The Marshal's Destiny
~ISBN# 0-8034-9511-0 ~ Avalon Books  
by C.H. Admirand

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Margaret Mary Flaherty sets off for Colorado, carrying the signed proof her brother needs to keep the bank from foreclosing on his ranch.  Joshua Turner, US Marshal, is headed to Colorado to investigate charges of cattle rustling and land fraud.  Their paths cross out in the middle of nowhere.

One look at the handsome marshal convinces Maggie she sees her destiny calling to her from the depths of his brilliant green eyes.

One look at the fiery-haired woman staring up at him through cornflowers-blue eyes, and Joshua wonders if he has finally found the woman who will teach him to love.  

CHAPTER 1

  Colorado Territory/Late 1870’s

            Indians!

            Her hand froze, clutching the heavy flap designed to keep dust from coming in the open window.  Eerie high-pitched yells sent shards of fear splintering through her.

Chills skittered up and down her spine.

            “Close the flap!” the other passenger ordered.

            But she couldn’t move...she was in shock. 

            The stagecoach driver warned it would be dangerous riding through Indian Territory, but Margaret Mary Flaherty didn’t believe him.  She’d thought the tales simply exaggerations made up by some dime store novelist. 

            The attack came out of nowhere.  One moment she was admiring the deep blue of the cloudless sky and endless open plain, a heartbeat later, swarms of painted natives on horseback charged out of the landscape churning up a cloud of dust.

            “Maggie...the flap!”

            An odd whistling noise sounded close by, followed by a distinctive thunk.  White hot pain seared through her upper arm.  She tried to wrap her arm around her and rub away the pain, but it was stuck...she couldn’t move.  Blessedly the pain gave way to numbness.

            She heard the keening sound of a tortured cry, as if from far away. But she could only focus on one thought...she had been wrong about the threat...dead wrong.

            The long wooden arrow shaft, a testament to her foolish decision to ignore the warnings, lay imbedded in the fleshy part of her arm.  She looked down at it and, for a moment, wondered how it was possible that she felt no pain.  All at once, the numbness receded and excruciating pain radiated up from where the arrow pierced her flesh.  Horror set in, watching bright red blood, hers, flow freely from the wound, drenching the sleeve of her new blue and white gingham dress.

            A second arrow flew in the open window, skewering the window flap to the wooden door frame.  Maggie had never been afraid in her life.  She’d survived Rory’s death, near starvation at the hands of the English, and a perilous journey across the Atlantic, but she’d never in her life seen anything as terrifying at the red-skinned warriors and their deadly arrows.  Surely even Cromwell himself would have been deterred by the savage people swarming ever closer to the stage. 

            Their driver cracked his whip.  Maggie could hear the man loudly cursing a blue streak, as he coaxed the last burst of energy from the exhausted team of horses.  Off to the left, she thought she heard the crack of rifles being fired.

            “Hang on!” the driver shouted down from above them. “Someone’s coming!”

            A ripple of pain snaked through her, making her shiver.

            “Be still,” her traveling companion ordered.

            “I don’t suppose ‘twill be a problem,” Maggie rasped, “The blasted arrow’s pinned me to the seat!”

            Compassion transformed the other woman’s face briefly, before a grave look filled it once more.  She decided to ignore the look and force herself to concentrate on something--anything but the pain swirling around her.

            “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” she rasped, “can ye tear a few strips off me petticoat...to soak up the blood?”

            “No need for that,” the woman answered, “I came prepared.”

            She could feel her strength ebb as the coach hurtled across the dry as dust country she thought to adopt as her own.  Might it not be wise to rethink that decision? she wondered.

             Maggie watched the large, raw-boned woman sitting across from her dig deep into the carpetbag she carried and produce a rolled-up length of pristine white cloth.

            “Now why would ye be carrying around material for bandages?” she asked, tightly clenching her teeth, trying to keep the pain at bay with a sharply flagging will.

