Page 28 of Mail-Order Brides Wishes (Montana Mail-Order Brides #7)

Jayce took the two horses that didn’t belong to the ranch and their riders while Flint stopped in front of Bryn and swung to the ground.

She gasped. Blood darkened his face. Soaked the shoulder of his shirt. “You’re hurt.” The words trembled so badly she wondered if he’d even understand.

“Some. Not bad.”

They faced each other, a thousand unspoken words between them.

“Sorry ta worry ya.”

“You’re hurt.” Of all the words flooding her head, those two were the only ones she was able to speak.

Jayce spoke as he tied one horse to a stall and jerked the man from the second one.

“Flint found these two helping themselves to our cattle. One of them wasn’t smart enough to acknowledge their business was over.

” He tipped his head toward the body over the saddle.

“Same one that managed to discharge his firearm at Flint. His bullet hit Flint though, thankfully, it doesn’t appear too serious. ”

Bryn’s inside burned hot and furious. He was shot. By one of these no-good scoundrels. She couldn’t inflict revenge on the responsible one. He was dead. But the other one— She took a step toward him, her fists bundled at her sides, her throat burning with anger. “You no good—”

Jayce stood in front of her. “Take Flint to the house, tend his wound, and feed him.” Although his tone was gentle, he clearly meant to stop her from going further with her anger.

His words made her realize she had more important matters to tend to.

She caught Flint’s elbow and they headed for the house.

Twice she had to force strength into her legs, especially when Flint faltered partway across the yard.

Was he seriously injured? She wouldn’t be able to tell until she got him inside and had a look.

In the house, he stepped away from her hold and sat on a chair, letting out a huge sigh.

“I ain’t never killed a man before.” She detected both weariness and defeat.

“Sounds like you didn’t have any choice.

If you hadn’t—” If he hadn’t defended himself, it might be him hanging lifeless over the saddle.

As it was, the bullet had come too close for comfort.

A few inches to the left and he’d have a hole in his head rather than an injury on one side.

How deep had the bullet gone? How serious was his injury?

Only one way to find out and she trembled like a leaf in a strong wind.

She pushed aside her light-headedness and forced air into her starving lungs.

“I’m going to have a look at your wound.”

The lamp provided adequate light for her to see a furrow along the side of his head, leaking blood. She got warm water from the kettle, clean rags from a drawer, and returned to his side.

Aware his gaze followed her every move, she wouldn’t allow herself to meet his eyes knowing if she did her last thread of self-control would snap.

The basin clinked as she put it on the table.

Her hands trembled as she plunged them into the water to dampen the rag.

Her heart squeezed out one painful beat after another as she dabbed at the blood on the side of his head.

He winched once and then stiffened. She wondered if he even breathed.

The worst of the blood was cleaned off, she saw that the wound was not deep enough to expose the bone. Thank you, God . She dampened another cloth in cold water and pressed it to the wound hoping to staunch the blood flow that hadn’t stopped since he’d sat down.

Wooden legs screeched on the floor as she dragged a chair forward to sit facing him.

“How does it feel?”

“Like a hot poker held to my head.”

“I’m sorry but so grateful it only grazed you.” She looked into his eyes, dark and shadowed in the low light. Yet his gaze slammed into her with the force of… well, not the bullet. She didn’t want anyone to experience that impact.

“Are you hungry?” She’d long ago put away the food. “I can warm up the stew. I have biscuits.”

“Sounds good.”

She checked his wound. It still oozed. “Press on it. I’ll get you a clean shirt.

That one can’t be very comfortable.” Before he answered, she hurried to the bedroom and chose one of his work shirts, returned to see he’d pulled the stained one off.

Knowing his skin must be sticky, she washed his shoulder, her fingers longing to linger and find strength and courage from the touch.

Shaking her head, she helped him put on the clean shirt and then warmed up food for him.

His chair grated on the floor as he pulled up to the table. His sigh made her think he endured some pain.

Someone tapped on the door and Addie slipped in. “I brought this elixir. It’s good to ease pain. A spoonful at a time.” She set the bottle on the table and glanced at Flint holding the cloth to the side of his head with one hand while he ate with the other.

“I’m glad you’re still with us.” Addie’s voice was soft with sympathy.

