Page 38 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 38

D ON ’ T MOVE ? T HERE WAS NO chance 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.”

He climbed onto the bed and leaned over the end. Anxiety furrowed his brow and flattened his lips as he assessed her, then the bloodied area of her arm. By the anger that sparked in his eyes, Lawson would have a reckoning once this was over. If only she could cup Abraham’s cheek and assure him she’d be okay. Although, releasing the pressure and allowing the blood to flow freely just so she could touch him probably wouldn’t alleviate his fear.

After evaluating the situation, Abraham spoke. “I’m going to unlock the one attached to the bed first. Then, once we get you out of that hole, I’ll remove the other one.”

He slipped his arms between the bars and twisted the key in the keyhole. The cuff released, and Lydia stiffened her arm to slow its drop. The resulting pangs brought tears to her eyes, and a whimper she’d tried to hold back escaped.

Abraham’s thumb brushed at an escaped tear. “I’m sorry. Just a bit more, and then you can be still until a doctor arrives.”

As long as being still meant he was holding her in his arms, she’d endure whatever movements necessary to get there.

“Can you turn and get your legs out from beneath the bed? I need to move it away from you and the door.”

With a whole lot of scrunching her face as if that might ease the throbbing, she twisted until her feet no longer stretched beneath the bed. Her arm screamed, and each breath came with a gasp that threatened to turn into a sob. She tried to focus on Abraham’s comical half-singed hair and handsome—albeit bruised—face, but they weren’t enough of a diversion. “Talk to me. Please. Distract me.”

He climbed off the bed and repositioned himself to pull it away. “What do you want me to say?”

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes against the radiating pain. “Anything. Nursery rhymes. Stupid jokes. Math problems, for all I care.” A moan slipped out as her arm jostled with the bed’s movement.

Metal scraping against the wooden floor interspersed his words. “Two plus two is four. Four plus four is eight. Eight plus eight is—”

She laughed even as her arm chastised her. She hadn’t meant him to take her so literally.

His shadow fell over her, and she sensed him lowering himself next to her. “What? Would you prefer something more along the lines of ‘I think you are the bravest and smartest woman I know’? Or that I’m going to thoroughly knock you off your feet the first chance I get?”

“Better.”

His chuckle was strained as he held her hand still while he removed the other handcuff.

The force applied by his twisting of the key made her jolt upright and cry out.

“I’m sorry, but it’s off now.” He released her hand. “Don’t try to stand or move. The last thing we want is for your heart to pump blood faster.”

What happened to his talk of thoroughly knocking her off her feet? Surely that was better than reminding her of her injury.

Pounding feet entered the kitchen, and the announcement of the police’s arrival prevented any more talk. Abraham directed one officer to send for Papa, another to contend with Detective Lawson, and a third to find something in the store below to dress the wounds. A fourth officer confirmed that the Deer Creek Gang had dispersed after Mr. Clemens delivered a prize-winning blow. The only blood in the streets would be pugilist blood. Relief relaxed Abraham’s stance even as he warned the dispersing officers to stay vigilant against attack. If her head weren’t swirling with dizziness and nausea, she might have been tempted to pull a fictional swoon.

Abraham knelt next to her again and put his hand over hers, increasing the pressure on the wound. It was probably wise and more successful at slowing the bleeding, but the resulting sting made her breathe rapidly. Maybe she would swoon after all.

“Lydia, look at me. In.” He inhaled slowly. “Out.”

With great difficulty, she focused on his delectable gaze, which comforted better than the cookies she now associated with him. Good heavens he was handsome. God better plan for them to be together, or she was in trouble. From now to evermore, Abraham Hall would be the only man for her. By the way his eyes caressed her face, he felt the same.

When her breathing matched his, Abraham said, “I never thought I’d care so much for a woman so quickly. I don’t want to wait any longer to—”

From the other side of the room, Mr. Ingram yelled curses at the officer who’d released him. Abraham jumped to his feet, pivoted, and reached for his holstered gun in one fluid motion.