            “Six months ago, I traveled this same route,” the woman answered quietly.

            “This happened before?”

            The woman nodded, but offered no further explanation.

Maggie sensed the other woman’s reluctance to discuss the matter.  Needing to talk to distract herself, she changed the subject.

            “With me mind on me troubles, I forgot me manners entirely.  I’d like to thank ye, but I never asked your name.”

            “Annie.”

            “Thank ye for your kindness,” she whispered.  “Me father named me for his mother.  I’m Margaret Mary, but ye can call me Maggie.”

            Just then, the coach careened wildly as one of the wheels bounced in and out of a deep rut in their path. Her weight shifted, tugging at the arrow.  Biting her bottom lip, she stifled a cry of pain and tasted the coppery tang of her own blood.  Darkness threatened to pull her under, consume her whole. 

            “It won’t be long now,” Annie told her, working quickly folding the cloth into a thick wad.

            Sounds of gunfire cracked nearby, and miraculously the hideous cries of the savages started to fade away.  She looked up into eyes as pale and bleak as a midwinter morn back in County Clare.  While she watched, Annie placed the thick makeshift-bandage around the base of the wooden shaft and hesitated.

            She knew what Annie had to do.  Maggie drew in a breath and nodded, bracing herself for the pain to come.  A bolt of pain seared through her.  It felt as if her arm were being flayed open with a cavalry sword.  An agonizing moan ripped from between Maggie’s tightly pressed lips as Annie bore down putting pressure on the bandage, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

            “Do ye have a wee drop of English blood in ye then?” she asked groaning.

            The other woman’s snort of laughter almost made Maggie smile, but the effort required far too much energy and hers was rapidly draining away. 

            “You’ve got more than enough grit to see you through the doctoring.”

            “Doctorin’?”

            A vision of her Da lying, bleeding, on their scarred oak table flashed through her mind.  She felt a bubble of panic start to form down low in her stomach.

            “Are you sure you want to know?”

            “‘Tis far better to know what is to come, than to worry over it.”  

            Another memory flashed.  Her mother digging the pistol ball from her Da’s side while her older brother and neighbor held him down.  The bubble of panic burst and began to roil.

            Annie nodded, her pale gray eyes softening for the first time.  “One way is to push the arrow through until the head is visible on the other side--”

            Bile rushed up Maggie’s throat while she listened to the rest of the grim description, no doubt soon to become a painful reality.

            “--then whoever does the doctoring, chops off the arrowhead, grabs a hold of the feathered end and yanks it back out.”

            It was all she could do not to disgrace herself by losing the dried beef and biscuit she’d eaten hours before.

Swallowing back the foul taste in her mouth, Maggie reached down deep within herself for strength, calling upon the strong stock her Da had always bragged about.

            “Well then,” she managed, after swallowing hard--twice.

“Since I’m skewered to the seat, I don’t guess whoever does the doctorin’ will have to push it through too far.”

            “Don’t worry--” Annie’s words were abruptly cut off, as the stage came to a bone-jarring halt.  In the aftermath of the battle, the sudden silence was deafening.

            “Anyone hurt?” a deep voice curtly demanded.

            “One o’ the women,” the driver answered, “I heard one of ‘em wail ‘bout five miles back.”

            The door to the coach burst open, and a dark form filled the opening, blocking out most the mid-afternoon sunlight.  She tried to focus on the figure, though the loss of blood made her head swim.

            “I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

            “Ashamed of what?” the deep voice asked, as the man grabbed the door frame and pulled himself into the confines of the coach.  His considerable weight rocked the coach, causing the team of horses to pull against the traces.

            Tiny dots danced behind her closed eyelids, and a low-pitched buzzing sounded in her head. 

            “Hold the team!”

            The snorting and stamping miraculously stopped.  Maggie swallowed against the lump in her throat, nearly releasing the tears she held back.

            “Easy, miss.” 