Flint turned his head, flinching at the movement. “Me too.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” With those words, Addie left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Bryn’s legs refused to hold her up any longer, and she collapsed on a chair that allowed her to see Flint. Questions raced through her mind but realizing he was tired and hurting, she held them back.

With a scraping of his fork, he finished his meal and sat back. “Am I still bleedin’?”

Forcing strength to her legs, she got to her feet and checked. “Still a little. But I’ll bind it up so you can relax.

He snorted. “Not sure I’ll be able to do that for some time.”

She had brought bandages with her from back east and got a roll she’d made by tearing an old sheet into strips.

She covered the wound with a pad of clean rag and wrapped it into place.

Stepping back, she grinned at him. “Makes you look tough.” Her throat closed off on the last word.

“Good thing you are, or you might not be here.”

He covered her hands with his. “God protected me.” He nodded slowly. “And those two boys we got workin’ fer us.”

“I’m grateful.” Now was not the time to tell him about Rowena.

He continued speaking, making it impossible for her to say anything without interrupting. She welcomed the excuse.

“Glad it was me who found 'em and not one of the boys. They heard the shots and came to see what was goin’ on. They helped me tie up that pair.” His throat worked.

She turned her hand, pressing her palm to his. He squeezed hard but she didn’t mind in the least.

“What happens now?” They couldn’t keep a body and a prisoner in the barn.

“We’ll take them both ta town tomorrow. Send a wire ta the marshal. Arnold has a place in the luggage area where he ken secure the one until the marshal takes him away.” Another sigh.

She squeezed his hand. “You must be tired. Let me help you to bed.”

His chuckle ended in a groan, and he pressed his hand to his injury. “I only have a tiny wound on my head. Everythin’ else works.” He pushed to his feet. “Ya comin’?”

Flint wakened with something jabbing into his head and a large herd of cows stampeding between his ears. Then memory came flooding back. He’d been shot. First time ever. Even worse, he’d shot a man.

Bryn curled up next to him, warm and comforting in a way that robbed him of words. Holding back the groan that pushed up his throat, he forced himself to lie still so as not to disturb her.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “How is your head?”

Turning, he met her dark eyes, full of sleep and something more that told him she enjoyed being next to him and it brought a grin to his face.

“Kinda hurts.” He touched the bandage and felt the dampness.

Bryn lifted her head to have a look. “I’ll need to change that.” She pushed back the covers.

Flint caught her hands and pulled the covers around her shoulders. “Guess there’s no hurry.”

Her little chuckle told him she didn’t mind spending a few more minutes lying next to him, and she snuggled closer.

“Thank you.” His words were low and quiet but thick with gratefulness that his life had been spared so he could enjoy endless days with Bryn— his wife.

“For what?”

“Fixin’ my head. And bein’ my wife.”

“It’s my pleasure and thanks to you, as well.”

“Eh? Fer what?”

“For not dying. And for being my husband.”

Ignoring the pain in his head, he turned to her, pulled her close, and kissed her.

“Auntie Bryn.” Susie’s demanding voice came from the other side of the door. She had been taught not to enter without permission. “You up?”

“Give me a minute.” Bryn kissed Flint quickly and then slipped from the covers.

He watched her dress and waited for her to leave the room before he got up and pulled on his clothes. Susie was gonna be full of questions when she saw his head bandaged.

She stood beside Bryn as he stepped into the other room.

“Yous back.” Spun around. Her words died when she saw him. “What happened?”

“Got a little cut. That’s all.”

“How?” She clutched Kitty so hard the cat squirmed.

“Just happened.” No way was he gonna tell her someone had shot him. The little one didn’t need to know there were bad men in her world.

Bryn set a basin of water on the table alongside white bandages. “Sweetie, take Kitty outside to do her business and stay there until I call you.”

“Why?” Wide-eyed innocence.

“I’m going to fix Uncle Flint’s bandage.” She indicated he should sit down, and he did.

“Why can’t I see?” Susie circled Flint. “Maybe I want to.”

“I’d like you to do as I ask.”

Flint pulled the child to his knees. “I’d feel better if you weren’t watching.”

Blue eyes confronted him. Funny, he’d never noticed before that they were only a shade darker than his own. More like his pa’s had been. But he recognized the look in them. One of thinking before she made up her mind.

Finally, she nodded and left the house.

