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The
Marshal's Destiny
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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
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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