Abigail adjusted the strap of her bag, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. Her eyes flicked to the undertaker’s parlor, where Brigg lay. She managed a small smile despite the grime and exhaustion that coated her features.
“Do you think he’s losing his mind in there?” she asked, teasing. “Still bandaged, stuck on that table, and then he hears gunfire outside. He’s probably imagining half the town’s after him.”
Anthony allowed himself a brief chuckle, though it was heavy with fatigue. “Knowing Brigg?” he said, shaking his head.“He’s probably cursing everyone under the sun, calling me a fool for dragging him here, and wondering if I’ve lost all sense.”
She grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Poor man. He’s stubborn enough to die from boredom before his wound gets him.”
Anthony’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll go check on him,” he said, his tone quiet now. “Make sure he hasn’t gotten himself tangled up in more trouble while healing.”
Abigail’s eyes softened, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “You don’t have to,” she said. “He’s under my care. I can—”
“No, ma’am,” Anthony said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on him. He’s not the type to lie down quietly, and I’d rather it be me than have him end up tearing the stitches out or doing something stupid.”
She gave a small, resigned laugh. For a long moment, neither spoke, just letting the wind carry away the noise of the town.
“Then go,” Abigail said after a while. “But after, you better rest too. We’re not done yet, but you can’t keep dragging yourself through this alone.”
Anthony nodded once, firm and certain. “I’ll be fine,” he said. But there was a quiet undercurrent to his words, thetruth that every muscle in his body screamed at him for relief. “You...take a moment. Sit down. Get water. You’ve earned it.”
She gave him a wry look, her exhaustion and humor mingling. “You sound like my mother.”
“Then listen,” Anthony said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Go ahead. Rest while you can.”
He gave a short nod and turned, boots kicking up dust as he made his way back to the undertaker’s. Each step brought him closer to the table where Brigg lay bandaged and still, though he knew the deputy’s restlessness would be visible soon enough.
Inside the undertaker’s, the air was cooler. Brigg’s eyes snapped open the moment Anthony entered, a crooked grin forming despite the ache of his injuries.
“You back already?” Brigg rasped, his voice tight with strain. “Thought maybe the Shoshone had finally decided to haul me out and feed me to the wolves.”
Anthony shook his head, leaning on the edge of the table. “Not today, Brigg. You’re staying put until Abigail says otherwise. Don’t make me regret checking on you.”
Brigg let out a low chuckle, a cough rattling in his chest. “Regret? You? Never.”
Anthony’s eyes swept over him, noting the stiffness in his shoulders and the faint tremor in his hands. “You’re lucky I came when I did,” he said quietly. “One more stunt like this and I’m not going to be as gentle.”
Brigg grinned weakly, letting the words pass without protest. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Anthony sighed, brushing a hand across his temple. “Just rest. That’s all I’m asking. Abigail’s done what she can. Now it’s time for you to do your part.”
The deputy’s grin faded into a thin line, the exhaustion of his ordeal settling over him. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning back against the table. “But you can’t promise I won’t be grouchy.”
Anthony chuckled softly, allowing a small measure of relief to touch him. “I don’t expect anything else.”
He straightened, glancing around the room to ensure everything was secure. Abigail’s presence outside the door and the Shoshone warriors’ vigilance by the street all gave him a small sense of order returning after the chaos of the past days.
“I’ll check on the street, see if anyone’s stirring trouble,” he said. “Then I’ll make sure everything’s ready for the night.”
Brigg’s voice was faint, almost teasing despite the pain. “Try not to get yourself shot while patrolling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you joining me on the table sooner than necessary.”
Anthony allowed a faint, dry laugh. “Not today, Brigg. Not today.”
He took one last look at the deputy, now reclining more comfortably though still tense, before stepping toward the door. The sun was dipping lower now. The town was quiet, uneasy, but alive.
Outside, Abigail had settled onto the edge of a step, untying her boots for a moment. She glanced up at him with tired eyes, a half-smile tugging at her lips.
“You checked on him,” she said softly.
“I did,” Anthony replied, voice low. “He’s stubborn. But he’ll survive if he listens for once.”