He closed his eyes as Bryn unwrapped the cloth about his head. Every touch of her fingers, every brush of her arm against his shoulder, every breath that matched his own poured joy into his heart, filling empty places, and flooding hidden corners.

“It’s looking better. Almost stopped bleeding.”

“Um.” She could keep right on doing what she was doing.

“All done.” A cold draft filled the space she left as she stepped back.

“Thanks.” He sat back as she cleaned up her supplies and took the water outside. She returned with Susie, and he had the pleasure of watching her prepare breakfast.

Susie had dozens of questions for him. He sidetracked her by asking about Kitty.

They lingered over the meal, but he couldn’t put off his responsibilities much longer.

As if to prove him right, a knock sounded on the door. Jayce entered.

“I did the chores. We need to get those men to town as early as possible. I don’t mind doing it on my own if you’re not up to the ride.”

Flint pushed to his feet. “I best go along. There’ll be questions.” He reached for his hat and adjusted it gingerly on his head.

Bryn hurried to him. “Flint, are you sure you’re up to riding to town?”

He squeezed her shoulder. Sure, he’d like to stay right there, enjoying her fussing over him. But he’d been the one to shoot a man. It was up to him to make sure things were done properly.

“We’ll be back later.” He might have dropped a kiss on her inviting lips but not with Jayce watching.

They were soon headed down the road leading two horses. One rider had nothing to say but the other one more than made up for it.

“This ain’t fair,” he whined. “You came up on us without warning. Wasn’t a fair fight.”

Flint kept his thoughts to himself. Two against one wasn’t fair. Stealing cows wasn’t fair. Shooting someone protecting what was his weren’t fair either. He touched the bandage on his head. Felt no moisture.

Jayce muttered to Flint. “It’s going to be a long ride.”

“Yup.” Flint settled back in the saddle and let his thoughts wander back to hours spent with Bryn. That made the journey pleasant.

All the same, the hour and a half stretched into two and felt like double that. They stopped at the train station. Flint stayed with the prisoners as Jayce went into the office.

Flint closed his ears to the continual string of complaints from the live prisoner.

“Shoulda shot ya when I had the chance,” he muttered.

Jayce returned. “Good news. The marshal is in town. He’s gone over to the store. Arnold said he had business at the Bar-B-Bar.”

Flint turned the horses in that direction while Jayce walked.

“Didn’t expect he’d be here.” In his head, Flint imagined securing the one who wouldn’t shut up, giving a statement to Arnold, and sending a wire to the marshal.

The marshal stepped from the store at their approach. He must have seen the body hung over the horse and knew it was business he had to be part of.

“What do we have here?” He had a booming voice that silenced the yapping prisoner.

“Rustlers.” Flint knew it was enough to secure a hanging for his suddenly quiet prisoner.

“Who shot that one?”

“I did.”

“Mr. Addington, would you stay with them while I take a statement from Mr. March?” He didn’t wait for Jayce to answer.

Flint dismounted and followed the marshal inside. Mr. and Mrs. Luckham watched with open curiosity, but Flint followed the marshal into the back room to a small desk. The marshal conducted business there when he was in town, but Flint never thought he’d be sitting across from him.

“Can you write down what happened?” the marshal asked.

“Can’t write much.”

“Fine. You tell me and I’ll write it.” He dipped his pen in the ink and scratched out the words as Flint talked. Twice, the marshal interrupted to ask a question.

“That’s it?”

“Yup.” Flint signed his name. “Guess they’s in your hands now.”

“I’ll take care of them. Thanks for stopping the pair.”

Flint nodded. He and Jayce left the rustlers with the marshal and rode from town.

“Wonder what brought the marshal to the Bar-B-Bar,” Jayce said.

“Can’t imagine.” Though they knew the place was in trouble. It was why they’d left to start their own ranch. Plus, it was a dream they both had.

It was long past noon when they rode into the yard, but neither of them had cared to stop and eat.

“Cold beans.” Jayce shuddered.

Flint chuckled. “From a can.”

They both laughed. “Sure glad we don’t have to eat that way anymore.” Jayce pushed his hat back, grinning widely.

“Me, too,” Flint echoed. He was glad for a number of other reasons. A warm house. A warm welcome. A wife and a child.

Life was good. He touched the bandage on his head. Although it had been threatened by outsiders.

Flint meant to guard his home and family against any other dangers. Nothing must be allowed to rob him of this joy.