The Maverick Preacher. Victoria Bylin
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need help.”
Someone lit a lamp. As it flared to life, Mary stepped closer. Adie smelled the residue of gunpowder and looked up. “Maybe Caroline can go for Doc Nichols.”
The man lifted his head. “I said no.”
His refusal made Adie wonder if he was on the run. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Everyone at Swan’s Nest had run from something, including herself.
Mary scowled down at her. “Who is he?”
“I rented him a room.”
“But you don’t rent to men. You promised—”
“This isn’t the time,” Adie said.
She looked past Mary and saw Pearl at the stove. With her back to the rest of the kitchen, she lifted the bottle out of the pot of water and whisked Stephen into the front room where she could feed him in peace. Adie looked at Caroline. “Where’s Bessie?”
“She went to get her nursing kit.”
Mary finally lowered the gun. “Maybe she can take out the bullet.”
Adie studied the man on her floor. His color had come back and his breathing seemed steady. Maybe they could avoid Dr. Nichols after all. Bessie hurried into the kitchen and dropped down next to Adie. She looked at the wound, checked the man’s back for an exit hole, then lowered him gently to the floor. “The bullet’s still in you, sir. It’ll have to come out.”
“Can you do it?”
“I can try,” Bessie said. “I’m a trained nurse, but it will hurt.”
“Go ahead,” he said.
Bessie looked at Adie. “Get that pint of whiskey.”
Adie kept it with the smelling salts for medicinal purposes only. Before she could stand to fetch it, the stranger clutched her hand. “I don’t want it.”
Why would he deny himself a painkiller? Adie was about to argue with him when Bessie interrupted. “It’s not for your belly, sir. It’s to clean the wound.”
He relaxed but didn’t release Adie’s hand. She felt awkward comforting him, but they were both aware of the coming pain. When Adie didn’t move, Caroline went to the cupboard for the whiskey. She gave the bottle to Bessie, then lifted the instruments from the nursing bag, put them in the boiling water and set out clean rags for blotting the blood. Bessie had opened the two buttons on the man’s shirt, but it wouldn’t pull wide enough to reveal the wound. Using delicate scissors, the kind most women kept for embroidery, she cut the shirt and tugged it back from a small hole oozing blood.
Adie’s stomach churned. The hole in Joshua Blue’s shoulder wasn’t much bigger than a man’s finger, but it had the potential to kill him with infection. In his weakened condition, he might not be able to fight it. Adie squeezed his hand. She feared for his health. She also feared for herself and Stephen. She’d just opened the first saddlebag when she heard the gunshot. Later, when he’d fallen asleep, she’d search his things.
“Whiskey, please,” Bessie said matter-of-factly.
Adie watched as Caroline splashed whiskey into her sister’s palm. As Bessie rubbed her hands together, Caroline dampened a patch of cotton and gave it to her sister. Bessie looked at the man’s face. “This is going to hurt, sir.”
He closed his eyes. “Just do it.”
Bessie took a probe from the instruments Caroline had put on a clean towel. As she inserted it into the wound, Joshua Blue arched up. Bessie pulled back.
“Adie, Caroline. You’ll have to hold him down.”
The two women moved into position. On their knees, they each held a shoulder. As Bessie went to work, Adie felt the man straining against her hands. She also sensed acceptance. The bullet had to come out.
“I found it,” Bessie said.
She removed the probe and lifted a pair of forceps. After a glance at her patient, she inserted the instrument, pinched the bullet and pulled it out. Joshua Blue groaned with pain. Adie wondered which hurt more, his chest or his belly.
Bessie held the bullet up to the light and examined it. “It’s in one piece. We’re done except for stitching this gentleman up.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you.”
“You’ll do fine as long as the wound doesn’t fester. Of course you’ll have to rest up for a while.”
He grunted. “How long?”
Adie had been wondering the same thing.
“As long as it takes.” Bessie took a stitch with a needle and black thread. “Judging by your appearance, you’re half starved. You need a week in bed and a month in a rocking chair.”
Adie cringed. “That’s so long.”
Bessie gave her a motherly look. “It’s what the man needs, honey. We’ll be all right.”
Leave it to Bessie to calm the waters. Mary would pitch a fit. Pearl, conscious of her belly, would stop coming downstairs. Caroline judged no one. She’d befriend Mr. Blue without hesitation, posing a problem of a different kind. Adie watched as the nurse stitched up the wound, snipped the thread and wiped the incision with whiskey. She inspected her handiwork, then wiped the man’s brow with a clean rag. “We need to get you to bed. Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
With Adie on one side and Caroline on the other, he leveraged to his feet. He looked like a kicked-in chimney pipe, but he managed to move down the hall. Adie started to follow, but Bessie stopped her. “I’ll see to him. Go hold Stephen. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks, Bessie.”
“By the way,” said the older woman. “Who is this man?”
“I wish I knew.” Adie told her briefly about finding him on the porch. “He was in pain even before Mary shot him.”
“Maybe an ulcer,” Bessie said. “I’ve got a small bottle of laudanum. I’ll fetch it for him.”
Adie thought of his earlier comment about the drug but said nothing. She wanted Joshua Blue to fall asleep so she could finish going through his saddlebags, but first she needed to check her son.
“Whatever you think,” she said to Bessie. “The sooner he heals, the sooner he can leave.”
“He needs time,” the nurse said gently.
Adie sighed. She’d cook meals for Joshua Blue and nurse his wounds. She’d change his sheets and wash his clothes. But time to heal—what he needed most—was the one thing she didn’t want to give. The sooner he left, the safer she and Stephen would be.
As Bessie went down the hall, Adie headed for the parlor where she heard Pearl humming a lullaby to Stephen. She rounded the corner and saw both Pearl and Mary on the divan. Pearl looked lost, but Mary had crossed her arms and was glowering. Adie had hoped to check Stephen and escape to the carriage house, but she couldn’t leave without explaining to her friends.
“Who is he?” Mary demanded.
“I don’t know,” Adie said. “But I’m certain he means no harm.”
Mary groaned. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Adie couldn’t be sure, but he’d come to the door sick and weak. “Look at him. He’s downright scrawny.”
“He’s also dressed like a gunfighter,” Mary insisted. “I know his kind.”
Adie felt naive next to Mary, but she couldn’t stop worrying about the stranger. She didn’t want to argue, but she needed to set Mary straight. “He fainted on the porch. What else could I do? Leave him there?”
“You could