“Don’t move. I’m going to find something to break down the door.”
CHAPTER38
DON’T MOVE?THERE WAS NOchance of that if she could help it. Novels made gunshot wounds sound like nothing worse than paper cuts. Men always gritted their teeth and ignored the pain as they fought valiantly to rescue their loves. Then they’d shrug them off as nothing more than flesh wounds and sweep their women off their feet before kissing them senseless.
What a load of poppycock.
Lydia had endured a plethora of paper cuts in her life. This torment was no paper cut. Not even one dipped in lemon juice. And forget sweeping anyone off their feet. She didn’t even want to lift her arm—not that she could have anyway, considering it was the one still handcuffed to the bed.
Praise God she’d flattened her body against the wall and slid her legs beneath the bed in order to have the least amount of exposure to a potential shot. If she’d been resting her head on her arm?
Bile rose to her throat. She wasn’t ready to die. Oh, she knew where she was going. Jesus was her Savior and all, but Abraham hadn’t even properly kissed her. What a tragedy dying without that would be.
But she wasn’t dead. At least not yet.
She lifted her hand away from the two bullet holes and yelped at the fresh wave of pain.
Bad idea.
With only a glance at the oozing blood, she returned to applying pressure. What good was it to have a doctor for a father if she didn’t adhere to the medical advice he gave others?
Thwamp! Crack!
Lydia jumped at the sounds and let out a cry at the sudden movement.
“Lydia!” Abraham’s panicked voice came from the other side. “Did I hurt you?”
She looked up to where the sharp blade of an axe had cut through the door.
Which would hurt more, a blade or a bullet? She laughed at the ridiculousness of her thoughts even as she whimpered from shifting.
“Lydia?”
She blinked to clear her head … better that than shaking it and jarring her arm again. “No. I startled, and it hurt.”
He muttered something and then spoke louder. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I’m going to create an opening so I can get through. Are you far enough away to stay safe?”
She’d probably get covered in wood chips, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. “Go ahead. I’m fine.”
The next axe swing was his only reply. She dipped her head to curtain her face with her hair as chunks and splinters of wood clinked against the brass frame and fell around her. By the time Abraham finished, her arm and lap were littered with debris.
“Stay as you are. I’m going to climb through onto the bed and come around to you.” Abraham grunted, the bed squeaked, and then his boots thudded against the floor.
From the other side of the room, Mr. Ingram fussed and struggled.
“You don’t look hurt, Ingram, but the lady is. I’ll release you after I tend to her.”
Lydia carefully tipped her head back, wishing she could shake the hair from her face but too afraid of the stabbing sensation it would cause.
Abraham reached the narrow opening at the end of the bed. “Where is the worst pain?”
“My arm. The one attached to the bed.”
“Attached to the …” A growl rumbled in his throat. “I have a key to unlock it, but I don’t think there is any way around jostling your arm to do it.”
She forced a shaky breath. What was a little more suffering if it meant freedom? “Do whatever it takes.”
“I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