            The stranger’s voice called to her on an elemental level, forcing her to ignore everything but the sound of his voice.  It pulled her back from the comforting darkness to the chaos and pain. 

            “I may have made a wee bit o’ noise when the arrow--”

            The words dried up on her tongue when she looked up and gazes with the stranger sitting across from her.  Had she died already then?  Was this her guardian angel come to take her to Heaven?  He smiled, and her head instantly cleared.  Her pain momentarily forgotten, she looked up into one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen.  The sunlight

pouring in through the open door framed his head, gilding the edges of his tawny-blond hair, setting off his gorgeous eyes...his brilliant deep green eyes. 

            She watched them harden slightly, as his gaze dipped down to the arrow and back up again.  The lack of softness

didn’t bother her, she was counting on the man’s strength, not his ability to charm.  Though truthfully, what held her enthralled was their intense color, so like the rolling hills around her family’s small plot of land back home. 

            He used his thumb to push the hat further back on his head, the movement releasing a lock of wavy sun-kissed hair.  It fell into his eyes, and he brushed it aside with a hand that was every inch as big as her brother Seamus’s.  And maybe then some, she thought, as he inched closer and placed his hands on his knees.

            Before he could speak, Annie blurted out, “She’s pinned to the seat.”

            He looked away from her for the first time since entering the coach.  Maggie could swear she felt her control waiver, watching him nod to indicate he understood the situation.  The moment he looked back, his confidence washed over her.  ‘Twould be all right then, she told herself.

            Watching his face for a clue as to how bad her injury really was, she saw his jaw clench and a muscle under his left eye leap twice before he ground his teeth together.  The sound grated across her already frayed control.  Not good, she decided, not good at all.

            “I’m wonderin’ if it would be easier to remove the seat--”

            “Hold still,” he commanded, moving so close she felt waves of heat pouring off his body. 

            She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart, and his masculine scent enveloped her.  Her head reeled as the potent combination of body-warmed leather, soap and a hint of horse washed over her.

            Her gaze swept over the breadth of his broad chest, taking in his massive shoulders.  He definitely looked strong enough to pull the arrow free.  She only hoped he would be gentle enough removing it from her swollen flesh.

            She looked back up at his face, and his grass-green eyes immediately locked on hers.

            “I have to get an idea how deeply the arrow imbedded itself in the cushion.”  He paused, and seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

            “Should I try to lean forward?” she asked, truly hoping he would not ask her to.

            “Can you do that?”

            Maggie silently cursed her tongue for moving before her brain could think things through.  Heaven help her, she must be daft.  If it hurt not to move, it was certain to be worse if she did.

            “She’s lost a lot of blood,” Annie began, “I don’t think--”

             She watched his gaze swing over to Annie’s.  The look that passed between the two did not bode well at all, she thought.  She shivered involuntarily, then stiffened her resolve and screwed up her courage.  She could handle anything...she was a Flaherty!

            “What do ye want me to do?”

            “If you can try to lean forward, just an inch would help,” he said quietly.  The low rumble of his voice soothed her, like a healing balm spread across aching muscles.

            “I’ll give it me best,” she answered honestly, “but I won’t be promising I can.”

            The grim visage before her softened, and the man’s face relaxed into a lopsided grin.  A dimple formed along one side of his mouth, drawing her eyes to that point.  She couldn’t help but notice his strong whiskered jaw, or the dark blond mustache framing his beautifully sculpted lips.  The sudden urge to trace them with her fingertips jarred her.  She hadn’t been tempted to look at another man, much less touch one, since she’d held her darlin’ Rory close and he breathed his last.

            “She’s got a bucket of grit to spare.”

            “Ye say that like it’s a bad thing, Annie.”

            As the words were leaving her lips, another wave of pain came out of nowhere, hitting her right between the eyes.  She couldn’t hold back a low moan of agony.

            He clenched his jaw again.  All traces of his grin disappeared, making her wonder if they were linked somehow allowing him to feel her pain.  “Ready?”

