquor. But then he'd buy Percy a new book to placate him. Pup didn't know how they survived.

“I'd better go.”

Pup didn't bother to tell Mud that she'd already suggested this.

“I'll see you later.”

“All right.”

“Tell Percy I might be up to borrow a book.”

“He won't let you have any of his new ones.”

“That's all right. Anything will do.”

Without bothering to say goodbye, the prospector, who looked old beyond his years, turned and moved away. Pup turned back inside.

In the few minutes of exchange, the sky had lightened even more, and the mess Govern had left behind became clear to the eye. Pup would have her work cut out for her. Even before she made coffee, she began to put her home and yard to rights.

McKay woke to a burning in his shoulder that no movement could ease. He was cold, colder than he'd ever been, but couldn't tell if he was in water. Something was wrong—something was very wrong—but he couldn't put his finger on the problem.

Hackett! His eyes opened as the name exploded in his mind, and as if he'd actually conjured him up, Govern Hackett approached and stood above him.

“Hackett,” he tried to say, but nothing came out.

“It's all right,” Govern assured him in an odd voice.

McKay told himself to get up and fight, but there was nothing—no energy, no strength—to fall back on. He felt as weak as a child.

“Where am I?” he managed, wondering what bizarre twist had put him at the mercy of his prey.

“You're in bed. You've been shot.”

“What drug,” he began, trying to ask the question he dreaded, the one his mind couldn't quite form. He'd been given something; he was certain of it. He'd been shot before, and it hadn't felt like this. Govern Hackett had drugged him. He had to stay awake. He had to fight.

A long-fingered hand was placed on his forehead, and the desire to fight went out of him. The hand was cool. It felt like his mother's hand on him when he was sick as a child. He told himself to open his eyes and make certain it was Govern, but he couldn't manage it. The sea was rolling back in again, and this time he didn't even have the strength to swim.

Pup stood above McKay's bed and looked down into his flushed face. She'd been working on some breakfast when he'd cried out. His head was so hot, but he calmed down the moment she placed her hand on him. She went for a cloth then, soaked it in cool water and laid it across his forehead. The chair was still at the side of the bed so she sat down.

He had clearly thought that she was Govern. What would McKay say when he found out he was dead? Had they wanted Govern for questioning? Or was there a reward? Pup admitted to some ignorance on this matter, and also admitted that she hadn't wanted to know everything her brothers were up to. She didn't like to go into town, but when she did, she had learned to turn a deaf ear to rumors about the Hackett brothers. It was odd. Here she had a half-dead man in her spare bedroom, and he was the first one to think she looked like her brother. No one else had ever connected them. What would McKay say when he woke up?

Pup shook her head and stood up. She was tired of asking questions that had no answers. And besides, she still had a cabin to clean.

“You in there, Pup?”

Pup's brows rose as she left her tub of dirty dishes. Mud's calling on her twice in one day was unprecedented.

“I'm here,” she spoke as she opened the door and stepped onto the porch. He was cleaned up now, face shaven and hair in place. It was funny to her that he didn't care how he looked for town, but to pan gold he cleaned up. Then again it probably wasn't Mud's idea. Percy insisted on neatness.

“Percy sent you a book.”

Mud held the volume out, and Pup took it without studying the cover.

“He said he heard shots,” the man went on.

Understanding hit Pup like a bullet.

“I'm fine.”

“I told him you were.”

“I've got a wounded man in the spare room. I didn't shoot him. My brother did and he's dead now, but I'm fine.”

Mud's eyes widened, but he didn't ask anything else.

“Did you want some coffee?” Pup offered the drink as though it were any other day.

“No, I gotta get back. Are you—” he began but cut off. Pup was the most private individual he'd ever known. Countless times he had come by her place, still half-drunk, and poured out his life story of panning gold with his brother and then drinking it all away. She never talked, only listened. Indeed, she'd never given a hint about her own life until now when she had calmly told him that she had a shot-up man in her spare bedroom and that her brother was dead. Mud hadn't even known she had a brother.

“I hope you enjoy the book,” he finally managed, hating how foolish it sounded.

“I'm sure I will. Tell Percy thanks.”

“I'm sorry about your supplies.”

“It's all right. I'll probably head down tomorrow.”

“What about the man?”

Pup shrugged. “I've got to eat, and my sitting by his bed isn't going to keep him alive.”

It was exactly the type of remark he would expect her to make, and somehow it comforted him. She was still Pup. She had told him she was fine, and clearly it was true.

“Well, I'm off.”

“Thanks again,” Pup called after him, but he was already on his way.

She finally looked down at the book in her hand.
Pride and Prejudice
by Jane Austen. She had heard of this book but not read it. Laying the volume on the kitchen table, she went back to the dishes. The water was cold as she finished them, stacking them to air dry.

She hadn't checked on McKay in more than an hour, but felt no urgency since she was headed in there to work on the broken glass. She had made certain there was none on the bed and then ignored the rest. The amount of bleeding he'd been doing when she had dragged him had been too heavy on her mind.

Now with broom and dustpan, she went to work. She poured the glass and wood splinters into a metal bucket. The sound was like a bell in the quiet room, so she took the bucket to the living room to muffle the noise. It was on her way back into the room at one point that she spotted McKay's eyes on her.

“I've been shot?” His voice was rusty, but she caught the words.

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft. “In the shoulder. The bullet is out, but you've lost a lot of blood.”

“So tired,” he managed.

“Here,” she had moved to his side, “sip a little water.” She helped him without speaking, and McKay finally put his head back with a satisfied sigh. He looked at the woman standing above him.

“Where's Govern?”

“Dead.”

“How?”

“You shot him.”

McKay frowned at her and told himself to keep his eyes open. Could it have been her? At the moment he didn't know where the question came from or what it meant, but something wasn't right.