“He’s not?”
“No, ma’am. He won’t die from that gunshot wound to his leg. It’ll just hurt like hell.” Ace loosened the bandanna fromaround his neck and tied it around Wyatt’s leg, just above the wound, drawing a groan from him, making his eyes fly open.
“Shit! That hurts!”
Ace chuckled. “Serves ya right, tryin’ to hold up a stagecoach. What were ya thinkin’?”
“Wasn’t trying to hold up the stage. Just needed you to stop.” Wyatt pulled in a deep breath, wincing as he did so, then turned his attention to her, his gaze roaming over her, the look in his eyes filled with love and pain and hope. “I couldn’t let you leave, Sherry. You’d be taking my whole life with you. I don’t think I could have borne it.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Ace’s tone was mocking as his focus shifted between them. “But I don’t believe you.” He jerked his thumb toward the driver still perched high in his seat. “He don’t believe you neither. That’ll be up to Marshal Goodrich. He knows what to do with stagecoach robbers.”
“He’s not a bandit, sir!” Sheridan insisted. “He’s going to be my husband. And he doesn’t belong in jail. He needs to see a doctor.”
Ace had the audacity to laugh at her. “If’n you say so, but we’ll let Marshal Goodrich decide. Now move aside.”
Sheridan rose to her feet, but she didn’t take her eyes from Wyatt, her heart pounding much too hard in her chest. She watched, her breath held, as Ace rudely pulled Wyatt to a sitting position, then yanked him to his feet so he could march him to the open door of the stagecoach, only to push him roughly inside. Wyatt let out an ‘oof’ as his face hit the floor.
“You don’t need to be so brutal,” Sheridan reminded Ace, but it didn’t seem to make a difference, at least not where Wyatt was concerned.
The man didn’t apologize. Instead, he simply stared at her, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. His mouth opened, but no words were issued, before he turned on his heeland walked away, hopefully to catch Brigadier and tie his reins to the back of the vehicle.
Sheridan scrambled into the coach, careful not to jostle or hurt Wyatt in any way. She didn’t take her seat. Instead, she helped him turn onto his back, then sat on the floor, as dirty and disgusting as it was, and lifted his head to her lap. Despite being shot, despite being in pain, Wyatt still smiled.
She had the inclination to wipe that smile off his face. This wasn’t amusing in the least. “What did you think you were doing, Wyatt? You could have gotten killed.”
“Couldn’t let you leave, Sherry. I love you.” He ended on a groan as the stagecoach lurched forward, then reached for her hand as the driver turned the coach around and headed back to town.
Mrs. Evans grabbed for the strap nailed to the side of the coach so she wouldn’t lose her seat and leaned forward just a bit. “Is this him? The man who broke your heart?”
Sheridan nodded as she smoothed his hair away from his brow. He’d lost his hat somewhere, probably when he fell from Brigadier’s back.
“He’s handsome,” she commented as her gaze slid over him, then she reached out and touched Sheridan’s shoulder with her free hand. “He’ll be all right, my dear.” She smiled in a reassuring way. “Are you going to stay and marry him? After all, he chased you down so you wouldn’t leave. Got himself shot for his efforts. Out of all my husbands, none ever went to such extremes.”
Sheridan drew in her breath, her gaze roaming over him. His eyes were closed. He was still bleeding, but the bandanna tied around his thigh seemed to have slowed the initial surge of blood. His breathing was slow and even and that stupid smile seemed to be permanently etched to his face. Ace was right. Wyatt wasn’t going to die.
It didn’t take very long before the coach stopped again. Heavy boot heels pounded on the raised wooden sidewalk just moments before the coach door swung open. “Caught this man trying to rob my stagecoach.”
Marshal Goodrich rose from his rocking chair in front of the Marshal’s office and strode across the sidewalk. He stopped in the open doorway of the stagecoach and looked in, then released a surprised, “Wyatt?”
“He wasn’t robbing it, Marshal. I swear.” Sheridan scrambled out of the stagecoach. “He was trying to stop me from leaving town.”
Marshal Goodrich smiled. “I believe you. Wyatt MacLean is no stagecoach robber.”
She pointed to Ace, standing with his hand on the stagecoach door, his expression smug. “This man shot him!”
Marshal Goodrich looked from Sheridan to Ace, then finally back to Wyatt. He suppressed a chuckle, which made it sound like he was choking. Sheridan glared at him. “Help him! He needs a doctor, not the inside of a jail cell!”
“I’ll take care of it, Sheridan.” He turned toward Ace. “Just leave him with me.” The marshal reached into the coach and offered his hand, helping Wyatt to exit. “Can you walk?”
“I can walk.” He looked up at Ace climbing into his seat. “Thanks for not killing me.”
The man grunted as he laid his shotgun over his lap. “Next time, you might not be so lucky.”
To Sheridan’s mind, Wyatt didn’t seem angry. Not even upset. In fact, he was grinning, which made her furious. He’d taken much too much of a risk. Her anger was tempered by the simple fact that he’d done what he did because he loved her. It still didn’t negate the point that he’d done something so utterly stupid. There were so many things she wanted to say to him at this moment, but she feared there might not be any coming backfrom those words. Instead, she pulled in a breath, then untied Brigadier from the back of the stagecoach and stood with him in the road.
“You better marry that man!” Mrs. Evans leaned out the window and waved as the stagecoach pulled away, leaving the three of them on the sidewalk.
“Let’s take a look at that leg.” Marshal Goodrich bent down and inspected the wound, which was still oozing blood. “The bullet’s still in there. Doctor Ben will need to remove it.”