            She nodded and slowly eased her body toward him.  Her arm felt as if it were being ripped apart and set on fire.  She began to doubt her body’s ability to absorb anymore of the pain.  Fresh blood spilled from the wound, adding a bright crimson to the already bloody bandage.

            Joshua deftly reached around behind her, slipping his fingertips beneath her.  “Trust me,” he said locking gazes with her.

            It wasn’t his demand to trust him that decided her.  Nay it was the raw emotion that seemed to pour from the very depths of the man’s soul.  His loneliness and need called out to her, pleading with her to save him.  And save him she would.  Flahertys believed in fate--good or bad.  Without a doubt, this man would play a part in her future.  Though whether he would kill her, or save her, would depend on the man’s skill at removing arrows.

            Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered her courage.  When she opened them, she had to steel herself to accept the bold challenge in his gaze.  Did he know he was her destiny?

            “Might I be knowin’ yer name?”

            In a flash the naked pain and longing in his eyes was gone, replaced by a grave look of concern.

            “Joshua,” he said softly.

            “Me name’s Maggie,” she rasped, “and I do.”

            “Do?”

            “Trust ye.”

            She could feel the muscles in his arm go taut a second before she guessed his intention.  Gritting her teeth, she silently asked for strength.

            Joshua’s gaze never left hers as he jerked the arrow from the cushion, the motion pulling her flush against the wall of his broad, hard chest.  His heat seared all the way through to her backbone, while blinding pain brought tears to her eyes.

            “Can ye just leave the rest be ‘til tomorrow then?” she choked out, swallowing the tears, unwilling to cry.

            “I’m afraid not, infection may--”

            Maggie lifted her left hand to his face, giving in to her need to touch his beautiful mouth, and swept her fingertips across the fullness of his bottom lip before weakness robbed her of what little strength remained. 

            He stared at her, and she watched his eyes widen, then darken to a deep forest green.

            Embarrassed by her boldness, she asked, “Do ye think ye’ve the strength to push it through far enough so ye don’t cut off me hair?”

            A chuckle rumbled deep within his massive chest.  She smiled leaning against him.  He was her anchor in the sea of pain threatening to swallow her whole.  The comfort of his heat, and strong muscles rippling beneath his linen shirt and leather vest, seeped slowly into her bones relaxing her.

            It had been too many years since she’d leaned against Rory, depending upon his strength to carry her through.  A sudden wave of cold surprised her making her shiver.

            Belatedly, she realized Joshua had pulled away from her and was looking down into her eyes.  “Trust me.”

            She tried for a smile, but knew she grimaced.  ‘Twould have to do, she thought nodding her agreement.

            The comforting warmth of his big body deserted her as he pulled further back.  He placed a hand on top of her wounded arm, his large callused palm and blunt-tipped fingers curling around the tender flesh.  it was strange, her arm looked almost dainty underneath his large hand.

            He braced himself, and she could not stop the involuntary reaction as her body tensed up in response. 

            Joshua bit out, “Relax.”

            Looking up, she noticed thin streams of sweat trickling down from his temples.  When he locked his jaw, she swallowed the comment poised on the tip of her tongue.  ‘Twould do no good to harass the man now with her complaints.  She needed his help, and he was willing.  What more could she ask?

            The startling green depths of Joshua’s eyes hardened, a split second before his left hand squeezed her arm, while the other pushed the arrow. The gut-wrenching sob of anguish echoed all around her, but she was too lost in the pain to realize it was she who cried out.  A large hand deftly swept her tangled mass of hair over her shoulder and cupped the back of her head, pulling it against his rock-hard shoulder.  Her body quivered violently, reacting to the pain.

            “The worst is done,” he rasped.

            “But not over?”

            “Not quite.”

            “If ye miss and tear a strip off me back, I’ll not be mindin’,” she choked out. “Me Da always said I’ve a few stone to spare.  Losing a bit won’t matter too much.”

