Doc stared at her.The name meant nothing to him.
“These men…they work for me.I’m the one responsible.I plan the Wells Fargo robberies.I’m the one…the one they want.Not him.Not my son.I have to save him.”
Doc found himself standing beside the cot.He wasn’t aware that he’d risen.His brain was filled with mud.He was slogging through a bog, trying to keep up with what she was telling him.It didn’t make sense.How could she be…?
Comprehension dawned in his mind.And with it, every mistaken assumption regarding road agents and outlaws evaporated like morning mist on a woodland lake.She wasn’t kidnapped.She wasn’t a victim.In barely a moment, this woman—Mrs.Fields—destroyed every image he had regarding what a band of stagecoach robbers looked like.
And still, beneath all of it, she was a mother afraid for her child.Doc understood that, perhaps more than he wished to.
The gunfight was continuing, but suddenly the sound of pained cursing reached them.Still, shots were being returned by the outlaws.
Hearing it, his patient cried out weakly.She was not about to be held down any longer.She sat up and, with what was clearly a monumental effort, pushed her legs off the cot.The stockinged feet thumped to the floor.She was sitting, but she could go no farther.She hadn’t the strength to push up to her feet.
“Wait,” he ordered, recovering his bearings.“You wait right there.I’ll see what I can do.”
Doc tried to think of what he possibly could do.He had no idea how he could help this woman’s son.
Perhaps if he could communicate with the men who’d laid siege to the camp.Perhaps if he could convince Lucas to drop his weapon and hand himself in.
“You haven’t been out of that bed in five days.You’re weak and feverish.If you try to get up, you’ll just fall and make things worse.”
As if they could get worse, he thought.
“You stay put,” he ordered again before moving cautiously toward the door.
How could he do anything while bullets continued to fly?
He peered around the doorjamb just as one of the rescuers’ shots found its mark.The road agent by the water trough sat back and then stretched out flat on the ground.Doc glanced quickly at Lucas, who was staring at the body of his partner.
“Throw your weapons down, Lucas,” he shouted out at him over the sound of gunfire.“Surrender before it’s too late.”
The young man’s gaze slid to the door of the shack.As he began to shake his head, a bullet struck him, sending him spinning forward to the ground.He writhed in the dirt, clutching his arm, and then shoved himself back up against the cart.Doc saw blood flowing through his fingers.
“Stop shooting,” he shouted, waving his hand in the doorway.“I’m Doc Burnett.Stop shooting.”
The gunfire slowed and then stopped completely.
“He’ll surrender.”
A short period of silence followed, and then a voice rang out.
“Stand up, Lucas.And throw your gun out.”
Doc was shocked to recognize Dodger’s voice.Why the killer was attacking his own gang, he couldn’t fathom.
Hope turned to doubt.All the trust he had of being rescued faded.He shrank back from the door.
“Throw your guns out now,” Dodger repeated.
Lucas was staring at the shack, his eyes filled with worry.Doc understood this boy so much more clearly now.
“Don’t get yourself killed,” he murmured to himself, “for her sake.”
Lucas sat thinking, his gaze moving from the door to his arm.Finally, he threw the pistols away from the cart.
“Where is Lucas?”
Doc glanced back at his patient and nodded.“He’s alive.”
