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Ben stared up at the trees as fire spread through his veins. The noise around him was chaotic. Screams and shouts, the thundering of blood rushing past his eardrums, and a loud clicking sound filled the air. Turning his head, he could see Morning Dove as she continued to pull the trigger on the gun she held while screaming.
The clicking of empty chambers was a dull sound when she stopped screaming. She lowered her arm, her shoulders falling as she stared at the fleeing men as they headed further into the trees.
Walter was on the ground by her feet. He was blinking into the sky, his mouth opening and closing several times before he said, “Morning Dove.”
It took her long minutes to look down at him. The expression on her face was one he’d never seen before. She gave Walter a look that told him she was thinking of doing more harm to the man. She stared at him for long seconds before turning her attention to him.
Her features softened, her eyes filling with tenderness, and his heart gave a strong pinch seeing it. Walter’s question to her, “did she love him,” and her answer of, “no,” had left him unable to think properly. He’d never even seen Walter lift his arm, only heard his gun going off before it felt like a raging bull had rammed into his chest and drove him off his feet, but that look in her eyes as she stared at him now made him wonder if she’d lied.
Morning Dove hurried to his side, the gun still dangling from her hand. She dropped it beside her when she fell to her knees by his head.
“Ben.” His name was a soft whisper as she leaned over him. Her eyes met his before going to his chest.
He knew without looking it was bad. He could feel the burn and the hot rush of blood as it poured over his skin.
Morning Dove grabbed his shirt and ripped it open. He winced, his eyes slamming shut as the motion jarred his body enough to make everything hurt worse. She gasped and he concentrated on breathing, each breath harder than the next.
“Oh, Ben.” She sobbed his name before running her hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back. He opened his eyes to look at her and tried to smile.
“Hey pretty girl.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “Hey.”
“How bad is it?”
“I am not sure. Can you sit up?”
“I can try.” It took both of them to get him upright. He winced before his eyes rolled back, and for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out. She held onto him until he was steady, then let go to check out the wound.
“There is a hole in the back of your shirt.”
“Then the bullet went all the way through.”
“That is good. It means I will not have to dig it out.” She looked toward the horses. “I need to clean the wound so infection does not set in.”
He nodded, unable to speak as he moved back to lean against the wall of the cabin. Morning Dove ran to the horses, digging through their saddlebags. She slung the straps of both canteens over her shoulder, then pulled out his spare shirts before rummaging through Walter’s saddlebags, ignoring the man’s shouts for her to stay out of his things.
She found a small flask he hoped had whiskey in it. Morning Dove didn’t even look down at Walter as she walked past him and hurried back to the little cabin. The old man had a grimace on his face and was breathing heavily, as if each breath caused him pain. He hoped like hell it did.
Dropping everything in her hands beside him, Morning Dove grabbed the flask and took a sniff of its contents, then choked. “It is whiskey.”
Ben stared at the flask. He’d not had a drop to drink in over two weeks now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sober that long. Taking it and draining the flask dry was tempting, but being with Morning Dove, he didn’t want to be the man he’d been before. He wanted to be the man Aaron and Betsey said he was. He wanted to be the sort of man that deserved a woman like Morning Dove.
“Pour it on the wound. That’ll clean it good enough for now.”
She helped him remove his bloodied shirt, then did as he said. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d screamed so loud. It burned like wildfire across his chest and he broke out into a sweat as she held the flask to his lips. “Drink what is left.”
As much as he didn’t want to, he took it gladly. The few swallows that remained weren’t enough to dull the pain, but he could pretend it did.
Neither spoke as Morning Dove cleaned the wound. Ben kept his head back, leaning against the wall with his eyes shut and every so often the pain was so intense, he clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.
“I have no knowledge of anything to treat this with.” He opened his eyes to look at her when she blotted the torn flesh to wash the blood away. “My mother knew. She carried a small medicine bag around her neck full of many plants and seeds. No matter what ailed you, she had a remedy for it. I remember so little of what she taught me and I wish I had paid more attention to her lessons.”
She ripped the sleeves off one of his shirts and folded them, making a thick bandage. “Hold this here,” she said, placing one of the folded sleeves against the bullet hole in his chest. She wrapped his shirt around his torso, placing the other folded shirt sleeve over the exit wound on his back before tying everything down. “That will have to do.” She sat back and braced her hands on her legs. “Do you think you can stand?”
He nodded and cursed under his breath when she helped him to his feet. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of whiskey right about now. Anything to dull the pain would have been welcomed. If they didn’t have so far to go, he’d settle for passing out, but Morning Dove needed him.
He staggered as he stood and grabbed onto the wall of the cabin.
