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“You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It was the way she said it, the look in her eyes, that convinced him.
“You’ll always be a special woman to me, Lorna,” Bull said quietly. “But I reckon that’s all.”
“You’ll always be very special to me—and to Benteen, too, I think,” she added. Townspeople began gathering around. Lorna motioned to two stronglooking men. “Help me get him to the doctor.”
30
When Benteen awakened, there was sunlight streaming through the window. He had trouble focusing his eyes, the room kept blurring. There was a sharply antiseptic smell around him. It was a minute before he realized he was on a cot in the doctor’s office. He tried to move, and a stab of pain seared from his shoulder, evoking a grimacing groan.
“Lie still.” It was Lorna’s voice, and her hand that gently touched his arm.
His gaze wandered over the face that was now within his vision. She was dark—and vivid, her lips red and warm for him. He caught the fragrance of her, so fresh and wild.
“I thought you were going to take me home,” he reminded her.
“The doctor thought it would be a good idea if you spent the night here. He gave you something to sleep while he dug out the bullet.” She showed him the slug that had come from his shoulder. “Do you want to keep it?”
“No. You can throw it away.” He pressed a hand to his bandaged shoulder. “I don’t need anything to remember this by.”
Lorna couldn’t have agreed more, and gladly tossed the bullet in a waste receptacle. She didn’t want to ever live through that moment again when she had seen Benteen staggering across the street.
“What about the others? Giles. Woolie.” Concern tracked across his expression, drawing heavy lines.
“Woolie’s horse was shot out from under him. He has a broken leg. Jessie was creased in the arm, and Bob Vernon got shot in the hand.” Lorna listed the injuries, then hesitated on the last one. “Bull had his knee shattered. The doctor says he’ll be all right, but he’ll never be able to bend it again. It’ll be stiff.”
Benteen sighed, but said nothing, aware of the debt he owed the man. “Is Boston dead?”
“Yes.”
“It’s crazy,” he murmured on a faraway note. “They always say people who live by the gun die by it. Boston did his taking with legal papers, not bullets. A nonviolent thief. But he died violently just the same.”
There was a light rap at the door. Lorna turned, not leaving his bedside. “Yes?”
The door opened and Lady Crawford swirled into the room in her long black satin skirts. She was the model of composure as she crossed the room to the cot. Black gloves gripped the pearl handle of her parasol.
“So you were the one doing all that shooting last night,” she said to Benteen in mild accusation. “I complained bitterly to the management about the disturbance. It did little good, of course.” She paused briefly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll feel better when I’m back at the ranch,” Benteen said, and linked his fingers with Lorna’s.
“I’m sure your wife is capable of nursing you, although I don’t envy her the task,” Elaine stated. “As for myself, I’m leaving for Helena. The territorial governor has invited me to spend a few days with his family. It should prove to be a valuable trip, I believe.”
“Yes, it should be,” Benteen agreed, but Lorna caught the resignation in his voice.
“Perhaps you’ll be well enough to go with me another time,” Elaine suggested absently. “There’s a lot of groundwork that needs to be done, and I’m certainly not needed here, when you have Lorna to take care of you.”
“That’s true,” he agreed again.
“Unfortunately, it will be a few days before Mr. Giles is up and around, so I’m forced to travel alone. Hopefully he’ll be able to resume his duties in a couple of weeks. I looked in on him briefly,” she admitted.
“I’m glad to hear he’ll be getting better.” Benteen glanced at Lorna, no longer feeling threatened by her friendship with Bull Giles, as he had proved last night when he’d sent her to him.
“I’m sure you don’t feel like talking business,” Elaine continued. “And I have a great deal of packing to do. I only stopped to let you know where I’ll be. I’ll contact you when I return.”
Lorna was beginning to understand his mother’s seemingly cool attitude, so brisk and efficient. A mother would be concerned about her child’s illness or injury, and reluctant to leave him when he was unwell. But Lady Crawford was showing neither emotion. Purposely. She felt a surge of admiration and respect for the woman.
“By the way …” Elaine paused in her turn away from his bed. “I have lodged a formal complaint with the Canadian government on your behalf, because of the cattle stolen by Indians from their reservations. I am quite sure that you will soon be recompensed for your losses.”