            “I won’t miss,” he solemnly vowed.

            A grunt of exertion, followed by a draft of air passing behind her, told her he was almost finished.  The arrow shaft moved inside her arm as he lopped the head off it.  Her lips were so dry, she touched her tongue to them to moisten them.  When she did, a groan reverberated from deep within the man who still held her protectively to his chest.

            “Are ye done then?” she asked, desperate to know.  Her vision had grayed with the movement of the arrow.

            “One more thing,” he promised.

            “I’ll be thanking ye now.”   Maggie was vaguely aware that the gray had darkened.  Her area of vision seemed to be shrinking with each beat of her heart.  She did not lack for courage, but she did not need to watch him pull the arrow out.

            “You’ve a spine of steel, Maggie,” he praised her, pressing his warm lips to her clammy forehead. 

            “And a head of granite,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

            She slipped into a dazed state of semi-awareness then felt her body jerk forward, slamming into the wall of his chest.  The movement forced the breath from her body as he pulled the shaft free.   Numbness crept up from her toes, settling over her like a soft, warm blanket.

            “Tell Seamus I tried,” she whispered, as the darkness pulled her under.

Chapter 2

            Joshua’s thoughts were haunted by the unbearable loneliness he had glimpsed in Maggie’s expressive eyes.  Though he’d only seen it for a moment before it disappeared, his heart recognized a kindred spirit, someone who suffered as he did.  He wondered briefly if she was the one, then shook himself from his reverie.  He had too many other things more pressing at the moment, the first of which was finding a doctor to tend her wound.

            With each mile they rode, his thoughts turned from the prospect of rustlers to the beautiful woman in his arms.  She’d captivated him, though it had only been a few hours since he’d set foot on the stage and looked into eyes the color of cornflowers.  Since that moment, his mind had been plagued with a myriad of questions.  Who was she?  Where was she headed?  Was she going to meet family, or was she as alone in the world as he? 

            He dared a glance down at the semi-conscious woman in his arms.  Pain had leached the color from her petal-soft complexion until it was nearly translucent.  She lay perfectly still, reminding him of the moment he’d noticed the arrow pinning her to the seat.

            Chastising himself for becoming distracted by a woman he hardly knew when there was a job to be done, he focused his attention on the short trip to the town of Milford.  The last few miles of the journey flew by as he held her in his arms, careful to keep pressure on the nasty wound.  Though it may have been easier to keep Maggie in the coach, the road to town was deeply rutted from the weather and wooden wheels.  Blaze’s gait was smoother by far than any coach ride, and his horse could ride next to the road avoiding the worst of the ruts.  She’d lost so much blood already, he did not want to risk her losing more.

            Drawing in a deep breath surrounded him with her soft feminine scent.  It called to him, tantalizing him.  He set his jaw and gritted his teeth.  He had no time for distractions.  He fought the need to inhale and draw in another breath of her sweet scent in.  Joshua held his breath and bit the inside of his cheek.  He heaved a sigh of exasperation, it was no use, he was too tired not to give in to the need that overpowered him.  Burying his face in her hair, he breathed in the luscious scent of lavender and rain. 

            The timing was all wrong, he told himself.  There was no time to think about women, even beautiful red-heads with skin the color of fresh cream with a sprinkling of freckles.  He was a two-day hard ride from his destination and latest assignment, had cattle rustlers to catch and land fraud to investigate.  Any one of the cavalry detachment he tagged along with, through hostile territory, could have seen Maggie safely into town, allowing him to continue on to the job that awaited him. 

            The last week of travel had tired him out to begin with, and stopping to rescue a damsel in distress had not been part of his plan.  But he at least admitted he would not have trusted anyone else to carry Maggie into town.  The thought of anyone else holding her in their arms chafed like a brand new pair of Levi’s after a cloudburst.

