“I’m going with Morgan.”
“I need to get an account of just what the hell happened here,” Hank snapped.
“The girls can tell you,” she replied, holding out her arms for Ty to lift her onto the bar. “I was upstairs with Morgan.”
“Oh, you were upstairs with Morgan when all hell broke loose,” he drawled sarcastically with his hands on his hips. “So, you started this business, assured all and sundry that you knew what you were doing, insisted you could protect yourself and these girls, but you were upstairs with Morgan. Just what was so all-fired important upstairs?” he demanded.
Callie Mae crawled across the bar, jumped off and landed on her feet. She was tired, unnerved, and worried sick about Mead. Her saloon was in shambles, her ass hurt, and she was in no mood for questions.
“If you must know, Marshal, Morgan took me upstairs to blister my ass for pulling a gun on Ty here earlier,” she snapped. “Yes, that’s what I said; I pulled a gun on him. After that we spent quite a bit of time practicing making a baby. Oh, and we’re getting married Saturday! Any other questions?” she demanded, looking him right in the eyes and watching his face turn into a bright red beet.
“Um, no,” he replied, clearing his throat as snickers swept the room. “I don’t believe I have any more questions.”
“Good,” she snapped. “You know where to find me if you think of any.”
Working her way through the mess, she made it to Morgan’s side and they walked out the doors.
“You realize you’ve just given the entire town a new reason to talk about you,” he sighed as they hurried down the boardwalk.
“They can all bark at a knot, the mush heads,” she replied, opening the door to Doc’s office and running up the stairs.
“New word?”
“Yeah, Annalise gave it to me.”
They waited hours in Doc’s office. The only one they saw was Jane as she moved in and out of the treatment room, a white blood-stained apron over her red dress. She heated water, boiled instruments, and carried supplies from Doc’s storeroom without ever saying a word, but trying to offer comfort with her eyes.
Lilly sat as though shell-shocked, Morgan thought. Silent tears trailed down her cheeks; she didn’t speak, never even asked what happened.
Callie Mae tried to offer comfort, but Morgan doubted Lilly even heard her. He’d seen this many times before and pulled Callie Mae away, settling her on his lap.
Matthew paced the small room, his boots scuffing and clicking on the hardwood floor, watching the hands on the clock that barely seemed to move until Morgan sent him to check on the other girls. After he left, the only sounds were the endless ticking and the soft muffled voices coming from the other room. Emma would not get wind of this until at least morning and by then they would be there to soften the blow and bring her into town.
Morgan’s mind was whirling with questions. How could this happen? Was this the night Callie Mae would have been killed? If it was, then the dates were all off. Was more trouble coming? Guilt swamped him. Mead would never have been shot if Morgan hadn’t come here, but Callie Mae would be dead. What kind of damn choice was that?
Callie Mae jumped off his lap and Morgan stood the moment the doctor came into the room.
“He’ll live,” he said, taking off his glasses and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “As far as walking again, I just don’t know. I’ve done what I could to repair the shoddy job the surgeon did on the original injury, removed the bullet, bits of bone and old shrapnel, but what the man needs is a new knee. Unfortunately, that’s not medically possible. At best his limp will be more pronounced and the pain of daily activity will be debilitating. At worst he’ll spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I’m sorry.”
Lilly collapsed into sobs and Jane and Callie Mae rushed to her side.
“There’s another cot in the back room,” Doc stated sadly. “Take her in there and give her a teaspoon of Laudanum,” he continued, handing Jane a dark bottle. “She obviously won’t be much use to Mead the way she is.”
“Is he awake? Can I see him?” Morgan asked.
“He’s awake, but groggy. I don’t want him worrying, so try to be reassuring. He’ll have plenty of time to contemplate things while he’s recovering. Five minutes, Morgan.”
Nodding, Morgan let himself into Mead’s room. As he approached the bed, he straightened his spine, trying not to let the guilt and sorrow show on his face.
“How ya doing?”
“I’ve been better,” Mead croaked out. “Are all the girls all right? I know Callie Mae and Jane are here. What about Marilee, Annalise, and Fancy?”
“Everyone’s fine, thanks to you,” Morgan replied.
“Hell, not thanks to me. All I did was go and get myself shot.”
“You were trying to save Jane. That’s a pretty big deal in my book.”
