Debra Cowan - Whirlwind Reunion

With tears blurring her vision, she changed into her night clothes, brushed out her hair and plaited it then lay down. The images wouldn’t stop. Neither would the guilt. Memories of the pain, the blood, the resulting infection. She’d been lucky to survive.

She finally dozed off, waking with a start when someone pounded heavily on her front door.

Afraid it was Davis Lee again, she sprang out of bed. She grabbed her cotton wrapper from the back of her vanity chair and pulled it on, tying it snugly as she rushed down the stairs. She snatched up her medical bag then opened the door. And froze. “Russ?”

The big man’s back was to her and he was carrying someone. He looked over his shoulder, features taut. Urgent. “He needs help.”

Ef Gerard, Whirlwind’s blacksmith, stood in the darker shadows holding the man’s feet.

She flung the door wide. “Bring him in. Follow me.”

Hurrying, she led them to the back room and the patient cot in the near corner. After placing her bag on the floor, she lit an oil lamp while Russ and Ef carefully laid the man face-down on the mattress then stepped away.

“His back’s the worst of it,” Russ said.

Holding the light high, she walked over to the patient. She searched for injuries, her gaze skimming over sock feet and powerful thighs in denims filmed with red dust. Blood caked the back of his white shirt. It had splattered on the sleeves, too. His face was also bloody. Swollen and—

Her heart stopped. It was Matt!

Annalise froze for a second. Matt. He needed help. Though stunned, she remembered her training and managed to gather her wits. Pushing the lamp into his brother’s hand, she bent down to feel for her patient’s carotid pulse. It was strong.

A closer look in the wavering light showed his ripped and bloodied shirt was stuck to his back. Rising, she pushed aside the curtain separating the clinic’s two beds and went to the glass-fronted cabinet for a pair of scissors.

“What happened?” she asked Russ. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know. Matt hasn’t been conscious for us to ask.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I hope he can tell us when he wakes up. Why won’t he wake up?”

“Maybe because he’s lost a lot of blood.” Annalise eased down onto the edge of the bed, snipping the hem of the shirt then ripping it up the middle. “Or maybe he was knocked out.”

Russ shifted behind her, throwing shadows against the wall. “How bad is it?”

“The wounds need to be cleaned before I can tell.” She carefully peeled back Matt’s shirt and swallowed hard at the sight of his torn, mangled flesh.

Russ and Ef both made a sound of shock. Annalise folded the fabric out of her way, revealing the strong broad lines of his back, the fluid muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. His smooth bronze skin was now ripped and gaping. The wounds didn’t extend past his lean waist, the worst of them on and between his shoulder blades. Who had done this?

Emotion surged inside her, a mix of compassion and regret. She realized her hands were shaking.

Steeling herself, she managed to control the tremor in her voice. “Where did you find him?”

“A couple of miles east of Whirlwind.” Russ handed the lamp to Ef and moved to the foot of the cot. “His mare was nearby.”

She returned to the cabinet which also held bandages, powders, instruments, various salves and antiseptic treatments, including carbolic acid. “Can one of you fetch me a bowl of water?”

While the blacksmith did that, Annalise took the carbolic acid and a couple of clean squares of linen from the cabinet. The rush of footsteps had her looking over her shoulder.

Lydia Baldwin hurried through the door. “Russ?”

“Sugar.” He pulled his beautiful raven-haired wife into his side as her gaze went to the man on the cot.

“Oh no,” she breathed. “How is he?”

“He’s alive.” In the smoky amber light, Russ looked pale, bleak. “Don’t know much else yet.”

The brunette placed a soothing hand on his chest. “I saw you and Ef ride in so I came on over.”

He brushed a kiss across her hair.

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Annalise moved back across the room. “What made you go look for him?” she asked Russ.

“He was late getting home from his trip to Graham. He made half the trip yesterday and stayed the night in Albany. He said he’d be back in Whirlwind by supper tonight. When he wasn’t, and when there was no telegram saying he’d be delayed, I knew something had happened to him.”

Ef returned with a basin of cool water and, at her direction, placed it on the small table beside the bed.

Russ said tightly, “I’m afraid I know who did it, too.”

Annalise recalled part of the conversation she’d had with Cora the night of Russ’s wedding celebration. “An angry husband?”

She felt Ef’s gaze slice to her.

Russ glared at her. “An angry husband? Hell, no. You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

His wife said quietly, “She’s not accusing him, Russ.”

“I don’t care.”

Annalise wasn’t convinced, but it wasn’t her business who had hurt him; it was her business to treat him. Patch him up and send him on his way. “Who do you think would’ve done something like this?”

“The rustlers he’s been chasing for months, the Landis brothers. About two months ago, he caught up to them and they beat him up.”

“We think they decided to try again,” the blacksmith put in.

“And kill him this time.”

Annalise had overheard some talk during her supper at the Pearl. “I thought they were in jail in Abilene.”

“Five of them are,” Russ said flatly. “Two escaped. Davis Lee told me late this afternoon.”

She wet the cloth with carbolic acid and began gently cleaning the caked blood from Matt’s back. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the combined breathing of those in the room, the occasional push of the wind outside. The scents of dried blood and dirt hid the clean, masculine smell she remembered from the other night. Tension pulsed in the quietness.

Russ stood to her left, looking down at his brother. “They stole his boots. That’s gonna make him madder than hell.”

After a few moments, Annalise was able to discern the actual wounds and she winced. His back was flayed by what at first looked like shallow cuts. She leaned closer, motioning for Ef to bring the lamp lower.

The lacerations were ragged, uneven, as though someone had dragged a jagged blade down his back. Bile rose in her throat.

Behind her, Russ cursed. “It looks like he’s been whipped.”

“No,” the blacksmith said quietly. “I’ve been whipped and the marks are different than that.”

“Well, what is it then?” Russ asked in frustration—the same frustration Annalise felt as she scrutinized Matt’s back.

“The wounds are shallow, most of them no more than an eighth of an inch. A few, like these in the middle of his back, are almost a quarter-inch deep. And they’re all long, three and four inches.”

“Like someone bore down on the weapon as they slashed him?” Ef asked.

“Yes, exactly.

“Do you think a knife did this?” Russ asked with quiet anger.

“The gashes aren’t clean like they would be from a knife blade. The edges of the wounds are ragged.”

“Then what the hell did that to him?”

“I don’t know yet.” After further examination, she straightened.

“Can you tell how bad it is?”

“The bleeding seems to have stopped and that’s good, but I don’t know how much blood he lost before you got him here.” She felt her way up his strong denim-covered calves, the backs of his powerful legs and then his sides. “I don’t feel more injuries.”