                                                *          *          *

            The unusual sight of a man riding into town with an unconscious woman bleeding in his arms seemed to attract attention.  He glanced over his shoulder, maybe the sight of the arrow-riddled stagecoach and Army escort following behind him attracted attention.  A long line of people behind him stopped in their tracks and pointed at him.

            “Can you tell me where I can find the sheriff?”   A scruffy looking man stood gawking on the boardwalk in front of Smith’s Dry Goods Store. 

            Joshua thought he would have to ask another stranger, when the man shut his gaping mouth long enough to answer,

“Three doors down on the left.”

            “Doctor?”

            The man’s gaze shifted to the inert form of the injured woman, and his eyes bugged out.  The blood-stained cloth wrapped around her arm obviously unsettled more than one passerby. 

            “Doc’s over t’ the Chicken Ranch deliverin’ a baby,” a tall thin man stammered.

            “Chicken Ranch?”  Since when did a man of medicine doctor chickens and help hatch eggs?

            The thin man squinted at Joshua and smiled, “Pearl’s place.”

            “I take it Pearl doesn’t raise just chickens.”   Impatience simmered to a low boil. Joshua ignored the man’s exaggerated wink.

            “She sure don’t...in fact--”

            “Anyone else in town know anything about arrow wounds?”

            “I’d be happy to help, Marshal.”

            Joshua looked over his shoulder and noticed a large gray-haired woman standing in the doorway to the dry goods store.  She had her arms crossed beneath her bosom and was staring at the tin star on his chest.

            “I’d be much obliged, ma’am.” 

            He shifted Maggie in his arms, trying not to bang into her arm, then dismounted.  His boot heels echoed across the dry boards, accompanying the swish of petticoats as he followed the woman inside. 

            “Taylor!” the woman called out.  “Clear off the bed in the back room.”

            A stocky middle-aged man with thinning gray hair and wire-rimmed spectacles rushed to the front of the store.    “Ida.  What on earth?”

            “No time, dear,” she said looking at the young woman Joshua still held tight to his chest.  “The Marshal needs our help.”

            “Move those bolts of cloth off the bed,” she instructed.  “Then see if we still have that bit of tarpaulin left, and lay it on top of the bedspread.”

            “You go along with my Taylor, while I fetch my supplies.”

            Joshua stood for a moment, feeling as if he’d been thrown from an irate horse.  Though not a familiar feeling, it was one he had experienced and would not likely forget.  The woman could fire off orders faster than General Macy.

            “Ida’s got a heart of gold,” Taylor said, shaking his head. “And a tongue edged in steel.  You’d think she was the one who served in the Army.”

            Joshua started to agree, then decided some things were best left unsaid.  He nodded and followed on behind. 

            While Taylor worked to clear the bed and spread the tarp, Joshua looked down at his precious burden.  He could not forget the loneliness he’d seen.  It echoed his own, calling to him.  He brushed a wisp of auburn off her forehead and was tempted to press his lips at the bottom edge of her widow’s peak, but caught himself in time.  No use adding more rumors to the ones no doubt already spreading through town like wildfire.

            “Marshal?”

            He dragged his eyes away from Maggie, and met Taylor’s solemn one.  “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

            The grim pronouncement hung in the air like a death knell.  He new from experience that her recovery could go either way.  So many times, he’d been on the receiving end of an arrow or a bullet.  More than once he’d dug a lead plug from his own hide.  Many a time he fought wound fever lying on his bedroll out in the middle of the desert with his horse as his only company, and a bottle of red-eye whiskey the only cure for the pain.

            “Ida’ll know what to do.”

            “Step back, step back,” the brusque gray-haired woman said, as she barreled into the room. 

            Her arms were loaded down with strips of linen, and a basket overflowing with odds and ends that looked suspi-

ciously like sewing supplies.

            “Best to do as she says,” Taylor whispered.

            “I heard that.”

            The older man shrugged his shoulders and grinned.  “Now what fun would it be if you hadn’t?”

