Victoria Bylin - The Outlaw's Return

“Sh-she’s my s-s—” The kid sealed his lips.

J.T. took the stammering for yes. “I knew her in Kansas.”

Augustus wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his white shirt, probably his Sunday best. He sniffed, then looked at J.T. again. “Th-th—” Thank you.

“No problem, kid.” The stammering hurt in ways J.T. had never experienced. He held out his hand to shake. “I’m J. T. Quinn.”

The boy leveraged to his feet, then fell to the ground unconscious. Crouching at his side, J.T. rolled him to his back. The boy had probably fainted from shock, but he couldn’t be sure. A blow to the head could cause bleeding in his brain. A busted rib could puncture a lung. He shook the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

Augustus didn’t move. He didn’t twitch. Nothing but a shallow breath came from his parted lips. Fancy Girl put her cold nose on his cheek. No response. With fear pooling in his gut, J.T. lifted the boy’s eyelid. The pupil shrank against the light, a good sign. “Come on, Augustus. Talk to me.”

Nothing.

J.T. didn’t know where to find a doctor, but he knew where to find Mary. He lifted her brother onto his horse, climbed up behind him and galloped to Swan’s Nest.

Mary walked to the end of the street and called her brother’s name for the fifth time. When he didn’t answer, she went back to Swan’s Nest and looked for him again in the garden. Without a sign of him, she paced back to the street. A rider and a cloud of dust caught her eye and she stopped. The man’s black duster billowed behind him, and he’d pulled his hat low against the wind. A dog ran at his side.

“Fancy Girl,” she murmured. J.T. had tracked her down, and he was approaching at a gallop. What could he possibly want? She couldn’t stand the thought of speaking with him in front of her friends. As he rode closer, the blankness of his silhouette took on color and shape. He was clutching something against his body. Not something, she realized. Someone…a boy with blond hair and a bloody white shirt.

“Augustus!” Hoisting her skirts, she ran to them.

J.T. reined the horse to a halt at the iron gate. With the boy limp in his arms, he slid from the saddle. “He needs a doctor.”

“I’ll fetch Bessie.” A trained nurse, the older woman had served in the War Between the States. If she couldn’t help Augustus, Mary would send Gertie for Doc Nichols. She flung the gate wide. “Take him to the parlor.”

She waited until J.T. passed with the dog at his heels, then she raced by him and opened the front door. “Bessie!” she called down the hall to the kitchen. “Come quick!”

Wearing a white apron and drying her hands, the nurse hurried down the hall. “What is it?”

“It’s Augustus. He’s hurt.”

J.T.’s boots thudded on the polished wood floor. “Where do you want him?”

“On the divan,” Bessie ordered. “Who are you?”

“A friend of Mary’s.”

The nurse nodded, an indication Adie had shared her curiosity with Bessie before Mary arrived. It hadn’t been gossip, just friends caring about each other, but Mary still felt uncomfortable.

With the boy cradled in his arms, J.T. strode across the room where only moments ago Mary had stood with Adie. He lowered Augustus with a gentleness she remembered from Abilene, then he stepped back to make room for Bessie. As he tossed his hat on a chair, Fancy Girl walked to his side and sat.

Bessie pulled up a chair and started her examination. Terrified, Mary hovered over her shoulder. Bruises on Augustus’s cheek promised a black eye, and he had a bloody nose and split lip. Her gaze dropped to his shirt. Red smears in the shape of knuckles testified to what had happened. Her brother had been beaten.

She whirled to J.T. “Who did this?”

“We’ll talk later,” he said in a low tone.

She wanted answers now, but mostly she wanted her brother to wake up. She turned back to his limp body and saw Bessie taking his pulse. The nurse lowered his wrist, but her expression remained detached. “Get the smelling salts,” she ordered. “And water and clean towels.”

“Will he be all right?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

Her eyes darted to J.T. Adie and Caroline were outside, and she needed help. “Come with me.”

He followed her down the hall, his steps heavy on the wood while hers clicked. She wanted to know why he’d been near Swan’s Nest, but she didn’t dare ask. Augustus had urgent needs, and she didn’t want to breathe a word of the past in front of anyone. In the kitchen she opened a cabinet with medical supplies and found the smelling salts. Next she filled a bowl with hot water and fetched clean towels from a shelf. J.T. lifted the bowl and carried it down the hall. Mary followed with the towels and smelling salts.

Bessie uncorked the bottle of ammonia carbonate and held it under Augustus’s nose. She waved it once, twice. His nostrils flared, then his eyes popped open. Groaning, he rolled to the side and vomited. Bessie held a bowl under his chin and caught the mess. Mary saw streaks of blood and gasped. Was he bleeding inside? Were his ribs cracked? Bessie needed to know, so Mary turned again to J.T. “You’ve got to tell us what happened.”

He shook his head.

How dare he withhold information! She raised her voice. “I want to know who did this.”

He put one finger to his lips. It had been an old signal between them, a warning to guard her mouth around people he didn’t trust. Considering the circumstances, it infuriated her. “Talk to me.”

“I’ll explain later.” He looked disgusted with her. “The boy fought hard. Give him his pride.”

Mary saw his point. Embarrassed by her outburst, she dipped a towel in the hot water. While Bessie checked for broken bones, Mary wiped the blood from her brother’s face and neck. When the nurse poked his ribs, he groaned.

“Do you think they’re broken?” Mary asked.

“I’d say they’re bruised.”

Furious, Mary set the towel on the rim of the bowl and lifted a dry one. For her brother’s sake, she had to stay calm. Augustus was twelve years old, but his stammering made him seem younger. In her heart, he’d always be the baby brother she’d rocked to sleep in Frog’s Landing. Looking down, she smoothed his hair from his damp brow. “How are you feeling?”

“I—I hurt.”

His lips quivered with the need to say more, but he sealed them in frustration. If she pressured him, the stammer would get worse. She had no choice but to wait for Augustus to calm down or for J.T. to enlighten her. With her lips sealed, she watched as her brother craned his head to look at the man in the corner. What she saw on his bruised face could only be described as awe. She didn’t blame him a bit. It seemed that J.T. had come out of nowhere to help him. She didn’t know who had attacked her brother, but Augustus’s expression told her J.T. had stopped the beating. She owed the man her gratitude. She didn’t want to owe him anything, but he’d been good to Augustus.

Bessie finished checking for broken bones then looked into Augustus’s eyes. She held up three fingers. “How many do you see?”

The boy held up his hand to indicate three.

“Good,” Bessie replied Mary thought of the red-streaked vomit. “I’m worried.” She indicated the bowl. “What about the blood?”

“It’s from the nosebleed.”

Fear drained from her muscles, leaving her limp. “So he’s going to be all right?”

“I’d say so.” Bessie looked at Augustus. “You took quite a beating, young man. I think you fainted from shock. Your ribs are badly bruised, and you’re going to have a black eye. We’ll get ice for that in a minute. I’m also going to bind up your ribs.”