No. No. No! She was shot. He was doctoring her and showering her with words that promised sweet romance. She hadn’t just lived through both a mystery and a romance novel just to have the happily-ever-after ripped away from her. If it didn’t hurt to move so much, she’d reach out and draw Abraham back to her. He didn’t want to wait any longer for what? To kiss her? That definitely would suffice as a pleasant distraction. And wasn’t that how every good story was supposed to end?

If Mr. Ingram stole this from her, she might … might … Well, she’d do something mean and awful. She just needed her arm to stop hurting enough to think of what.

Mr. Ingram strode toward them, jabbing a finger in her direction. “This is your fault. I ought to—”

“Careful, Ingram. Threatening the woman could get you in trouble.” The deadly calm tone of Abraham’s words would give anyone pause.

“She’s the one who needs to be arrested. She helped him plan my death.”

“To stall for time!” Her shrillness hurt her own ears, but she couldn’t let that accusation go. “Should I have allowed him to act on his first thought and kill you right then and there? You would have been dead hours ago.”

Anger flushed his face, but he had the wherewithal to keep the rest of the thoughts rolling through his head to himself. But it didn’t stop him from taking another intimidating step forward.

“You’ve escaped death twice now, Ingram.” Abraham angled so he better shielded her. “Don’t waste your gift of life. God obviously has something in mind for you, and I don’t think it is to earn yourself another trial.”

Maybe she could appease Mr. Ingram with an apology. She owed him that much and probably a lot more. In a way, this was partially her fault. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ingram. I should never have written any of the Billy Poe stories. If God has deigned to give you a second chance at life, it is not my place to execute judgment. May we both take this undeserved opportunity and learn to use our lives for God’s glory instead of our own.”

Mr. Ingram snorted. “I should have known you’d be a religious loon. Just don’t ever cross my path again.” Then he stalked out the door.

She sagged against the wall as Abraham directed the officer to obtain Mr. Ingram’s statement.

The man who’d been instructed to procure supplies passed Abraham what appeared to be a cheesecloth. “It was the best I could find.”

“Thank you, Nichols. I’ll take care of Miss Pelton. See if Yount needs any assistance with Lawson.”

The man exited, leaving the room blessedly empty and quiet.

“How are you feeling?” Abraham lowered himself to the floor and gingerly began wrapping her arm.

He would ask that right now. She clenched her jaw and waited until the stabbing pain eased to throbbing.

“Like I’ve been shot. Does it always hurt this bad?”

“I can’t say. You’ve beaten me to the experience.” His half grin did little to ease the strained lines of concern on his face.

“I don’t recommend it.”

He finished securing the makeshift bandage. “Is there anything I can do until your father arrives?”

“You can either tell me what you don’t want to wait any longer for … or distract me with a kiss.”

He chuckled and cupped her cheek. “How about both?”

“Both is good.”

He leaned in, careful not to bump against her body, then stopped a hair’s breadth away. “I don’t want to wait any longer to court you, which means I can also do this.”

His lips pressed against hers and lingered there, inviting her to keep it sweet or dive deeper. She leaned in, determined to fully experience the moment despite the pain trying to intrude. Twenty-two years of saving this kiss, her first real kiss, for the man she intended to wed was worth it. Because, God willing, she would marry Abraham.

Tender. Passionate. Full of promises, hopes, and dreams of a long future lived together. If a person’s character could be discerned through a kiss, this moment revealed Abraham’s as steadfast, though perhaps impatient at times, certain of what he wanted, gentle, considerate of her needs, and blessedly forgiving of her inadequacies. But she didn’t mind his guiding instruction in this. He could teach her all day long.

Until a particularly sharp pain sliced through her consciousness, interrupting the absolute euphoria. She whimpered.

Abraham leaned back abruptly. “I’m hurting you.”

“No, the holes in my arm are hurting me, and even that knock-me-off-my-feet kiss cannot distract me from the pain.”

He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Since you aren’t on your feet, I’m going to say that doesn’t count as knocking you off them, so we’ll just have to try again later. And if that one doesn’t suffice, we’ll try again.”

“I fear you’ll never actually succeed.”

“You never know. Once we get you through this, I have a whole future to prove you wrong.”

Now there was a line that belonged in a romance novel.