            Ida put her hands on her hips and frowned, “Taylor Smith--”

            He walked over to his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders, “You just holler if you need my help, honey.”

            The starch seemed to go right out of her at her husband’s words.  Joshua noticed the corner of her mouth lifting before she turned and looked at him.  The faint trace of a smile disappeared.  She was all business when she commanded,, “Tell me what happened.”

            “I got there after the Indians attacked.”

            “Great grandmother!” Ida cried, placing a hand to her ample breast before collecting herself.  She turned back to Maggie and snipped through the bandage with a small pointed pair of shears.  

            While she worked, deftly cleaning the area around the wound, Joshua shifted from one foot to the other, flinching every time she touched the hole in Maggie’s arm.

            Without lifting her head, Ida remarked, “Why don’t you use that basin of water over there and wash up.”

            Joshua looked down at his own hands and started to object, thinking to tell her he had to leave, when he saw a tiny sliver of arrow imbedded in his palm.   He hadn’t noticed it until now.  Deftly gripping the bit of wood buried in the callused skin, he worked it free. 

            Blood welled up from the deep puncture wound.  He touched a fingertip to the tiny pool nestled in his palm, mingling his blood with Maggie’s.  A surge of emotion ripped through him...she belonged to him.  Bits and pieces of a long forgotten tale of his great-grandmother’s Scot’s wedding ceremony fell into place.  He shook his head.  She bled from an arrow wound, and he from a sliver of that same arrow, but it was not the ceremonial slice from his dirk on their arms, followed by pledges of love to one another.

            “I’m going to need a hand holding her arm still while I stitch it up.”

            Joshua was rocked to the depths of his soul.  He had not thought about his family in years.  Why should he suddenly remember Meggie McTavish’s strange marriage ceremony?

            He looked up, and noticed Mrs. Smith beckoning him to come closer.  “My Taylor’s a brave man, you understand?”

            Joshua nodded that he’d heard and understood, though his head still reeled, filled with ancient rites and pledges of never-ending love.

            “He just can’t stand the thought of a needle piercing flesh,” she said with a sigh. “Best wash up, I can’t do this alone.”

            Joshua gritted his teeth and walked back over to the basin.  Of all the means available to care for a wound, a needle and thread bothered him the most. 

            The look in Ida’s eyes didn’t leave room for excuses, “Yes, ma’am.”

            Hands clean, shirt sleeves rolled up, Joshua turned back toward the two women.  Maggie stirred when Ida poured a strong-smelling solution on the wound. 

            “What--?”

            “Carbolic acid,” she answered.  “Doc keeps a supply here.  More often than not, he’s off delivering babies at the Ranch when there are people who really need him.” 

            “Ranch?”

            “Pearl’s Place,” her clipped tone ended any further questions he might have had.

            “Ida?” a gravely voice called out from the doorway.

            “Doc!  You’re just in time,” she said, squinting over at Joshua.  “I don’t believe the Marshal was looking forward to holding this poor thing’s arm still while I sewed the hole closed.”

            “Cleaned it out?” the doctor asked, using as few words as possible.

            Joshua had the pleasure of watching Ida turn her glittering gaze on someone other than himself.

            “Marshal,” the doctor called out as Joshua rolled down his shirtsleeves and turned to go.  “Why don’t you fill me in on what happened, while I sew this young woman’s wound closed.”

            Joshua’s stomach literally flopped over at the thought of a sharp needle piercing Maggie’s lovely white flesh.  He’d been trying not to notice the gaping wound, pushing all thoughts of ceremonies and sharp objects from his mind, focusing instead on her toes.  It didn’t appear as if he’d get away without facing the sewing of the wound.

            He sighed and shook his head, knowing he would not walk away when he was needed.  Closing his eyes, he silently asked for strength...but somewhere in the middle of his prayer, he tangled up the words, asking instead for the strength to leave Maggie.  The need to leave warred with the desire to stay.  Desire lost.

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