Forgotten Honeymoon. Marie Ferrarella
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well.” She needed him to remain still and relaxed. “And so has your sister. Teague,” she said as she nodded at the baggage handler, “how about keeping this pressed down for me while I look for clean cloth?”
“No problem.” Teague didn’t hesitate and moved up to accommodate her.
“I can hold it myself.” Her patient’s hand reached up to wave him away.
“You’re going in and out too frequently.” Daisy gently grabbed his hand and pushed it back down. “I’ll hear no argument.”
“Sounds like she’s got her apron tied, friend. She means business,” Teague warned. “Best just lie still.”
Daisy gathered her will and braced herself for the challenge ahead. “Petula, help me get him cleaned up and the wound dressed as best we can before Doc returns. That will help speed things up.”
Helplessness darted over Petula’s face and she scrubbed her hands again. “I’ve never doctored anyone before.”
“I’m not asking you to. Doc will take out the bullet. Do you think you can put a pot of water on to boil in the kitchen?” His sister certainly didn’t have the same consideration her brother offered.
“He doesn’t have servants?”
Servants? Petula revealed more about them in that one question than if Daisy had spent the past few hours interviewing them for the list. They were people of means. “Doc doesn’t. It’s up to us. You’ll need to help, too.” Daisy added a stiff, “Please.”
“I’m afraid I’ve pampered my sister, ma’am,” her brother apologized. “Really, it’s no problem to wait until the doctor arrives.”
“It is a problem and we’re not waiting if I have to do this by myself.” Daisy rarely allowed her temper to flare, but the events of the day had worn down her best behavior.
Petula headed into the hallway, reluctance in every footfall. “Can someone show me how to heat the stove?”
“I’ll show her so you can stay here with him,” Teague offered. “It shouldn’t take long if Doc’s already got wood chopped.”
Petula turned, accepting his offer with a breath of relief that ended in a smile. “Thank you, sir. I always heard you Texans were such gentlemen.”
“Make sure you help and not hinder Mr.—” warned her brother.
“Teague,” the man finally introduced himself properly to all. “Just Teague.”
Daisy didn’t have time to comprehend the meaning behind the two men’s locked gazes that followed, but then she’d never really understood most men all that well anyway. Petula, on the other hand, had the look Daisy clearly understood.
“Tell you what, Teague,” she said. “You get his coat and shirt off while I’m grabbing fresh cloth, then I’ll send you and Petula to deal with the stove.”
Minutes later Daisy returned to find her patient’s upper garments lying in a bloody heap on the floor, but the yellow duster Teague had worn now acted as a sheet to offer the man some modesty. Ollie’s friend had handled someone wounded before.
“Send some of these back now, damp, please.” She handed Teague several cloths. “I know they won’t be hot yet. Just heat the water as quickly as you can.”
Daisy managed to hold the blood at bay until Petula showed up, gripping a pan with pot holders.
“The stove was hot. Your doctor must have made a pot of coffee not long ago because the pot was still warm and he already had a kettle heating up with water in it. We put another one on to boil, but it’ll take a few minutes. At least this one’s a little warm.”
She set the pan down on a small table that separated the two beds and dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out for Daisy.
“Keep those coming,” Daisy instructed, hoping if she kept Petula’s hands busy the distraught sister might stay composed. Daisy accepted the cloth and warned her patient, “This is going to hurt a little more. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he whispered, the word a slow hiss.
When Daisy made the first stroke, he nearly jumped off the cot.
Petula started crying.
The blood kept coming.
Time after time Daisy exchanged cloths.
“I’m all right, sis. No need to cry.” No criticism filled her brother’s voice, his tone soft and reassuring. “It hurts, but it’ll get better, don’t worry.”
Respect for the man’s endurance and kindness grew by the minute. Daisy marveled how he managed to maintain his composure under the circumstances. She didn’t know if she could have done the same.
Teague returned with the other kettle just as Doc arrived with Sam in tow. Bandages wrapped the banker’s entire chest and one stretched across his forehead and left eye. His mustache and whiskers looked half shorn off as if a bullet had razor-creased its way across his face.
Daisy barely caught a glimpse of the rise and fall of his chest before having to turn back to her own patient. She pressed yet another cloth against the wound. “Is Sam all right?”
Doc Thomas stood beside her now that they’d settled the banker on the second cot. “Hurting but sedated for the time being. Bruised a couple of ribs, and he won’t be blowing any bugles for a while. Nearly got one eye shot out, as you can see. You ready for me to take over here?”
“Gladly.” She rolled her shoulders, setting off a sharp reminder that her elbow had been bruised. If he’d been much longer, she would have done her best to dig out the bullet, but doctoring was not a talent she had any bragging rights to. And considering everyone else’s wounds, she had no right to complain about a bruise.
“The widow’s done a great job, Doctor,” her patient rasped.
“Good, I see you’re conscious. That’s helpful.” Looking down the bridge of his nose through the ever-sliding spectacles, Doc Thomas examined all Daisy had done. “Mighty fine work, Widow. Couldn’t have done better myself. Now let’s see the exit wound.”
He pushed the glasses up again. “You strong enough to sit up, son?”
He nodded, but Teague lent a hand.
Daisy caught the first glimpse of her rescuer’s back. No wonder he was losing so much blood. She’d been so worried about stemming the flow in front that she never considered the bullet might have exited. Had Teague noticed it when he removed the shirt and coat? Surely he would have told her if he had. Trying to handle him and take off the clothing at the same time must have blocked the sight.
“You two new to town?” Doc Thomas probed the wound. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Fresh off the stage,” gasped the fistfighter as he flinched.
Petula stood in one corner so she couldn’t see her brother’s grimaces. “We haven’t even gotten a room yet.”
“No relatives here in town?” Doc Thomas poured some kind of liquid on two cloths and pressed them against both wounds. “Hold him still, Teague. That’s going to burn like fire, but it’ll stop much of the bleeding.”
“No relatives,” Petula finally answered.
“Just passing through,” her brother whispered through gritted teeth.
“That’s a shame.” Doc frowned, grabbing instruments to sew stitches. “I was hoping you had a place you could settle in for a few days to recuperate. You’re going to need to gain some strength before you do much else, and certainly no traveling for a while.”
He reached up and pushed his spectacles higher before dabbing the exit wound dry and beginning to stitch. “Trouble is, the boardinghouse and hotel